Love You Truly (Buttercup Hill #3)

Chapter 16

Dash

Mallory: Running late

Me: No prob

Mallory: Fashionably late

Me: What’s the difference?

Mallory: The more nervous I get, the later I am

Me: Just come, honey. I’ll calm your nerves

Mallory: Too sweet. Made me even more nervous

Me: Fuck off, jerk. Better?

Mallory: Be there in a sec!

“She was supposed to be here an hour ago.” I put my phone away and loosen my tie because it feels like a vise. My dark suit feels stiff across my shoulders, and I look around the rustic indoor event space for signs I’m overdressed.

I know I’m properly attired. This isn’t my first time at a fundraiser, and everyone who drives around in a pickup truck and muddy boots during the week has turned out in finery tonight. It would be weird for me not to dress up.

The room is half full even though it’s thirty minutes past the starting time for the cocktail hour. Guess the other half of the town knows to come fashionably late. The guests mingle with stemless wineglasses in their hands and nibble on hors d’oeuvres passed around on serving trays.

If I’ve been to one of these events, I’ve been to a hundred. Always some sort of raw fish on some sort of crispy thing; always something overly cute like a shot glass filled with tomato soup and accompanied by a tiny triangle of grilled cheese.

I could eat fifty of these appetizers and still want to grab a burger by the end of the night.

Beatrix grabs us two glasses of cabernet from where they’re lined up on the bar for guests. “She’ll come. She lives for these things.” Beatrix rolls her eyes, and I bristle at her opinion of Mallory, which seems influenced by my brother.

I told my siblings about our arrangement because they need to pretend they’ve known about us for a while. They were all pretty impressed with the potential business benefits, and they all assume I’m in it for the sex. I don’t care enough to set them straight.

Unfortunately, my sister is like a bloodhound when it comes to uncovering secrets. It’s her superpower. One look at me when I walked in tonight, and she knew something was up. She’s been plastered to my side, trying to get to the bottom of it ever since.

“You did something different with your hair,” she accuses.

“Did not.”

“You smell…different. Like fresh soap instead of that sport-scented body spray you think women like.”

“You’re insane. I don’t wear body spray.”

“And you’re…fidgety. Why do you keep checking the door? What’s the big deal if Mallory arrives fashionably late? That’s normal for her.”

“You know why. We’re supposed to be seen together, and I want it to go smoothly.”

Even the strongest of people would find it hard not to cave under the questioning scrutiny of my sister, but I usually manage to send her chasing some new bit of gossip because I’m observant and I notice things.

Case in point: Lloyd Perkins stands alone at the bar, checking his phone every two minutes. He’s hoping he’ll hear his Reserve Cabernet has gotten a “best of” designation in Wine Spectator magazine.

Across the room, Sally Perkins, Lloyd’s wife, holds court with a group of friends, laughing and trying to get her husband’s attention because he’s been so focused on work that she feels sidelined. Every minute or so, she glances in his direction, but she misses it each time his eyes roam toward her.

I point these things out to Beatrix, but she seems way more interested in why I keep eyeing the door to the place.

“I’m just looking around, being observant, like always.”

Noticing things makes me good at my job, like finding the right employee for the right position, which is often completely different from what they think they want. I shouldn’t be noticing everyone in the room right now, not when my sleuth of a sister clocks my every move.

“Being observant about Mallory, you mean.” Her eyebrows go up so high they nearly hit her hairline. “You like her.”

“No. I just want it to go well.”

“You really like her. Tell me, or I’ll corner her when she comes in and make things very uncomfortable for the two of you.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, it’s happening, pal, unless you spill it right now. What’s with you and Mallory?”

I glare at her. She glares back. I take a step away and turn my back. She comes around to the other side of me and gets in my space. Now I can’t see the door, and I’m even more edgy, so I turn back around, too overwrought to fend her off.

“You should work for the government, Trix. Spies would be flipping and blurting secrets left and right.”

Beatrix smiles. “Yeah? And what are yours?”

With a glass of wine already coursing through my bloodstream, I tell her that I may have felt a twinge of interest the few times we’ve been together. “And that’s all.”

She gives me a knowing smile, but I know I can trust my sister not to say a word to the rest of my family. She may know how to get information out of anyone, but she’s discreet and trustworthy.

Ordinarily, I’d let it go. It’s no one’s business who I fuck or why, but in this case, I feel the need to be clear. “It’s purely business for both of us. We’re only keeping up the appearance that we’re a couple. It stops as soon as we’re out of the public eye.”

Ironically, this plan and the time I’ve spent texting back and forth all week with Mallory have me twisted in knots. I expected the all-business Mallory once we made it clear we were co-conspirators, but instead, her texts have been flirty, teasing, and fun. If I’m not careful, I could fall for my own lies about us being a couple.

Relax, asshole. She has boundaries, even if you don’t.

“Okay.” She holds up her hands in protest. “Whatever you say.”

“That’s what I say,” I bark. The anticipation has my skin crawling with nerves. I need Mallory to get here already so I can stop thinking about how all this will go down. The last time I remember feeling jittery like this was when I was in that damn play.

“Ugh, he’s here.” She tips her head at where Graham, our half brother, stands near the bar drinking red wine.

“Cleans up okay. At least he owns a suit,” I say.

“I know it’s not his fault that Dad screwed around on Mom, but it’s still hard not to take my anger out on him. And I feel like he wants something from us.”

“He wants family. He said that to me and PJ.”

“Don’t be a sucker, Dash. He’s Kingston Corbett’s son. He wants more than that.”

We’re both staring at him when he sees us. I give him a wave. He raises a hand in greeting and looks at my sister before turning back to the bar.

“I think he’s aware you don’t like him.”

“Yeah. No welcome wagon here.”

“Ironic because he is growing the exact grapes we need,” I mention.

“No way. Nope.” Beatrix shakes her head.

“I know. I get it.”

Slugging down most of the wine my sister handed me, I feel it hit my nerves like a balm. I feel only slightly better, and I’m tempted to start on a third drink before Mallory even gets here.

It’s a foreign feeling. I’ve never felt nervous about a woman before, and I tell myself it’s because we’re about to put on a show. A small flame of concern licks at me, but I ignore the voice telling me I’m nervous because this feels like more of a real date than our actual one.

I’m about to reach for another glass of wine when a swish of black fabric catches my eye. In an instant, my entire focus lands on the woman who just walked into the room. Her hair rolls down the front of her dress in shiny waves, and I can see her eyes sparkle from here. She doesn’t see me, so I have a moment to drink her in without censoring my hungry gaze.

A second later, her eyes meet mine, and I school my expression, clenching my teeth and fixing my jaw as I move through the crowd toward her. I realize halfway to the door that I didn’t say a word to my sister. Just left her hanging and disappeared on her.

At least she understands why.

I give myself a few more seconds to take her in before spending the rest of the night pretending I can’t keep my hands off her.

Dark hair falling in loose waves around her face like she had it wound up in a bun until five minutes ago, and now it’s wild and free.

Her eyes are dark, cheeks bright. Lips a deep cherry red.

And that dress. Holy shit. It’s a plain swath of silk hanging from her shoulders by spaghetti straps, and the soft fabric hugs every curve. Her arms hang gracefully by her sides, and somehow, she manages to look utterly unfazed by the attention of every set of eyes in the room, and also like she owns the place.

I could just stand here staring, but I have a job to do, so I weave through the crowd and make my way to her in seconds.

“Hey.” I extend a hand toward Mallory, and her graceful, manicured fingers land in my palm. Wrapping my hand around hers, I squeeze, hoping to reassure her if she’s as nervous as I feel. Instead, a zing of electricity shoots from her palm to mine, and I almost drop her hand.

My eyes shoot to hers to ascertain whether she felt the same thing, but she gives no indication.

“Hi.” Her voice is quiet and breathy as she leans in to kiss my cheek. Purely friendly. We’ll play our parts and ramp up to something gossip-worthy later on, but this is just a cursory greeting. And I hope we’ll be able to keep up the act we’ve planned.

Sure, but as her lips graze my cheek, she might as well be setting fire to my skin with a lit match.

Fuck me. Is she doing this on purpose?

I back away and lock eyes with hers, trying to discern whether she felt close to what I had just experienced. She gives me a closed-lipped smile and moves alongside me into the crowded room. She doesn’t seem nervous, gliding along in heels that make her nearly as tall as me.

Mallory surveys the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing. I follow her gaze, noticing who’s with whom, who seems to be with a date I’ve never seen before, where each of my siblings is, and whether anyone is looking at Mallory and me.

Curling her hand around my bicep, Mallory tips her head against my shoulder like she’s happy to see me after too long an absence. Her hair sweeps past my nose, and I inhale the sweet scent of jasmine and some other flower I can’t place. I don’t really know my flowers, but we have jasmine all over Buttercup Hill, so that one’s a gimme.

“Ready to make an entrance?” Mallory asks, taking us on a winding route through the room that ensures we pass by as many people as possible.

“Ready if you are.” I’m vaguely aware of the people we pass noticing us together. I make a point of running my hand down Mallory’s bare back and the silk of her dress, my hand lingering on her ass for just a moment before settling around her waist.

More than one person tries to be subtle while pointing out the fact that we’re together.

“I’m ready for a cocktail, so that’s where we’re going first.”

We make our way to the bar, and I grab two glasses of wine without asking Mallory whether she’d like red or white. She accepts the glass of red without comment and takes a large sip. It’s the only evidence that she may be the least bit nervous about our act tonight.

I’m impressed at her calm under pressure.

“You’re gorgeous. Like jaw-dropping, head-turning, I’m-the-luckiest-guy-in-the-room gorgeous.” It’s the truth, and I realize she’s making it very easy to play my role.

“Aw, you’re sweet.” Her voice sounds as silky as her dress.

“I’m not being sweet. I’m being honest. You’re the most stunning woman in the room, which makes me the luckiest man in the room.” We’re within earshot of everyone at the bar, and a few heads turn. A few people smile and pretend they’re not surprised to see us together.

Mallory’s eyelashes flutter, and a flush rises on her cheeks. I’m impressed that she can do that on cue.

Or maybe… For a second, I allow myself to imagine that she might feel a shred of something real. Just as quickly, I banish the thought.

Once we’ve clinked glasses and given the people near the bar something to gossip about, I steer Mallory to a quieter area of the room, keeping my hand on the small of her back.

“That was easy.” She glances behind, and her hair flips over her shoulder, the glossy curls bouncing and tantalizing me with that jasmine scent. “By the end of tonight, everyone here will know we’re dating.”

“No.” I lean in and whisper near her ear so there’s no chance of misinterpretation. “After tonight, everyone here will know you’re mine.”

I feel her quiver beneath my hand on a shaky inhale.

Good.

She brings her glass to her lips. When they part, I want to run my tongue over her plump bottom lip, but instead, I watch as she takes an unsteady sip. I’m glad I’ve thrown her off her game. She deserves it after showing up looking like a goddess who takes my fucking breath away.

Being near her, my skin buzzes and I have to remind myself to breathe. I need to know she’s not immune to me, and it has nothing to do with convincing other people we’re a couple.

I run a hand down the smooth skin of her arm. “Now the pressure’s off. We can just enjoy the night and drink our drinks.” I try for a carefree tone, but I’m lying through my teeth. I’m two drinks ahead of her, and it’s done nothing to take off the pressure I feel to get everything right tonight.

When my hand reaches her wrist, I brush my fingertips against the soft skin where her pulse beats rapidly. Her head tips against my shoulder, but then she seems to recover her composure, shaking her head.

“Come this way,” she says, moving gracefully ahead of me to greet an elderly winemaker whose property is adjacent to Autumn Lake. She kisses him on the cheek and puts a hand on the arm of his dark suit. “Gene, you know my fiancé, Dash Corbett?”

The older man smooths a hand over his full head of white hair and peeks at me over the reading glasses he’s using to glance through the auction catalog. In his navy suit, he looks slightly bored, like he’s been to a hundred of these events. This is why we need to get Buttercup Hill back on track. I don’t want to be sweating it out in a suit thirty years from now because we need to make nice with everyone in town.

He extends his hand. “Gene Bradbury. From Bradbury Acres. Congratulations, Mallory. I didn’t know.”

“And I didn’t know you were producing Shiraz. It’s an incredible vintage,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. This is the Mallory I know, able to work a room and make everyone in it feel special.

“It’s already the talk of the town. It’s a new bar for the rest of us,” I say. He’ll hear it ten more times tonight, partly because he makes good wine but also because this is a feel-good event designed to make everyone want to be generous and donate to the new theater.

“You’re kind. I could say the same about your Cabs, but you already knew that. Buttercup is legendary. I knew your father back when we were both starting out. He here?”

I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t come to these things anymore, now that he has all of us running the winery. He’s enjoying his golden years.”

“Smart man. Traveling?”

I nod because I’m not about to admit that my father has Alzheimer’s when it’s still not public knowledge, but it drives home the fact that my father isn’t enjoying his golden years on an exotic trip.

Mallory chats with Gene for a few minutes more and I disappear into my head, thinking about my dad and wondering how he’d feel about me entering into a fake marriage in order to fix some of his mistakes. The man who found fault with all of my lazy teenage ways would probably chalk it up to one more irresponsible idea of mine.

When Gene moves off to talk to someone else, Mallory pins me with a stare. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?”

She continues to fix me with the steely gray of her eyes, and I take the opportunity to look at them. Even in the dim light of the event space, they’re luminous, a blue-gray that makes me want to keep looking into their depths.

“You went quiet when Gene mentioned your dad. And it’s not like him to miss an event like this when he’s better at working the crowd than anyone. I haven’t seen him for months. Is everything okay?”

I open my mouth and promptly shut it, unprepared to answer her question or even entertain the idea that she’s someone I could confide in. A fake marriage is one thing. Sharing personal family secrets is entirely different.

“Everything’s fine,” I say with an edge in my voice. She hears it. Her eyes dart around, and she bites her bottom lip, deciding whether to press me or not. Finally, she nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay. Thank you for leaving it alone.”

She nods again. “Sure.”

I look away, but I can feel her studying me. I know I should probably tell her about my dad’s condition, but I’m not sure yet if I can trust her. Better to keep our most sensitive family secrets to myself for now.

Instead, I lead her farther from the crowd.

This is one of those moments we talked about, a quick instance when we slip away but stay in view of enough people to get them talking if they see us sneak a kiss. Or something more salacious.

Mallory looks at me expectantly because she sees the opportunity for what it is. Now it’s on me to pull out my best acting chops. I kind of wish I’d taken my theater elective more seriously back in tenth grade, but it’s bygones now.

“I brought you a present.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes. Sweet enough to follow instructions.”

She laughs, and it sounds like bells. I want to clear everyone out of the room or stop them from talking so I can listen to this sound without distraction.

I take a small package from the breast pocket of my jacket and hand it to her. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

Mallory turns it over in her hand, and the wrapper crinkles. So do the corners of her eyes when she smiles down at the Mallomar candy in her hand. And the tiny flecks of gold dance in her eyes when she looks up at me.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” She wraps her arms around my neck and nuzzles my cheek. She’s very good at playing this game. Too good. I need to keep my wits about me.

I encircle her waist with one hand and feel her relax into my hold. Sliding a knuckle beneath her chin, I tip her face up to angle toward mine.

She has the same determined look I saw at the bar that night, ready to do what’s necessary to convince anyone looking that we’re a couple madly in love.

Fine. I can do that too. I block out everyone else in the room, which is easy because I only want to look at her. Plump lips, a wave of heat in her steely eyes. What man would be crazy enough to be this close and not kiss her?

When my lips graze hers, I feel her tremble in my arms. She doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back, angling her face to meet mine.

I don’t need to pull out any acting chops to bring this home. It feels too good, and she’s too perfect. So expert at this game that I forget for a moment that it’s an act. I kiss her the way I’ve been wanting to since that night at the bar when I barely got a taste of her cherry-sweet lips.

Moving my hands into her hair, I’m oblivious now to anyone who might see us. I’m taking what I want right now, and it’s not for anyone else’s benefit. Except maybe hers…because the way she moans softly as I deepen the kiss can’t be heard by anyone else.

Makes me wonder again if maybe, just maybe, she’s feeling something for me. And as much as that kind of terrifies me because this is business, a bigger part of me wants her to feel it. I want her to feel what I can’t deny I feel.

When we break the kiss, Mallory inhales a long, shaky breath that mirrors how I feel. She wipes her bottom lip with the back of one knuckle and looks up at me, a shy smile playing on her face. “That oughtta do it,” she says.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

I immediately shut down the shreds of feelings that threaten to derail this entire plan because there can be none.

Eyes on the prize, Dash.

I know very clearly what that prize is—all the cabernet grapes we’ll ever need to ensure long-term growth at Buttercup Hill. That can be my only focus. Tiny thoughts about Mallory being an even bigger prize—one I’m starting to believe I want even more than I want what’s good for our business—can never enter into the equation.

I know this, and yet…the more I play the role of a guy in love with the woman who’s too good for him, the more I find myself starting to believe it.

It’s not like I don’t know the difference between acting and reality. Maybe the issue is that pretending to be smitten with Mallory Rutherford doesn’t require any acting at all.

“If I knew it would feel like that to kiss you, I’d have said yes to a date four seconds after you texted me.”

Mallory laughs. “Yeah? So you didn’t respond because you thought kissing me would suck?”

“I didn’t respond because I’m insane. And now I feel like the luckiest bastard in the room because now I have an excuse to kiss you whenever I want.”

“Seems like Christian doesn’t need Cyrano to feed him lines. He’s a sweet talker all on his own.”

I chuckle because I assume she’s ribbing me, but the expression on her face says otherwise. Heat in her eyes. Chest heaving beneath that wisp of a dress.

And for the moment, I revel in that, taking in her beauty and believing the charade we’ve created. But only for a moment. Then I push the thoughts away for good.