Michael's Father. Melinda Curtis
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and rows of neatly tended grapevines just getting ready to burst forth with spring life.
Home. After so long, Cori still thought of this as home.
Cori bit her lip and, not for the first time that day, pondered her choice of attire. She’d wanted to wear something stylish and feminine for her mother, something to show her grandfather he didn’t control her anymore.
What had she been thinking to have donned the deep red, form-fitting sheath with its teasing neckline and short hem? Add the high-heeled, scallop-edged scarlet pumps she’d slipped into upon her arrival and there was no way Cori looked as if she’d come home to fit in with her conservative wine-making family.
But Cori wasn’t here to fit in. She had to remember that. She was here to help Mama, but was not home to stay.
Her boss Sidney, had approved her request to telecommute and reduce her public relations workload so that she could return home indefinitely. Cori had a successful career guiding public relations for several imported beer brands distributed by Bell-Diva, including Nightshade, the hottest beer in the clubs this year. It just about killed her to work outside the wine industry, but she couldn’t bring herself to work for another winery.
The sound of a door being opened drew Cori’s attention back to the house. She stiffened as she recognized the man closing the imposing front door.
He looked up toward the driveway, freezing for a moment when Cori came into his line of vision. Then his chin dropped slightly and he stared at her in a way that made her feel she had his complete attention. The gesture was so familiar that Cori’s heart immediately scaled up her throat. With effort, she forced herself to be calm, to look as if he were just another one of Messina’s field managers.
Despite his bulky work boots, fluid strides carried him closer. Her eyes drank in the changes to his body, easily discernible through his faded blue jeans and T-shirt. He’d filled out since she’d seen him last, but he was still lean and muscular. His red-brown hair, cut short on the sides, longer on top, glinted in the California afternoon sunlight.
“Miss Sinclair.” He stopped five feet away from her, hands on his hips as if he owned the place.
He was far enough away that she could tell things hadn’t changed between them, but close enough for her to note how his ice-gray eyes stroked impassively over her red dress, down her legs to her pumps and back over her dress…pausing in the area of her cleavage.
Maybe not so impassively.
For once, those ten extra pregnancy pounds she hadn’t shed didn’t seem so bad. With more courage than she had felt moments before, Cori met his gaze.
“Blake Austin, isn’t it?”
Blake’s jaw clenched. Cori allowed herself a small smile, then tossed a hand through her hair for good measure. She was, after all, the woman in red.
“Back for a visit after all this time?”
The bravado drained out of her. “You know why I’m back,” she replied flatly.
Blake glanced toward the house, then pinned Cori with his chilling eyes.
“She needs people around her to be strong.”
“And you think I’m not.” Smoothing her dress with her hands, Cori tried to hide the tremor of apprehension that made her knees weak. She questioned her own resolve. Am I strong enough to handle Mama’s cancer one more time?
Blake shrugged unapologetically. “If the shoe fits.” He glanced significantly at her red heels, then moved closer to the Mustang.
“You’re still driving this? What is it? Four years old?”
“Five.” It was the last car her grandfather had bought for her, a graduation gift. Living in Los Angeles, she’d been unable to afford anything else while paying exorbitant rent and day-care costs.
“Kind of passé, isn’t it?”
At least she knew now what he thought of her. Cori squared her shoulders. Blake didn’t know what she’d been through these past few years. “It runs great and it’s paid for.”
He snorted, irritating her.
“I bet you still drive that beat-up, old truck,” she snapped, regretting the words as soon as they spilled from her lips. The memory of Blake’s taut body, of tangled limbs and an ill-placed steering wheel suddenly made it hard to breathe.
His eyes held her gaze, and Cori’s entire body stilled. Silently, they acknowledged their shared past.
Blake broke the moment first, looking toward the car.
“I’ve never known a Messina to drive a car longer than two years. I know you can afford ten of these. Why are you really driving it? What, has it got crushed, red velvet interior or something?” Blake leaned into the open window for a closer look, his dark blue T-shirt caressing the lean muscles of his back as she once had done.
Belatedly realizing what Blake was about to find, Cori tried to stop him. “Don’t—” But she was too late.
A thin scream cut through the air.
Cori hadn’t planned to tell him like this. She wasn’t ready.
“Mommy, get me out! Mommy!”
The high-pitched plea startled Blake so much that he hit his head as he pulled out of the car. “What the hell?” He rubbed the back of his scalp with one hand.
“Mommy!”
“Coming, Michael.” She opened the door, then with practiced ease moved the passenger seat forward, reached in and released the belt on her son’s car seat. His little face was scrunched up, his eyes tightly shut. But Cori knew Michael considered himself awake. The sooner she freed him, the less likely Blake was to experience one of Michael’s tantrums.
“It’s okay, baby.” He’d only fallen asleep about thirty minutes before they arrived, which was one reason why she’d postponed braving the mansion. Cranky didn’t begin to describe Michael when he hadn’t slept a full hour.
Cori pulled him out and into her arms, guiding his head to her shoulder, away from Blake’s view. Michael settled easily against her, relaxed and content to be free. She rubbed his little back and kissed the crown of his head, familiar gestures meant to reassure her son.
“He’s yours?” Blake frowned at her, his eyes dipping to her legs.
“All thirty-five pounds of him.” Realizing her dress was riding up, she held Michael’s bottom away from her with one hand and smoothed her skirt with the other.
Cori blushed. Actually blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing Blake Austin again, flashing her panties hadn’t made the list.
“I heard about someone named Michael. I just…” His frown deepened.
“I’m not married. Never was, if that’s what you’re asking.” Where had that come from? Blake certainly wasn’t asking, much to her heart’s dismay.
She wasn’t ready for this. Granted, Michael was small for his age, so Cori didn’t think Blake would suspect the boy was his son. Heaven knows, he would be furious if he guessed the truth before Cori had a chance to tell him. She just wanted to tell Blake when things were right. Looking at his disapproving frown, she didn’t think this was the time.
Blake’s expression became closed and unreadable as the moment turned excruciatingly awkward. “And the kid…” Blake stepped to his left, craning his neck to see Michael’s face.
“Michael.” Cori stepped slightly back and away, her hand on Michael’s head as she shielded him from view. She didn’t like Blake referring to Michael as the kid.
Blake paused. Scratched his head.
Cori hadn’t been prepared for this kind of reception. So much for her fantasy