Life could change on a dime.
One minute you could be standing in the middle of a cocktail party, wearing a formal black taffeta dress while pretending to listen to a balding business associate detail his recent adventures at the dentist, wondering how quickly you could get home to watch Fixer Upper.
The next minute you could hear the sound of a masculine voice so rough it reminded you of aged Kentucky bourbon straight from the bottle, turn around only to be ensnared by eyes so blue they rivaled a Kashmir sapphire, and know instinctively in that moment you were staring at the father of your children.
Despite the shadows cast from a low-hanging moon, Olivia could see him clearly. Highlighted by the glow of a thousand tiny lights draped over the patio railing, along with the flickering lanterns on the outdoor tables, his commanding presence was hard to miss.
Dark hair, styled by a skilled hairdresser and not a military barber, was cut in short, messy layers, the shaggy ends telling her he cared about his appearance, but only so much. There was little doubt he’d used anything but his fingers to comb it. A few days’ growth covered his face, masking undeniable male beauty and adding a ruthlessness that was sexy for sure and just short of wicked.
And unlike the other black-tie attendees, he’d dressed down for the party in worn jeans, black work boots, and a gray T-shirt that had seen better days.
He wore rugged and muscular like a tailored suit. And danger like a second skin.
The annual Coleson Creek tasting party, thrown the first Friday night of every June, was in full swing. The sounds of chinking glasses and laughter filtered through the open French doors, which flooded light onto the deserted patio where Olivia found sweet escape. Happy to breathe air unpolluted with cigar smoke and too many hits from a Chanel No. 5 bottle.
“You’re on private property, ma’am. I’m gonna need to see some identification. Pat you down and make sure you’re not hiding any contraband. I’ll need access to every nook and cranny, too.”
Glancing around the empty patio to make sure he was addressing her, she grinned at the tall stranger, intrigued by his threat of a full-body search.
“I’m not trespassing.”
“Tell it to the judge, little lady.” He tapped his chest, a bottle of beer in his hand. “That’d be me.”
“What if I throw myself on the mercy of the court?”
“That’s what I’m counting on, darlin’.” He glanced at his watch. “Your court date’s in an hour. Back at my place.”
Briefly taken aback, Olivia’s broad smile gave her away. She was thoroughly charmed in less than ten sentences. “You’re quite forward, aren’t you?”
He shrugged innocently, but his grin was guilty as sin. “I find it’s a real time saver.”
She laughed, unable to look away from that vibrant blue gaze. She’d never laid eyes on him before, but Olivia knew his name.
The man so many mythologized, if not completely idolized, was finally home. And both Rosa and Hope, Marshall’s only daughter, were the leaders of his fan club.
Whispers had traveled the winery for days. Rumors that Ash, the bad-ass Special Operations soldier, was in town. Marshall hadn’t said a word, dismissing any queries from the staff with a withering look that only fanned the gossip fire. The golden son that was long gone before she’d been hired, Olivia hadn’t thought much about Asher Coleson, one way or the other. Concerned only about her position within the company’s pecking order, she’d spared barely a passing thought for the unknown man everybody but Marshall put on a pedestal.
Words like charismatic, heroic, and humble had been tossed around, and while Olivia couldn’t attest to the last two traits, he was charisma personified if the last thirty seconds were any indication.
And he was no slouch in the looks department, either.
“A man who cuts right to the chase,” she mused, sipping chardonnay. “Been out in the desert a little too long, soldier?”
His smile froze. “It was a jungle, ma’am. And hell yeah, it was too long.”
“Olivia Quinn.” Reaching out first, she shook his hand, holding on longer than appropriate. “And you’re the popular, but mysterious Asher Coleson, right?”
“I’ll cop to the name, but popular around these parts, I’m not. And it appears you have me at a disadvantage.” His firm grip sent tingles down her spine. “Unless you’re a mind reader, and in that case, I apologize for my impure thoughts regarding what I’m gonna do to you once that dress comes off.”
“I’m not a trespasser or a mind reader.” It was difficult, but she released his hand. “Unfortunately,” she added, with a saucy eyebrow lift.
“And I’m not really sorry.”
She was prepared for the jolt of sexual chemistry at the physical contact, but not the sense of rightness that followed. Like the ratty Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt she’d had since high school, it felt comfortable wrapped around her. Peaceful and secure. Like coming home.
“I work here.”
“You work here,” he repeated flatly, less question, more statement of doom.
“Yep.” She couldn’t stop her cheeky smile in the presence of such male beauty. “What can I say? I get to drink on the job, and it comes with a sweet employee discount to boot.” Tipping her glass his way, she sipped the wine, letting the cool liquid fuel her courage. “When you go through a bottle a night binge-watching HGTV, that adds up. The bad news? My garbage man is probably planning an intervention.”
His big body relaxed, the sudden chill thawing. “You couldn’t pay me to drink that nasty shit.”
Jaw dropping, she gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Aren’t you gonna own all this one day?” She looked around, indicating the house and endless rows of grapevines beyond. “Maybe you should be more complimentary?”
“Not if I can help it, I won’t,” he said, after a disgusted snort, taking a long pull from his beer. “And believe it or not, I’m working hard to keep my distaste on the down low.”
“You’re drinking domestic light beer straight from the bottle at the annual tasting party for wines with your name on them. That doesn’t seem very down low to me. And it’s not even a good brand.” She gestured toward the silver label.
“What, this?” He held it up proudly. “This is cold filtered with Rocky Mountain spring water.”
“Yeah, the same water all those bears who live in the Rocky Mountains piss in.”
An odd look crossed his face. “Well, that’s a goddamn first, darlin’.” His charisma was back in spades. “I’ve never heard a beautiful woman say the word piss while wearing a prom dress and diamonds.”
“Cheap costume jewelry,” she admitted, her fingers grazing the heavy necklace. “I don’t wear real diamonds.” Or prom dresses, but she’d let his description of her strapless, mermaid-style gown slide. Considering it was so tight she could only take shallow breaths, Olivia was just glad he’d noticed.
“That’s a shame. What about underwear?” His gaze licked over her body. “You skipping those tonight, too?”
She let out a shocked laugh, knowing she should be insulted by his audacity. Instead, she was entertained. Proof positive those cobalt eyes allowed him far too much leeway in life.
“You think I’m gonna let you find out firsthand? Get you drunk on nasty wine, put on a Lionel Richie album, and do my best to take away your cares for the night? And my name is Olivia.”
When he replied, she heard the veiled strain of weariness in his voice. Saw the tiny exhaustion lines creasing the corners of his eyes. Felt the real Asher Coleson in the sincerity of his bruised words, for the first time tonight.
“It would go a long way toward making me feel human again, so here’s hoping that happens, Liv.” He toasted her with his beer before draining the bottle.
Liv.
Nobody called her that, but she didn’t correct him.
When the shortened name rolled off his lips so easily, it sounded affectionate. And far too intimate, considering they’d met mere minutes ago.
“I’m starving,” he said. “You wanna get out of here?” He was feeling the intimacy, too. “There’s a great fish taco place over in Carlsbad, and I can get us there in twenty minutes.”
Before she could decline his invitation—or accept it, like a woman gone mad—they were interrupted.
“I see you’ve met my right-hand woman.” Marshall stepped onto the patio, looking dashing in his custom tuxedo. His words were meant for Ash, but he barely glanced his son’s way. “Don’t let him corrupt you, Olivia. He’s proven he has the ability. You’re far too lovely for the likes of him anyway.”
She forced a smile at his compliment, the appearance of her boss a swift reminder that this party was all work, no play. “Yes, I was just telling him that his drink of choice is terrible in comparison to the woodsy, citrus flavor of your 2012 Reserve Chardonnay. It’s excellent.”
Sipping from the glass, she observed the tension between father and son.
“My boy’s always had questionable judgment, but given the smitten look on his face when I walked out here, it seems he’s upped his standards when it comes to the ladies.” Finally turning toward Ash, he held out his hand. “I didn’t see you make your grand entrance, but since you’re severely underdressed for the occasion, I’ll hold my displeasure on that front. How’s the Army treating you, son? You ready to quit yet? I have some grapes that could use picking.”
“Marshall,” Ash said coolly, shaking the hand held out as if it were a live grenade. “They’ll scrape what’s left of me off the ground and zip it into a body bag before that ever happens.”
“Oh, goodness,” the older man replied, grinning. “Let’s not talk about such a distasteful image in front of the beautiful Ms. Quinn, especially since you’ve managed to stay alive so far. I should’ve guessed you’d excel at dodging bombs and bullets. Not even a lost limb to your credit, but there’s still time for that to happen, no?”
“Marshall!” Olivia admonished, shocked he’d say such an insensitive thing, but Ash’s rough chuckle caught her attention.
“Let the man enjoy his moment, Liv. Thoughts of my demise make him deliriously happy.”
“Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here”—she gestured between the two men—“but I do know it’s dysfunctional.” Beyond Ash’s first-name formality when it came to his father, the friction was palpable, and Olivia wanted nothing to do with it.
What she did want, however, was some quality skin on skin time with the enigmatic man sporting a devilish grin and a silver chain around his neck, his dog tags hidden behind soft gray cotton. And for that sole reason, she needed to hightail it back to the party.
“Oh, would you look at this,” she said with a wry smile, holding up her half-full wine glass. “It’s time for a refill. Nice to meet you, Asher.” Tearing her gaze away from that gorgeous face, she took a few steps, stopping short to lay a hand on Marshall’s arm. “Spend some time with your son. I’ll work the room in your absence.”
“Try the Sauvignon Blanc next,” he said. “It pairs well with the mango sorbet Rosa will be serving for dessert shortly.”
Olivia nodded, though more alcohol was the last thing she needed. Her head was spinning as it was, thanks to the sexy soldier checking out her ass while she walked away. Any more wine and she’d be dancing on the tables while an aghast audience ate fancy ice cream with tiny silver spoons.
“Hey, Liv.” He caught up to her in three long strides, his voice purposely low. “Let’s grab a late dinner when this thing is over. And call me Ash.”
Her gaze darted toward Marshall watching them like a hawk. “You do realize you’re my boss’s son, right? I have a mortgage telling me that’s a really bad idea. And a pretty high credit card bill, too, thanks to the price of my dress, so you get where I’m going with this.”
Blocking her from view with his big body, his eyes turned icy. “Are you involved with him?” When her mouth fell open, he held up his hands. “Okay, I’m sorry I asked. But you know I had to.”
“I know no such thing,” she fired back, wondering what the hell he was inferring.
“Ancient history.” He dismissed the comment with two words. “But you’re not on company time twenty-four seven, and you have to eat a meal sooner or later. When is this ridiculous thing over?”
He looked at his black Rolex, and her brows shot up. Apparently the Army paid well.
“Ash, I don’t know.” Hesitating, Olivia questioned her sanity. And her willpower. Denying herself a taste of him was like avoiding carbs. Impossible. “How long?”
“How long… what?”
“How long are you in town?”
“Three days.” He winked, somehow knowing he’d hooked her. “Seventy-two fun-filled hours. How much damage can we do in that short amount of time?”
Was she actually going to turn down the most fascinating man she’d ever laid eyes on because of her job? This man who hadn’t stepped foot on Coleson Creek in more years than she’d been employed here? And who was heading back to whatever godawful, disease-infested jungle he’d come from in three short days?
Could she really say no after that insane father-of-my-children moment?
“Liv, it’s just dinner.” He was perceptive. “Or only drinks, if you want. Shit, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he added, rubbing a hand over his bristled face, “but I’ll even drink wine if you want me to.”
The sandpaper sound of his five o’clock shadow sent a jolt of sexual desire straight to her core, her body responding on a primal level. It took true talent to make a woman wet without touching her, especially while she stood fully clothed in a crowded room, her superior examining the exchange.
But the proof was in her damp panties.
“On one condition,” she said, defying all reason. He dipped his head, agreeing before hearing the terms. “No matter what happens, say you’ll remember me. Standing on a patio, wearing a prom dress, looking like I don’t belong.”
Tall and handsome as hell, he flashed that surprise smile. “With pink lips, fake diamonds, and kick-ass cleavage? No chance I’ll ever forget you.”
Before she thought better, she grabbed his muscled forearm, peering at the Rolex. “Meet me by the white Honda parked next to the barn in two hours. And you can’t have any wine. I’m gonna drink it all myself.”
Lifting the hem of her dress, she waded into the crowd, looking for the boring bald guy who could douse her raging libido with another root canal story.
Olivia didn’t bother looking back toward the patio, leaving the men who shared a remarkable resemblance to work out their differences without her, unaware of their vastly different expressions as they tracked her. The disapproving set of Marshall’s jaw wouldn’t have stopped her, though. Nothing and nobody could’ve stopped a thoroughly enamored Olivia from pursuing the zing of attraction to a soldier who’d be a ghost before she could punch the time clock Monday morning.
Only it wouldn’t be the last time she watched him vanish from her life.