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CHAPTER ONE
Holly
When I finally push open the door of the hotel bar at The Grand Oak Resort, shortly after seven on Saturday night, immediately I’m hit by the warm, inviting hum of laughter and clinking glasses. The place is lively and upscale, music playing low, and best of all, there are lots of people minding their own business.
Tonight, I don’t want to think about the fact that I’m both mentally and physically exhausted from jet lag and going back and forth with Dad over the vineyard’s finances. All I want is to relax and have a—large—glass of wine to take off the edge.
That’s it.
It shouldn’t be a tall ask, by any means. This is Napa.
Except, as I scan the room for an empty barstool, I can’t brush off the strange sensation that I’m being watched by some creepazoid with nothing better to do than harass a fierce, fabulous woman in her early-ish forties.
Mind the business that pays you, guy.
As soon as I slide onto a stool, I shift in my seat, subtly glancing over my shoulder, and—
Yup, there he is.
He’s at the other end of the bar, staring and not quite looking so much a creepazoid as a dashing young thing who just stepped out of GQ. Good Lord, from a half dozen feet away and sitting, I can see he’s tall…with big feet.
Mm mm mm, he’s staring.
Honey, he’s suited up, chiseled jaw, drinking me in with a pair of devastatingly green eyes against smooth skin like sun-drenched terra-cotta. Damn, and those sinfully suckable lips.
Jesus, they’re making them cute nowadays.
Sadly, he can’t be more than twenty-five, but if I wasn’t pushing forty-four, I wouldn’t even hesitate to carry myself over there and let him help me take the edge all the way off. The man is fine. HOT…
A little too hot for my liking, if I’m being honest.
I tear away my gaze, determined to let the low chatter quiet my worries instead of the forbidden fantasy down the bar.
Thankfully, a less beguiling—decidedly more Men’s Health—bartender with platinum upper lipholstery greets me shortly after.
“Good evening!” He collects a check presenter with a few twenties sticking out of it off the bar, beaming at me. “What can I get started for you, miss?” Miss? “I’d be happy to recommend something if you’re in the mood for a special treat.”
Unfortunately, what I’m in the mood for is a little underage, but…
“Hi, yes.” I smile, clearing my throat. “No, I’ll just take a glass of Riesling,” I say, then snap my fingers, changing my mind again. “Actually, let’s make it a house red. I need something a little stronger. Maybe a Merlot…”
He chuckles, bending to retrieve a wineglass from somewhere beneath the bar.
“That kind of a day, huh?”
“Lord, you’ve got no idea.” I slouch into a sigh. Though, I can’t deny I’m distracted, still thinking about the guy down the bar staring. I feel his gaze burning into my back.
I’m itching to turn around.
“You know, I only drink on two occasions.” The bartender places the glass on a napkin in front of me with a smile. “When I’m thirsty…and when I’m not.”
“Oof, yikes!” I laugh.
“Hey, I’ve had a long day, too.” He grins. “Let me know if you need me to keep ’em coming.”
“Thanks, I will.” I perk up as I take a sip.
Thankfully, a group of guys wave him over, and he leaves, so I can test my paranoia in peace, “accidentally” knocking the napkin off the bar and… Yup. Mr. GQ’s eyes follow as it flutters to the ground.
Unconvinced that wasn’t a coincidence, and he isn’t looking at someone on the other side of me, I proceed with the next test: the phone check. Casually, I slip it out and pretend to scroll through my messages. But in my periphery, I’m watching him watching me, and his gaze doesn’t waver for a second.
All right, sir.
Taking a big gulp of wine, I do a comical stretch, arms reaching high above my head, then bending backward like a warped yoga move. It’s my last-ditch effort, so if he is still looking after this, he is either deeply intrigued or concerned for my mental well-being.
I turn slightly…
A mix of curiosity and amusement twist the shadows and lines of his handsome face, and that does it.
“We will see how bold you are up close and personal.” Standing, I grab my wineglass and move two stools closer to him. “Excuse me,” I say, leaning in just a bit. “Are you staring at me? Did someone spill something on my blouse or skirt? Orrrr…”
He blinks, clearly taken aback.
But then a slow smile spreads across his face. “No, nothing like that. You just…caught my eye. And then you started doing all those interesting things, and I couldn’t look away.”
Immediately, my face heats.
“Interesting things?”
His lips twitch. “The napkin, the phone, that…very unique stretch,” he says, chuckling like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “It was like watching a one-woman show.”
I nod a few times, wishing I’d stayed my happy self back on my stool, and let him take his fill from afar.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the performance.” I chew the inside of my cheek, doing a terrible job of hiding my nerves. “Next time, you could just say hello.”
“Noted,” he says, waving his hand, and my…it is a large hand.
Except, before my mind goes full Red Riding Hood, wondering what other big body parts he has, he adds, “It’s good to see you, Holly,” throwing me for a complete loop.
Oh, so he knows me.
I frown, a little ticked that I can’t place him, but every nerve ending on my body snaps to attention.
Admittedly, those green eyes are vaguely familiar. Still, my brain keeps swapping outlandish hairstyles, fresh-faced beards, and unwieldy clothing fads to the tune of… Nada. Zip. Zilch.
My curiosity is off the charts.
“And you are…” I finally say.
“Clearly, not as memorable,” he teases, his grin widening. And JESUS, his voice drops just enough to make my pulse quicken when he adds, “But I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Wildfire blazes uncontained in my belly.
“You know, I’m glad you seem to be enjoying this,” I say, glancing around the bar, then back at him. His shoulders are shaking and he’s all sexy, lip-licking smile, meanwhile… Is anyone else seeing this virtual child flirting with me? Is this even legal?
“Immensely.” He chuckles.
Mr. GQ’s gaze locks on to mine, a spark of something dangerous flickering between us. Yet, I cannot contain my smile.
Usually, men aren’t sure what to do with my attention, but this guy can’t look away?
Good God, his confidence is captivating.
His movements, even the way he adjusts his jacket with a casual flick, it feels deliberate. It’s clear he’s in his element, basking in my admiration.
Shamefully, I’m taking notice, too.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, though.” His self-assured smile widens, revealing perfect teeth. “It’s been…about ten years.”
“That long, huh?”
The corner of his full mouth hikes up. Understandably, since I’m outright gawking at him. And yeah… Still, nothing.
I shrug. “I don’t know. You’ve got me at a disadvantage. I’ve got no idea who you are.” I laugh and fan my hand down his not-at-all boyish frame as proof. “You’ve obviously matured…”
“And you’re still unforgettable.”
The man’s voice is low and sinfully inviting, but it’s that single line that sends a shiver down my spine.
“That’s um…” I nod, and take a generous sip of my wine, letting the liquid warm my throat. “Quite the compliment.”
His green eyes dance with amusement.
I’m in total disbelief.
This sort of thing doesn’t happen. Not to Holly Whitaker, whose life is on the edge about to be flipped upside down. I get jerks who stand way too close and think flashy, expensive things make up for emotional maturity. I get douchebags who assume I can’t take care of myself and write their phone numbers on paper scraps even after I’ve said no, in case I “change my mind” like I’m incapable of making firm decisions.
Now, minutes in this young guy’s presence, and suddenly, I’m blushing like a preteen?
Do not fall for it, Holly.
“What? It’s the truth.” He grins, a dangerous curve to his full lips that makes my pulse skyrocket. “Cello,” he says, offering his large hand to me.
Cello? “Like the instrument?”
He considers me for a beat like he’s wading through a river of thoughts. Then he grins, softly. “Exactly.”
I nod a few times.
Cello.
Again, I let his name roll over my tongue, anchoring me to this moment, to the electric spark at his touch as I slip my hand in his. “Holly, officially,” I say, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.
Now, I’ve got butterflies?
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Heat prickles over my skin.
Please act like you’ve spoken to an attractive man before.
“Thank you, Cello. Now, since we’re getting reacquainted, may I ask what brought you out to The Grand Oak? In a suit? On a Saturday?” I tease, not even bothering to hide that I’m fishing for details.
The devastating smile makes a reappearance.
“Pre-celebrating,” he says, simply with a hint of pride in his voice. “I’ve got what could be a career-changing meeting coming up.”
“Congratulations, that’s awesome. What do you do?”
He glances at me briefly, his eyes twinkling with the same dangerous mischief I saw before.
“Would you mind if we save that for another time?” Cello says, and I can’t discount how much I love his confidence that there’ll be another time.
“Same time tomorrow night?” I jest.
“Every night.” He grins and adjusts himself on the stool. “Tonight, though, I’m finally off the clock, and I’d love to live in this moment with you…” he says smoothly, then redirects back to me. “How about you?”
I shoot him a considering glance.
“You’re right. It’s the weekend, and I’d much rather enjoy tonight with you,” I admit, my voice a little huskier than I intend, but Cello only nods, raising his glass.
“To tonight!”
We clink glasses, and somehow, despite work being off the table and knowing next to nothing about him, the conversation flows easily. We laugh and share travel stories. He’s a road-trip guy with European bucket-list aspirations. His admission that he’s just sent off his first passport application to treat himself for his upcoming birthday, though, feels like a double-edge aha moment. A clue! But also, I’m afraid to ask which birthday.
It figures, the first handsome, sexy-beyond-words man who can hold a conversation and has a great sense of humor is…in his early twenties?
Ugh.
“So, where’ve you been?” he asks, cutely.
I sip from my glass, warm pride blooming inside me as I tell him, “I’m on my fourth passport.”
He’s got the audacity to be funny, too, clutching his chest and pretending to fall off his stool. “Living the dream!” He releases a wistful sigh.
“Literally.” I laugh, even though I’m not sure for how much longer, given the dire outlook of my family’s vineyard.
But that’s not what I’m focused on. Tonight, I’m concentrating on taking the edge off.
Cello bites his fist when I tell him I have an apartment in Tuscany that overlooks Piazza Dell’Anfiteatro in Lucca, my secret, charming little city tucked safely in between Pisa and Florence.
I learn Italy is at the top of his list. We lunge into stories about the teeming push-pin world map on my wall, then circle back to the similarities between Italy and Napa. Every now and then, our eyes lock, the air between us crackling with unspoken possibilities.
I toss back the rest of my wine, amazed he doesn’t balk when I steer the conversation to spring harvest and wine. Or when I go way off the deep end into my constant cravings from my favorite gelateria.
“Damn, it sounds so amazing.”
When Cello waves over the bartender to refresh our glasses, I take my cue to ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue the entire night.
“I’m just curious. How old are you?”
His lips twitch. “Does it matter?”
“Shouldn’t it?” I counter.
“I’m old enough—”
A gasp spills out of me as I open-mouthed, point at him. “See, that’s exactly what someone too young for me would say.”
His laugh is a thunderous roar. “Isn’t age just a number?”
“Yes, an important one.” I huff out a laugh. “That could send a woman of a certain age into full cougar status.”
“Aww, Holly, please don’t do me like that…” Cello presses a hand to his wounded heart. “It’s not my fault this baby face gets carded every time.”
We both laugh way too hard.
Everything in me is screaming, Don’t just walk, RUN away from this unnervingly sexy young man. Instead of running, though, I’m asking myself if age should matter between consenting adults. Because the more we talk, the more I feel that unwieldy wildfire blazing inside me.
This is bad.
Scary bad.
“Okay, my turn to ask you a question.” He’s still laughing as he sidesteps mine.
I’m wonderfully distracted, so I don’t press him. “Got it. I’ll see if I can answer.”
More people squeeze into the tiny bar, and I lean in to hear over the rising chatter.
“What’s a beautiful, smart, funny…” Cello grins, laying it on extra thick “…adventurous woman doing alone in a hotel bar…” he flips his wrists, checking his watch “…at 7:10 p.m. on a Saturday night?”
I smile, completely affected. “Honestly, I really needed to get out of the house. Distract myself with great wine, you know?”
“And how’s that going for you so far?”
“It’s…interesting,” I say.
Cello moves our barstools closer, twisting mine, so that my knees are between his long legs. He leans in so close, my mind numbs as his scent—a citrusy, spicy orange—bands around me.
But then he freezes near my neck, and as he pulls back his lips brush against my earlobe. It’s so unnervingly intimate, they might as well be matches coaxing flames over my skin.
“You smell so good.” He grins, sniffing my neck again, slower this time.
A surprised laugh spills out of me because instantly that fire spreads, lower, deeper.
“You can’t just sniff a woman.”
Cello pulls back, grinning. The electricity between us is palpable. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, and the more I look, the more I realize how intensely he affects me.
“I’m serious, though.” His heady gaze is fixed on me. “What perfume are you wearing? It smells sort of fresh, lemony…maybe mixed with floral notes…”
Unthinkably, he leans in again, dragging his nose along my collarbone. I feel every rough bristle of hair on his chin, stoking desire inside me.
“Cello, it’s body wash!” I laugh a nervous laugh, squeezing my thighs together. “Citrus Blossom Bliss. I bought it in an airport shop at SFO because I forgot mine.”
He nods, but his gaze travels back to my neck.
It’s taking every ounce of dignity I’ve got not to drag him to the restroom, like this is the Velvet Vine Get ’Em Girl Club and not Napa’s five-star Grand Oak Resort.
Again, who even am I?
For one, public indecency doesn’t go with five-inch heels. And two, as much as I feel twenty-three, my knees and ankles definitely act their age, and upright sex isn’t it.
I should end the night here. I should go home and hash out a plan with Dad for the Monday meeting with the Fortemanis, then sleep in my teenage bed like a responsible adult—
“What are you thinking about?” Cello’s gaze slips briefly to my lips, and breath traps in my throat.
OR…I could continue distracting myself.
I lean closer, letting my words tumble out, as reckless and tipsy as I feel.
“Do you want to get out of here with me, Cello?”
His eyebrows rise, but there’s zero hesitation in his eyes, and suddenly the room is swaying.
Oh, Lord.
“What do you have in mind?” Cello’s intense gaze centers on me. “Somewhere quieter, maybe?”
Deep breaths.
I try to steady my racing heart. The thing is, I don’t recognize Cello. Still, there’s an odd sense of familiarity that I can’t shake. Maybe it’s the way his eyes linger on me, or how his smile seems to unravel all the tension knotted up inside me, but I can’t believe what I’m about to say…to a man I don’t even remember.
“Do you want to have sex with me, Cello?”
He sits across from me, seemingly calm as ever, his eyes piercing through the dim lighting of the hotel bar, filled with something so intense and unreadable.
For a heartbeat, everything around us seems to stop.
“Holly,” he begins, his voice low and gravelly, “are you being serious, right now?”
I swallow hard, avoiding his gaze by staring into my glass. “You must feel it, too.”
“The attraction between us? It’s undeniable…” he says, and my breath catches as I finally look up, meeting his eyes.
All my insecurities creep along my skin. Why hasn’t he said yes? What if I came off too strong? What if he doesn’t want me?
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” I reason, slowly losing my nerve.
He tilts his head, studying me. “Isn’t it?”
I cannot believe this. He’s going to reject me. This is where I’m at in life. At forty-three, I can’t even convince a man to have sex with me.
“We’re adults. I know what I want.” My voice falls barely above a whisper. “Am I someone…you’d want, Cello?”
My heart races.
It’s not nerves—it’s the raw, unnerving desire coursing through me to be in control when everything else in my life is spinning out. To be with a man on my terms.
He pauses, his eyes locking on to mine with a fierce intensity as he says, “Of course I want you, Holly.”
“You do?” Relief seeps out of me, and I’m grinning like a ridiculous fool.
Cello licks his full lips, smiling. “I do, but…I don’t have any condoms on me, so—”
“IUD, tested, clear,” I counter, hating how my bold moment is starting to sound thirsty and transactional. “So?”
“So, same, I guess. Minus the IUD.” He laughs, adorably.
“Okay, then tonight, just you and me, no strings.”
He nods, his gaze never wavering. “Mm-hmm. Just you and me,” he repeats. “A single night to explore this…whatever it is between us.”
“No expectations, no complications,” I say, letting him off the hook.
Cello reaches out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “Then let’s be in the moment.”
I take a deep breath, a strange mix of excitement and dread stirring inside me.
“Okay,” I say, my voice trembling. “One night.”
A slow smile spreads across his face as he stands and settles our tabs, then offers me his hand. His voice is low and deliciously tortured like he’s also one tug from unraveling. “Shall we go?”
I place my hand in his, sinking into the spark of connection, the thrill of the unknown.
This is about living in the now, savoring an attraction that makes me feel alive.
Cello’s hand is warm around mine as he leads me out the bar toward the elevators. I’m surprised by how aroused I am just looking at him. His confident stride, the way his shirt clings to his broad shoulders, the faint smirk playing on his lips—all of it sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
We reach the elevator, and as the doors close, the small space amplifies the tension between us. He pushes the button for the rooftop terrace, then turns, and I catch a glimpse of us in the elevator’s mirrored walls: his intense, green eyes meeting mine with a hunger that mirrors my own.
My breath hitches, and heat swarms my cheeks.
His presence is so intoxicating, a heady mix of danger and allure that has me leaning closer, craving more.
“You really don’t remember me, do you, Holly?”
I shake my head, the mystery tugging at my curiosity. “I want to, though,” I say simply, honestly. It’s an unveiled truth. I’ve never felt such an instant attraction before, so desperate and unrestrained.
“Okay.” His voice is soften as he studies me with an amused expression. “How about I tell you a story…” He erases the distance between us, pressing his body against mine. His hands find my waist, and the heat of his touch burns through the thin fabric of my silk blouse and skirt. I can’t help but let out a soft gasp as his lips graze my neck again.
I let myself sink into the moment, into the wild, exhilarating pull of attraction that makes everything else fade away. The only thing that matters right now is him and the undeniable chemistry sparking between us.
“I love stories,” I moan.
“So, there was this guy, back in the day, who had the biggest crush on the most beautiful girl in Napa. She was older, sophisticated, completely out of his league.” He chuckles, trailing more kisses along the column of my neck. “Every chance he got, he’d try to muster the courage to talk to her, but he never quite managed it before she left for college then traveled the globe.”
I raise an eyebrow, utterly distracted but intrigued as I urge him, “Go on.”
The elevator dings softly, and as the doors open, Cello turns, backing us off the elevator by our clasped fingers onto the rooftop terrace.
It’s a garden paradise.
At every turn, it’s lush greenery and vibrant flowers, creating a tranquil escape high above the city. There’s cozy seating areas and carefully curated plants with an illuminated skyline serving a stunning backdrop. It could easily be the eighth world wonder.
Except, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when Cello pauses to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my lips.
“Still with me?” he whispers.
I nod softly.
“So, one day, the guy finds out she’s back home. Not under the best of circumstances, but all the same, he’s thrilled just to be around her. Spends the entire gathering offering her refreshments, checking on guests, just to catch a glimpse of her.”
“As one does.” I laugh, the image of this lovestruck guy toiling away behind the scenes tugging at my heartstrings. “That’s adorable. Did he ever talk to her?”
“Once.” His voice softens. “After almost everyone had left, he finally worked up the nerve to say something. Now, mind you, he hadn’t yet found his confidence and swagger, but she was kind. Clearly just humoring him.”
A memory begins to tickle at the edges of my mind. I search his eyes, yearning for a happy ending. “And?”
“And she gave him the most unforgettable smile,” he finishes, his green eyes searching mine.
My breath catches in my throat.
I feel a mix of nostalgia and a strange thrill, that I was his crush. “Well, look at you now. All grown up, pre-celebrating wins at work—”
“And still hopelessly captivated by you,” he whispers.
Suddenly, the tension between us crackles, palpable and urgent.
“I see you now,” I whisper, my voice trembling with desire. My breaths growing shallow. “I want you now.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I answer by pulling him down for a kiss, pouring all my nervous energy into it.
His response is immediate and overwhelming, his hands roaming down my back, pressing me closer. He kisses me like he’s starving, and the intensity of my own reaction, the way my body jump-starts as Cello turns me in his arms, it’s my undoing.
I wilt against him.
“Jesus, you’re a fucking dream.”
His body is molded to mine, my head resting on his shoulder. I get tantalizing whiffs of him—velvety oak and orange—as he drags his lips over my neck. His hands, busy unfastening my blouse buttons until cool air dapples goose bumps over my skin.
The anticipation builds as he walks me back into a shadowy corner, expertly working my nipples and gathering my skirt over my thighs to my hips.
I’m too overwhelmed to care if anyone sees us. I’m awed by just how much I want this—how much I want him.
“Whyyy haven’t I done this before?” I moan.
Cello laughs between collarbone kisses. “Make out with me on a rooftop terrace?”
“No, I mean, yes.” I laugh. “I’m saying I don’t do this. This isn’t a thing I do.”
“Then I’m flattered to be the exception.” Cello twists me around again, kissing between my breasts. “There’s something thrilling about being the one who gets to experience this side of you.”
“Oh my God.” I’m laughing and clinging to him. “You’ve got no idea how sexy that is. I feel like I need to—”
Cello takes my breast into his mouth, teasing my nipple with his tongue, and stealing my air.
“What do you need?” He pauses and I can’t think of anything beyond the way my back arches, wielding to his command. “Whatever it is, I want to give it to you.”
I swoon.
“See, that…” I skate my fingertips over his chest, lower, dipping over the waistband of his slacks until he fills my greedy hands. Then I take him in long, steady strokes, readying him as I unfasten his pants. “I think you’re what my body needs.” I whimper. “I need you. This. Every second of tonight with you.”
And Lord does this man provide.
In the middle of this starry botanical paradise, Cello lifts me until my legs wrap around his waist, glides his large hand between my thighs, and pushes aside my thong.
I’m throbbing, every inch of my skin pulsing with need.
But he stalls.
“Touch me. Please…” My breathing grows ragged as Cello dips two fingers inside me, slick and yearning for him. I tighten my grip on the edge of falling as he adds a third.
“Jesus, how did I get so lucky?” He groans.
He works me like this, tender and intentional until I close my eyes. By the time he removes his hand and centers his dick, rubbing it along my slit, I’m lost in a heady fog.
My thighs quiver, aching for him.
When he finally glides inside me, stretching, sinking us into a dizzying friction, I’m euphoric.
I’ve had decent sex. I’d even go so far as to say good, solid seven-out-of-ten sex—with mostly mediocre guys. But this…
Ten out of ten, would absolutely recommend.
We’re a mess of insatiable kisses and breathless grunts, clinging to each other. Every delicious stroke. Every hard thrust. It feels like Cello’s attuned to my every need. He quickens the pace, and the world spins until a wave of unimaginable pleasure ripples through me.
“I’m the lucky one,” I rasp against his ear as I cling, shuddering and spent in his arms, the edge fantastically taken off.
As his taut body trembles, his fingers flexed greedily around the curves of my ass, and I feel him pulsing inside me, his green eyes flutter open. He meets my gaze for a few fleeting moments, and in his eyes, I see the familiar longing I usually see in the mirror. It’s a silent plea for more. Every inch of me craves him, savors the feel of him as I remind myself repeatedly like a broken record that’s this is only for tonight.
End of Excerpt
