Tempt Me, Taste Me, Touch Me
Page 19
Of being a good girl who never rocked the boat. It was time for a tidal wave.
Her heart pounding hard, she dialed Agnes Carrigan's home number, cringing at her almost-mother-in-Iaw's overly precise words. "Carrigan residence:'
''Agnes, hello, it's Carrie." There was silence, and for a moment Carrie wondered if Agnes was thinking, "Carrie? I don't know any Carrie."
"Is this Carolyn?" Agnes asked.
With only three words James's mother had managed to reduce Carrie to an uncultured shmuck who should have known better than to use the abbreviated version of her name.
"Yes, that's right;' she said, refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of hearing her fumble. "Is James available? I need to speak with him."
Carrie realized, with utter certainty, that she was doing dear Agnes a favor by refusing James's proposal. Her heartbeat returned to normal. Not only did she not have anything to fear from Agnes, she was practically expecting a Thank You card to come in the mail next week.
She smiled at the thought, but then Agnes said, ''I'm afraid he couldn't join us for brunch this morning:' Carrie's smile disappeared. Not because the subtext was, "And it's all your fault, you little tramp," but because a sense of foreboding had just hit her. Was strangling her, actually.
James never missed Sunday brunch with Mummy. Never. Unless he thought he was going to lose a deal. Like, say, an engagement.
The message light on the phone started blinking, and she was sweating as she said, "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Agnes. Good-bye."
She hung up and dialed the message retrieval number. It was Tyson.
"You left something important at the winery. Could you please come and get it?"
His voice was curt, and he hadn't said anything about missing her already or wanting to be with her again soon. His voice had been all business, and not in a good way.
She took a deep breath. There was no point in freaking out over what was, in all likelihood, nothing but her imagination playing tricks on her. Fighting off the insane urge to speed straight into Tyson's arms for reassurance, she picked up her purse and headed out to the farmer's market to get their picnic lunch together.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MAKING LOVE with Carrie in the car last night and waking up in his bed with her long, supple limbs pressed against him, he'd stopped denying his feelings. She wasn't just a weekend fling. From that first moment out in his vineyard, she'd been special. Different. He hadn't been sweet-talking her when he'd said he wanted to learn more about her. He'd meant it.
Because Carrie was the partner he'd been looking for. He felt, deep in his gut, that what they had was a good thing. That it would continue to get better and better. That it would last.
As soon as he'd learned that the call on his emergency line hadn't been an emergency after all, just a new employee in the tasting room who couldn't locate a recent VIP shipment, he'd rushed back to the house to see if he could catch Carrie before she left. Maybe he could pull her into the shower again, maybe make a picnic and take it up to the top of the mountain. Sunday had never seemed so full of promise. But he'd been too late. By the time he'd gotten back home, she'd already left. Then he'd seen it, beneath the legs of his media cabinet. A huge diamond ring.
An engagement ring.
What had to have been Carrie's engagement ring, likely having fallen out of her pants pocket when they'd been ripping each other's clothes off Friday night.
The name "James" had backhanded him as he'd picked it up.
She'd mentioned him a couple of times, hadn't she? She'd seemed preoccupied the night he'd found her in the vineyard-because she'd been contemplating having one last fling before she tied the knot? Before she checked the marriage box off her list?
He didn't know how she could have slipped the ring into her pocket in the vineyard on Friday night without him noticing. It was too big to miss, although the sun had already set. Maybe she had done it earlier. Maybe, all along, her plan had been to reel in some sorry sucker, to screw his brains out, then go back home to another sucker. A filthy-rich one, judging by the size of the diamond.
Carrie had seemed so pure, so honest. Too bad those were the assumptions of a lovesick fool. "Fool" being the word of the hour. Hadn't he learned anything about women?
What really killed him was that he'd known Carrie less than forty-eight hours but she'd already stolen his heart. He'd been certain that being with her wouldn't hurt him. And now, this.
What was it she'd said this morning about hanging with gossips, fakes? The ring, heavy in his fist, told him a truth he couldn't deny. She was one of them. And he hadn't wanted to see it.
He left her a terse message at the hotel, then headed back to the main tasting room, hoping business would help him keep his head on straight until he saw her. Until he returned the ring.
And made her tell him the truth. So when one of the wine pourers called back into his private office, saying there was someone to see him, he expected to see her beautiful face, to want her even though she was no better than his ex.
"James Carrigan;' the man said, holding out his hand to shake Tyson's. "I'm looking for my fiancee. The hotel clerk said to look for her here."
NINE
ON HER WAY OUT OF THE LOBBY, Carrie left a quick message at the front desk for Rose and Vanessa, letting them know that they could reach her at Green Vineyards and that she'd call them soon to arrange their trip back home to San Francisco.
Home. Funny how much at home she felt here, in Napa, in the country. She'd grown up in the suburbs, she lived in the city, and she had never once thought about moving out to a place like? this, surrounded by tall mountains and rows of green vines. A town small enough that everyone knew your name-which, she supposed, could be both good and bad, based on the dinner last night.
She drove Tyson's car two blocks to the farmer's market entrance. Everything was alive-the people, the vines, the delicious aromas wafting from many of the small booths. She smiled as she picked out a couple of nectarines from an organic farmer who was set up under an umbrella. At the next booth, she selected a mouthwatering local Brie and some artisan sourdough bread. No question about it, she could get used to life in the wine country.
Tyson was the best part of the fantasy, of course.
Waking up with him. Going to sleep next to him. Or not at all if they were too busy with, well, other things. She forgot her worries and took her time trying samples of pastries and peaches. She listened to a local rock band play hits from the sixties while toddlers danced in circles around them. She admired the painting a local artist was creating before a crowd of onlookers. She couldn't help but notice how handsome the painter was. Hey, she was hooked on Tyson, but she was only human. And this guy was hot.
Her heart pounding hard, she dialed Agnes Carrigan's home number, cringing at her almost-mother-in-Iaw's overly precise words. "Carrigan residence:'
''Agnes, hello, it's Carrie." There was silence, and for a moment Carrie wondered if Agnes was thinking, "Carrie? I don't know any Carrie."
"Is this Carolyn?" Agnes asked.
With only three words James's mother had managed to reduce Carrie to an uncultured shmuck who should have known better than to use the abbreviated version of her name.
"Yes, that's right;' she said, refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of hearing her fumble. "Is James available? I need to speak with him."
Carrie realized, with utter certainty, that she was doing dear Agnes a favor by refusing James's proposal. Her heartbeat returned to normal. Not only did she not have anything to fear from Agnes, she was practically expecting a Thank You card to come in the mail next week.
She smiled at the thought, but then Agnes said, ''I'm afraid he couldn't join us for brunch this morning:' Carrie's smile disappeared. Not because the subtext was, "And it's all your fault, you little tramp," but because a sense of foreboding had just hit her. Was strangling her, actually.
James never missed Sunday brunch with Mummy. Never. Unless he thought he was going to lose a deal. Like, say, an engagement.
The message light on the phone started blinking, and she was sweating as she said, "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Agnes. Good-bye."
She hung up and dialed the message retrieval number. It was Tyson.
"You left something important at the winery. Could you please come and get it?"
His voice was curt, and he hadn't said anything about missing her already or wanting to be with her again soon. His voice had been all business, and not in a good way.
She took a deep breath. There was no point in freaking out over what was, in all likelihood, nothing but her imagination playing tricks on her. Fighting off the insane urge to speed straight into Tyson's arms for reassurance, she picked up her purse and headed out to the farmer's market to get their picnic lunch together.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MAKING LOVE with Carrie in the car last night and waking up in his bed with her long, supple limbs pressed against him, he'd stopped denying his feelings. She wasn't just a weekend fling. From that first moment out in his vineyard, she'd been special. Different. He hadn't been sweet-talking her when he'd said he wanted to learn more about her. He'd meant it.
Because Carrie was the partner he'd been looking for. He felt, deep in his gut, that what they had was a good thing. That it would continue to get better and better. That it would last.
As soon as he'd learned that the call on his emergency line hadn't been an emergency after all, just a new employee in the tasting room who couldn't locate a recent VIP shipment, he'd rushed back to the house to see if he could catch Carrie before she left. Maybe he could pull her into the shower again, maybe make a picnic and take it up to the top of the mountain. Sunday had never seemed so full of promise. But he'd been too late. By the time he'd gotten back home, she'd already left. Then he'd seen it, beneath the legs of his media cabinet. A huge diamond ring.
An engagement ring.
What had to have been Carrie's engagement ring, likely having fallen out of her pants pocket when they'd been ripping each other's clothes off Friday night.
The name "James" had backhanded him as he'd picked it up.
She'd mentioned him a couple of times, hadn't she? She'd seemed preoccupied the night he'd found her in the vineyard-because she'd been contemplating having one last fling before she tied the knot? Before she checked the marriage box off her list?
He didn't know how she could have slipped the ring into her pocket in the vineyard on Friday night without him noticing. It was too big to miss, although the sun had already set. Maybe she had done it earlier. Maybe, all along, her plan had been to reel in some sorry sucker, to screw his brains out, then go back home to another sucker. A filthy-rich one, judging by the size of the diamond.
Carrie had seemed so pure, so honest. Too bad those were the assumptions of a lovesick fool. "Fool" being the word of the hour. Hadn't he learned anything about women?
What really killed him was that he'd known Carrie less than forty-eight hours but she'd already stolen his heart. He'd been certain that being with her wouldn't hurt him. And now, this.
What was it she'd said this morning about hanging with gossips, fakes? The ring, heavy in his fist, told him a truth he couldn't deny. She was one of them. And he hadn't wanted to see it.
He left her a terse message at the hotel, then headed back to the main tasting room, hoping business would help him keep his head on straight until he saw her. Until he returned the ring.
And made her tell him the truth. So when one of the wine pourers called back into his private office, saying there was someone to see him, he expected to see her beautiful face, to want her even though she was no better than his ex.
"James Carrigan;' the man said, holding out his hand to shake Tyson's. "I'm looking for my fiancee. The hotel clerk said to look for her here."
NINE
ON HER WAY OUT OF THE LOBBY, Carrie left a quick message at the front desk for Rose and Vanessa, letting them know that they could reach her at Green Vineyards and that she'd call them soon to arrange their trip back home to San Francisco.
Home. Funny how much at home she felt here, in Napa, in the country. She'd grown up in the suburbs, she lived in the city, and she had never once thought about moving out to a place like? this, surrounded by tall mountains and rows of green vines. A town small enough that everyone knew your name-which, she supposed, could be both good and bad, based on the dinner last night.
She drove Tyson's car two blocks to the farmer's market entrance. Everything was alive-the people, the vines, the delicious aromas wafting from many of the small booths. She smiled as she picked out a couple of nectarines from an organic farmer who was set up under an umbrella. At the next booth, she selected a mouthwatering local Brie and some artisan sourdough bread. No question about it, she could get used to life in the wine country.
Tyson was the best part of the fantasy, of course.
Waking up with him. Going to sleep next to him. Or not at all if they were too busy with, well, other things. She forgot her worries and took her time trying samples of pastries and peaches. She listened to a local rock band play hits from the sixties while toddlers danced in circles around them. She admired the painting a local artist was creating before a crowd of onlookers. She couldn't help but notice how handsome the painter was. Hey, she was hooked on Tyson, but she was only human. And this guy was hot.
