The three Baci sisters are on a mission to save the family
winery by transforming it into a wedding destination. When
Stevie Baci playfully names her own side business Napa
Princess Limousine, she never dreams she'll be driving a
real prince around Napa Valley.
Jacques Parini, aka "Jack", is looking to expand his
family's wine interests. But after kissing Stevie, he finds
this California girl in a black chauffeur's hat does more
than drive him crazy.
Excerpt βSo whoβs the other guy?β Stevieβs friend Mari asked, as she
slid into the passenger seat of the waiting limousine.
βUh . . . other guy?β
βTall, dark, and dashing?β her friend qualified. βDonβt tell
me you didnβt notice.β
Sheβd noticed. From the moment heβd stepped out of the
resort. But tall, dark, and dashing didnβt make up for rich,
self-important, and rude. βHeβs haughty.β
βIβll say,β Mari agreed. βMy sister gave me a
Hottie-of-the-Month calendar for Christmas and I bet heβs in
there.β
Stevie frowned. βHaughty, not hottie.β
βThatβs what I said.β
βI . . .β She shook her head. βNever mind.β
βJust tell me his name,β Mari urged. βIβll find out his
phone number myself.β
Another frown dug between Stevieβs brows. Her friend had a
headful of blond spiral curls and a black book that rivaled
any Hollywood bachelorβs. But it was Stevie who had spied
tall, dark, and dashing first, and didnβt that give her . . .
No. Hottie, true. But the haughty got him permanently
expunged from her own Bachelor Book, if sheβd actually had
one. And not to forget, there was that very recent New
Yearβs resolution sheβd just made. Men are off-limits.
βI think heβs with the princess,β Stevie said to her friend.
When sheβd told her clients they had to get moving or miss
their tasting appointments, heβd climbed into the back with
Emerson and his fiancΓ©e. βHis nameβs Jack.β
Mari gasped. βJack! Of course! βJackβ is Prince Jacques
Christian Wilhelm Parini. I read about him in one of those
magazines at the hairdresserβsβyou know, the pulpy ones with
paparazzi pics of movie premieres and Euro trash boogeying
down in flashy discotheques. Heβs some kind of notorious
playboy and the princess brideβs big brother.β
That made sense. He struck Stevie as a royal pain-in-the-ass
because he was a royal pain-in-the-ass. She loved being right.
Though she should have made the Jacques-Jack connection on
her own. Blame it on her ex anxiety. She knew of the man,
not from a magazine, but because he was college friends with
the Bennett brothers, neighbors since birth and
not-so-silent partners in the Tanti Baci winery. Liam and
Seth, she recalled, knew Jack through the UC Davis
Viticulture & Enology program and had mentioned during
one of their regular poker nights that their old buddy was
coming for a visit.
βItβs a small world of wines,β Stevie murmured.
βYeah, andββ Mariβs curls swung in an arc as her attention
shifted to the side window. βOoops, gotta go. My peeps are
ready to move. Happy New Year!β
She was gone in a blast of chilled air, leaving Stevie alone
once again in the driverβs seat. Mari wasnβt soothing
company, but she missed her anyway, because now there was
nothing else to think about besides that little threat she
been putting off contemplating.
Your sister promised that itβs you whoβll handle each
and every fine point of the upcoming Parini-Platt nuptials.
Closing her eyes, she groaned. Had Giuliana really made that
guarantee? Could she actually expect Stevie to honor it?
The passenger door clicked open a second time. Stevie, eyes
still shut, blessed her buddy and the distraction sheβd
prove to be. βMari. Thank God, youβre back. Iββ
Her throat closed as heat prickles took another dash across
her flesh and that weird hyperawareness sheβd experienced at
the resort tightened her belly. Opening her eyes, she saw a
long male body fold onto the seat beside her. βJack,β she said.
He smiled at her, the wattage bright enough to bring up the
temperature in the front seat.
βYou remember my name.β
And his scent. It reached her again, subtle and smooth, a
top-shelf cologne, one ounce likely costing more than her
new bootsβand probably her monthly rental check as well.
βWhat are you doing here? You belong there,β she said,
jerking her thumb toward the winery.
βI belong wherever I want to belong,β he answered, smiling
that easy smile he had as his body slid nearer to hers on
the bench seat. βJust like I do whatever I want to do.β
Stevie crowded close to the driverβs door. It didnβt stop
his left thigh from grazing her right, his knee from bumping
hers. One long finger reached out to adjust the heater that
sheβd left running.
Forcing her gaze off his lean hand, she narrowed her eyes at
him. βAnd what you want to do is . . . ?β
Her suspicious tone didnβt appear to offend. He relaxed
against the leather seat, sliding an arm across its back,
obviously comfortable in his own privileged skin. His
charming smile deepened. βNothing for you to worry about. I
only thought we might take these few minutes to get better
acquainted, ma belle fille.β
Not for a winterβs worth of bookings would she let him know
that just for a secondβa nanosecondβshe found the soft
foreign phrase as disarming as he most certainly intended.
Even as her insides recovered from their quick melt, she
made her expression blank and raised both brows in inquiry,
all tomboy bumpkin.
His smile was rueful, his shrug European. βWhat can I say? I
know five languages and how to compliment a beautiful woman
in each and every one.β
Wide-eyed, she pretended to appear impressed. βWow.β Then
she dropped the innocent act. βAnd to think I only know how
to say screw you in Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese.β
He blinked, then laughed.
βOh, and in English itβs fuββ
Leaning forward, he clamped his palm over her mouth. At the
contact, they both froze and the smile on his face died. Her
lips tingled, her skin burned, another shot of adrenaline
punched into her bloodstream. Fight or flight.
Uncertain which order to follow, her body twitched.
His hand dropped.
They stared at each other.
Refine that New Yearβs resolution, Stevie
thought, despising her breathlessness. Stay
away from this man.
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