A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(68)
“Well . . . call it ‘rich-person rustic,’ ” she conceded. She opened her door and slid out of the car, all long, slim legs and heels and her golden blond hair shining in the warm California sun. In an instant, she looked like she belonged.
“Welcome back, Ms. Rhodes,” said the valet as he took the keys from her. “Did you have a pleasant flight?”
“Very pleasant. Thank you.”
“I’ll load the bags into the cart while you check in.” With an efficient nod, the valet took off.
Nick came around the car and took Jordan’s hand. “The cart?”
“Cars aren’t allowed on the resort grounds, so they shuttle us to and from our room in a golf cart.”
“Rich-person rustic doesn’t include walking?”
“Our room is a mile away. Uphill.” She pulled him closer. “I know it’s asking a lot, sweetie, but try to enjoy yourself. You might be surprised and actually like it here.”
Nick took a look around. His first thought was that it was a good thing he hadn’t taken a vacation in a while, because he definitely was going to need the extra cash to pay for his half of the trip. If Jordan thought he was letting her foot the bill, she could think again. Where he came from, men did not mooch off their girlfriends. Even their obscenely wealthy heiress girlfriends.
Girlfriend.
His left eye began to twitch.
Jordan looked over. “You okay?”
“Just a little pollen or something.” He rubbed his eye for emphasis.
They entered a large, Western-style main lodge, where a front desk clerk greeted them. She seemed to recognize Jordan immediately, confirmed her reservation for a one-bedroom hillside lodge, and produced an actual set of keys. Apparently, rich-person rustic didn’t include key cards, either.
Within minutes, they were in a golf cart, cruising along a small paved road with a thickly forested cliff on one side of them and a lake on the other. Along the way, they passed by several bungalow-style guest lodges set a good distance apart for privacy.
From behind his sunglasses, Nick studied the valet in the front seat of the golf cart. No more than twenty-three years old, the blond, tanned guy looked like he should be sitting on the beach in a lifeguard chair. Instead, he chatted animatedly with Jordan about a winery he’d recently discovered.
After a several-minute drive, the valet parked the cart at the edge of a walkway that led up a hill. “You know the drill, Jordan. Gotta hoof it from here. I’ll grab the bags.”
“I’ll grab the bags.” Nick gave the valet a tip and a look that said that no further assistance, questions, comments, or wine chitchat was necessary. Jordan looked on with amusement, but said nothing as she led him up a path with stairs that led to a bungalow on a hill. She unlocked a gate, and they stepped onto a large covered patio complete with a fireplace, an outdoor living area, and an incredible view of the canyon below them.
She used a second key to unlock a glass door that took them inside the lodge and into a living room with a marble-surround fireplace and state-of-the-art entertainment center.
“So this is rich-person rustic.” Nick set the bags down and looked around. Through the windows, he could see that the master suite was an entirely separate space on the opposite end of the patio. He walked back outside, cut across the deck, and opened the door to the bedroom. He took in the king bed covered with plush pillows and the dark cherry dressers and nightstands. Adjacent to the bedroom was a large stone and granite bathroom complete with two vanities, an oversized tub, and a combination steam/rain shower. French doors along one wall of the bathroom led to a private outdoor shower.
“Think it’ll do?” Jordan asked from behind him.
Nick turned around, slightly embarrassed to have been caught gawking at their surroundings. He shrugged, taking on a nonchalant tone. “Sure. I’ve just never known anyone who could afford all this.” He reached down and unstrapped the gun harness from his calf. He set it on the nightstand next to the bed, along with his wallet.
Jordan gestured to the gun. “Well, I’ve never known anyone who walked around with one of those strapped to his leg. So I guess this is something new for both of us.”
Nick straightened up, the reality of the situation hitting him. Here he was: an FBI agent from Brooklyn, spending the weekend in wine country with a woman who would one day inherit a half-billion dollars.
He walked over to her. “What are we doing?”
She smiled slightly, as if she’d been wondering this herself. “I have no clue.”
Nick peered down at her, standing close to, but not yet past, the point of no return. Jordan didn’t move, just looked at him through half-lowered eyes. Waiting.
Without a word, he reached up and tugged her hair out of its knot. He watched as it spilled over her shoulders in blond waves, a wild contrast to the sophisticated dress, scarf, and designer high-heeled shoes she wore.
He stepped across the remaining space that divided them. “So what do billionaire heiresses like to do in the Napa Valley?”
She held his gaze. “Right now, probably the same thing as FBI agents from Brooklyn.”
Enough said.
JORDAN KNEW, FROM the look in Nick’s eyes when he scooped her up in his arms and plunked her down on top of the covers, that the time for jokes was over.
He pinned her hands in one of his against the comforter, then leaned down and kissed her, hot and demanding. She swirled her tongue around his, no playing around this time, and no teasing. When she arched against him, he released his grip and slid his hands down her arms. Then he continued over the swell of her br**sts.