The Wedding Bargain

“Tasting a wine should be like a first kiss,” he said

“You need to take your time and give it all your attention.”

Jess lifted the glass, but Michael reached for her hand and stopped her before the glass reached her lips.

“Let it slide over your tongue and around the inside of your mouth before you swallow it.” Her insides went wobbly. His voice had taken on a sinfully deep tone and she swore it was reverberating through his hand and up her arm. “Try it.”

She took a sip and so did he. She watched his mouth, and didn’t swallow until he did.

“What do you think?”

Jess was at a loss for words, and that almost never happened. Instead of answering, she just smiled, took another slow, careful sip of wine and imagined she was being kissed.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always enjoyed learning new things and visiting new places, so doing research for a book is one of the things that makes writing so much fun. That’s been especially true with this, my second book set in San Francisco. I love the city’s dynamic neighborhoods, but this story also took me outside the city and into Northern California’s beautiful wine country. And of course that required research.

Setting provides that all-important backdrop for any book, but as the story in The Wedding Bargain emerged, the contrast between the clamor and commotion of the city and the order and symmetry of Napa Valley’s vineyards was reflected in the power of family ties, two people’s determination to succeed and the struggle that ensues when they want the same thing but believe only one of them can have it.

In spite of their different backgrounds, Jess and Michael do have some common ground—they both believe family matters more than anything else. I had a lot of fun writing their story, so I hope you enjoy reading it. As always, readers can visit me through my website at www.leemckenzie.com, where you’ll find links to my Facebook page and my blog, The Writer Side of Life.

Happy reading!

Lee McKenzie

The Wedding Bargain

Lee McKenzie

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From the time she was ten years old and read Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, Lee McKenzie knew she wanted to be a writer, just like Anne and Jo. In the intervening years she has written everything from advertising copy to an honors thesis in paleontology, but becoming a four-time Golden Heart finalist and a Harlequin Books author are among her proudest accomplishments. Lee and her artist/teacher husband live on an island along Canada’s west coast, and she loves to spend time with two of her best friends—her grown-up children.

To my dear aunt, Beverly Wegner,

 for a lifetime of love and encouragement.

Your strength and courage are an inspiration. You’ll be truly missed and fondly remembered, always.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Strapless gowns ought to be against the law. Jess Bennett tugged at the top of hers and wished she could blend in to the decor. Not that this amount of shiny turquoise satin could merge with anything, except maybe more shiny satin. She looked around the room for the three other women who were wearing the same dress but in different colors. Nicola, in bright yellow, and her husband, Jonathan, were on the dance floor. Maria, stunning in red, was sitting with her husband, who was proudly cradling their beautiful baby daughter in his arms. Paige was… Where was Paige?

Jess’s search for the fourth bridesmaid was intercepted by a man leaning against a column on the other side of the room. He was tall, and his dark good looks hinted at a Mediterranean heritage. Before now she hadn’t seen him among the wedding guests, and she decided he was most likely an employee. She connected with his gaze for a second and looked away, but after failing to find her friend Paige, something drew her back to him.

He was still watching her.

She glanced down at the front of her dress and pulled it up some more. Rory, the bride, who was also one of her best friends in the world, had outfitted her bridesmaids in retro-inspired gowns that were designed to make the most of a woman’s curves and cleavage. Or emphasize Jess’s lack of them.

He was smiling when she looked at him again. She had a feeling he’d been watching her for a while, but he seemed more amused by her battle with the dress than he was interested in her.

Easy for him to find this funny. He was wearing an elegantly tailored suit, which probably wasn’t as expensive as it looked, given what he was likely to earn working here. Meanwhile, she was decked out in a dress that was determined to abide by the laws of gravity, in spite of the torturous plastic boning stitched into the seams and an obscene amount of double-sided tape that had lost its stick sometime between the photographs and the pre-reception cocktails.

Paige, wherever she was, had the perfect figure for this kind of dress—all curvy and voluptuous. Maria, ditto. Nicola was only slightly better endowed than Jess, but nothing rattled her.

Jess debated whether to get herself a drink or go in search of Paige. Maybe both. She gave the dress a final hitch and skirted the dance floor, heading toward the bar. On the way there she waved at the bride and her adoring husband, Mitch, who were talking to two other couples. The men were probably firefighters like Mitch. Rory’s vintage gown was so…her. It had a fitted bodice and a gathered tulle skirt, and instead of a veil she had opted for an elegant little white pillbox hat with netting. Jess had thought the above-the-elbow white gloves were a bit much, but Rory had said they’d be perfect and she was right.

“What will you have?” the bartender asked.

She was tempted to ask for Scotch, neat. “A glass of red wine,” she said, since both the dress and the circumstances called for something a little more ladylike.

“I have cabernet and merlot, both excellent California wines.”

She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned on them, shifting her weight to one foot and trying to wriggle the toes of the other. “The cabernet, I guess.”

“Of course.” The bartender eyed the front of her dress, and she quickly straightened.

While he poured the wine, she surveyed the bottles of Scotch lined up on a glass shelf. She should have gone with her first instinct. These were much better quality than the brands she could afford to stock at the Whiskey Sour.

“The merlot would have been a better choice,” a deep male voice said over her shoulder.

She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him, the man who’d been amused by her struggle with the strapless wonder. When she did turn to face him, her heart rate sped up. She had been wrong about the Mediterranean connection. His eyes were blue and he had no hint of an accent.

“You’re an expert?” she asked.

He shrugged slightly. “I know a little. Would you like to dance?”

“Oh, thanks, but…” How to graciously sidestep his offer? “My feet are killing me.” Which was true. “And I’m not a very good dancer.” Also true.

“I am,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

“But my drink—”

“It’ll keep.” His smile was self-assured without being overconfident, and Jess had the impression he wasn’t accustomed to taking no for an answer. And before she had a chance to reinforce hers with a firm thanks-but-no-thanks, her hand was in his, and he was leading her onto the dance floor.

“Are you always this pushy?” she asked as he guided her into a simple box step.

“All I did was ask you to dance.”

“And I said no.”

He smiled again, a perfect smile that now held just a hint of arrogance. “And yet here you are.”

His touch was light and he held her hand high as he moved them across the dance floor as gracefully as her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and lack of ability permitted. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, and she swore she could feel the dress slipping down her torso. She glanced down, relieved to see that her important parts, including the underwired push-up bra Rory had coerced her into buying, were still covered.

He lowered his head till his lips almost touched her ear. “You are too self-conscious,” he said. “The dress isn’t going anywhere.”

He had that right. The dress was definitely not going anywhere with him. “I see your expertise with women extends beyond dancing.”

He laughed, apparently unaffected by her sarcasm. “And you are a much better dancer than you let on.”

Oh, please. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Did that sound like a come-on? It was meant to be a compliment.”

She wasn’t used to getting compliments, or come-ons for that matter, so it was difficult to tell the difference. And how did he know what she was thinking?

“We should start over,” he said. “My name is Michael. The mother of the bride is a business associate of mine.”

That surprised her. Rory’s mother was an artist, so maybe he ran an art gallery or something. “I figured you worked here at the hotel.”

His turn to be surprised. “What gave you that idea?”

“You weren’t here earlier.”

“Are you sure?”

Yes. I would have noticed. But he didn’t need to know that. “I’m Jess,” she said instead. “I’m one of Rory’s bridesmaids.”

Duh. As if he hadn’t already figured that out.

In an abrupt move he drew her closer but only, it turned out, to maneuver them off their collision course with the bride’s parents. Sam Borland and Copper Pennington were divorced—twice—but according to Rory they were back on speaking terms. Judging by the way they were gazing at each other, oblivious to everything and everyone around them, they had more than talking in mind. She was delighted for Rory, of course, but more than a little envious, too. Jess heard from her mother only when she was broke and between loser boyfriends.

Roxanne Bennett’s last plea for help had been six weeks ago, and Jess had sent her two hundred of her hard-earned dollars because that was easier than putting up with a barrage of desperate phone calls. Besides, by the time Roxanne had frittered away the money, she’d have yet another loser in her life and she’d be mooching from him.

Nicola and Jonathan swung by. Wow! Nic mouthed after doing an approving double take when she caught a glimpse of Jess’s dancing partner.

Fortunately, Michael didn’t seem to notice. “Do you live in San Francisco?” he asked.

“I do. And you?”

“I’m a little north of the city, but I spend a lot of time here on business.”

“I see.” She wasn’t used to making small talk when it wasn’t required for work.

He had no trouble with it at all. “What do you do?”

“I own a little bar in the South of Market neighborhood.”

That seemed to interest him more than she would have expected. “SoMa’s an up-and-coming area. What’s the name of your place?”

“The Whiskey Sour.”

“Interesting.”

But he clearly didn’t think it was, and she could tell he’d never heard of it. Problem was, neither had anyone else.

“It came with the name.” And a small clientele. Emphasis on small. A reality she was determined to change as soon as she scraped together enough cash or convinced the bank to lend her some so she could renovate the place.

“How long have you been in business?”

“The bar has been there since my grandfather opened it in the fifties. I took over when he died two years ago.”

“I’ll have to come by for a drink sometime.”

“Oh. Sure, that’d be great.” She could use the business, but she could not picture this man, wearing this suit, sitting in her bar. No one but health inspectors and bill collectors ever showed up at the Whiskey Sour wearing a suit.

She caught a glimpse of Paige and her date entering the ballroom. Hard to miss Paige’s purple gown. She and Andy were holding hands. Jess smiled. Paige insisted they were just friends, but those two were so close to hooking up, it wasn’t even funny.

The band stopped playing and announced they were taking a short break.

Michael let her hand go, but kept his other hand on her back.

“Thank you.” A little to her surprise, she meant it. Dancing with him had been…an experience.

“The pleasure was mine. Now, let’s go see about that drink of yours.”

“Oh, right.” She wanted to tell him she had it under control, but that persistent hand was propelling her toward the bar.

Before they got there, Rory intercepted them and linked an arm with hers. “I see you’ve met Michael. I need to steal my maid of honor for a few minutes,” she said to him. “It’s time to toss the bouquet.”

“I hope you’ll bring her back,” he said. “I promised her a glass of wine.”

“Ten minutes, tops. Then she’s all yours.”

Oh, please. Like she would ever be all his. Or anybody’s. But she let Rory lead her away, reminding herself that this was the last time she had to be a bridesmaid. Unless Paige got married again—and given the way she and Andy were all over each other, that possibility was looking more likely by the minute.

Face it, Jess. If your friends don’t stay married, your career as a bridesmaid could last forever. She loved these women…they were the only real family she had…but she’d be glad when they were all happily married and she could settle into being godmother and old maid Auntie Jess to everyone’s kids. Those roles didn’t require a reinforced bra and hazardously high heels.

“Where are we going?” she asked Rory.

“To the powder room. Until now, I haven’t had a moment to chat with all of you.”

Nicola, Paige and Maria were waiting for them. Maria was sitting on a chair, partially covered by a soft pink baby blanket and discreetly breastfeeding her baby girl. Finally, a practical use for a strapless gown.

Paige stood facing the mirror, and Nicola was trying to fix her hair. “What on earth were you doing to make such a mess of your updo?” she asked.

Paige didn’t answer.

“There you go,” Nicola said. “That’s the best I can do without bobby pins and hairspray.”

“She and Andy disappeared for a while,” Jess said, feeling a bit mischievous. “I’m guessing they finally decided to get a room.”

Paige swung around, hands on her hips. “We did not! We wanted some fresh air, so we went for walk. It’s a beautiful autumn evening, but it’s kind of windy.”

Nicola laughed. “We must be having a hurricane. Too bad Andy didn’t bring his camper. The two of you could have weathered the storm in there.”

Not even Paige’s professionally applied makeup could hide the deep pink flush that flashed across her face.

Maria rearranged her dress and lowered the blanket to reveal a sleeping baby. “Go easy on her, girls. She’s in love. She just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Paige’s pink face flared red.

“I’d love to hear all the details,” Rory said. “And I do mean all of them, but I don’t want to keep everyone waiting. I just wanted to thank you gals for making my day so special. Everything’s been perfect and I’m so grateful to all of you. Especially you, Jess. You’ve been the best maid of honor a bride could hope for.”

Jess hugged her. “It’s been fun.” And she actually meant it. Rory’s easygoing and slightly unorthodox approach to wedding planning had made the process a lot more fun than she’d expected it to be. “Did you manage to finish packing for your honeymoon?”

Excitement sparked in Rory’s eyes. “We leave first thing in the morning.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to Disneyland,” Nicola said. “And taking your stepdaughter.”

The bride laughed. “It’ll be perfect. Mitch said we could leave Miranda with his mother and go away on our own, but it didn’t feel right. I’m not just married, I have an eight-year-old daughter. Taking a family honeymoon feels like the right thing to do, and Miranda is so excited.”

Jess couldn’t imagine ever meeting a man she could trust that way, never mind letting her guard down long enough to marry him, but to throw in a ready-made family on top of the bargain? No way. Not even an adorable little girl like Rory’s stepdaughter. Then again, there was no chance any of this could happen to her. She hadn’t even been on a date in two years, not since taking over the bar when her grandfather died. She’d been too busy working her butt off.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Maria said. “You’re going to be such a great mom.”

Paige nodded somewhat wistfully. “You already are a great mom, and you’re so lucky to have such a terrific little girl.”

Jess gave her a playful jab in the shoulder. “If you keep sneaking off with Andy and letting him mess up your hair like that, you might end up being a mom, too.”

Everyone laughed at that, even a red-faced Paige.

Rory waved her bouquet of colorful gerbera daisies. “Okay. Time to find out who’s next,” she said as she herded them all into the corridor. Then she tapped Jess’s shoulder. “Can we talk for a few seconds?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Let’s make sure Paige catches my bouquet.”

“This is just a tradition based on some crazy superstition. Catching it doesn’t guarantee a wedding.” Although come to think of it, Rory had caught Nic’s bouquet last fall, and look at her now.

“It’s symbolic, and it definitely seems to be Paige’s turn, don’t you think?”

The only thing Jess knew for sure was that it wasn’t hers. “How am I supposed to make sure she catches it?”

“There aren’t that many single women here, and the only two you really have to watch out for are Mitch’s cousins. Those two little brats have actually made a bet on which of them will snag it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Although short of tackling them, she had no idea how to prevent them from being contenders.

She joined the group of single women on the small dance floor and took stock of the situation. Since there’d almost certainly be another round of wedding bells in Paige’s future, it sort of did make sense to let her catch the bouquet and give everyone a chance to gush about her being the next to tie the knot. The groom’s teenage twin cousins had other ideas. They had already staked out their respective territories at the front of the small group of single women and were glaring at each other.

Amateurs, Jess thought. This would be like taking candy from a couple of babies.

For a split second she allowed her attention to be diverted as she searched out the man named Michael. He was watching her, and she was surprised to feel her own competitive nature kick in. Part of her was tempted to ditch the stupid shoes, roll up her sleeves—if she had any—and grab that sucker when it sailed over Rory’s shoulder. Not that she wanted to get married—far from it—but catching the bouquet would show Michael…

Show him what? She had absolutely no idea. Besides, she had agreed that Paige should catch it. So instead of going on the offensive, she positioned herself directly behind the twins.

Rory surveyed the group before turning her back on it.

Jess adopted the best linebacker stance her shoes would allow.

The band riffed a suitably dramatic tune, but the drum roll was drowned out by cheering.

In case a change to running back was necessary to get the bouquet to the intended receiver, she toed off her shoes under the dress.

With the precision of a rocket launcher, Rory propelled the bouquet over her shoulder.

Jess blocked the twins and held them out of range.

The bouquet headed straight for…oh, hell. So much for Rory’s aim. It was heading straight for Jess.

She let go of one twin, reached for the stupid flowers and volleyed them in Paige’s direction.

A surprised Paige fumbled the bouquet but didn’t drop it, and Jess grabbed the unfettered twin before she could make a lunge for the daisies.

The bride whirled around, quickly surveyed the situation and gave her a thumbs-up.

The twins gave her a pair of matching glares.

Paige, clutching the bouquet in both hands, laughed and looked at Andy.

Gotta love it when a plan comes together. “Sorry, girls,” Jess said to the irate teens. Not that she meant it. They couldn’t be a day over seventeen, which meant they were way too young to even think about getting married.

Nic was in stitches. “Nice save, Jess. And nice catch,” she said to Paige.

In every respect, Jess thought as she glanced from Paige’s blush-pink cheeks to Andy’s bewildered smile. Very nice catch.

Jess hiked up her full-skirted dress and stuck a foot into one of her shoes. Her toes complained vigorously. She crammed her other foot into its shoe and was hobbling off the dance floor when she spotted Michael near the bar. His gaze was still on her, and he still looked amused. Was he entertained by life in general, she wondered, or was he laughing at her? He picked up two glasses of wine and walked toward her.

I guess I’m about to find out.

He handed one of the glasses to her.

She accepted, knowing without asking that this time it was merlot.

“My money was on you catching that bouquet.” So he had been laughing at her.

“It wasn’t my turn.” She stopped herself before blurting out that there was no point, since she didn’t have a man in her life. He didn’t need to know that she had made up her mind a long time ago—at fourteen, to be exact—that it would take a very special someone to make up for the bad example set by her mother’s endless string of boyfriends.

“Those shenanigans seemed to take your mind off the dress.”

“What do you mean?”

“Earlier you were concerned that it would reveal too much.”

He was right. For those few moments while it was her job to get the bouquet in Paige’s hands, she had completely forgotten about the dress.

“So you had nothing to worry about.” His gaze traveled over the top of her dress.

Sure. Nothing to worry about.

“I understand you’re not seeing anyone.”

How the hell had he figured that out? “That’s a pretty big leap. Just because I didn’t bring a date to the wedding doesn’t mean I’m not seeing anyone.”

“I’m not big on assumptions. I’d rather have facts, so I asked the mother of the bride if you were involved.”

There was something surprisingly suggestive about his inference. “Involved as in…?”

“You know what I mean.”

Was she supposed to be flattered that he’d gone to the trouble to find that out? “All right, then, it only seems fair that I have a few facts about you.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Are you ‘involved’ with anyone?”

“Not at the moment.” He touched her glass with his.

Interesting. She was tempted to ask if he was on the rebound, but that might sound as if she had more than idle conversation in mind. Instead, she decided on a different line of questioning. “How long have you known Rory’s mother?”

“Several years. We met at one of her art exhibits.”

Also interesting. She was usually quick to figure out what people did for a living, and she had not pegged Michael as an artist, or even an art aficionado. “Are you in the art business?” she asked.

He hesitated before answering, which made her suspect he was hiding something.

“Business, yes,” he said finally. “Not art. As it turns out, your friend Nicola’s husband is also a colleague of mine.”

Jonathan was a lawyer. “Do you work with him?” she asked.

“No, I’m not a lawyer. Just a client.”

“One of their criminal cases?”

His laughter was genuine. “Good one. I try to stay out of trouble, or at least not get caught. Besides, Jonathan is a corporate lawyer.”

Did that make Michael a corporation or just someone who worked for one? She owned her own business, but the only time she’d talked to a lawyer was when she had settled her grandfather’s estate.

“You haven’t tasted the wine.”

Neither had he, she noticed. She obliged and took a sip. “Nice.”

He looked taken aback, as though he’d expected her to say something else.

“Very nice.” To emphasize her point, she took another drink.

He gave the wine in his glass a gentle swirl. “Does the Whiskey Sour have a wine list?”

“Not a list, exactly, but I do stock two kinds of wine.”

“What are they?”

“Red and white.”

His laugh was even sexier than his smile. “Seriously?”

Completely serious. “I really want to reinvent the place as a cocktail lounge, but right now most of my patrons are beer drinkers. A couple of my friends—Nicola and Paige, who is one of the other bridesmaids—drink wine, so I keep a few bottles on hand.”

“Tasting a wine should be like a first kiss. You need to take your time and give it all your attention.”

He tipped his glass slightly to one side. “Did you notice the color of this one?”

Other than it being red, she had not. She focused on the glass for a moment and wondered if she’d ever find out what a first kiss with him would be like. She looked up at him and realized he was waiting for her answer. She managed to shake her head.

He tipped his glass slightly to one side. “If the light was better, you’d see it’s not red. It’s a deep shade of garnet.”

All she saw was a pair of dark blue eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It’s well aged.” He straightened his glass.

“No offense, but doesn’t wine tasting strike you as being kind of pompous? I mean, they’re pretty much all the same.”

His only response was a stunned expression, but he recovered quickly. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Uh, what would you like to know?”

“Something I wouldn’t expect to hear.”

Would her wanting to explore the whole kissing thing be unexpected? Probably not. “I used to be a high school teacher and I have a brown belt in karate.”

“Really? I guess that’s one way to keep students in line.”

She smiled at that. She wasn’t cut out to be a teacher, but fortunately she’d never had to rely on the martial arts for classroom management. It had come in handy with a couple of her mother’s boyfriends, though. One in particular.

Snap out of it, she told herself. She usually didn’t dwell on the past, so why did it keep shoving its way into her thoughts tonight? Maybe it was being around Rory’s family, or maybe it was the unexpected attention from a handsome stranger who avoided answering questions about himself, but had no trouble wheedling information out of her.

Michael swirled the contents of his glass, but he was studying her intently. “So before you taste the wine, you have to smell it.” He held it out to her. “Inhale slowly, and really think about the scent.”

In her book, there weren’t many things more pretentious than wine tasting, but she played along and took a sniff. “It sort of smells like cherries.”

He smelled it. “You’re right. Ripe cherries, and just a hint of spice.”

Her insides went wobbly. “Your turn. To tell me something unexpected about you, I mean.”

He hesitated, as though trying to think of something that might interest her. “I’m restoring a 1954 Morgan.”

Michael’s hands didn’t look anything like the mechanics’ hands she often saw wrapped around beer mugs at the Whiskey Sour. “Are you actually doing the work yourself, or are you having it restored?”

“A little of both. You know something about cars?”

She cupped both hands around her glass. “A little. My grandfather had an old MGB. I used to help him work on it from time to time, and a lot of his friends are…were…mechanics. Some of them are still regulars at the bar.”

“You should hold your glass by the stem,” he said. “That way you don’t transfer the warmth from your hands to the contents of the glass.”

“Oh.” She adjusted her hands accordingly.

“I rebuilt the engine myself. With my brother, actually. We’ve been working on it together. It’s a nice change of pace from…what I usually do.”

Okay. Maybe the brother was a mechanic.

“Now you should taste the wine again,” he said, but he reached for her hand and stopped her before she could raise the glass to her lips. “Let it slide over your tongue and around the inside of your mouth before you swallow it.” His voice had taken on a sinfully deep tone and she swore it was reverberating through his hand and up her arm. “Try it.”

She took a sip and so did he. She watched his mouth, and didn’t swallow until he did.

“What do you think?”

She was at a loss for words, and that almost never happened.

“Peppery, just a hint of oak,” he said. “Full-bodied.”

“Yes. You took the words right out of my mouth.”

He smiled at her. �