A Touch of Chardonnay Read online

  Why did he have to show up? What am I going to do when he remembers?

  She rubbed her temples, warding off a headache. A long-buried memory flashed, a conversation she’d had nine years ago with his agent, a man who guarded the young tennis star like a sharp-taloned eagle. No, you cannot see him. No, he has no interest in your news. No, he doesn’t want any contact with you.

  No, no, no.

  She’d been livid that Chris wouldn’t meet face-to-face. But she had been young and shy and totally unprepared for his agent’s brush-off. And too ashamed to ask for help.

  Could it be that his agent never told him?

  She’d tried to see him one other time after that, but was told once again he was not interested…this time by his wife. She’d gathered her dignity and vowed to raise Nicky on her own.

  The substantial check his agent had given her on that first occasion remained uncashed in a box in her closet. She kept it to remind herself she was strong and independent and needed no man in her life.

  What about Nicky? Does he need a man in his life?

  For years she’d convinced herself that he didn’t. Now she wasn’t so sure. Recently she’d caught him looking wistfully at some of his friends’ fathers when they’d hugged their sons after Little League games. And she heard him tell his friend Ryan he didn’t want to join Cub Scouts because he didn’t have a dad to take him on campouts.

  This job was going to be more difficult than she expected, and it had nothing to do with the house. Now she had to discover if the anger she’d worn all those years like a shroud had been justified.

  She sighed and pulled out her buzzing cell phone. “Hi, honey. I’m so glad you called. How was school today?”

  Chapter Two

  “A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.”

  —Anonymous

  Chris left the deli where he’d grabbed a quick sandwich. Bone-tired, he climbed into the late-model pickup truck used on his construction sites. He turned down the cliff road that wound down to the Santa Marta Marina, where he kept his thirty-seven-foot sailboat. He’d spend the night on board rather than go to the hotel.

  Lindsay Reynoso, cultural archaeologist.

  She certainly was an exasperating woman. Yet he had felt a connection to her. When she’d turned in his arms and looked up at him, he’d had to stifle an insane impulse to lean down and kiss her. Where the hell had that come from?

  Because I’ve done it before.

  He knew her. He just couldn’t place her yet. He scratched his head, wondering what the circumstances had been, given how neatly she’d sidestepped his question. There was a time when he was completely out of control…losing tournaments, downing tequila shooters, waking up in strange women’s beds. He hoped it wasn’t one of those nights.

  It had taken him a long time to figure out what was wrong. He’d spent his childhood desperate for his parents’ attention. When he rose on the tennis circuit they’d trotted him out like a prize pony at their respective cocktail parties, then the novelty wore off. He gave up trying to be a good guy and tried the opposite approach. That hadn’t worked, either.

  Arriving at the marina, he parked the truck near the boat slips. His sloop was tied up at the end of one of the newer docks. After climbing aboard, he changed into a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, grabbed a beer, and went up on deck. He breathed in the cool night air and listened to the sounds of the harbor. A few loose halyards clanging against their masts on nearby boats had an almost musical quality that relaxed him.

  He took a swig of his beer, rolling it around in his mouth before swallowing. It had been a very long day, but a productive one. Starting early this morning in Los Angeles he’d completed negotiations for a tract of land for a small housing development. Back at the airport, he boarded a commercial flight to San Francisco and later a charter flight to Santa Marta. Heck, he’d barely had time to eat.

  He’d hoped to catch Lindsay at the project site to save some time.

  He hadn’t meant to scare her. When he wrapped his arms around her to break her fall, he hadn’t wanted to let go. Her hair smelled of lemons. She was snug in his arms and it felt good.

  Too bad they were at odds over the house. How could she want to keep that piece of crap? His shoulders tightened every time he thought of it.

  One of his ancestors had commissioned it. He’d discovered that fact when he came to Santa Marta to check out the sailboat his father left him and was informed that it came with a massive historic estate. That house could have been—should have been—his family’s home. But hell, you have to have a family to have a home.

  Taking his last swallow of beer, he crumpled the can in his fist and threw it down the companionway.

  He jumped down and coiled the lines next to the cleats used to tie his boat to the dock. Sitting on his haunches, he looked up. The sky was filled with stars tonight. He picked out the constellations he could remember. Big Dipper. Gemini. Scorpio. He used to know all of them, but he hadn’t taken the time to find them in the sky in years. Not since…

  Not since Stanford, when he’d hooked up with a girl at a fraternity party and they’d counted stars before…

  No wonder Lindsay dodged his question. She was probably embarrassed. At least it hadn’t been a tequila night.

  He pictured her again…a slim woman with wide green eyes that shot sparks when annoyed and tangled brown hair falling over her shoulders. Now he knew why he’d been instantly attracted.

  His body remembered her.

  He let his thoughts drift back to the startled expression on her face when she’d turned in his arms. Her bottom lip was fuller than the top. He’d wanted to run his tongue along its edge before covering her mouth with his own. He’d wanted her to lean into him so he could feel that perfect body against him.

  His groin began to tighten. This was a business arrangement, he reminded himself. She’d made it pretty clear she didn’t want to acknowledge their one-night stand, and he didn’t want to upset her. He needed the report, and if she wanted to keep things professional, he’d respect that.

  Deciding to call it a night, he climbed back aboard and descended into the boat, heading aft toward the master cabin. Turning on the cabin light, he shed his clothes and checked the messages on his cell. There was one from Anna—that could wait. The second one confirmed breakfast at seven thirty in the morning. Chris groaned and turned out the light.

  Tension seeped out of his neck as he listened to the music of the halyards and fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the hull, a smile on his face.

  …

  It was after dark when Lindsay finally climbed the stairs to her temporary home, an apartment that had once been a coachman’s quarters.

  She loved Victorians and had lived in one when she went to college in Santa Clara. This one was leased by one of her numerous Reynoso cousins. Aidan was a writer on special assignment overseas and had been happy to let her use it while he was away, as long as she sprang his cat from the kennel while she was there.

  This neighborhood—in fact the whole town of Santa Marta—had a certain ambience that took one back to another century with its tall, spreading trees and its rows of colorfully painted Victorian houses perched on a peninsula that jutted into the sea. It reminded her of Mendocino. She would never leave Napa, but she had to admit this town had called to her the moment she’d seen it.

  Her stomach rumbled as she climbed the stairs.

  She tried to remember what was in the refrigerator. Leftover chicken. That would work. A half hour later, bathed and relaxed and lounging in an old, comfortable robe with a glass of her favorite chardonnay, Lindsay allowed her thoughts to turn to Chris.

  She’d watched all of his tennis matches his senior year of high school, the only year he’d gone to school in Napa. If her two younger sisters had known she had a crush on him, they would have teased her without mercy, so she told no one. When he graduated and went to Stanford, she’d followed
his career online.

  During her junior year of college, she’d gone to a party and surprisingly found herself alone with Christopher Brandt, who’d already graduated. She’d given in to temptation in the garden of a fraternity house without protection.

  Eight weeks later she discovered she was pregnant.

  After her humiliating meeting with his agent, she’d left school, determined to raise her child on her own. Over time, she’d congratulated herself on her good judgment.

  Chris had made a big jump from tennis pro to developer. Brandt Development—the umbrella company—wasn’t new. The company had been around for generations. Maybe his father had trained him to take over when he retired.

  He’d spoken tenderly about his friend’s children and seemed genuinely interested in taking them to breakfast. And he seemed almost regretful when he’d said he didn’t have any of his own. Could it be that he didn’t know he’d fathered a child?

  She gulped down her wine and set down the glass. If Chris truly didn’t know about his son, she’d have to consider telling him. But her primary concern was for Nicky. What would be best for him?

  Maybe Chris had changed.

  Tomorrow she’d begin to discover how much.

  …

  “You seem distracted. Rough week?” Tony Sutherland put down his fork and stared at his friend. Chris met him at their favorite coffee shop down by the fishing pier, and for the last half hour Tony had done most of the talking. The children had been excused and were watching fishermen in front of the restaurant.

  “Actually, it was a good week. I have two new projects under design. We should be grading Sea Cliff within a couple of weeks. I’m just a little tired from all this running around.”

  “Why don’t you take a vacation?”

  “I can’t right now.”

  Tony shook his head, signaled the waitress, and asked for the check. “You’d have time if you’d delegate some of your work. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

  “You’re right. But I like being in charge. I’m too old to change.”

  “Yeah, thirty-two is really old. Maria thinks you should get married. Your wife would make you take vacations.”

  “Just because marriage works for you two, doesn’t mean it works for everybody.” Chris tapped his fingers on the table.

  It hadn’t worked for his parents. It hadn’t worked for him, the one time he tried it.

  “What about Anna? That woman’s itchin’ to get to the altar.”

  “You’re misreading the relationship.”

  He’d always made it perfectly clear to his girlfriends that he was not the marrying kind. Anna got the message and had moved on.

  “What about that singer? The one with the big…”

  “Brenda and I are friends. What are you, some kind of matchmaker? Can we drop the subject? I have to get to a meeting.”

  “Of course, I should have known. Meetings are your life.” Tony smiled at his friend, jabbed his arm, and wrestled him for the breakfast check. “Maria says you’re far too good a catch to remain single forever.”

  “Your wife’s no expert. Look who she wound up with.”

  They parted at the front door. Tony called out to his children and they all gathered to wave good-bye. Chris sighed and climbed in the pickup. Running from job site to job site was starting to wear him out. Having someone to share his dreams, his life, his bed would be welcome. But he wasn’t even sure if he was capable of love. Maybe he had loved his parents when he was a kid, before they started bickering and avoiding each other and finally living apart. Father was always too busy with his next big deal to spend time with him and dear Mama, who made promise after promise she never kept, was only interested in her mirror.

  If that was love, he didn’t need it.

  As for marriage? His one trip down the aisle had been brief and forgettable. He hadn’t wanted to get married, but when Shannon turned up pregnant and begged him to make things right, he’d given in. Then he’d discovered she wasn’t pregnant at all, just looking for an angle to jump-start her acting career. His notoriety was what she needed. She’d lied, just like his mother.

  In those days he’d been surrounded by liars. His agent was probably the worst of the lot. He’d been skimming and had been fired. Later, Chris discovered he’d withheld an important medical document from him—one that said the wrist he’d broken skiing would always be weak. That he should no longer play tennis. To this day he wondered what else he’d kept from him.

  He cruised out of the parking lot. He had an old house to get rid of and he didn’t want to be late.

  Chapter Three

  “An empty house is like a stray dog or a body from which life has departed”

  —Samuel Butler

  The house loomed in the distance, the tilting corners of its roofline teasing her. Lindsey had not found a single clue to that particular mystery. Although she tried to think about it this morning when she woke up, a tanned face with startling blue eyes and a dimpled chin kept intruding, a face that looked so much like Nicky’s.

  A pickup truck was parked outside the open front gates. Lindsay eyed the truck with skepticism. Could it be Chris’s? She pictured him in a sleek sports car with a powerful engine.

  She grabbed her field pack and made her way up the gravel drive. Chris met her at the front door.

  “Change your mind yet? Want to write the report today and recommend demolition?” His smirk told her he knew what her answer would be.

  “In your dreams.”

  He laughed, fine lines gathering at the corners of his eyes. He was still a charmer, and she reluctantly found herself responding to his sense of humor.

  Lindsay took a flashlight out of her field pack and brushed past him toward the stairs, aware of him following closely behind her. She paused on the second step and felt his breath on her neck. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to savor the sensation. This was not working. She needed to be here alone so she could focus.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She took a deep breath. “I want to check the wood on this banister.” She placed the flashlight on the step and drew a small tube and a tissue from her pocket. She applied a dab of gel and gently rubbed it into the wood, removing a patch of white paint that covered the banister. “There’s dark wood underneath. I think it’s mahogany.”

  He took a penlight out of his pocket and directed the beam at the exposed wood. “I think you’re right.”

  “Many architects of this period imported Philippine mahogany for their wealthier clients,” Lindsay said. “But that doesn’t tell me who built the house.”

  “It’s beautiful. Maybe it can be salvaged.”

  Ignoring the comment, she continued up the stairs with her flashlight, stepping carefully in the near darkness. When she reached the last step, she stopped and tested the strength of the landing before moving forward. The wood creaked ominously, and she felt Chris’s fingers clutch her shoulder.

  “I don’t think this is safe,” he said. “You could fall through.”

  “I do this all the time.”

  “Not on my property.”

  Lindsay sighed and turned around. Was his concern about safety or a possible lawsuit? She hoped it was the former.

  He was still facing forward, his face just inches from hers. She couldn’t see his features clearly in the dim light, but she could smell his scent and feel his breath on her cheek. She prayed that her weak knees would hold her.

  She squeezed past him on the stairs, her breasts brushing his chest as he moved sideways on the narrow stairway to let her pass. Heat shot to her core. Reaching the front door, she fled into the morning sunlight. Her body still tingled from the encounter. She gulped in deep breaths of fresh sea air and waited for him to join her. This was ridiculous. She was here to do a job. And if this man had truly rejected his own child, he wasn’t worthy of her attraction.

  But now you remember how it felt to have his naked body on you
rs, don’t you?

  Damn. Her own body was betraying her.

  Wobbly knees held her until she found a stone bench near the driveway and sat down. She turned off those pesky memories that were making her ache with sweet longing. She focused on the house until she saw Chris framed in the front doorway, his head nearly touching the top. He scanned the yard until he saw her and ambled over.

  “I can’t let you continue your inspection,” he said stiffly. “It’s far too dangerous.”

  He sounded like a judge pronouncing a sentence. The tone worked like a bucket of cold water on Lindsay’s errant emotional reactions.

  “Are you saying I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “No. I’m saying the floors are rotting. I saw it when I was here yesterday afternoon. I thought it would be okay, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “I can deal with bad floors. I just need better lighting.”

  He stood directly in front of her, arms folded, eyes thoughtful. His gaze slowly moved from her face to her neck and lower until the heat generated by his leisurely perusal made her squirm.

  “I’d hate it if anything happened before I got to know you…again.” A grin hovered at the corners of his mouth. A cat with feathers on his mouth couldn’t have looked smugger.

  A gust of wind blew a funnel of dried leaves onto the dirt path next to the curving driveway. Lindsay let the breeze ruffle her hair and breathed in the scent of honeysuckle growing somewhere near. She cast her eyes downward and watched a rose petal as it moved in a drunken pattern through weeds near the bench. She was afraid to raise her eyes to Chris’s face. She didn’t want to see something that would cloud her objectivity.

  So he knows we’ve met. But was that all? He hadn’t recognized her name. He hadn’t asked about their son. Anger started to rise in her again, but she quickly tamped it down. Maybe he only remembered the party.

  She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

  A lazy smile lit up his face.

  She had to admit this man could still melt her with a look. But there was nothing to be gained from encouraging his attentions. They had too much of a past to overcome now. Plus they moved in very different social circles. He was part of the jet set. She was firmly grounded in small-town culture. And she wasn’t sure she could ever let go of her anger.