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“I didn’t feel undone,” she said, dazed from the prolonged contact, the shape of him, the heat they were generating. “I felt . . . done.”
His rich laugh against her mouth sent a warm shiver down her spine. “Damn.”
“Damn?”
“I don’t want to leave you.” He wound a curl around his index finger and let it spring free, watching it happen in fascination. “But there is a luncheon this afternoon in Calistoga. It’s the twentieth anniversary of my father forming the Napa Valley Association of Vintners.”
“I thought your father was in Italy.”
“He is. Natalie and I are accepting the honor on his behalf, I’m making a speech . . .” That trench between his eyebrows now was accompanied by two more. “I told my mother I would.”
“What’s bothering you about doing it?”
A gruff sound came from his throat. He took his time, as if trying to pinpoint the exact source of his irritation. “Napa likes reminders of tradition. My father and grandfather were a huge part of establishing St. Helena as a wine destination—I’m not denying that. They’re not the ones who kept it running when it barely had a pulse, though.”
She searched his eyes. “You’re talking about your mother.”
“Hmm. She should be recognized, just as much as Dalton. More, possibly, at this stage.” For a moment, he remained deep in thought, then cleared his throat. Looked at her, expression suddenly formal. “Would you come with us?”
“To the luncheon?”
“Yes.”
“I . . . Are you sure?”
He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, appearing riveted by the crease that ran down the middle. “If I’ve learned anything since we met for a second time, Hallie, it’s that I’m much, much happier when you’re with me.”
Oh. Mama. He meant every word of that, too, didn’t he? His honesty was so arresting, all she could do for long moments was stare. Obviously, after that admission, she was going to the luncheon come hell or high water. If she could be there to help him through a difficult task, she wanted that responsibility.
That privilege.
She did a mental inventory of her closet. “How long do I have to get ready?”
Visibly eager to calculate time, Julian looked at his watch. “Twenty-one minutes.”
“Oh my God,” she said, pushing away from him.
Todd picked up on her nervous energy and started to howl.
“Can you choose something out of my closet while I take a shower?” She shouted the second half of the question through her en suite bathroom door. “Whatever is appropriate for the dress code.”
A moment later, there was a thud on the floor of her bedroom. “Hallie, are you aware that half of your possessions have been stuffed into this closet?”
Quickly, she flipped on the shower spray. “What? I can’t hear you.”
Muffled grumbling.
With a smile on her face, she pinned up her hair, showered, dried off, and applied some quick makeup. Her favorite black bra was hanging on the back of the door in the bathroom, and she put it on, wrapping a towel around the rest of her. She hesitated with her hand on the knob, wondering if it was too soon to walk around in front of him in a towel. With time constraints being what they were, did she have a choice? Blowing out a breath, she pushed into the bedroom. And there was Julian Vos, sitting on her bed, with a flower-print cocktail dress draped across his lap, as if he’d walked right out of her fantasies. Tall and dark and serious against the girlish white comforter.
“I have no idea if . . .”
He trailed off, the lump in his throat moving up and down, fingers curling into fists on the edge of her bed.
“You have no idea if what?” she asked.
“If this dress passes as business casual.” He watched her move to the dresser and tug open her top drawer, selecting a pair of thin, nude-colored hipsters that would work for the outfit he’d picked. “I just want to see you in it.”
Hallie gasped.
That last part was said against her bare shoulder.
When did he cross the room?
“I love that dress,” she said with an effort. “I—it’s a good choice.”
His hand closed around the knot of her towel, gripped, and twisted, his mouth skating down the slope of her neck. “Can I see you without this on?”
Self-consciousness tried to ruin the party. Of course it did. She’d never been totally naked in front of a man before. Not in the light, especially. And while she loved her body, she loved it clothed more than she loved it unclothed. When she could control what and how much people saw of her thighs and stomach and butt. Could control how material sat against her curves. If he removed the towel, everything would be on display, down to her last dimple.
“Hallie, you can say no.”
“It’s stupid to be nervous. After last night . . .”
