While he thoroughly enjoyed the comedy, he did so with only half of his attention. The woman next to him, lightly perfumed in a room full of overly scented beauties, outshone the bright lights.
Recognizing how corny his thoughts were getting, Colin grinned to himself. He’d waited a long time for Chantel Johnson to come into his life. He hadn’t been looking, or expecting or even hoping. Yet, here she was.
The way Julie had taken to her was nothing short of amazing.
And Colin was ready to move to the next level.
From the moment he met up with Chantel in the parking lot of a well-known luxury hotel just outside the city, the place where she’d been meeting her mother’s friend for lunch, he’d been touching her. A hand in the middle of her back. Shoulder to shoulder. Holding her hand. Thigh to thigh.
He’d barely kissed her, and he was ready for bed.
By the beginning of the first act, he was considering leaving his car at the resort, or better yet, talking her into staying there with him before driving back to Santa Raquel in the morning. He was mentally ordering champagne and chocolate for the room during the middle of the first act. And imagining sliding a silk robe around Chantel’s shoulders for a midnight supper by the beginning of the second.
At the end of the play, she declined a nightcap, and when they reached the hotel, she already had her keys out of her purse and asked if he minded dropping her right at her car. She was eager to get the long drive over with.
But she also asked if he’d be following her back. She was clearly pleased when he told her that of course he wouldn’t have her making the trip alone so late at night. It was, after all, almost ten.
She also agreed to attend Friday night’s wine tasting with him. And they had another meeting of the library committee on Saturday.
He whistled a good bit of the way home.
* * *
WAYNE STOPPED BY Chantel’s little one-bedroom apartment Friday morning before she’d made it to the shower, to drop off a copy of the rewritten script for her to take to the library meeting the next day. He told her the cop who’d been responsible for taking the original report on the night of Julie’s rape was no longer in law enforcement—or even in California. He owned a small fishing boat in Florida. He suggested they not reach out to him just yet. They most definitely were not contacting the higher-up who’d taken the phone call from the hospital. Not until they put a trail together, connecting the players, so they’d know who not to tip off.
As soon as he left, she went straight out to the beach with the script and a cup of coffee.
Work was the panacea for anything that ailed her.
And if that didn’t work, there was always chocolate ice cream.
* * *
CHANTEL LIKED WINE. A lot. And she knew a lot about it—where to get it the cheapest and which of the grocery store sale brands didn’t give her a headache if she had more than one glass. She knew she liked dry better than sweet, white better than red and usually zinfandel was a nice compromise between the two.
She’d have bet her entire life savings, and that of her parents and heirs, that there was nothing akin to asparagus or bell pepper in sauvignon blanc. Even after smelling it with utmost concentration. It was still just fermented grapes.
But dressed in a simple, figure-hugging black dress with a panel of purple flowers running up the middle, Chantel Johnson smelled asparagus. Pepper. Cabbage. She’d even smell poppy if someone else did.
Making her way slowly around the room with Colin at her side, she sipped, rolled wine on her tongue and oh-so-delicately spit into a brass pot she’d been given to carry along with her. The best thing about the night, other than being with drop-dead-gorgeous Colin—which was also the worst part—was that she wasn’t getting drunk.
Who knew that wine tasting didn’t mean wine swallowing? At least, not for this group.
What she did know was that Colin Fairbanks expected to take their relationship to the next level. His looks, the offhand, seemingly causal touches—her side still tingled from the caress of his fingers—he was telling her quite clearly what he wanted. She wasn’t going to be able to hold him off much longer.
Not without losing him.
One thing was for sure, men like Colin didn’t hang around for brush-offs. They didn’t need to.
The wine they were tasting wasn’t helping matters. There were descriptive notes at every station. Pardon My Body? Okay, the cabernet sauvignon was substantial on the palate—apparently its jammy red and black fruit gave it body—but really? What was fate doing to her here? She was supposed to pardon her body for going nuts on her? Because there was no way in hell she could pardon his.
She was alone a couple of times, as Colin was drawn off to discuss business with one client or another. But neither time lasted for long. Whatever else these society people might be, they were polite. And, at least on the surface, quite friendly with the new woman among them whom they considered one of their own.