Check out A Taste of Merlot and remember to enter the contest at the end of the post. Heather Heyford will be awarding one e-book copy of A Taste of Merlot to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Tour is hosted by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Raise your glass and join Heather
Heyford as she pours a second serving in her series following these headstrong
wine heiresses in their quest to strike out on their own…
Merlot St. Pierre is struggling to
break free from her family name. Her college classmates whisper behind her back
that her passion for jewelry design is little more than a hobby, since she’ll
always have her father’s fortune. But Meri is determined to prove them wrong,
and with the help of a handsome jewelry buyer, she just may taste her first sip
of success—as long as she can hide who she really is…
Mark Newman’s family owns a chain of
high-end jewelry stores, and he’s working hard to get out from under his aunt’s
thumb and prove he has a good eye and a head for business. He’s certain Meri’s
designs could be the next big thing, but he’ll have to convince her that she
can use her famous last name to her advantage. As their business partnership
takes root, an attraction begins to flourish—but they’ll both find that love,
like wine, takes time to perfect…
Teaser:
Mark
scrutinized Merlot hard. Those ratty jeans and that bright floral halter top
were right out of the seventies. Only a model-shaped body like that could make
it work. Mark wondered where the tats were. Because there would be tats. It was
a given.
Unbuckling the Philippe in a move
that had become routine since the annulment, he lifted his hips to access his
front pocket, all the time keeping his eye on her as she walked around to the
truck’s jump seat. There she pulled out a red plastic tackle box and a small
artist’s portfolio.
He let her get a head start and then
followed her into the restaurant, watching the sway of her narrow hips. Just
inside the entrance, he held back while she lifted the flap of the portfolio
and pulled out a folder, laying it on the Formica tabletop.
Annnnnnd—go.
“Meri?”
Round eyes that glittered like
polished green glass in a perfectly oval face looked up into his. She was
clearly nervous.
Then she smiled.
And gorgeous.
Oh, no. Oh, shit. Criminally
talented and a babe. He was nowhere near ready for that. He’d vowed to steer
clear of pretty women—relationships, anyway—for one solid year, to focus on the
business. He still had four months to go.
Worse, he could tell from the truck
and her clothes that she wasn’t high on the income ladder, either. And he was
definitely not getting taken by another bloodsucker, no matter how beautiful.
“I’m Mark.”
With her right hand she reached out
to meet his, while her left bumped her folder. It slid to the edge of the
table, transparent sheets of vellum slipping out, drifting about his feet like
pale leaves onto the crumby linoleum.
“Oops!” She immediately lowered
herself to the floor to retrieve them. Mark bent to help her. Their heads were
inches apart as they squatted, reaching in all directions for what were clearly
painstakingly drawn renderings. He took advantage of their close proximity to
watch her as her eyes dipped to the floor, thick tawny lashes brushing lightly
freckled cheekbones. When she blew some dirt off one of her designs, he caught
a faint whiff of peppermint.
They rose as one and she reorganized
the papers, her stack of bracelets tinkling with her movements.
Without thinking, he reached for her
wrist and raised it to inspect the layers of silver, rose and yellow gold
running halfway up to her elbow. She stood rooted to the spot, allowing him to
turn her pliant limb over, exposing the paler, inner epidermis and the faint
blue veins traveling up through skeins of precious metals. When he found the
one he was seeking he ran a finger across its clasp.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, barely
glancing at the bracelet.
“Is this what you’ve been looking
for?”
His eyes moved from her wrist up her
arm and her swanlike neck to her heart-wrenchingly naive expression. No way
could he ever take advantage of that face, even if he were the type of
cutthroat buyer who operated that way.
“This is it.” At long last, his
finger was on the Purchase Prize—his quest for the past three months—only to
discover that the jewelry was eclipsed by its maker.
“I made all of these too.” She
slipped three or four off. “Here’s how you can tell. See? I burnish set
one-point-five-millimeter, diamond-cut peridots on the inside of every piece.”
There was a belief system that held
that all gemstones had unique qualities that were transferred to the wearer.
But for them to work their magic, the stones had to be touching the skin, where
they were hidden from public view. A secret indulgence, known only to the
wearer.
“Why peridot—other than the fact
that they match your eyes?”
She lowered her lids briefly, giving
him another glance at her sweep of lashes. When she looked up again, her
expanded pupils all but obscured her irises and her cheeks glowed a soft,
contrasting cherry.
“Peridot clears the heart. Helps
connect us to our destinies and to an understanding of the purpose of
existence. It’s also said to attract love.”
Their eyes locked together, he
gently lowered her arm. They were still standing in the aisle next to their
booth. The other diners were beginning to stare.
Mark tilted his head toward hers and
whispered, “I think we’re causing a ruckus.” He motioned toward her side of the
table, and they slid into the vinyl booth, facing each other.
They each picked up a greasy,
plastic-coated menu. “How did you find out about my work?” Meri asked.
From staring at the bracelet photo
for the last three months, he already knew Meri Peterson, in an abstract way.
He had to keep reminding himself that prior to yesterday, he hadn’t existed for
her.
“I went to your college’s student show last
spring.”
While the waitress got them coffee,
he went through the chain of events leading up to his phone call—leaving out
the part about the witchy woman down the hall at the co-op.
“So, you originally from the city,
or here in Vallejo
It was a simple, run-of-the-mill
question. So why’d she seem caught off-guard? Her arms went straight as she
clutched the sides of her vinyl seat.
“Um, I went to high school back
east. Now I live a little north of here.”
The woman was a basket of nerves.
Talented as she was, she obviously didn’t have any experience with selling her
work. He had to think of a way to make her relax.
About the Author
Born in the Northeast,
Heather Heyford learned to walk and talk in Texas England
1 comment:
Thanks for hosting!
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