Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
My secret celebrity crush. Here. In the flesh
Vanessa and I arrive at the expansive flagstone patio off the back of the winery’s main building, the site of tonight’s pre-dinner cocktail hour.
Overhead, a canopy of fairy lights and clematis vines form a magical patchwork quilt ceiling that lets in glimpses of the evening sky.
On a small, raised platform at the edge of the lawn, a jazz trio plays an old standard, mellow and undemanding.
A steady hum of conversation hovers over the elbow-to-elbow crush. A sea of crisp black tuxedos makes the perfect backdrop for the rainbow of spring colors on view in the women’s gowns.
“Rats.”
“Where?” Van scuttles closer to me, searching the ground.
“What? No.” I wave my hand at the wall of pastel then point to my black chiffon maxi.
“I thought wearing black was de rigueur for women in New York. I wanted to fit in at my first outing in my new city.”
“Bah. Fitting in is old you. Embrace new you. New you wears whatever the hell she wants.” She nudges me into motion. “Also, stay focused. You are here for dick, not to make friends with Jane.”
“Right. Focus.”
“Remember, you’re the one in the driver’s seat. Take your time. Scout the prospects. You don’t have to jump into bed with the first set of broad shoulders to catch your eye.”
“Yes, coach.”
“Sass. I’m trying to help a sister out and all I get is sass.”
“Sucks to be you,” I say with a grin.
Another tether keeping me anchored to my old life breaks away as we continue our exchange of lighthearted jibes on the way to the busy outdoor bar. Len couldn’t stand the thought of appearing at a disadvantage. I learned early in our relationship to avoid playful ribbing and wisecracks.
Funny how I can recognize the restriction only with its departure.
Shaking off the clingy past, I thread my arm through Van’s as we edge our way around a large group gathered in a circle listening with rapt attention to a man speaking.
With his back to me, I can’t make out his features or any individual words, but his voice…
yum. Like spicy dark chocolate with a bourbon chaser.
Rich, intoxicating. Maybe a little dangerous.
The onlookers laugh at something he says. Dark chocolate, bourbon, and a sense of humor?
My nipples harden against the lace of my bra. Make that definitely dangerous.
Imagining him dirty talking in my ear sends a hot shiver down my spine. I bite back a moan.
If I hooked up with someone like him, my one-night stand would turn into a twenty-minute sprint to glory. Fifteen, max, if we include the dirty talk.
I could be showered and tucked into bed before midnight.
Probably not what Vanessa had in mind, but I’m not seeing a downside.
As we take our spot at the end of the queue, Van exchanges greetings with a couple a few spots ahead of us and I add “voice that melts my panties” to my wish list. After “must be single”, “can conduct a conversation without staring at my boobs”, “hands that look like they know things”, and “holds his own on the dance floor”.
Pleased with the amendment, I use the wait to start my candidate search.
“You know,” I say as we progress to next in line. “As snazzy as a classic tux is in the singular, pack a bunch together in the same area and good luck trying to find Waldo.”
“Keep the faith.” She pats my forearm. “It’s early yet.”
Finally, it’s our turn. Not contemplating sex with a stranger, Van continues with champagne. Wanting a clearer head, I order a non-alcoholic fruity concoction and rule out the bartender.
Cute enough. Seriously competent hands. But too busy to even take a peek at my boobs, let alone stare. Fine, fine. I’d cross the guy off the list of maybes and call it progress.
We fall into the circuit of chitchat and networking endemic to cocktail parties, drifting in and out of each other’s orbit to exchange notes on various prospects.
“Married.”
“Separated.”
“Gambling addict.”
I curl my lip. “Hard pass.”
Adrift in the leisurely churn of bodies, I end up near the edge of the gathering with a man my age, maybe a year or two older. Tall, broad shouldered. Good looking. No tan line on his ring finger.
A promising start.
“Fine night weather-wise for April. The happy couple took a chance, holding this shindig outside, but it seems to have paid off,” he says, a whiff of judgement in his tone shifting his comment to the wrong side of complimentary.
But with a warm smile, he offers his hand and I let the momentary discomfort over his remark roll past. “I’m Piers. Bride’s side or groom’s?”
“Evelyn. Bride’s, I think.” Shaking his hand, I offer a rueful smile. “I’m a last-minute substitute for my best friend’s husband.”
“Ah. That solves a mystery. I’d been wondering how the lovely and talented Evelyn Strong could have found her way onto my young cousin’s invite list.” Without releasing his grip, he leans down a little too far into my space. “I thought maybe she’d purchased you.”
“Come again?”
“An appearance from you, I mean, not you personally. Figured you needed a new income stream in the wake of your divorce, especially since your last film flopped so badly.”
“I’m trying to decide if you’re for real right now.” I succeed in tugging my hand free.
Throwing his head back, he laughs as if I made a great joke and places his hand on my waist. I startle away. Undeterred, he finds my bare elbow.
“Trust me. I’m very real. And I can help you build sources of wealth that don’t include selling yourself for the entertainment of the masses.
Listen.” He flicks his gaze down to my chest and begins trying to steer me toward a dimly lit path leading away from the cocktail party.
“Why don’t we go back to my room where we can get more comfortable and I’ll—”
“Evelyn? Good. Found you. They’re waiting inside. I told them I’d retrieve you.”
That voice. From before. Chocolate and bourbon and sin. Talking to me? Offering an escape route?
Even if it involves an unplanned meet and greet, I’m all in.
“Great I—” My response grinds to a halt as I get my first look at the man paired with the death-by-chocolate voice.
Holy.
Guacamole.
Johnny Mack. Award-winning architect. Forward-thinking urban planner.
My secret celebrity crush.
Here.
In the flesh.
I blink, trying to clear my vision of the aftereffects of confronting so much male beauty with zero warning.
Vivid blue eyes, so entrancing they should be illegal.
Cheekbones sharp, chin cut. A perpetual half-grin inviting any red-blooded human with a pulse to wonder what else he’s packing.
Even the salt and pepper goatee adds to his appeal instead of coming off as trying too hard.
While he jumps in to distract Piers with small talk, I work on restoring my cool under pressure mojo and offer Johnny a small, almost bashful, smile of gratitude.
Does it help my recovery efforts that he stutters over a word, like he’s also been thumped in the solar plexus by a case of rapid onset hots?
Yes, yes. It really does.
I’m not quite fast enough to quell the quirk of delight that comes from not being the only one in the grip of an unexpected attraction. His half-grin widens in acknowledgement.
He’s in on the joke. Rolling with the moment of connection.
Something inside me relaxes.
Another part coils tight, taut and vibrating with promise.
“Piers, buddy, what’s the latest on that pesky SEC violation investigation? Any good news?”
“Shut it, Johnny.” With a scowl, Piers puffs up to his full height. “Can’t you see we’re busy getting to know each other?”
“And now I’m meeting someone new. You were right. This is a fine night..” I swan past him and loop my arm into Johnny’s crooked elbow.
“Take care, Piers.” Johnny gives the man a jaunty salute and, together, we plunge into the swirl.
“There’s not really anybody waiting to see me, is there?” We halt by unspoken agreement on the far side of a vine-wrapped column just shy of the main building.
“Not a soul.” He glances back the way we came as if to make sure Piers hasn’t followed. “Figured you could use a rescue and happens that I got my invisible hero cape back from the dry cleaners today. Seemed like kismet. Johnny Mack, at your service.”
“Evelyn Strong. Grateful for the assist. The vibe was getting a little weird.”
“Yeah, you had that look women tend to get when they spend much time in Piers' company. Half ‘Is this happening?’, half ‘What the actual hell?’” Johnny skews his expression into an exaggerated mask of baffled horror.
“No way did I look like that.” I cup my hand over my nose and mouth to contain the snort of laughter that wants to erupt.
“You kinda did.” Eyes twinkling, he holds his thumb and forefinger up about an inch apart. “A little bit.”
“Pictures or it never happened.”
“Noted. All kidding aside, do your best to stay out of Piers’ way,” Johnny says with a grimace. “He’s tolerated because he’s family, but he’s not good people.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I scrunch my face as if I smell something rotten, wrinkling my nose and puckering my lips.
“Good,” he says, sounding distracted. “That’s… good.”
We drop the conversational ball and stand motionless, staring at each other. Lambent heat builds in his gaze as he zeroes in. On me.
The sounds of the party recede until only the fluttery beat of my heart fills my ears. A breeze kicks up, dusting my warming skin with cool spring air. That coil deep within me hums with growing tension. Anticipation. Desire.
We’re going to kiss.
My breath speeds up, my hands dampen.
I inch forward, a giddy moth drawn to sample his mouth, compelled to see if real life lives up to my fantasies.
“There you are. You’ve had me searching all over for you.” A curvy, petite, blonde bombshell near to my age crashes into Johnny with a giggle more appropriate to a teenager.
“What’s up, Elf?” With an inquisitive smile and not an ounce of hesitation, he swings his arm around her shoulders. She nestles against his side as though that’s her special spot in the world.
“Haliford wants a few words, and you know how he is.” She taps at an onyx stud on his shirt, a big diamond glittering on her ring finger. “Hates to be kept waiting. Best if we get this over with now so we can enjoy the rest of the evening.”
Taken. Of course he’s taken. His first wife died more than three years ago. The surprise is he stayed single this long.
That, and he’s a cheater.
I wasn’t alone in that moment. Not the only one locked in and ready to leap.
Disillusionment sours my stomach. Bummer. Major bummer to learn that behind the devilish half-smile and dark chocolate voice is a run-of-the-mill jerk.
I don my lady of the manor persona, needing her poise. Unflappable, distant. A little amused at the spectacle of life. She’s the barrier through which no hurts shall pass, keeping me above the slings and arrows that come with fame.
“Don’t let me keep you.”
He pivots his attention back to me, his puzzled frown doing jack-all to wreck his pretty, lying face. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing. I should check in with my friend.” I aim my most gracious “butter wouldn’t melt” smile somewhere between the two, not willing to get caught in the net of his blue eyes again. “Thanks once more for your help earlier, Mr. Mack. The two of you have a good night.”
Plunging back into the chaos of the party, I take a sip of my almost forgotten drink, hoping to wash away the bitter taste of disappointment. But now it’s watery and non-alcoholic.
Terrific.
Back to the bar—and the drawing board—we go.
There has to be a more efficient method of bagging a partner for a one night stand this side of an escort service. Some method that doesn’t include watching my fantasy man’s feet turn to clay right in front of me.