“If there is some reason you’ve decided to enter my home without permission, I would love to hear it . . .”
He finished turning.
Right there in front of Julian was the single most incredible pair of breasts he’d ever seen. Julian wasn’t the type to gawk at women. But these breasts were just below his eyeline, mere inches from his face. There was simply no looking away. God help him, they were spectacular. Big, to put it bluntly. They were big. And displayed rather prominently in a baby blue T-shirt, through which he could make out the polka dot pattern of the gardener’s bra.
“Is it true?” asked the breasts. “That you won’t let yourself have a drink at the end of the day unless you write for the full thirty minutes?”
Julian shook himself, searching desperately for the irritation he’d felt pre-breasts, but he couldn’t seem to locate it very easily. Especially when he looked up and finally met the gardener’s sparkling dove-gray eyes and something, very unexpectedly, jolted in his midsection.
God. That’s a smile.
And a whole lot of chaos.
Blond corkscrew curls rioted down to her shoulders, but a lot of them stood on end, pointing east or west, like broken couch springs. She had three necklaces on, and none of them matched. Gold, wooden, silver. The pockets stuck out of the bottom of her jean shorts and . . . yeah, he really needed to keep his attention above her neck, because her bold curves were demanding to be acknowledged and he had not been invited to do so. A lot like she hadn’t been invited into the guesthouse.
Still. She was full-figured and hiding none of said figure.
There was something about the enthusiastic enjoyment of her body that made his own start to harden. Julian’s realization that he was becoming aroused caused him to sit up straighter and cough into a fist, searching for a way to regain control of this insane situation. Three dogs were now licking themselves on the rug of his office and . . .
Something about this young woman was very familiar. Very.
Had they gone to school together? That was the likely explanation. Napa Valley might be large, but the inhabitants of St. Helena were a close-knit bunch. Around here, vintners and their employees tended to remain local forever. They passed on their practices to future generations. Just this afternoon, while on his daily run, he’d come across Manuel, the current vineyard manager whose father emigrated from Spain when Julian was in elementary school. Manuel’s son was only twelve, but already he was learning the trade so he could take over for his father one day. Once wine seeped into the lifeblood of a family, it tended to stay there. Similarly, wine ran in the veins of most locals. With the exception of newly minted tech millionaires purchasing vineyards for bragging rights, there wasn’t a lot of turnover in residents.
Certainly, however, if he’d gone to school with this now-gardener, he would remember.
She was nothing if not memorable.
Why was the sensation in his belly telling him he should know her well, though?
It would be better to proceed as if this was their first meeting, just in case his perception was off, right? Weren’t men always trying to pick up women by claiming to know them from somewhere? Or was that just his colleague Garth?
Julian stood and extended his hand. “I’m Julian Vos. Nice to meet you.”
The light in her eyes dimmed distinctively, and he suspected, in that moment, that he’d already fucked up their acquaintance. His stomach soured at the way she blinked rapidly and renewed her smile, as if putting on a brave face. Before he could claw his way back and ask why she struck him as so familiar, she spoke. “I’m Hallie. Here to plant your begonias.”
“Right.” She was short. Several inches shorter than him. With a sunburned nose that he couldn’t seem to stop staring at. More appropriate than her incredible breasts, he supposed. Stick with the nose. “Did you need something from me?”
“Yes. I do.” Now she seemed to be shaking herself free of whatever was happening in her head. Why did he feel as if he’d disappointed her? Furthermore, why did he want to discern her thoughts so badly? This unpunctual woman and her hounds were interrupting his work, and he still had one more thirty-minute session before his workday ended. “The water that leads to the hose outside is turned off, since no one has been living here. I’ll need it to water the begonias after they’re planted. You know? To really welcome them home? There should be a handle in the cellar or maybe in a laundry room . . . ?”
He watched her hand mimic the motion of twisting a knob, noting the abundance of rings. The dirt under her nails was from gardening, no doubt. “I have no idea.”