Lisa Kleypas - Rainshadow Road

“It was entirely normal,” Lucy whispered sharply, now crimson. “Plain old regular, boring, vanilla sex.”

“That was my second guess,” he said gravely.

She scowled. “If you’re going to make fun of me all during lunch—”

“I’m not making fun of you. I’m teasing you. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t like being teased.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, his voice softening. “I won’t do it anymore.”

After the waitress came to take their entree orders, Lucy contemplated Sam with cautious interest. He was a bundle of contradictions … a reputed womanizer who seemed to have spent a lot more time working in his vineyard than chasing females … a man who maintained the pretense of being carefree while at the same sharing the responsibility of raising a child.

“I’m surprised I haven’t met you before,” she said. “Especially since we both know Justine.”

“I haven’t been all that social since I started the vineyard. It’s a lot of work, especially at the beginning. Not the kind of job you set aside on weekends. And for the past year, Holly’s needed all the attention Mark and I could spare.”

“You’ve both sacrificed a lot for her, haven’t you?”

“It wasn’t a sacrifice. Holly is the best thing that ever happened to me. With kids, you get a lot more than you give.” Sam paused reflectively. “I also got a brother out of the deal.”

“You and Mark weren’t close before?”

Sam shook his head. “But in the past year we’ve gotten to know each other. We’ve had to depend on each other. And it turns out I like the guy.”

“I’m getting the impression,” she said hesitantly, “that you might have come from … a troubled family?”

“It wasn’t a family. It looked like one on the outside, but it was no more a family than the carcasses hanging in a meat locker are a herd of cows.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said gently. “Was there a problem with one of your parents?”

Sam hesitated for such a long moment that Lucy thought he might not reply. “There’s always a town drunk in a small community,” he finally said. “With my parents, you got two for the price of one.” His mouth took on a faint, wry curve. “A pair of married alcoholics will support each other all the way to hell.”

“Did either of them ever try to get help?”

He shook his head. “Even if one of them had, it’s almost impossible to get sober when you live with another alcoholic.”

The conversation had acquired a sense of carefulness, boundaries being tested, tricky territory.

“They were always that way?” Lucy asked.

“For as long as I can remember. As the kids got old enough to leave in turn, we got the hell out of there. Until only Alex was left. And now…”

“He’s an alcoholic?”

“I’m not sure where to draw that line. But if he hasn’t crossed it yet, he will soon.”

No wonder he was afraid of commitment, Lucy thought. No wonder he had a problem with relationships that went beyond the physical. Having one parent as an alcoholic was enough to ruin a family. The children would always have to be on guard, dealing with constant manipulation and abuse. But when both of them were drinkers … there was no safe place. No one you could trust.

“With your parents’ issues,” Lucy asked, “did you worry about getting into the wine business?”

“Not at all. Just because my parents were drunks doesn’t mean I can’t love wine. Besides, I’m not as much of a winemaker as I am a grape grower. A farmer.”

Lucy was privately amused. With his laid-back sexiness, wearing those dark aviator sunglasses, Sam couldn’t have looked less like a farmer. “What do you like most about being a grape grower?”

“It’s a mixture of science, hard work … and a touch of magic.”

“Magic,” Lucy repeated, staring at him closely.

“Sure. A vintner can grow the same kind of grapes in the same patch of soil, but it turns out differently every year. The flavor of the grapes tells you about the soil composition, how long the sun shone, how cool the nighttime breezes were, how much rain fell. It’s the unique expression of a place and a season. Terroir, the French call it.”

Conversation was momentarily interrupted as the waitress brought their entrees and refilled their water glasses. As lunch continued at a leisurely pace, Lucy found herself relaxing and enjoying herself even more than she would have expected. Sam had a way of focusing on a person that was immensely flattering, especially to a woman with a bruised ego. He was smart, self-deprecating, and so charming that she could easily have been lulled into a false sense of security.

But she could not let herself forget that he was the kind of guy who would find his way past your guard, take what he wanted, and convince you that it was what you wanted as well. He would run you in circles, put mileage on you, and then go on to his next conquest without a backward glance. And you wouldn’t be able to complain, because he hadn’t put up a pretense of being anything other than what he was.

Eventually the waitress brought the check, and Sam put his hand over Lucy’s as she began to reach for her bag. “Don’t even think about it,” he told her, and gave the waitress his credit card.

“Friends can go Dutch,” Lucy protested.

“It’s a small price to pay for the pleasure of your company.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve had a wonderful time. In fact, I’m in such a good mood, I don’t think anything could spoil it.”

“Don’t jinx yourself.” He knocked on the table.

She laughed. “Are you superstitious?”

“Of course. I’m an islander. I was raised on superstition.”

“Such as?” Lucy asked, entertained.

“The wishing stones on South Beach. You know about those, right? No? People are always looking for them. Smooth stones circled by white bands. If you find one, you make a wish and throw it into the sea.”

“Have you done that?”

“Once or twice.”

“Did your wishes come true?”

“Not yet. But wishes don’t have expiration dates.”

“I’m not superstitious,” Lucy said. “But I do believe in magic.”

“So do I. It’s called science.”

“I believe in real magic,” Lucy insisted.

“Like what?”

Before Lucy could answer, she caught a glimpse of a couple entering the outside seating area. All the color drained from her face. “Shit,” she whispered, the glow of well-being fading rapidly. A sick feeling rushed over her. “You were right. I jinxed myself.”

Following her gaze, Sam saw Kevin and Alice. He frowned and reached for her nerveless hand. “Look at me, Lucy.”

She dragged her gaze to his and managed a bleak smile. “There’s no way we can avoid them, is there?”

“No.” His grip was firm and reassuring. “There’s no need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared. I’m just not ready to deal with this yet.”

“How do you want to play it?”

Fixing him with a desperate stare, Lucy made a spontaneous decision. “Kiss me,” she said urgently.

Sam’s eyes flickered with mild surprise. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of kiss?”

“What do you mean, what kind of kiss? Just a regular kiss.”

“A friendly kiss, or a romantic kiss? Are we supposed to be going out together, or—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed, and pulled his head down to hers.

Sam responded without hesitation as he felt Lucy’s small hand grip the back of his neck. He had wanted her all during lunch, fascinated by her prickly vulnerability, the way her smiles never quite reached her eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had glowed when she’d talked about her work, her fingers unconsciously stroking a sheet of glass as if it was a lover’s skin.

He wanted to take Lucy to bed and keep her there, until all the wary tension was gone and she was soft and satiated in his arms. Needing to taste her, Sam increased the pressure of the kiss and touched the tip of his tongue to hers. The glassy softness aroused him instantly, filling him with hard-charging heat. Her body was fine-boned but strong, not quite yielding to his. That hint of resistant tautness made him long to grip her, force her close until she was molded against him.

Realizing the public display of affection was going to spiral out of control—at least on his part—he broke off the kiss and lifted his head just enough to look into her dazed green eyes. Her porcelain skin was infused with color. Her breath struck his lips in hot surges, teasing his senses.

Lucy’s gaze shifted. “They’ve seen us,” she whispered.

Still absorbed in thoughts of what he wanted to do with her, Sam felt a surge of annoyance. He didn’t want to deal with that pair of idiots, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to do anything but take his woman to bed.

A warning chill raced through him. His woman…? He’d never thought such a thing in his life. He was not the possessive type. The need to claim one particular woman, to insist on exclusive rights to her, was just not in him. And it never would be.

So why the hell had he made such a slip?

He slung an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and turned to face Kevin and Alice, who wore near-comical expressions of dismay.

“Nolan,” Kevin said, not quite able to look at Lucy.

“Pearson.”

Awkwardly Kevin made an introduction. “Sam Nolan, this is my … friend, Alice.”

Alice reached out a slender arm, and Sam shook her hand amid a clatter of stacked bracelets. She was as fine-boned as Lucy, with the same rich dark hair. But she was matchstick-thin and angular, teetering on high-heeled cork wedges, her cheekbones as prominent as guardrails. A heavy application of makeup had left her raccoon-eyed and disconcertingly shimmery. Although Sam was predisposed not to like Alice, he felt a touch of sympathy. She gave him the impression of a woman who was trying a little too hard—a woman whose insecurity was revealed by her zealous efforts to conceal it.