Emma blinks. “You do?”
“You know, first impressions can be deceiving. Just because I’ve got a—what did you call it? A big swinging dick?”
I don’t miss the way her brown eyes flick to the front of my trousers. When they move back up to my face, they’re different. Sharper.
“A big swinging dick wine list,” she corrects. “I said you had a BSD wine list.”
“Implying, of course, that I’m compensating for a lack in other, more private areas.”
Her lips twitch. “Private areas. Brain areas.”
“Right. Just because I’ve got a list of robust wines at robust prices doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy life’s simpler pleasures, like making the world’s tastiest bourbon braised short ribs or the best, moistest cornbread you’ve ever put in your mouth.”
“You used moist on purpose, didn’t you?” She spears me with a look. “Just to make me squirm.”
“Yup,” Hank says.
“What’s wrong with moist?” I ask.
“You know what’s wrong with—ugh, I won’t say it again.”
“I happen to think moist is a happy state of affairs. When it comes to cornbread and…well.”
She tilts her head. “You like to put that in your mouth too?”
I let out a bark of laughter. “I eat it all, yes.”
“But can you taste it? Really, thoroughly taste it? Tease out its nuances, appreciate its texture, name its flavors?”
What the fuck are we talking about now?
Cornbread? Pussy? Both?
I like both.
I like ’em a lot.
A tide of heat rises inside my skin. It gathers between my legs, morphing into this sweet, awful pressure, and my dick nudges against my zipper.
I promised Beau I wouldn’t lay a finger on Emma, and I mean to honor that promise. But a little borderline-inappropriate banter never hurt anyone. Miss Crawford may look all uptight in her pencil skirt and pulled back hair, but clearly, there’s a dirty mind at work behind those wicked brown eyes.
I want to know more. If only so I can maintain the upper hand in this game between us that’s clearly begun.
“Would you like to find out?” I ask.
She turns her head to look at me over her shoulder. “I would, actually. Tonight?”
“Aren’t you going to at least buy me dinner first?”
Her eyes rake down my body again. Then rake back up. This time, they flicker with appreciation.
Aw, yeah. She likes the purple suit. She may be a stuck-up sommelier, but the girl appreciates a well-dressed man.
“Yes, actually. I’ve got meetings with the finance team this afternoon, and then I’ll be in the kitchen tonight with Chef and her staff. What about tomorrow? Eight PM-ish? I’ll arrange a tasting of my current favorite wines. We could do it blind—see exactly what you can do to my…cornbread.”
“Y’all,” Hank says. “For the love of God, the explicit food metaphors have got to stop.”
I don’t know my way around blind tastings very well. But I do know I want to show this chick who she’s dealing with. I may be a pro athlete, and yes, I may be wearing a purple suit (that I am clearly rocking). But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of crushing this little competition she wants to put together. I’ve been collecting wine for over a decade. I’ve tasted shit that was in Thomas Jefferson’s cellar. Trophy vintages of Chateau Lafite Rothschild, the best Chilean Carménère ever produced, and Screaming Eagle’s highest rated bottles.
And I’ll admit the fact that Emma is willing to go toe to toe with me has piqued my interest. When was the last time someone challenged me?
Why, I want to ask her. Why the fuck do you care so much?
I’m gonna find out. And then I’m gonna get her ass fired. This is my restaurant. My resort.
My family.
“I’m in,” I say, making a mental note to set my alarm for quarter till ten tomorrow. “We won’t have much choice when it comes to the food at such short notice.”
“I’ll get in touch with Chef Katie and work with what she’s got,” Emma says, waving me away with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
Anger punches me square in the gut. “I’m the food guy.”
“I’m the wine woman. And I need the courses to complement my selections. The food and the wine have to speak to each other. You can’t serve duck with Riesling, or an arugula salad with a big, fruity Amarone.”
I’m going to fucking hate this, I can already tell.
“Whatever.” I turn to Hank. “We all set here?”
“Yup.”
Emma takes her knee off the chair. “Can I make a quick suggestion?”
“What?”
“Skip the cologne tomorrow. It’ll mess with your tongue.”
A pulse of anger screams up my center. Or maybe it’s embarrassment.
The girl practically radiates her desire to dominate, which makes me think my “co-head” will eventually push me out. What if the wine and beverage program isn’t enough for her? What if she wants the food too? Where would that leave me?
Out of a job and up shit creek without a paddle, that’s where. I’ve been pushed out by an ambitious upstart before. There may be fewer headlines this time around, but the sting would be the same.
The shame would be the fucking same.
I hate to be the guy who’s threatened by an ambitious woman. Usually ambition turns me on. I like a girl who’s got something cooking. But when those ambitions threaten me and my future and my place in my family—well, that’s a different scenario, isn’t it?
My brothers and sister and mama are Blue Mountain Farm, and they’re my life. I think it shocked us all how much we enjoy working together. How well we work together. I love the idea of continuing my parents’ legacy and of keeping Daddy’s memory alive through a spirit of generosity.
I am not being generous right now.
But I was serious about the yacht. I had my fun. Blew off steam when things went south in my pro career. Now, though, I’m done with that shit. I like my life here. I want to keep it exactly as is. Change has never been kind to me.
And now Emma is here to shake things up.
Over my dead body. I’ve already reinvented myself once. I know how painful and long the process can be. And if there’s one thing I’ve always known about myself, it’s that I like to stay busy. As Daddy used to say, idle hands are the devil’s workshop. Don’t get me wrong, I am fucking great at enjoying my leisure time. But I also like to hustle. If I’m not hustling, trying to make my family’s resort the best it can possibly be, if I’m not working my ass off to ensure the people and the heritage I love so much have a future, then I’d have no purpose.
And that seems like the worst outcome of all.
Chapter Four
Samuel
I spend a few hours in my office above the restaurant, twitchy as hell as I listen to Emma getting settled in the room next door.
A hard workout always clears my head. When I have a rare break later that afternoon, I head home and hit the gym in my basement for a quick sweat session.