Savor

Chapter Five

Bryn

OH GOD, HE’S kissing me. Really kissing me, our tongues doing a delicate dance that gets deeper, wetter, hotter with every second that passes. I clutch at him, slide my hands from his shoulders to circle around his neck, one hand in the thick, soft hair at his nape, holding him to me.

His muscular arms tighten around my waist, like steel bands holding me close and my skin tingles at the possessive way he touches me, kisses me. This is exactly what I’ve been wanting for months, since I first started working with Matt. When he walked into my life and pretty much saved it, so I didn’t have to pack my bags and return to Cactus, totally ashamed and a complete failure, just like everyone thought I would be.

I’ve fought this dizzying attraction for Matt for what feels like forever, especially this last week, and I think he has too. Over dinner, the connection only seemed to grow, like a tangible presence.

Why else would he so readily kiss me? I know it was an accident, us running into each other, but it feels so natural, being in his arms. He couldn’t deny he was attracted to me any longer and now, alone in the dark, hushed, quality of the office, with no one else close by, we can finally give in to our attraction and take it a step further.

“Bryn.” His voice is agonized, sending shivers down my spine when he whispers against my lips. “We shouldn’t do this,” he says, breaking our kiss completely.

I stroke the back of his head, still lost in the lingering sensation of his mouth moving over mine. God, the man can kiss. I’m thankful he’s got a hold of me, or I’d probably melt onto the floor. What did he say again? “Wait . . . what?”

“We shouldn’t do this,” he repeats, pressing his lips to the spot where my pulse throbs wildly at my neck before he withdraws the slightest bit, putting distance between us.

Staring up at him, I realize he’s dead serious. His expression is somber, his eyes almost . . . pained. He’s putting a stop to this.

And making me feel like a humiliated fool.

“Fine.” I take a deep breath and drop my hands from where I gripped his neck. “You’re right. We should definitely not do this.”

I sound like every silly romance I love to read when I’m not working like a dog. And I’m so pitiful it’s embarrassing.

“I’m—sorry, Bryn. I got carried away.” He lets go of me, and I step backward, feeling bereft without being in his embrace.

“I’m sorry too.” I smooth my hand over my hair, then jerk my top back into place, running my hands over my skirt. My hands are shaking, and I release another shuddery exhale, desperate to get myself back together and quick.

No way do I want him to see how much he affects me, especially after he so soundly rejected me.

He bends down and snatches his wallet from the floor, flipping it back open and peeling out two twenty-dollar bills from within. “Is this enough?”

“For what?” My mind races. What is he giving me money for? He better not be paying me off because of the stupid kiss. And if he thinks my lips are only worth forty dollars, then I’m completely insulted.

“For the dinner you paid for,” he says, his voice gentle as he holds the twenties out toward me. “Is it enough?”

“It’s fine,” I snap, snatching the money from his fingers and clutching it tight in my fist. I feel so incredibly stupid I don’t know what else to say.

So I say nothing at all. Just turn my back on him, grab my purse from where I left it on the corner of my desk and flee the building, never once looking over my shoulder. I don’t even notice the tears streaming down my cheeks until I’m in my car, sitting in the driver’s seat and desperately trying to stab my key in the ignition yet somehow missing every single time.

I burst out crying in earnest, my vision blurring, and finally get the key in. I turn it, the engine starting with its usual dependable, gentle roar. I press my forehead against the steering wheel and let the tears fall silently. No sobbing, no cursing, no shaking my fist at myself or the man who kissed me so sweetly, so passionately, I don’t know if I’ll ever experience another kiss like it again.

Bright headlights shine on me every time a vehicle passes, and I wince, lifting my head. I swipe at the tears dampening my cheeks, blowing out a frustrated breath. I need to get out of here. Sitting around crying and feeling sorry for myself is not the way to handle this. I’ve always been a pull-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps kind of girl. It’s the Texan in me; the tough take-no-prisoners attitude my grandma’s instilled in me ever since I was a little girl.

A pervert chases after me and tries to abduct me? No problem, spit in his eye. My old boss tries to get in my pants? No worries, just quit. A variety of Hollywood jerks proposition me for a blowjob?

Yeah. Just walk. Find another job. Find another boss, another man with too much power who knows how to quietly devastate me with just a look. A touch. A kiss.

Throwing my car into reverse, I back out of the parking lot and drive out of there so fast, my tires spin, spitting up gravel. Determination steels my spine, fuels my anger. I refuse to let someone make me feel weak all because I’m a woman. I keep doing that. It’s been a pattern my entire life. I change my look to stop men from seeing a pretty face, then let myself be convinced it would be smart to go back to my usual ways and of course, I get in trouble. But forget it.

No man has ever held me down.

Ever.

“OH MY GOD, what happened to you?”

I glance up from the letter I’m typing to find Ivy standing in front of my desk, her expression one of pure disappointment mixed with horror. Straightening my shoulders, I smile at her, going for subdued.

“Whatever do you mean?” I ask calmly. It’s only been a few days since I last saw her. I know she’s going to give me an earful.

She waves a hand at me, her gaze drinking me in as her nose wrinkles. “The tan-colored everything—it’s back. And your hair is in a bun, and you’re not wearing any makeup. Why? What happened? I thought you bought yourself a new wardrobe. In fact, I know you did—I was with you.”

It’s pointless to try and make a man fall for me who so very clearly doesn’t want to. Despite the devastating kiss, the intimate conversation and his hot eyes drinking me in every chance he could get, I needed to go back to my original look. I wear the color beige like a suit of armor. Protecting my heart from failure.

“I did. I wore my new clothes, tried my best to impress Matt and it backfired. It was an utter failure.” Reaching beneath my desk, I pull out the bag that contains the gorgeous dress Ivy so generously bought me to wear for tomorrow. “I’m returning this to you. I appreciate the gesture but I won’t be needing it after all.”

Ivy takes the bag as if in a daze, opening it to peek inside before she turns a determined glare on me. “Oh no, you don’t. Don’t you dare return this to me because you think I spent too much money on it. This is my gift to you.”

“No offense, but I don’t want it.” I sniff delicately, hoping she’ll forgive me but God, I’m still just so angry at Matthew-the-jerkwad DeLuca. “There’s no point in wearing it, so I’m giving it back to you. Hopefully you can still return it to the store.”

“What? Why is there no point in wearing it? What happened?” Ivy gapes at me.

I flick my head in the direction of Matt’s closed office door. He’s kept it closed all day, hardly talking to me beyond the occasional request, said in a painfully polite voice. I’m just as bad, replying with a crisp “yes, sir” every time he asks me to do something for him, earning an irritated look in return.

“What did he do?” Ivy’s voice drops to a whisper.

Shaking my head, I roll my eyes and it sort of hurts. Probably has something to do with my hair scraped into a bun so tight I swear it’s pulling on my entire face. Who needs a facelift when you give yourself a hairdo like this? “I can’t talk about it here. Not now.”

“I refuse to accept this.” Ivy deposits the bag on top of my desk, her expression practically daring me to deny her. “You’re wearing it tomorrow night whether you like it or not.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, you know.” I take the bag and throw it back under the desk, knowing I just totally wrinkled the dress. I’m going to have to iron the crap out of that thing tonight if I’m really going to wear it tomorrow. “The whole reason for you buying it was to impress a certain someone who, trust me, won’t be impressed whatsoever.”

“You’re talking in circles and I can’t stand it.” Ivy starts for the door, waving her hand. “Come with me.”

I follow her outside, the sun bright and warm on my chilled skin as she leads me behind the building. She turns to face me, and I cross my arms, feeling defensive. The last thing I want to do is argue with my new friend, but I also really don’t want to admit to her what happened between Matt and me last night.

It’s embarrassing.

“Give me all the details. Tell me what that stupid Matt did to you to make you revert to your old ways.” A shudder passes over Ivy. “I hate the beige, I hope you know.”

I do too, but I don’t admit it. Better to act like this is more my style and hide behind it than reveal that I actually can look . . . pretty without the beige. I wear it like armor, fighting against all my vulnerabilities. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’ll only be between me and you. Oh, and Marina. She’ll want to know what’s going on,” Ivy says.

“You can’t tell Archer. And Marina can’t tell Gage. This is our little secret,” I say, pointing my finger at her.

“I’ll keep my lips shut. Scout’s honor.” She holds up three fingers, then starts giggling, which makes me even more nervous.

“I can’t take you seriously if you’re laughing,” I tell her, exasperated as hell. If Matt finds out I’m outside talking to Ivy, he might get mad. He’s a ball of nerves today what with everything finally happening tomorrow. Tense and stressed and the bad, weird vibes going on between us aren’t helping matters any.

“I’m not laughing about this. I told Matt the same thing, scout’s honor, when he was telling me something last week.” She frowns, tilts her head. “I can’t believe it’s only been a week since Matt and I had that conversation. A lot has happened since then.”

“What conversation? What did he tell you?” I’m totally testing her. If she tells me what he said there is no way I’m confessing to her what happened last night.

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not falling for that.” She smiles. Dang, she’s good. “So spill.”

I explain everything. How Matt seemed interested since I ditched the beige. That I stayed last night and brought him dinner, which we ate together. How I was about to leave when we ran into each other and the next thing I knew, we were kissing.

And it was amazing.

“Then it was over. He said we shouldn’t be doing this, gave me forty bucks and sent me on my way,” I finished miserably.

“Wait a minute, he gave you forty bucks? What for?” Ivy practically screeches.

“Shhh.” I shake my head, wanting to laugh but not really finding the situation that funny. Maybe I will someday but not at the moment. “It was for dinner since I paid for it.”

“Oh, thank God,” she mumbles and this time I do laugh. I can’t help it. “I thought he was trying to pay for your services or whatever.” The entire story is just absurd.

“I thought the same thing!”

Then we’re both laughing, leaning against the building as if we need it to hold us upright.

“So I’m guessing now he’s ignoring you?” Ivy asks once she’s composed herself.

I nod, my laughter dying. “I didn’t help matters when I left last night. I didn’t say a word to him, just turned and fled like my feet were on fire.”

“And then you show up this morning in your beige ensemble and it’s back to normal.” Ivy sighs. “What a mess.”

“I don’t know what else to do. His rejection, it . . . hurt,” I confess, pressing my lips together to prevent myself from saying anything else. She’s my friend but we’re not that close. I don’t want her to think I’m a total idiot by divulging my past. I’ve had a lot of crazy stuff happen to me. Beyond the perverts and the crazy bosses and the Hollywood creeps looking for blowjobs, I had boyfriends who weren’t that great either. Men look at a pretty face and decent body and think I’m easy.

I change the way I dress and Matt kisses me. Then he pushes me away. And I wanted him to notice me. Deep down inside, I want to be more to Matt than just his assistant.

I’m stupid to be upset because I brought this on myself, but I can’t help myself. When it comes to men, I flat out don’t think rationally.

I don’t want Ivy to think I’m crazy. Even though I sort of am.

“You need to be defiant in the face of rejection, my friend. And he didn’t reject you because he doesn’t want you. He’s probably trying to do the right thing,” Ivy points out.

Hmm. She might be right. Matt seems like a pretty stand-up guy from what I’ve witnessed. I know he’d never set out to purposely toy with me or anything. “It won’t work,” I tell her, my voice firm. “He’s my boss, I’m his employee. I don’t know why I let you two convince me something like this could work.”

“No, no. Don’t you dare give up. I won’t let you.” Ivy grabs hold of my upper arms and gives me a little shake before releasing her hold. “You’re going to wear one of your new outfits tomorrow. No neutrals allowed, okay? Matt needs you on your best behavior and that means you looking your best too. There’s a lot at stake tomorrow.”

She’s so right. Tomorrow is by far the most important day of his newfound career. “Fine, okay. I’ll wear my other new dress. Not even a fleck of tan in sight.”

“Good.” Ivy smiles. “And then tomorrow night, you’re going to the party, and you’ll be wearing this dress. You’ll greet everyone, be an impressive representative of DeLuca Winery even if it kills you. You will make Matt so proud he’ll know without a doubt what a valuable employee he has in you. If he happens to also see you as a beautiful woman, then so be it.”

Where is she going with this? “And?”

“And if he makes a move, fabulous. But I’m going to warn you.” Ivy’s expression turns scarily solemn. “If he doesn’t make a move, don’t be surprised. He tries his hardest to do the right thing, especially because of his father.”

“What do you mean, because of his father? What’s wrong with him?”

Ivy makes a face. “Vinnie DeLuca has a total slime-ball reputation and embarrasses Matt constantly. They pretty much don’t talk anymore.”

“Slime-ball reputation? Like how?” Curiosity fills me.

“Womanizer. Liked to start fights, especially when he was playing pro baseball. There were rumors he took steroids and that he gambled and cheated a lot.” Ivy shakes her head. “Matt’s always tried his hardest to distance himself from his father and his horrible reputation. He’s always been a pretty straight arrow.”

And here I come along, going from boring and bland to obvious and desperate at warp speed. No wonder he kissed me and then rejected me. He’s most definitely trying to do the right thing.

While I’ve been trying to do the wrong thing.

“I feel like a jerk,” I say with a sigh.

“You shouldn’t. We encouraged you.” Ivy sighs as well. “I feel like a jerk too.”

“I’ll wear the dress. But I won’t try and flaunt myself in front of Matt or anything. It’s wrong. He doesn’t need that sort of trouble or guilt.” I kick at a rock, feeling crappy for doing the right thing.

“You amaze me, you know that? Matt’s lucky to have you by his side.”

“I really hope he feels that way,” I say, my heart twisting in my chest.

Matt

MATT’S LUCKY TO have you by his side.

I really hope he feels that way.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on Bryn and Ivy’s conversation, but I came upon it by accident. And when I realized they were talking about me—and specifically my dad—I had to stick around and hear what they said.

I hated hearing what Ivy said about Dad but there’s no denying that she spoke the truth. He is a slime ball and has a terrible reputation, one I try to distance myself from as much as possible.

That’s why I had to push Bryn away last night. I couldn’t take that amazing kiss we shared any further no matter how badly I wanted to. And damn, I really wanted to.

Listening to Bryn say she felt like a jerk over what happened last night made me realize that she wanted it as bad as I did. I’d firmly believed I’d pushed myself on her. After she left without saying a word, my concentration had been shot, and I’d closed up shop. Drove home frustrated and horny, going over what happened between Bryn and me over and over again, trying to figure out how exactly how I let it happen. That kiss. Pulling Bryn into my arms. Touching her.

Yeah. A huge mistake, not one I can forget easily either.

It had been tremendously hard having to face her this morning, though somehow she made it easier on me by appearing in a beige outfit again, hardly looking at me, like I scared her. This Bryn I knew and understood, or so I thought. I’d been dealing with wallpaper Bryn for months and I was used to her like this.

It’s gorgeous, elegant, sexy-as-fuck Bryn that does me in and makes my head spin. Not only does she look amazing, but she becomes bolder with the stylish clothes and the beautiful hair. She moves with confidence, looks me in the eye, talks to me.

Seeing her this morning in her usual beige getup tripped me up but only momentarily. Hearing her voice, watching her, and all I saw was the real woman behind the facade. She can hide all she wants in drab colors and severe hairstyles; I know who she is beneath the surface.

And I want more despite wanting to do the right thing.

She confuses me. I thought by pushing her away, it would solve all my problems. Instead, I feel like I have a whole bunch more.

Moving away from where Ivy and Bryn are still talking, I head toward my car and take off, going to my last quick appointment for the day, a meeting at my local bank with a possible investor.

My cell rings not two minutes after I pull out of the winery’s parking lot and I check the screen to see it’s my father. Speak of the devil. It’s like the old man could sense someone was talking about him, thinking about him. Against my better judgment, I answer it—best to face him now than prolong it and have him harassing me tomorrow.

“Son.” Vinnie’s voice booms through the speakers of my car since I have my phone on Bluetooth. “It’s been a long time.”

He always acts like there’s no reason we haven’t spoken for months. “What’s going on?” I ask, cutting right to the point.

“Ah, you’re always full of the kindness for your old man, aren’t you?” Vinnie chuckles, and I grit my teeth, wanting to hang up on him so bad it’s killing me. “So I hear your fancy winery is having its reopening tomorrow.”

“It sure is.” He’s never shown one iota of interest in the winery other than when I told him I bought it, and he said “that’s nice” in his usual distracted, completely self-absorbed voice.

We never discussed it again.

“I was hoping I could get an invite.”

Unease slips down my spine, and I clear my throat. “I thought you were more of a hard liquor fan,” I say, trying to sound like I’m joking.

“Well, I’m not a big drinker of wine, I agree, but I want to be there when my only son shows off his new winery. It’s going to be a proud moment, I’m sure.”

A proud moment I absolutely one hundred percent don’t want him to be a part of. “Are you sure you want to come? It’ll be boring. Hardly anyone there that you know besides my friends.”

“Anyone from baseball?” he asks.

Yeah. A few people, and I definitely don’t want him around them. He tends to get in heated arguments whenever they discuss baseball and specifically his past in both the game and the league.

But shit, how can I refuse him? He’s my father.

“A small handful but not a lot,” I tell him, keeping my gaze focused on the road ahead of me. I hadn’t even bothered sending him an invitation for tomorrow. I wonder if he’s pissed. I wonder if this is some strange way for him to get revenge on me for ignoring him.

I wouldn’t put it past my father. He’s just that type of guy.

“I saw a write up in the paper,” he explains. He still lives in the Bay Area, having been born and raised there. We were both lucky to be included in professional teams close to where we grew up. My dad always attributed it to the DeLuca curse—an apt word considering how crappy both of our pro careers became. “And realized this was going down tomorrow. I won’t be able to attend the day events—I saw you’re doing a tour and a wine tasting and all that good stuff—but I’d love to show up at the party tomorrow night if you’ll have me.”

“That can be arranged,” I say, regret filling me in an instant. I hope this isn’t a mistake.

“Great, good! I can’t wait to see you. It’s been far too long, son. I miss you.”

Yeah, right. “It’ll be good to see you too, but you do understand I’m going to be busy the entire night and won’t have much time for miscellaneous chitchat.” I won’t have much time for his calculated reminiscing over our sometimes troubled past either. He loves to do that too and push me into a guilt spiral.

Our relationship is twenty levels of fucked up, I swear.

“I understand completely,” he assures me. “I’ll just be there basking in your glory, always the proud father. I won’t disrupt your little party tomorrow night, I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

That he’s describing tomorrow’s event as “my little party” already sets me on edge, the asshole. I swear he says those sorts of things on purpose. I don’t believe a word he says.

And I hate that I feel this way.

After he hangs up, I ponder over how I can handle the problem that is my father. I wonder if Bryn would help me. But if I set Bryn in my dad’s sights, he’ll probably try and make a pass and she’ll end up beyond insulted.

Yeah. That’s a risk I really don’t want to take. Do I have a choice though? It’s like my dad needs a babysitter and only a specialized few will do.

Still, I definitely don’t want to subject Bryn to my rude bastard of a father.