Cupcakes & Chardonnay Read online

  "Mud bath. That sounds ... refreshing."

  Daryle laughed softly. "Yeah well, I've never had one myself. But Alanna gets one every time she's in from New York."

  "Might be good for one's skin," Suzanne ruminated.

  "In that case, you wouldn't need one."

  Suzanne turned to look at his profile, but Daryle kept his eyes steadfastly on the road ahead. I think he just paid me a compliment. My husband. The realization of that fact hit her with a sudden shock. I'm sitting next to my husband. We're driving toward our wedding night. Our wedding night? Was Daryle going to expect a traditional wedding night? She scrutinized his expression for any clue to what he was thinking. Whatever it was, though, he was keeping his thoughts tightly hidden. His expression was neutral, his jaw set just so. It was barely four o'clock and already a faint shadow was emerging along his chiseled jawline. She reached out to pull an errant rose petal from his thick, soft hair.

  He turned and smiled, finally. "That was a lovely wedding, if I might say so myself. Were you on the groom's side or the bride's?"

  "The bride's, I think. Remains to be seen."

  "Hmmm."

  "Are there cans tied to the car?" The noise was finally leaking into Suzanne's consciousness.

  "You just now noticed? We'll pull over in a few minutes and cut them off. There's something I want to show you anyhow."

  More land, probably, Suzanne thought. Boy, Daryle has jumped in whole hog on this business thing. She never would have believed it, all those years ago. Daryle? Getting up at the crack of dawn to work? Setting an alarm? Going back to work after dinner? She still wasn't sure whether or not to believe it, and she'd just married the guy to further his business aspirations. Well, at least her attorney had said all the papers were in order. If she stayed married to one Daryle Catterton until one Mrs. Iris Catterton were deceased, she would receive in payment the sum of two million dollars. She shuddered involuntarily and rubbed her arms as if she could rub off this whole arrangement. What was she doing? She was an ambulance chaser. And the look in Brent's eyes when she told him ... he'd said he understood. Oh, he understood all right. She was sure he understood all too well. She was prostituting herself here. But it was for her business, the one thing she cared about more than anything. The only thing she cared about, she corrected herself. But did that make what she was doing okay? Her answer changed from minute to minute.

  She rubbed her temples and looked out the window. Daryle was pulling the car into a small parking lot next to an absolutely adorable little building. It looked like a miniature train station, Suzanne thought. The building was constructed of pink brick with double front doors that were a gorgeous warm honey-colored wood. Two large windows, trimmed in the same wood, flanked the doors. Above the door, she could see a discoloration on the bricks where a sign used to be. The building was topped by a grey slate roof. With some gumdrops and candy canes, it could almost be a gingerbread house, Suzanne reflected.

  Daryle turned off the engine. "Here we are."

  "Here we are where?"

  Daryle didn't reply. He got out of the car, came around to her side and helped her out. She was still wearing her wedding gown. Daryle walked briskly to the front doors of the building and Suzanne was surprised when he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked them. What was he doing? What were they doing here? She followed him into the building anyway.

  Inside, the building was mostly empty. Whatever business had been here was now gone. The walls were a scuffed and muddy beige, badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. Cobwebs festooned the corners of the ceiling and apparently there was no electricity. Daryle flipped a light switch up and down several times, to no avail. But the place had undeniable charm. Beneath a small herd of dust bunnies, the floor was a terracotta-hued tile. An old pastry case, trimmed in brass, separated the front area from the back. With a little polish, Suzanne thought, that would be a gorgeous piece.

  "Come see the back," Daryle said. She followed him, still not sure what they were doing there.

  She found herself in a kitchen. She scanned the counters and ancient steel shelves, the old appliances. "It's bigger than you'd guess from the outside," she said.

  "It needs some work, true," Daryle said. "But it's all yours now."

  She turned to look at him with a start. "All mine now?"

  "This is the new Napa location of The Cupcakery. My wedding present to you."

  Suzanne was speechless. Her mouth fell open and all she could do was stare at Daryle. A hesitant smile played around his lips.

  He knew it had been a risk to surprise her like this. She was a control freak in many ways and for him to just go and select a new location for her business ... well, he was playing with fire here. Even his mother had advised against it. But he drove past this place nearly every day and it occurred to him the other week that it would be the perfect spot for a cupcake shop. It was just off of Napa's main street, quiet but with plenty of foot traffic. The previous proprietor had retired to San Diego six months ago and the shop had been sitting empty since then. Daryle had walked into the leasing agent's office and signed the papers the day after he thought of it.

  He also wanted to give her a reason to spend time in Napa. They weren't going to live together—that was too much to ask of her—but they needed to maintain appearances, for his mother's sake. For his, too. He couldn't afford to be the laughingstock of the wine community. He'd never get any respect if people learned that the only reason he owned Iris Vineyards was because his own mother had blackmailed him practically. Opening a new location would force Suzanne to spend time here and make it appear as though she was settling into her new home.

  She still hadn't said a word and he was beginning to worry that she was in actual shock. He strolled over to her and gently pushed her jaw closed. "What do you think?" he said quietly.

  "I don't know what to say," Suzanne said. "You didn't have to do this."

  "No, but I wanted to, Suzie-Q." He looked around at the kitchen. "Do you think this space will work? Is the kitchen big enough? We'll have to get you some new appliances, of course." He walked back out to the front area. "You have room for more seating here than you do in the Marina. And there's a little courtyard out back where people can sit outside."

  She nodded thoughtfully. He watched her closely as she walked around the perimeter. He could tell she was envisioning the space filled with cafe tables and chairs, imagining music playing over the kitchen noise in the background and the aroma of cupcakes just pulled from the ovens. When she turned to look back at him, he could see the guarded look in her eyes but there was a softness there, too, a gentleness he remembered from their earlier time together. She wanted to say something nice, he could tell, but she was holding that impulse in check. He could see it from the tightness around her mouth and the way she had her arms folded across her chest.

  He wanted to stride across the room and grab her shoulders and kiss her. He wanted her to uncross those arms and wrap them around him, the way she had done so many times before. All right, so this was a business arrangement, but they had loved each other once, hadn't they? He had loved her, anyway. Maybe the feelings hadn't been as mutual as he'd thought. Did things have to be this cold? This clinical? This business-like? Yes, he'd been a first-class heel. But he had cared about her. And, he was surprised to discover, he cared about her a little still. Maybe he wasn't in love with her anymore but he cared for her, the way you never stop caring for someone who was important in your life. And Suzanne had been important in his life. He just hadn't appreciated it at the time.

  Suzanne wanted to envelop him in a big friendly, grateful hug. She hugged herself instead to prevent herself from throwing her body at his. The way he was standing over there, his weight resting on one leg, his hip cocked out. He looked as comfortable in a white tux as most men did in jeans and a polo. His shirt collar was unbuttoned, the tie loose and draped over his shoulders. A lock of hair had broken free and hung down over his temple. How were they to beh
ave with each other? She hadn't given much thought to that when she'd agreed to this whole plan. This was a business deal—cold, calculated, everything spelled out in black and white at the lawyer's office. But they weren't just business partners. They'd been lovers. She had loved him once, loved him enough to pack up her life and move clear across the country. And now they were married, sort of. Where did that leave them, relationship-wise? Who was Daryle to her now?

  And to have sprung this wedding gift on her? Suzanne's first thought had been that she hadn't bought a gift for him. It hadn't occurred to her since it wasn't a real wedding. They had specified "no gifts" on the invitation and she'd taken that to include herself as well. Her second thought was Why am I not angry about this? For him to just go off and lease a new location for her business—her business—without consulting her first? The arrogance! But she wasn't mad. Instead she was touched by his gesture. That he had wanted to give her a wedding gift and then to give her something this major, this perfect. It pained her to admit that she couldn't have picked a better location than this for a second Cupcakery.

  Ah, Suzie-Q, Suzie-Q, she thought to herself. You need to proceed with caution here. She'd forgotten just how devastatingly attractive Daryle Catterton could be just by standing still and breathing. All those photos in the society pages, usually with a gorgeous young thing on his arm, well—they hadn't managed to capture that quality about him.

  This was exactly what she had wanted, back in the day. To be married to Daryle Catterton. Funny how things turn out.

  Chapter 4

  At the California Spa, Iris Catterton had, of course, reserved the honeymoon suite for them. Suzanne looked around at the spacious sitting room, with its heavy carved furniture and red and gold upholstery. A crystal chandelier sent shadows dancing into the corners of the room.

  A fire was lit in the fireplace already. A bottle of champagne sat chilled in an engraved sterling champagne bucket. Of course, the first thing Daryle did was walk over to the champagne and pull the bottle up to inspect the label.

  "Good choice, mother."

  Suzanne peeked into the bedroom. Just as she had feared. Only one bed. At least it was a king-size, she noted. Enough room for each of them to have their own side. Or maybe she'd just sleep on one of the sofas in the main room.

  She heard the pop of the champagne cork. A moment later, Daryle appeared, a glass of champagne in each hand. He held one out for her. She hesitated to take it at first. Champagne? What was the point? But the golden bubbles floating up to the top of the glass beckoned invitingly. Oh why not? It was just champagne. Suzanne could tell she'd be saying that a lot from now on. It was just a wedding. He's just her husband.

  She took the glass from Daryle. "What are we toasting?"

  "To Iris Vineyards and The Cupcakery, with outlets in San Francisco and now Napa. To business success." Daryle clinked her glass.

  Suzanne took a sip and let the bubbles fizz and evaporate on her tongue. To business success. That's what this was all about. She would never have imagined that she'd be toasting her business on her wedding night.

  "Now what do we do?" she asked.

  "I know what we could do," he said as he slipped off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it onto the bed.

  "Good luck with that," she said.

  He slipped his arm around her waist. "Lovely dress, by the way. I don't think I told you how beautiful you looked today." Suzanne spun around and slipped out of his embrace. "Or you could go down to the spa and get a treatment," he said.

  "I think I will." Suzanne had never had a spa treatment before—never had the time—but she had to get out of the honeymoon suite. It was feeling smaller and more claustrophobic by the minute. She went into the walk-in closet, where the bellhop had put their luggage. The closet was nearly as big as the bedroom in her apartment. A full-length mirror hung on the far wall. Suzanne took a moment to admire the dress one last time. She planned to donate it when she got home. A friend of hers volunteered on the weekends at a church resale store in Oakland. Perhaps it would get worn for someone else's wedding, a wedding for two people who were the love of each other's lives.

  She sighed. She did feel lovely in it. She loved those tiny satin roses. She had always loved that detail on wedding dresses. She frowned as it occurred to her that she should have saved them for her real wedding someday. She should have bought a dress she didn't particularly like for this one, this faux business wedding. Now she could never buy a dress with the roses again, it would remind her too much of today.

  She reached behind her back to unzip the dress. Shoot, she thought. She couldn't reach the zipper. It was exactly in the middle of her back, in that one spot between her shoulder blades she wasn't flexible enough to get to. She did not want to go back out there and ask Daryle to help her. She twisted around to look at the back of the dress in the mirror. She tried again to reach it. She tugged at the neckline and shoulders, to see if she could wriggle out of the dress without unzipping it. No go.

  She opened the closet door and tiptoed out. Daryle was in the main room. He had pulled open the heavy velvet drapes and was staring out through the big picture window. Suzanne saw immediately what he was looking at. Outside the window, the resort's grounds sloped up a gentle hill, encompassing a large formal garden to the left and a pond and walking path to the right. But beyond, in the distance, the low gnarly branches of a vineyard could be seen.

  "Whose vines are those?" she asked, walking up behind Daryle.

  "Rosewood Brothers. Those are some of the oldest vines around here." He turned to look at her. "Change your mind about the spa?"

  She shook her head. "I need a little help with the zipper on the dress."

  "Ah." He placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. "I can help with that." He slowly slid the zipper down to her waist, exposing her bare back. Suzanne gasped as he traced his finger down the length of her spine. She closed her eyes. Daryle used to do that to wake her up in the morning. He would lazily run his index finger over each vertebra until he reached her tailbone, then he would ... Daryle leaned in and dropped a gentle, breathy kiss on the back of her neck. "Have fun at the spa." Then he turned back to the window.

  After three hours, Daryle wondered whether he should call down to the spa and see whether Suzanne was okay. He 'd drunk the last of the champagne hours ago. He'd ordered room service and eaten his meal and still she wasn't back. She was avoiding him, he knew that. He'd been around the block a few times, where women were concerned. He picked up the hotel phone to call, then set the receiver back down. No, bad idea, he thought. If he calls, she'll think he's being controlling.

  Being married to her was probably going to be harder than he thought. And not just the problem of resisting her physical charms, although that was proving difficult already. He had every intention of being a gentleman, however, even though just Suzanne's presence in a room made his nerves thrum.

  Suzanne had always had high standards. For men, for her career, for her life. Being wealthy and handsome was enough for plenty of women but for Suzanne, it didn't even begin to vault him up to her lofty standards. Not that it mattered anyway. They were married just until his mother passed away. Then he'd have Iris Vineyards and she'd have The Cupcakery, exactly what they each cared most about.

  His cell phone pinged from the coffee table, where he'd tossed his wallet and keys. He picked it up to see who was texting him. Noelle. She wasn't giving up. Why couldn't his mother have taken a shine to Noelle? She was a nice enough girl. Not the brightest bulb in the house but she had daddy's Hollywood trust fund to live off of. Her family had more money than the Cattertons did. He and Noelle could have been pleasantly married to each other for a few years before they tired of each other. Then she would have crossed it off her list as her starter marriage and moved on to some wealthier older man.

  But no. Iris had to choose the one woman who didn't particularly want to be married to him, who wasn't impressed by his money or his looks, who couldn't just go a
long with this and have a good time while it lasted.

  He covered up Suzanne's meal, then crawled beneath the covers of the king-sized bed. Soon enough, they'd be out of each other's lives for good, he thought as he drifted into sleep. It wasn't as comforting a thought as he'd hoped.

  Suzanne experienced her first mud bath, sweated in the sauna for the maximum time allowed, and let a very skilled masseuse knead and roll her aching muscles into submission. By the time she wrapped herself in a plush hot towel and laid down on a heated teak bench, she was so relaxed her limbs felt like putty. She would just lie here for a few minutes, she told herself, until she felt steady enough to go back upstairs. She knew she would need to be on firm footing when she did that.

  She wasn't sure what kind of wedding night Daryle had in mind. They had managed to avoid that topic, and it wasn't exactly covered in the legal contract. What if he intended to make it a real wedding night? She was surprised to find the idea not distasteful to her. After all, it wasn't as though they'd never slept together. But we shouldn't, she thought. We should not get involved beyond the details of the contract. It would only complicate things.

  But what if he did put the moves on her? She sighed. She'd never had much willpower where Daryle was concerned. See evidence A: wedding, she thought ruefully. And it had been how many years since a man had touched her? Too long. She was afraid she wouldn't even know what to do anymore. Where to touch a man. Where to touch Daryle. How did he like to be touched? She tried to remember, then pushed that thought right out of her head.

  The next thing she knew, one of the spa's attendants was nudging her shoulder. "Mrs. Catterton? The spa is closing now."

  Suzanne rubbed her eyes, not sure how long she'd been asleep nor what she had been dreaming about. The attendant handed her a fresh robe to wear back to the dressing room.

  Upstairs, she slid her room key into the reader as slowly as she could. It was late, much later than she had planned to be gone. Part of her felt guilty for leaving Daryle completely alone on their wedding night. The other part felt relieved when she pushed the door open and found the room quiet and dim, lit only by a small table lamp in the corner and sputtering embers in the fireplace. She peered into the bedroom, at Daryle's slumbering form beneath the fluffy silk duvet.