Controlled by the Mob, Tami Lund [ebook reader 7 inch .TXT] 📗

already downed two glasses, so liquid courage and all that. He took a couple steps toward her.

“I’d rather be alone.” Her voice was cool, crisp, left no room for argument. Maybe, instead of an actress, she was a defense attorney when she wasn’t vacationing alone on the Leelanau Peninsula.

“Okay, that’s fine.” He placed the bottle and flutes on the table next to hers and then filled the empty one. “Here you go.” He set it next to her elbow and retreated to his own table, sitting and pulling out his phone because staring at the scenery, nice as it was, felt awkward after her brushoff.

“Why are you giving me a glass of champagne?” she asked.

“It’s sparkling wine, actually. Made right here, from some of those grapes out there.” He waved in the general direction of the rolling hills he had admired from his balcony.

“Okay. Why did you give me a glass of sparkling wine?”

“Because I like to share, and you’re here.” He shrugged. “Don’t drink it if you don’t want to, but don’t let Maureen know you weren’t interested. She’s pretty proud of this stuff.” He raised his glass in mock toast and then took a swig. “Rightly so, I might add.”

She stared at the bubbles rising in the blush-colored liquid.

“You’re not worried I spiked it, I hope.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

He turned in his chair so that he was fully facing her. “Seriously? Has that happened to you before?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry.” He leapt up and swiped the glass off the table.

“What are you doing?”

He tipped it to his mouth and drained the contents. “I don’t want you to think I’m one of those assholes. When I want to have sex with women, I make my moves the old-fashioned way.”

Her lips quirked. They were shiny, like she was wearing gloss maybe, but there was no tint to it. He liked it.

“What’s the old-fashioned way?” she asked.

“Dinner. Movie. I’d go with a really scary one or a super romantic one, depending on her preference.”

“What if she doesn’t like movies?”

“Have you ever met someone who doesn’t like movies?”

“Fine. What if she prefers less…ordinary ways to be wooed?”

He flipped his own chair around so that he could straddle it, then swiped his glass off the table before leaning his forearms on the back of the chair. “Oh, I totally got this.”

A dark eyebrow lifted above the lens of her sunglasses.

“Set the scene for me. Are we talking city or someplace like this?”

“That matters?”

“Hell yes. Very different experiences.”

She nodded once. “Okay. Let’s go with…here.”

In his mind he sorted through all the various excursions he’d been excited to try while he and Bridgette honeymooned here in the Traverse City area. Bridgette hadn’t been nearly as enthusiastic as he was, which had resulted in him booking a follow-up trip to LA so she could shop on Rodeo Drive.

He needed to remember to have his admin cancel those plans. He’d had pretty much zero desire to take that trip even when he thought he was still marrying Bridgette, let alone now.

Fisting his hand, he flipped out fingers one by one. “Winery tours for sure. And a trip to a local distillery. Oh, and an entire day spent exploring the antiques shops over on the Old Mission peninsula. Maybe Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes, if that was her thing.”

The woman’s mouth fell open for a moment, but she snapped it shut again. After clearing her throat, she said, “That’s a lot. I’m not sure she’d be up for sex after so much activity.”

He chuckled. “We could spread it out over the course of several days. I’m here for a week, after all.”

“Are these your plans for the week? Alone?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

She paused. “It sounds like fun.”

He drained his glass, hopped up to refill it. Maybe he didn’t need to share after all. That stuff was going down far too easily.

“If the offer still stands, I’d love to try a glass.”

He glanced over his shoulder. She’d removed her sunglasses.

Holy shit, was she ever gorgeous. Huge blue eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes. High cheekbones, smooth forehead. And not a lick of makeup, or if she was wearing it, it was the kind that made a woman look like she wasn’t wearing any.

“Yes, of course. Happy to share.” He filled both glasses, handed her one of them.

She lifted it, looked at the word carved into the bowl, then arched her brows again.

He sighed and slumped into his chair. “You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, I think I very much do.” There was laughter in her voice, which he liked. Maureen was right; when he first approached, sadness had radiated off her in almost palpable waves. Had she been jilted at the altar too? It was wedding season, after all.

He waved at the old farmhouse behind them. “This was supposed to be my honeymoon. First honeymoon, that is. Did you know that, apparently, these days, you’re supposed to go on multiple honeymoons? Many-moons, I’m told, is what this recent fad is called.”

“There are several aspects of that I’d like to dissect. But first, tell me about this honeymoon I’m guessing isn’t happening?” She sipped at the sparkling wine, then stared at the glass. “Wow, this is seriously excellent.”

“Told you.”

She acknowledged his comment with a lift of her glass, and then drank again. “So, honeymoon.”

“I was supposed to get married. Tomorrow.”

“And yet, here you are, presumably alone.”

“That I am.”

“And?”

“And I called off the wedding. Today. In the middle of the rehearsal.”

She stared at him. “This conversation feels a bit like pulling teeth.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. It’s just not a fun story to tell. I walked in on her screwing somebody else.”

His companion winced. “Ouch.”