Chapter 3
Destiny
I can’t believe thedirections I jotted down from the internet are so...wrong. The GPS in my rental is broken. My phone’s almost out of power so I’ve turned it off except to make a quick call to the owner of the Turquoise Creek Ranch to ask for help. I’m sure she’s having a good laugh at my predicament.
After turning the SUV around on some dirt track pretending to be a road, I sit for a long moment staring at the stretch of highway running both directions. I’m tempted to turn right and just go back to whatever the name of the little town was, but that’s too much like admitting defeat. I’m not going to start this project with that attitude hanging over my head.
So I make a left turn and ease on down the road, shaking my head as one of my dad’s favorite songs plays through my brain. He was a huge Dianna Ross fan so I know all the songs. Could be worse. He could have liked country music. Which is all I’ve heard for the last three hours. Oh, and I wish I could forget the routine and frequent agricultural and cattle reports.
I am so not made for life outside the big city.
The press of my foot doesn’t accelerate the car over fifty. I don’t dare miss the turn again. I didn’t know what to expect after being told there’d be someone on a horse meeting me. But it wasn’t the handsome guy with a little girl dressed in tiny jeans perched in front of him in the saddle. He’s waiting right there, under the arch of a tall, metal gate with the words Turquoise Creek painted on a hanging sign.
How the hell did I miss this before?
The guy points down a curved road and after thanking him, I head for the ranch headquarters. Main house? Ranch yard? Whatever. I’m here. Finally.
Three people waiting near a wooden fence watch me drive up and stop. Two who must belong with the ranch step toward my vehicle, while the third turns and walks away. The man’s worn jeans highlight the movement of his ass and thighs. Yum. I’m a sucker for man-thighs. Getting to know that cowboy might make this shoot more fun. As long as he doesn’t belong to someone else. I may be a lot of things, but a poacher isn’t one.
No time for lusty thoughts. Giving myself a shake, I turn off the engine and exit the car. The woman quickly closes the distance between us. “Hi, I’m Alice.”
I take her outstretched hand. “Destiny Dawn. And yes, it’s my real name.”
She chuckles. “You must get asked that a lot.” The man joins us. “My brother, Micah.”
“Welcome,” he says and his lips twitch with a grin. “Glad you made it.”
“I can find my way around any city, but set me down in the country, and I’m immediately lost.”
“I’d think it would be the other way around, with all the neighborhoods filled with twisting streets,” Micah says. “Those always confuse me.”
“Guess we’re the most comfortable with what we know,” I quip. “I’m just happy I’m here to get a feel for the project before everyone shows up.”
Alice says, “Popular thing to do. Your cohost arrived late yesterday with the same intentions. We’re planning to meet with him after lunch to go over the preliminary info then take a tour of the site and the parts of the ranch that might be filmed. It’s good you’ll be here for that.”
Smile pasted in place, I nod but inside I’m fuming. Damn it, Chavez. I wanted to beat him here, hoped that might give me the upper hand when we meet officially. Having a solid plan of my own in mind before we have to cooperate and merge our ideas would help soothe my jitters. I have good experience backing me up, yet I feel like a newb when up against Chavez’s years in the business. Despite my internal struggle I manage a cheerful, “Sounds perfect.”
Handing me a key, Alice continues, “Great. Here’s the key to your hideaway. The winery is the big building just up the road. You’ll be staying in the first building past that. We haven’t gotten around to naming or numbering the rooms yet, but your door’s on the right.”
“That I can find,” I say with a laugh.
“Come on back for lunch at twelve-thirty.” She points toward an interesting mid-century modern house that should look out of place in a rustic setting but doesn’t. The juxtaposition captures my attention. I need to figure out why that works. “Just walk around back to the kitchen door and come on in. The afternoon is set aside for our upcoming adventure.”
“Thanks, I’m looking forward to it.” Whew. Got that out without clenching my teeth. My anticipation for the project is running at an all-time high. Working with cranky pants Chavez, not so much. By noon I need to find a workable balance.
I pull up next to the small building and study the truck parked at the other end. Georgia plates. Chavez lives in Atlanta, so it’s probably him. Makes sense they’d house us close together. Damn it. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I remove my four suitcases from the rear of the vehicle and carry them to the door. Once I have my laptop bag from the back seat, I slip into my room.
With my back pressed against the door, I study the tidy sitting area. With the coffee service on a counter next to the table and light pouring through a large window, it should be a perfect place to work. There’s a basket of snacks, too, and I zero in on a bag of crunchy cheese curls. My favorite.
Careful not to leave orange fingerprints, I steer my bags into the bedroom. My eyes are immediately drawn to a door on the wall separating the two units. A connecting door. A great feature for families, not so much for me. Tiptoeing closer, I check the lock. It’s fastened securely and I release the breath I was holding.
I’m being silly. Chavez is just a man. This opportunity to work with him will be a fabulous boost to my career. I don’t need to impress him. I do, however need to present my best self and my best ideas to the ranch owners. I rush through unpacking my clothes but take longer than needed deciding what to wear for lunch. Casual or business?
I’m still debating whether I made the right choices when I leave my room five minutes before the scheduled lunch time. Now that I’m at the production site, I’m not sure the fashionable jeans paired with strappy sandals and a crop shirt are going to be appropriate. My ankle twists my first step off the small slab and I bite back one of my favorite cuss words. Definite no on the sandals.
Returning inside I switch to worn canvas slip-ons. Luckily I plan on wearing my television ‘uniform’ when shooting. For casual times like this, I just need to fit the image to the locale. That mantra served me well when I began my career, and returning to that safety net rather than flashing something new is probably a good idea.
Now I’m late so I rush out the door and slam into a tall, hard body. Large hands wrap around my upper arms to steady me. I lift my gaze from the wide chest but because of the angle of the sun, I can’t see the man’s face. “I’m sorry,” I stutter. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No harm.”
The deep, almost rough timbre of his voice races through me to settle low in my belly with instant need. Under his hands, my skin ignites and heats. The burn spreads to my neck and face. I’m blushing. What the fuck? I never blush. And I’m standing here staring at a face I can’t see. I slide one foot back to add distance between us.
Almost as though there’s reluctance in his movements, his hands slip softly down my arms when he releases me. Tingles of awareness engulf me. I know this man will mean more to me than the object of simple lust. What that more is, I don’t know. Yet. But I plan to find out.
With a start, I realize I haven’t said anything after my initial apology. “I’m heading to lunch.”
He chuckles and holds out one hand. “I figured as much. Me, too. Shall we go together?”
Does he expect me to take his hand as we walk? Was it simply a gesture of greeting? For once, I don’t know what to do. When all I do is stare at his hand, he pulls it back to his side and clears his throat. I love the rough, grating sound and wish I had my lips pressed against his Adam’s apple to feel the vibrations. Or my tongue to taste his flavor.
What the...?
Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, he steps from the concrete and walks a few paces. My heart sings with joy when I recognize the back of the cowboy from earlier. Then he stops, turns, and plants his hands on his lean hips. A tense smile firms his mouth. “It’s good to finally meet you, Ms. Dawn.”
Recognition hits me like a blast of ice-cold water. Chavez? This is Jorge Chavez? I expected an older, settled man, not this drool worthy specimen in tight jeans. He was just an okay looking guy when I first watched his shows years ago. Or was I simply more focused on his grumpy demeanor?
He doesn’t look grumpy now. In fact, his lips are twitching as though he’s trying not to laugh. I tear my gaze from his face and scan the shape of his shoulders then follow the buttons of his shirt to the waist of his jeans. And his hands. Positioned in that totally masculine way to subtly draw attention to the bulge behind his zipper.
Not bad. I wouldn’t mind getting better acquainted with that. I lick my suddenly dry lips.
He shifts and I jerk my gaze to his face. His brows are lowered with two tiny creases between them. The line of his mouth turns down slightly at the ends. There’s the old cranky pants. Something’s different though, because his expression increases the waves of awareness heating my skin and pooling moisture in my lady parts. My lips part slightly with the need to kiss away his frown. My nipples peak as I ache to press my body against his.
What’s going on with me?
His head tilts to one side. I’ve stared too long. Say something.
“You, too, Mr. Chavez.”
Then it’s his turn to be silent for a long moment before he shakes his head. “Too formal. Just Jorge, please.”
He watches intently as I shape his name with my lips before saying out loud, “Jorge. And I’m Destiny. Or Des for short.”
He lifts one hand toward me, then draws back and stuffs both hands into his pockets, tightening the denim. “Should we head to lunch then, Destiny?”
The way he drawls my name sends shivers down my spine. I bite my lip to keep from asking him to say it again and nod. “Yes. I’m looking forward to this afternoon’s tour.”
If for no other reason than I’m sure it will somehow allow me to remain close to Jorge. That sounds pretty darn wonderful.
He hesitates, looks like he might speak again, then turns and starts walking away. For a long moment I watch the length of his strides, the play of muscles as he walks. And that fine, fine ass.
Oh. My. God. I’m seriously in total lust with cranky pants Chavez.