LadyV76: No. I mean when was the last time you were honest about what you wanted?
MyBoyBlue4: You sure as hell don’t hold any punches.
LadyV76: One of the things you like about me.
MyBoyBlue4: I like you?
LadyV76: You’ll be back for more.
MyBoyBlue4: You free tomorrow? I can do late.
LadyV76: No, but the day after I am. Monday is my day off.
MyBoyBlue4: Mine too. You work in a restaurant?
LadyV76: I don’t share details about my personal life.
MyBoyBlue4: You have a lot of rules.
LadyV76: You don’t have enough. Ever consider that having rules not only keeps you in line but also makes the experience of breaking them that much more of a turn-on?
MyBoyBlue4: Christ.
LadyV76: What?
MyBoyBlue4: I’m hard again. I’m hot for you, teacher.
Chapter One
Emma
He’s a coworker, not a conquest.
But damn if Samuel Beauregard isn’t exactly my type. Big. Broad.
Bold.
I try not to stare as I approach the man standing outside The Barn Door restaurant. An Internet search told me the former star quarterback is six-five and two-hundred-sixty pounds. Pictures of him dwarfing pretty much everyone he’s ever been photographed with were all over Google: teammates, girlfriends, even his three brothers, all of whom played professional football too.
In real life, though, my new coworker and kinda-sorta boss looks massive. Standing beside the restaurant’s entrance with his hands clasped in front of him, I notice how his shoulders and thighs strain against the fabric of his sharply cut suit.
His lavender suit. It sports a daring white-and-purple check pattern that would scream Barney the Friendly Dinosaur on anyone else. But on Samuel, it works. His enormous physical presence lends the whole getup a gravitas it wouldn’t otherwise have.
And while the suit is not at all subtle, the accessories he wears with it are: crisp white button-down, black Gucci loafers (the classic black ones), wildly expensive but understated platinum Patek Philippe watch that peeks out from his sleeve.
Interesting. He dresses to impress, that much is clear. He’s flashing dollar signs left and right, but he’s also flashing a willingness to experiment. To get the balance of bling and business just right.
To try new things, as Blue so succinctly put it last night.
I like that idea.
Something I don’t like? The way Samuel glowers at me. I get closer, my heels crunching on the neatly kept gravel path, and he actually scowls. His blue eyes are cold.
Thankfully, the man standing next to him—his brother Beau—offers me a much warmer welcome.
“Emma! You’re finally here.” He takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. “Only took me, what, two years to convince you to come up to Blue Mountain?”
I grin, my chest lighting up with pride. “Had to get that Master Somm diploma first.”
He grins too. “I’m glad you passed. It’s an honor to have you.”
“It’s an honor to be here. Heading Blue Mountain’s wine program is a dream job, and I can’t wait to get started.”
Beau nods at his brother. “This is Samuel. As the director of our food program, he’ll be your partner in crime in all things culinary. You two will be the co-heads who take the resort’s food and beverage programs to the next level.”
Samuel grunts. “We’ll see.”
Beau cuts him a look that I’m guessing says play nice or else. It makes me wonder what the hell Samuel’s deal is. Is he gunning for the wine job too? Or does he not think they need me here?
I stiffen my spine. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for from my new co-head.
Holding out my hand, I say, “Nice to meet you, Samuel. I’m Emma Crawford.” I don’t force cheeriness into my voice because, well, I don’t need to. If he wants to be a dick, fine. He’s not the first asshole I’ve worked with, but hopefully he’ll be the last. “I look forward to working together.”
I don’t, his expression says. Yep, can read that one loud and clear.
My training as a sommelier has made my nose extra sensitive, so it’s not surprising that I catch a whiff of his cologne. I pick up notes of graphite. Wet granite. A heavy hit of saccharine spice. It’s expensive and not at all subtle, just like his outfit.
Still, it doesn’t stop the bolt of electricity from darting up my arm when his hand engulfs mine. The warmth of his palm is a startling counterpoint to the ice in his eyes.
Eyes that flash, just for a second. Just long enough for me to think he felt the electricity too.
The space between us thrums, but I try to ignore it. I’m not here to get laid. I’m here at Blue Mountain Farm to make my dreams come true.
Besides, I have Blue for sex. I usually chat with several partners at once, but lately, the proverbial well has run dry. So for now, I’m unintentionally monogamous with Blue.
“Right,” he says, and drops my hand.
A beat of uncomfortable silence blooms between the three of us, along with the scent of rosemary. The herb borders the path in pretty blue-green swaths, along with a riot of azaleas and a gigantic magnolia tree. From the service to the grounds, everything about Blue Mountain Farm is impeccable.
Doesn’t hurt that it’s a beautiful spring day. It’s another warm afternoon in what’s been a remarkably mild winter. We never got the usual snowstorm or two we’ve come to expect, which makes me think we’re due for a thumper at some point.
“Okay then.” Beau claps his hands together. “Emma, you up for a quick behind-the-scenes tour of The Barn Door? Then we’ll get you checked into your cottage.”
“That would be great. I can’t wait to see this wine cellar I keep hearing about.”
“My cellar. Stocked with my bottles.” Samuel sends a meaningful glance in his brother’s direction. “The ones I began collecting long before I was Blue Mountain’s food and wine director.”
Ah. So he wants my job and he doesn’t think the resort needs me.
Great.
Rolling his eyes, Beau opens the door for me. “Excuse my brother. He’s still warming up to the idea of accepting much-needed help with our expanding programs. I promise he’ll see the light.”
I move through the doorway. “By the way, I appreciate that not-so-little perk of y’all putting me up in a cottage. I won’t lie, I’m really excited about staying here for a couple of weeks. Beau, your resort is stunning.”
“Of course. I wanted you to experience the farm as a guest so you can get a feel for the experience we’re trying to create. I’ll admit it’s also part of my shameless ploy to get you to stay, well, forever.”
As a part of my signing package, Beau offered me the chance to stay in one of Blue Mountain Farm’s insanely luxurious cottages for a few weeks. Considering they go for north of two grand a night, I would’ve never been able to afford to stay here otherwise. As much as I love my loft back in Asheville, a twenty or so minute drive from here, I’m excited about the change of scenery. Especially when that scenery is some of the best in the Smokies.
I take in the quiet of The Barn Door restaurant. It’s midafternoon on a Friday, and while a handful of diners linger over a late lunch, the place has the buzzy feel of a party about to begin. A small army of staff patrols the floor—front servers, busboys, a pair of hostesses.