A Taste of Merlot
by
Heather
Heyford
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Raise
your glass and join Heather Heyford as she pours a second serving in her series
following these headstrong wine heiresses in their quest to strike out on their
own…
Merlot St. Pierre is struggling
to break free from her family name. Her college classmates whisper behind her
back that her passion for jewelry design is little more than a hobby, since
she’ll always have her father’s fortune. But Meri is determined to prove them
wrong, and with the help of a handsome jewelry buyer, she just may taste her
first sip of success—as long as she can hide who she really is…
Mark Newman’s family
owns a chain of high-end jewelry stores, and he’s working hard to get out from
under his aunt’s thumb and prove he has a good eye and a head for business.
He’s certain Meri’s designs could be the next big thing, but he’ll have to
convince her that she can use her famous last name to her advantage. As their
business partnership takes root, an attraction begins to flourish—but they’ll
both find that love, like wine, takes time to perfect…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT:
“Dammit, Merlot. Stop. Let’s talk.
Not about business. About us.”
Her
hand stilled on her door handle momentarily, and then she angled her lithe body
to slide in, disappearing from view.
Before
she could lock him out, Mark yanked open the passenger side and bent to peer in
at her.
“If
you drive away now, we’ll both be sorry.” He wouldn’t get in her car against
her will. But he still wasn’t ready to let her end things like this.
Instead
of reaching for the ignition button, she slumped back in her seat.
“Can I get in?”
She
hesitated, then gave the briefest of nods.
He climbed in beside her. For a moment they
sat motionless, staring through the windshield at the multicolored neon glow of
shop signs punctuating the night sky of the quiet town.
When
he spoke again, his voice was a few decibels lower, and he’d managed to force
calm into it despite his near panic over almost losing her.
“Did
you think I could just walk away? Tonight was about more than the orders. At
least, for me it was.” He looked her way, his agitation rearing up again. “I
was sold on your talent from the first time I saw your work, back in early
June. I spent all summer—all summer, Meri—searching high and low for you,
making phone calls, trolling the Internet, never dreaming that when I finally
found you, you were going to look like—like this.” He strained to see her expression
in the dimness, desperate for a crumb of understanding. “Once we started
talking, it kept getting better and better. Jeezus, you’re massively talented.
. . . You’re smart. . . .”
She
was practically perfect. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with her. . . .
Get
a grip, Mark. He took a steadying breath. Nothing wrong, except a stubborn
streak fifty miles long. The distance from San Francisco to Napa, his town to
hers.
He
strained in the darkness to study her profile. His voice had gotten loud again,
he realized with dismay. He should just shut up now.
“I’m
sorry. I can’t figure you out, but I won’t grill you anymore. Promise.” He
offered her his hand, and she let out an ironic laugh at the absurdity of
shaking hands after what they’d just done in her studio.
“We’ll
stick to safe topics for the rest of the night, deal? The weather. The ’Niners.
Whatever. You pick.”
She
eyed him doubtfully.
“I
swear. No more questioning your decisions.” He hoped he could stick to his
word. He had to.
She
conceded with a tiny hint of a smile. “Tonight was about more than the orders
for me, too.”
To
his immense relief, she met him in the middle of the seat.
He
dipped his head to kiss her, and her soft, moist lips parted. His kiss was
intended to be consoling, not the start of anything new. Until she nudged
closer, encouraging him with her tongue, and powerless to resist her, he
responded in spite of himself. Soon, their breathing became audible in the
hushed silence of the enclosed space, the fogged windows adding to the illusion
of privacy.
He
hauled her across his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his right elbow.
The sight of her chest rising and falling had him ready to go again…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Born in the
Northeast, Heather Heyford learned to walk and talk in Texas, and then moved to
England. (“Ya’ll want some scones?”) While in Europe, Heather was forced by her
cruel parents to spend Saturdays in the leopard vinyl back seat of their
Peugeot, motoring from one medieval pile to the next for the lame purpose of
‘learning something.’ What she soon learned was how to allay the boredom by
stashing a Cosmo under the seat. Now a recovering teacher, Heather writes love
stories, feeds hardboiled eggs to suburban foxes, and makes art in the Mid-Atlantic.
See more at HeatherHeyford.com, or visit me on facebook, twitter, pinterest,
and instagram.
Thank you for hosting
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