A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(75)
He took his first good look at the place. While he might not have been the type to ooh and aah easily over scenery, even he could appreciate the sight before him. The winery overlooked sweeping views of vineyards, emerald green rolling hills, the valley, and a sparkling blue lake below. Down a short path stood an idyllic Tuscan-style villa surrounded by flowers, gardens, and lush, shady trees.
“What do you think?” Jordan asked.
While taking in the view, it occurred to Nick that the downside of always being in charge and setting the rules of his relationships—and he used that term very loosely—was that no one ever surprised him with things like this. Actually, no woman had ever surprised him before, period. He normally didn’t give them a chance to. Yet here he was, unexpectedly standing on a hilltop in the Napa Valley with a woman who pretty much knocked him off his feet every time they were together. He’d be pissed about that if she didn’t somehow manage to do it while putting a smile on his face.
Very sneaky.
The incredible view made him think of something he’d wanted to say to Jordan ever since they’d arrived in Napa. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her close, holding her gaze. “I think this whole weekend is amazing. But you know that I don’t need any of these things, right? I’m here because of you—not for fancy resorts, or fireside dinners, or picnic lunches on a California hilltop.”
She smiled and touched his face. “I know. That’s what makes it even better.”
A voice called out from behind them. “Jordan Rhodes.”
Nick turned and saw a man with sandy brown hair walking over to them.
“Mike. So good to see you again,” Jordan said.
“Look at you—gorgeous, as usual,” he said. “I saw your name on today’s appointment list. With a plus one, huh? About time.” He shook Nick’s hand. “You must be the plus one.”
Nick returned the handshake. “Nick Stanton.” The “plus one” was getting tired of using that name.
Mike gestured toward the villa. “Come on in—we’re a little crowded this afternoon, but I think we can make some room at the bar.”
They followed him inside the winery and walked into a noisy, cozy room. Guests drank wine at a long banquet table, at cocktail tables scattered along the walls, and at the large bar in the corner. A friendly black Labrador mingled among the guests, quite content to be fed Brie cheese and crackers under the tables.
Nick relaxed as he and Jordan settled into the last two open chairs at the bar. This kind of wine tasting was much more his style.
Mike slid two empty glasses in front of them. “Where do you guys want to start?”
Nick thought about this. “Do you have anything in a pink?”
Mike eagerly grabbed a bottle from the back bar. “Actually, we have a gorgeous Rosato. Predominantly made from cabernet and Sangiovese grapes, fermented in stainless steel, then briefly in French oak, it’s a lush, aromatic blend of wild strawberries and blood oranges, full in the mouth without being too heavy. Perfect for a sunny, spring day like this.”
“Sounds delicious,” Nick said. “I’ll take everything but that one.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, Nick lay on his side, listening to Jordan’s steady breaths as she slept next to him. After spending a large part of the afternoon at Kuleto winery, and then another hour at a smaller winery she’d wanted to check out for her summer wine club selections, they’d stumbled back to the bungalow and finally explored the outdoor shower. For dinner, they’d made their way to the resort’s restaurant, a Pacific Northwestern-style lodge that sat on a lake nestled against tall pine trees and mountains. They’d scored a table on the deck and had talked as the sun set—about his family, her family, about lots of things.
There was one topic they hadn’t broached, however. The subject of them.
In the morning, they would leave Napa and return to Chicago, and then . . . Nick wasn’t sure what would happen. For a guy who typically kept his relationships with women easy and breezy, this was an odd position to be in. He usually didn’t think about the next step because, usually, there was none. But Jordan Rhodes had walked into his life and now here he was—staring at her in the dark, watching her sleep. That was the type of thing a sentimental, introspective man did. Not him.
He, on the other hand, was a rational, logical kind of guy, and there were a few cold, hard facts staring him in the face. First, he’d known Jordan for three weeks. Three weeks. And they’d officially been together for only the last forty-eight hours of that. Second, taking the next step with her would mean one of two things: either they would spend long periods of time apart while he was on an undercover assignment, or he needed to consider a major change in his career.
The fact that he was even considering such a thing seemed crazy. One simply did not make that kind of decision after dating a woman for forty-eight hours.
But.
The alternative meant saying good-bye to Jordan as soon as the Eckhart investigation was over. And that just felt . . . wrong. He liked seeing her lying in bed next to him, and wanted to see her there more often. A lot more often.
In other words, he wanted it all—and that simply couldn’t happen. So he had a tough decision to make.
There was another problem complicating this decision: he had no clue what Jordan was thinking. Sure, he knew she liked him, but not once had she talked about what would happen back in Chicago. Perhaps she didn’t want to address the issue yet, or perhaps she simply didn’t have any answers herself. Maybe she was just as confused as he was.