Seduced on the Red Carpet. Ann Christopher

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СКАЧАТЬ herself to a huge powder-blue Chambers Winery mug, she filled it with her morning drink, which was essentially a cup of milk with just enough coffee in it to turn it tan. No nasty skim milk for her today, thanks. On this vacation, she was going to eat and drink to her heart’s content, and that meant—oh, wow, look at the creamy deliciousness!—whole milk.

      Taking a sip, she moaned in ecstasy. The dog, who was nothing but a blatant opportunist, whined with hope.

      “None for you,” she said sharply.

      He whined again, ears drooping.

      “Okay,” she muttered to herself, glancing at all the blue-shirted employees for the one she wanted. Time to talk to…oh, there she was at the reception counter. She recognized her from her photo on the winery’s Web site. “Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Chambers?”

      The older woman, who’d been typing something into the computer, looked up and smiled. “I certainly am. So if you love it here and you’re having the time of your life, you have me to thank. But if you’re having any sort of problem with the food or service or anything, it’s my husband’s fault and I had nothing to do with it. You can blame him.”

      Laughing, Livia stuck out her hand. “I’m Livia Blake. I’m great friends with Rachel Wellesley. You’ve got a fantastic place here.”

      “Well, any friend of my son Ethan’s fiancée is practically family. It’s so nice to meet you.” Mrs. Chambers was lovely, with salt-and-pepper natural waves and happy eyes that crinkled at the corners. She had a warm, double-handed grip and wide smile that made Livia feel like a long-lost niece or something. “Your pictures don’t do you justice.”

      Livia flushed. “Thank you so much.”

      “I see you’ve met Willard.”

      “Willard.” The dog, hearing his name, perked up and waited at attention. “So that’s his name. Wait—Willard?”

      “Don’t blame me,” Mrs. Chambers said. “My granddaughter named him. He’s not bothering you, is he? We’re still trying to civilize him. He’s a stray.”

      Willard, the manipulator, chose that exact moment to rub his big fat head against Livia’s leg, leaving a splotch of saliva on her cargo pants. What could she do but give him a nice scratch under his collar?

      “Oh, he’s fine,” Livia said. “I’m used to him now.”

      “Well, you let me know if he doesn’t behave.”

      “Actually, there’s someone else here who isn’t behaving—”

      “Oh, no.”

      “—J.R.? One of your employees?”

      Mrs. Chambers gaped at her. “J.R.?”

      Livia hated to sound like a tattletale, but she wasn’t going to pull her punches. “He was very rude to me when I arrived yesterday. I thought you should know.”

       “J.R.?”

      “Yes, and he said you’d had problems with him before. So, I just—with a bed-and-breakfast this lovely, I thought you probably didn’t want employees giving paying guests a hard time. Maybe you’ll want to speak to him about that.”

      A sudden speculative gleam sparked to life in Mrs. Chamber’s eye, almost as though she knew Mr. Arrogant had made Livia’s belly flutter with unmentionable desires. It figured. A man like that—all muscles, dimples, testosterone and bad attitude—was nothing but trouble to any nearby female guests, a fact of which Mrs. Chambers was probably well aware.

      Sure enough. “I certainly will talk to J.R. and get to the bottom of this right away,” Mrs. Chambers said. “Don’t you worry.”

      “I don’t want to get him fired or anything,” Livia said quickly.

      “I understand.” Mrs. Chambers looked utterly sincere but Livia couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a teensy bit of amusement in there somewhere, and she didn’t get it. “You leave him to me.”

      “Well.” Livia hesitated. Was there some punch line she was missing here? “Thank you.”

      “Have a lovely day, dear. Feel free to explore.”

      “I will.” Livia drifted away, with nowhere in particular to go.

      O-kaaay.

      Now that her complaint was officially lodged, it was time to dooo…

      Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Yay!

      The light and easy feeling of being an eagle, soaring high and free, was so overwhelming she had to sit in one of the cozy chairs before the fire and let it sink in while she sipped her coffee. For once she didn’t have to check her watch every three minutes and then dash off to a flight or a shoot. For once she didn’t need to have the cell phone glued to her ear and take every urgent call that came through from her agent, manager or personal assistant. For once she could sit on her bee-hind and be as lazy as she wanted.

      Feeling ridiculous and happy, she grinned down at Willard, who’d collapsed atop her feet for an impromptu rest. Ever watchful, he peered up at her, brows raised, and lounged patiently while she finished her drink. Yawning with a startling display of sharp white teeth, he waited for his marching orders.

      “All right, you big oaf. If you’ll get off me, we can get going.”

      Apparently the dog spoke a little English. After another jaw-cracking yawn and stretch, he heaved himself upright—what’d this beast weigh, anyway? Oneeighty? Two hundred?—and trotted over to a back door, which seemed as good a place to start as any.

      Out they went. It hadn’t warmed up much but the bright sun had burned off the last of the mist and it was already a gorgeous day. She wandered past the open-air restaurant with its green market umbrellas and enormous trellis twined with wisteria vines thicker than her arms and paused on a stone terrace overlooking the rolling hills and the grapes.

      Leaning her elbows on the thick stone wall, she breathed in the sweet air, which was so different from the low-hanging and unidentifiable gray cloud that smothered L.A. and the exhaust-filled fumes of New York. It was so clean and pure she was surprised her lungs didn’t seize up in shock.

      In the far distance she could see workers walking between the rows, probably assessing the grapes for ripeness. It was, she knew from her pretrip research, almost harvest time. Maybe she could even pick a grape or two before her trip was over.

      Pulling out her 35mm camera, which she’d slung over her shoulder earlier, she took a few shots. Maybe she could start a Napa Valley scrapbook. She did love scrapbooking. Willard obligingly posed for a couple of pictures and then they were off again, wandering with nowhere to be.

      Wasn’t there a heated pool around here somewhere? And a spa? Wait…yeah. Over there. Inside an enormous wrought-iron fence was one of those deep blue natural pools that looked like a pond carved out of a hill. There was even a stone waterfall, as though they’d stumbled into some sort of hidden jungle oasis. People lounged on towel-covered chairs beneath market umbrellas, chatting happily and sipping wine from oversized glasses.

      Livia СКАЧАТЬ