Platinum Promises Page 8

  Wide eyes. Shaky voice. “No.”

  “Ha! Liar.”

  Faye’s voice hardened. “I’ve faced down machetes in a war zone. Trust me, you don’t scare me.”

  Dexter nodded, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. “Then, let’s go.” Most women fawned over him, considered it a coup just to be in his presence. Few were a challenge, and that hadn’t been a problem. Until now. Now he found himself measuring his past conquests against this unexpected love interest. Wait, did I just think about the L-word? Down, Dexter. Slow your fantasizing roll.

  They walked outside and got into the SUV that Faye had assumed belonged to the nurse. “This your car, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “How many cars do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “How many can you drive at one time?” A look. No answer. “I don’t begrudge wealth,” Faye continued, almost as if to herself. “I really don’t. But living in poverty-stricken nations almost exclusively for the past eight years has changed how I see things. Many people see money in terms of how it can make their own lives better. I see it in terms of how many people I can help.”

  “Help is the operative word. In our way, my family helps people, too. We help them feel better, help them celebrate. We also have several charities that we support. I don’t think one type of help is better than another.”

  “People eating rice for meals may beg to disagree.”

  “I won’t argue that.”

  “I don’t want to argue at all. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “No worries.”

  Instead of going to the vineyard, wine store, cellar or any other stops mentioned on the brochure, they drove in front of an office building. “What happens here?” she asked

  Dexter smiled. “Magic. Let me get that door for you.”

  Another gentlemanly act? Faye realized she’d almost forgotten what being with one of them felt like. She exited the car, inhaled Dexter’s trademark scent and felt her heart flip-flop in spite of the previous day’s resolve, despite her thoughts that he was probably wine country’s biggest playboy. While walking with him to the side door he led them to, she tried to remember the last time she felt this way. And realized she was experiencing something that she’d never felt before.

  “Welcome to my lab.”

  He reached for an opened bottle. “This one should be ready to try.”

  “I probably shouldn’t. I’m not much of a drinker, remember? Plus, no offense, but I think wine tastes disgusting.”

  “Oh, baby!” Dexter placed a hand to his chest. “You wound me! Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Chuckling at her expression, he continued. “I’m just messing with you. I’m not offended.” Her look remained skeptical. “Come on. Just a sip.”

  “Okay.”

  He poured a small amount of the deep burgundy liquid into two large wineglasses. “Swirl it, like this,” he said, gently moving the liquid around. “Now, take a sniff, like this.” He placed the rim of the glass directly under his nose and inhaled deeply. Faye did the same. “What do you smell?”

  Faye shrugged. “Wine, I guess.”

  “No, close your eyes.” She did. “Relax, and focus on your olfactory senses.”

  Faye opened one eye.

  “That word means smell,” Dexter teased.

  Both eyes were now open. “Very cute.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  To hide her sudden case of nerves, Faye became very interested in the contents of her glass. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I think I smell citrus.”

  “Good. What else?”

  “Maybe...spices?”

  “Which ones?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s taste it.” Dexter showed her how to take a sip, let it rest on her palate before swallowing. She mimicked his moves. “Which spice did you taste?”

  “I don’t know. But I usually don’t like wine, and this is good. It’s sweet.”

  “Yes. Just like you.”

  “Are you always such a flirt?”

  “Most times,” he admitted, with the crooked, impish smile that she’d come to expect, and quite like. “But I’m always sincere. You seem like a sweet girl. A good girl. Are you?”

  “As opposed to a bad girl?” Dexter looked, waited. “I guess so.” He continued his intense perusal, his brownish-hazel orbs almost hidden behind long, curly lashes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I’m curious about something.”

  “What?” Faye asked, totally aware that she was entering uncharted territory at her own risk.

  “I wonder if the wine tastes the same on your lips as it does on mine.”

  He leaned forward. She leaned back. “How do you mix the, uh, spices and citrus?” she asked, flustered and fluttering at the same time.

  He pulled back, noting her skittishness and the wild way her pulse was beating in her neck. “There are no additives, sweetheart. It’s all in what type of grape is used, and the fermenting process.”

  “Oh.”

  “Any more questions before I kiss you? I can kiss you, can’t I?”

  Dexter took her silence as consent. When his lips touched hers, Faye would later swear that the earth shook ever so slightly. Or was it her body? Of its own volition, her body leaned forward for more of this bliss. He obliged, pressing more firmly this time, placing a possessive hand at the small of her back, bringing her closer. The groan that erupted from her throat was foreign to her ears, as was this almost feral need to touch this man. She opened her mouth, welcoming his deepening of the kiss even as she wrapped her arms around the shoulders she’d earlier admired. Tongues swirled, hardened nipples pressed against a strong chest, hands explored. Dexter lightened his touch, rained kisses on her neck, cheek and forehead, and, for a delicious mind-boggling second, nibbled on her ear. He pulled away to find Faye more unreserved than he’d ever seen her—eyes closed, mouth slack—and decided that he quite liked her in this uninhibited state.

  “Interesting.”

  Faye’s eyes fluttered open. “What?”

  “The taste. I think it’s even better on your lips.”

  “Oh, right. The wine.”

  Dexter’s chuckle was deep and knowing. “This is a portion of the Drake Wines operation that is not a part of the public tour. So know that you’re special.”

  “I am?” Faye was genuinely surprised.

  “You don’t know?”

  The tour continued then, not only with the spots that Faye expected—the wine store, cellar, vineyard and such—but also with the Honeymoon House, shown with a delightful narrative from Dexter about Papa Dee’s colorful upbringing and the stables that housed the most beautiful horses that Faye had ever seen. An hour after they’d left Papa Dee’s, he again dropped her off at her room’s door.

  “Thanks for the tour,” she said, looking at those delectable lips and sounding more breathy than she’d intended.

  “Thanks for the kiss.”

  Faye missed him even before he was gone. The way he’d kissed her had been magical. “Probably lots of practice,” she mumbled as she closed the door and plopped down on the sofa. “Why are you doing this?” she asked the empty room. “He’s just a heartbreak waiting to happen.”

  Even as she told herself this, Adeline’s words wafted into her mind. Stop being such a conservative prude and live a little. With her lips still tingling from his touch, this sounded like a great idea.

  Chapter 15

  The following day Dexter was working in his lab, deep into perfecting a merlot/cabernet/pinot blend. So much so that he didn’t hear the door to the lab open.

  “Looks like Papa Dee has a new girlfriend,” Donovan said as he entered.
>
  “Who, the nurse?”

  “No, the doctor.” This got Dexter’s attention. “I just passed by his house and saw her and Papa Dee swinging on his porch like old pals.”

  Dexter smiled, pleased to know that Faye was spending time with his favorite person on earth. “Papa likes ’em young.”

  “And pretty,” Donovan added.

  “A married man such as yourself shouldn’t be knowing too much about what the good doctor looks like.” Dexter’s casual air belied the thoughts whirling in his mind.

  “Nothing wrong with looking, brother. Your eyes don’t stop working because you get married. You’ll see.”

  “No I won’t. Diamond is getting ready to give Mama her first grandchild, and I’m sure you and Marissa are working on the second. I think being the favorite uncle and perpetual bachelor suits me just fine.”

  “You say that now. I did, too. But when you meet the right woman, everything changes.”

  “I can’t see myself with just one woman, man.”

  Donovan leaned against the counter, watching his brother in his element, doing what he loved. “So you’re going to be one of those pitiful-looking brothers sporting gray whiskers and still chasing skirts?” He continued, laughing as he imagined the words he said. “A beer gut over your belt, high-water pants and a baseball cap on backward trying to recapture your youth?”

  “You know I’m not going out like that. I never wore my hat backward when that was in vogue. As for flab and rolls and ill-fitting clothes, that won’t happen in this lifetime. I’m going to be like Pops...with lady friends till the end.”

  They were silent a moment, both thinking about the party and the little tiff that happened when Birdie wanted to dance with Papa Dee but he chose to dance with Charlotte. “I have to give it to him,” Donovan said. “That man is something.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I know he’s lived longer than most, but I’m not ready to lose him.”

  “The world won’t be the same without him in it, that’s for sure.” After corking the blend he’d been working on, Dexter walked over to a large refrigerator and took out a sparkling wine taster pack: four different bottles of wine packaged in a carton.

  “Hot date tonight?” Donovan asked.

  “You might say that.”

  “Do I know her?”

  “A little, but you definitely know him. I’m going to cook dinner for Pops,” Dexter continued, in answer to Donovan’s quizzical look. “And invite Faye to join us.”

  “I don’t know, man. You’re pretty popular with the

  ladies, but she doesn’t seem the type to want to play that game.”

  “Oh, she definitely wants to play. She just might not know yet just how much.”

  As soon as his brother left, Dexter closed up shop to get the plan he’d formulated under way, the one hatched somewhere between talk of Papa, parties and pretty women swinging with his great-grandpa. It was true. Dexter didn’t see himself with just one woman. But tonight he did envision himself with one woman in particular. He hoped she was at the hotel, and that she was hungry.

  Ten minutes after he’d arrived at Papa Dee’s and given the nurse a couple of hours off, he called Faye.

  “Hello?”

  “Can you cook?”

  “Dexter?”

  “No, Bobby Flay.” Faye laughed. “Yes it’s me, woman. Now answer the question.”

  A slight hesitation and then, “I can cook a little bit.”

  “Good. Have you eaten?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Then the pleasure of your company is being requested at Papa Dee’s. Should I get someone to bring you over?”

  “I don’t recall accepting your invitation yet.”

  “This one is in the bag, baby. You might turn me down but there is no way you’ll say no to a one-hundred-year-old man whose tomorrow is not promised.”

  “That’s low, Dex.”

  He heard the smile in her voice and knew the evening was unfolding just the way he’d imagined. “Don’t hate the player, baby. Hate the game.”

  Before long, Faye was knocking on Papa Dee’s screen door. “Hello!”

  “It’s open!” Dexter replied from the kitchen. “Come on in.” He heard the door open and close. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Faye followed the sounds of pots and utensils rattling and was soon in Papa Dee’s small yet functional kitchen.

  “Wow.” Once again a word meant to be spoken silently was uttered out loud. What about this man kept giving her leave of her senses? She tried to divert her eyes, make it look as though she were referencing the decor, but Dexter’s face told her that he’d already seen her stare. She couldn’t help it. There was absolutely no way a man (or any human for that matter) should look so good in jeans and an apron. Sexy didn’t begin to describe how the jeans cupped his butt and how the apron ties drew one’s attention to his narrow waist and broad back. His turning around did her no favors. His stark white shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a solid, bare chest; the sleeves rolled up to show arms Faye knew would feel just right around her shoulders. “What I meant to say was,” she began in an attempt at face saving, “is that something smells good in here.”

  Dexter leaned against the fridge. “Haven’t started cooking yet, so it must be me.”

  Faye glanced over at the stove. Indeed, the skillet on one of the burners was empty and the pot on one of the back burners contained only water. “Maybe it’s the vegetables,” she continued with a nod to the onions, carrots, garlic, celery and other items on the cutting board. “I find their raw state intoxicating.” To further prove her point, she walked over, picked up an onion and inhaled deeply. “Yes, this is what I smelled. Yum.”

  Her look challenged him to not believe her. His look said she was full of bull. The sexual tension that erupted every time they saw each other dissipated. They burst out laughing.

  “Salad or sauce?” Dexter walked over to the counter and took the onion out of Faye’s hand.

  “What?”

  “Would you like to make the salad, or the sauce?”

  Since the only pasta sauce Faye had ever made simply involved opening a jar and heating the contents in a saucepan, her choice was easy. “Salad.”

  “Knives are in that drawer,” Dexter said, reaching to pull another cutting board from the cupboard. “Salad fixings are in the fridge, lower shelf.”

  She retrieved lettuce, red cabbage, grape tomatoes and peppers, placing them on the cutting board opposite Dexter. As she reached for her knife, she heard the rat-ta-tat-tat sound of knife meeting cutting board with skilled precision. She turned and found Dexter dicing onions, fast and furious, with the skill of a host on a cooking channel.

  Is there nothing that this guy can’t do well? Faye had never spent much time in the kitchen, had never given cooking much thought at all. Hers was a simple palate, often assuaged by whatever food was being prepared en masse. “How do you do that?”

  Dexter looked over his shoulder and saw Faye’s eyes on the knife. “What...this?” After making horizontal and vertical slits with the knife, he created perfectly proportioned diced pieces of onions in a matter of seconds.

  “Did you take cooking lessons?” Faye was genuinely amazed.

  “At the elbow of my mother, grandmother and Papa Dee. It’s not as hard as it looks. Here, let me show you.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Come on, Doctor. I’d think you’d be very skilled with a knife.” He walked over to her board. “Turn around.” She did, and he stood behind her. Close. Way too close. Wrapping his arms around her, he picked up the knife and placed it in her hands.

  And I’m supposed to think with your arms wrapped around me? And your hard chest pressing against my back? Seriously, Dexter? Seriously?


  “Okay,” he said, his breath precariously close to her temple. “Slice the peppers like this.” With her small hand enveloped by his much larger one, they made the cuts. “Now, place the tip of the knife on the cutting board and move the knife up and down as you push the vegetable forward...like this.”

  “You’re a good teacher,” Faye murmured, almost giddy from the smell of his cologne and the feel of her body wedged between his body and the counter.

  “Uh-huh.” He pressed his body up against hers, so that there was no mistaking the slow, deliberate grinding motion against her buttocks. “Later on, I have another lesson I’d like you to learn.”

  Faye gripped the knife. Her breathing lightened and her kitty meowed. If she didn’t do something fast, she’d throw caution, common sense and decorum to the wind and take this hunk of goodness right here on his great-grandfather’s kitchen floor. She managed to turn around within the tight confines of his chest and the counter. Her intent was to push him away. Her arms had other plans. They reached up, totally in defiance of her original intention, and wrapped themselves around Dexter’s neck, even as she lifted her head and he lowered his and their mouths met in a blissful reunion that had been a little more than twenty-four hours in the making. Way too long. Their tongues touched and twirled, sensations exploding inside her mouth. Faye followed Dexter’s lead as he teased the tip of her tongue with the tip of his. His stiff tongue plunged back inside her warm, hot mouth, even as a hand slid up to tease the already hardened nipple pressing against her simple tank top. He slid his hand down her back. She shivered, even as a volcano of passion erupted inside her. Who knew it even existed? Where was the calm, conservative doctor, Faye wondered, and who was this tigress ready to relieve this man she kissed of his clothes?

  “Mmm.” She moaned her agreement in his deepening the kiss. He slid quick pecks along her jaw and neck before coming back to reclaim her mouth again. For both of them, all senses save those of touch and feel were blocked out, so caught up were they in this moment of unbridled ardor.

  He slid his hand between them, inside the lacy bra covering her chocolate treasures. He tweaked her nipple. And then...and then...