Excerpt 1
Chris McDermott’s Family Ranch in Napa, CA
(Dinner after an all-day TV shoot in the vineyards)

When they were finishing the fig tart dessert with freshly whipped cream from their dairy, his dad leaned over to Chris. “Why don’t you show Catherine our current operation? It’s not much yet, but she’ll be able to say she saw a world class winery in its early stages.” He stood up and grabbed his plate. “I’ll help Maura clear the dishes. You two can take off.”

Chris didn’t need prompting. He was feeling inexplicably drawn to Catherine. The temperature outside dropped quickly, so he bundled her up in one of his warm leather jackets. It was three sizes too big, which only made her look more adorable.

They stepped onto a moonlit path and walked a short distance to the temporary winery: an aluminum-sided structure that held rudimentary winemaking equipment next to cases of empty bottles. A walk-in cooler held samples of the wines they’d already produced laid horizontally on racks. On the far end of the room, a partial wall separated the “office”—an old metal desk, a long table with office equipment and a computer, one file cabinet, shelves brimming with books and magazines, and a large bulletin board with articles and graphs clipped on it.

“I know it doesn’t look like much yet,” Chris said. “But it’s the genesis of our dream. My dad and I have been working toward this moment for many years, the chance to create our own family wine.”

He held out his hand. “Let’s go sit outside. It’s such a clear night, we should be able to see the stars.”

They sat on hay bales near the barn, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm. He pointed up to the sky. “Most nights you can see the constellations and major stars, unless there’s cloud cover.” He pulled her closer. “There’s Venus . . .”

“Named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty . . .” Catherine chimed in.

Seems the beauty is right here, sitting next to me. “How about you, Catherine Reynolds? What are your dreams?”

She tucked her hands into the jacket pockets. “Unlike you, my dreams have changed over time. When Vanessa and I were teenagers, we went into modeling.” She made a face. “It’s not as glamorous as people think. Now, I’d like to pursue a career in the hospitality sector.” She sighed. “Still working that out.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you in the beginning. I think you’re a wonderful asset to the company.” And to my life.

He stood up and silently offered his hand, pulling her up to face him. An owl hooted nearby, momentarily jarring him from his intent to steal a kiss. He took a deep breath and gazed into her upturned face. Her long-lashed eyes blinked as she looked into his questioningly.

“We’d better get going.” He turned her around and draped his arm over her shoulders as they walked back. When they reached the guest cottage, he gave her a warm hug and walked off. She’s too appealing. I’m falling fast.

 

Excerpt 2
Sightseeing in Paris
(after work trip to Champagne)

As they walked out, Chris asked, “What’s on the agenda for this afternoon?”

Catherine’s eyes lit up. “Shopping, of course, though I’m on a tight budget. Mind if we stop at my favorite lingerie boutique?”

Chris draped his arm around her shoulders. “Far from it. Consider it my duty to assist in your choices—after you’ve modeled the contenders.”

“Sounds like an athletic event,” she said.

“Might very well be after you’re done.” Chris’s arm around her tightened as they found a nearby cab.

“What’s so special about this place?” he asked during their ride over to the Right Bank.

“Family tradition. My French grandma used to take me there. Herminie Cadolle is credited with inventing the bra in the late 1800s. She cut a corset in half and voilà.” Catherine made a cutting gesture across her chest. “Every garment was handmade, called sur mesure, to fit each woman’s body. Now much of their lingerie is ready to wear, prêt à porter.”

“Don’t they sell stuff like this in New York?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Cadolle is still run by Herminie’s descendants—same high standards, top silk and black French lace, quality craftsmanship.”

Ten minutes later, they walked into the boutique on Rue Cambon. A young saleslady welcomed them and directed Chris to a sitting area. Catherine perused ensembles hanging artfully on a partition while Chris was served coffee. Then the ladies got to work.

Catherine had a gift card from her French grandma; she hoped the amount would cover a matching bra and panty set and a silk cami. In her modeling days, she and Vanessa had worn camisoles as an undergarment for an extra layer to stay warm or as a sexy top under a fitted suit jacket, buttoned up partway with the lace peeking out.

The saleslady understood exactly what Catherine preferred and they had a good selection in Catherine’s small size. Catherine playfully dangled a few lacy nothings in front of Chris on her way to the dressing room. She’d never been to a lingerie store with a man waiting nearby. She found it incredibly sexy. As she tried on each delicate bra and panties set, she envisioned modeling them for him.

Catherine knew she was playing with fire and had some trepidation. Chris had made his intentions crystal clear. No holds barred while they were in Paris. After the trip, they’d go back to their agreement to wait until the launch.

She was intensely attracted to him. Her quandary: She had difficulty letting her guard down when it came to intimacy. She might freeze up. That could nix this love affair before it started. She liked him so much she was willing to take the gamble.

There’s something to this French stuff, Chris mused, while waiting on a velvet settee with a cup of strong coffee. The French didn’t hide their appreciation for sexy lingerie. He’d passed more boutiques displaying lacy bras and barely-there undies on the streets of Paris than in any other city. Of course, the woman who’d captured his interest was all in on this enticing game.

In a dressing room nearby, she was in the process of selecting an ensemble that he hoped to get her to model for him in private, post haste. Fortunately, their hotel was a few blocks away.

Catherine emerged with her purchases in a decorative gold bag and looked pleased with the results. This woman really does like to shop.

They got back to the hotel in record time. Chris suggested a stop at the Costes bar for a late-afternoon cocktail. He managed to find a dark corner where they could sit side by side in a secluded leather booth with no distractions. After ordering the house specialty—a pitcher of Caipirinha, sugar cane, liquor, and lime—Chris reached for Catherine’s hand.

I’m head over heels for this woman. He hoped she felt the same and it wasn’t a dalliance on her part.

 

Excerpt 3
Black Tie dinner at Plaza Hotel in NYC,
fundraiser to benefit the California Sparkling Wine Producers in Napa, CA

While after-dinner coffee was offered, Doug stepped to the mic and introduced the head of the UC Davis Sparkling Winemaking Program, who thanked everyone for their support and described how the money raised would benefit their research and scholarships.

“Now it’s time to end the suspense and find out how much these rare bottles are worth,” Doug said. “Please welcome our celebrity auctioneer, Trevor Jones.” Trevor walked onstage to loud applause. Doug piped in, “You’re clapping now, but if you don’t bid generously, you could be on the receiving end of his jokes.” That drew guffaws. The crowd was getting rowdy after a few glasses of good wine, just the thing to bid up the prices.

Trevor took the microphone. “Good evening, folks.” He went into a short monologue recapping the day’s events and cracking jokes at the expense of high-profile guests. He closed with, “Let’s take the plunge. We have many exceptional bottles to auction off to reach our goal. Please open your wallets and bid with abandon.”

There were other things Chris wanted to pursue with abandon, starting with Catherine’s bare back. Her slinky dress was killing him. Unaware of his train of thought, she was in an animated conversation with Will.

The bidding became heated, and Chris directed his attention to the stage. As each lot was auctioned off, Chris and Ken jotted down notes in the margins of their programs and bantered back and forth about the prices they were fetching. Unlike the blind tasting, this process was highly visible. Chris assumed some buyers were making winning bids for the prestige and bragging rights, as much as for the unique bottles and contribution to the cause. In this case, glitz overrode substance. He said as much to Ken—not grasping he was about to fall into the same quest to be victorious.

Pleased with the competitive bidding, Trevor congratulated the crowd on their good taste. The lots were fetching higher prices than anticipated. After forty-five minutes, one final bottle remained. “Well folks, you’ve risen to the occasion. The California Sparkling Wine Producers thank you,” Trevor said. “And now we have a special surprise for our last bottle.” The crowd drew quiet. “The high bidder on this rare Trianon 1952 vintage jeroboam will also receive a two-night stay at romantic Les Crayères in Champagne and a gourmet dinner for two in their Michelin-starred restaurant, along with a private tour of the kitchen and toast with the chef.”

When Catherine stood up, Chris figured she was going to the ladies’ room, so he was taken off balance by Trevor’s next words. “Catherine Reynolds, representing Trianon, has agreed to join the winning bidder in a toast and to lead off the first dance of the evening.” He beckoned her to the stage.

Did I say I wanted a woman full of surprises? Uh-oh. He’d be damned if anyone else was getting this prize. He was feeling awfully possessive at the moment.

They were off and running. A number of attractive men participated in the early bidding, including Chris, Patrick Tournelle, Will Frost, and even Sean Dunlavy. When the dollar figure exceeded $4,000, the bidding contest narrowed to only two: Chris and Will. Trevor chided the combatants. “Looks like we have a horse race, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Reynolds, would you care to weigh in on the contest?”

All she murmured was, “I’m glad they’re supportive of the cause,” which prompted twitters.

When Chris made it clear he planned to bid whatever it took, his friend Will bowed out. Finally. Do I have to broadcast my interest any louder?

“Fair warning,” Trevor announced, indicating the bidding was about to stop, and the gavel came down. “Sold to Chris McDermott for $5,000.”

Amid applause, Chris walked onto the stage, shook hands with Trevor, and enfolded Catherine in a warm embrace that sent cameras flashing. Doug Barr joined the trio to pose for photos. A waiter materialized with four glasses of champagne that they sipped while the stage was being cleared.

The band took their places. Vanessa stepped up to the microphone and started performing her signature version of “Knocks Me Off My Feet.”

“I believe this dance is mine,” Chris whispered in Catherine’s ear, before he whisked her onto the dance floor.

“You sure know how to make a splash,” Catherine said. “Hope this doesn’t appear like we’re fraternizing.”

“All for the cause,” Chris murmured, holding her possessively close. She felt so good in his arms while they moved in time to the music. Vanessa sang the refrain, and he caught the message of the song—a love so strong it made you weak.

Other couples joined them on the dance floor, and Chris steered Catherine to a less conspicuous spot in an alcove behind one of the pillars. “About that bare back,” he murmured and pulled her closer in his embrace.