Champagne Kisses. Zuri DayЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 1

      Four months earlier

      “Let’s go down the road and have a drink.” Drake Wines Resort and Spa co-owner and executive, thirty-two-year-old Donovan Drake, eyed his prey with a serious expression, barely stopping himself from licking his lips and releasing a groan in anticipation of how the evening might end. That was if he had his way.

      His target’s eyes twinkled with humor as she contemplated the remark. “You’re asking me to leave one of Southern California’s most coveted resorts—” she waved her hand around the room “—featuring award-winning vineyards, to go somewhere else for a glass of wine?” Donovan smiled. The woman sitting across from him had a point. For the fifth year in a row, an assortment of Drake Wines had placed first in several categories at the Monterey Wine Festival, the California Beer and Wine Festival, the Vancouver Playhouse International Wine Festival and the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen, Colorado. The latter had led to an unprecedented six-page spread in the prestigious Food and Wine Magazine, a fact that had delighted his sister and director of PR, Diamond, whose wedding announcement and subsequent celebration had placed him near this dark-chocolate morsel.

      “You’re right, of course. There are no better wines than those in our vineyard. But when it comes to privacy, and particularly when it comes to not having the one-and-only Genevieve Drake, otherwise known as my mother, all up in my affairs, that is something else entirely.”

      “We’re just talking. Why would you care if your mother sees that?”

      “Because I’m male and you’re female. That alone makes you immediately of interest where my mother is concerned.” Marissa Hayes’s look was a mix of mild confusion and skepticism. “She sees every woman her sons entertain, even in conversation, as potential marriage material. If we stay here it won’t be long before she waltzes over to begin her informal interrogation.”

      “That is not how she appeared during the introductions,” Marissa countered. “In fact, considering the force of the Drake name in the wine industry and beyond, and given Diamond’s vivacious personality, I was surprised at how soft-spoken and laid-back she seems to be.”

      “Don’t let those genteel manners and the velvet glove fool you. There’s an iron fist shielded inside it and a shrewd, calculating mind behind that soft smile.”

      Marissa fiddled with one of her curly black locks as she took in the scenery, discreetly searching for the classy lady she’d learned was Donovan, Diamond and their younger brother Dexter’s mom. While doing so, she also took in the well-appointed great room ensconced within the luxurious walls of the Drake estate; its soft ivory silk was a perfect backdrop to the velvet-covered chaises, brocade wingbacks and low-slung sectional clothed in antique damask. The ebony and ivory keys of the baby grand anchoring the other end of the room were being tickled by a very capable pianist. The nimble fingers of the young blonde who’d been introduced as a former prodigy effortlessly blended yesterday’s sounds of Duke and Ella with today’s George Benson, Kenny G and Esperanza Spalding. When she shifted her eyes from the piano player, they landed on Donovan’s mother, a vision of sophistication in burgundy silk and silver accessories. She turned her head slightly toward Donovan and lifted her champagne flute. “I’m afraid you may be right, Mr. Drake. We’re getting ready to have company.”

      Donovan didn’t have to turn around to know who was approaching. Genevieve Drake had spotted them and was making the proverbial beeline for a closer examination of the woman who had held the attention of her son for longer than five minutes.

      “Ah, there you are!” Genevieve Drake’s carriage was one of pride and confidence as she reached her son and stepped in for a hug. A refined-looking lady with strong, vibrant features, long black hair streaked with gray and a slim, short frame, she exuded maternal comfort even as subtle hints of fire came through. “I think Keely did a fabulous job, don’t you?”

      “I do,” Donovan said, looking around and raising his glass to Dexter, his perpetual-playboy brother holding court amid a circle of lovelies on the other side of the room. “But then again, we’d expect nothing less of Kathleen’s daughter.”

      “Indeed.”

      Kathleen Fitzpatrick was a longtime Drake employee whose fire was less like subtle flickers and more like a burning flame. She’d begun her employ more than twenty-five years ago, working in various capacities based on need. For the past several years she’d worked in the PR and marketing department as Donovan’s sister Diamond’s assistant. Fiercely loyal and all about family, she’d been delighted when Diamond decided to hire her up-and-coming party-planner daughter for the fete to celebrate her highly talked about engagement to construction mogul Jackson “Boss” Wright. With a nod to the month and the moment, Keely’s theme had revolved around hearts, with the symbol showing up in unique and creative ways around the room: ice sculptures; ice cubes; floral centerpieces; and, Genevieve’s favorite, the keepsake candles that would go home with each guest. The color palette boasted almost every shade of red imaginable and, paired with champagne, was at once elegant and festive.

      Genevieve turned to Marissa. “Hello, dear. I’m Donovan’s mother, Genevieve Drake.”

      Marissa stuck out her hand. “Marissa Hayes. Mrs. Drake, it’s a pleasure.”

      “The pleasure is mine.” Genevieve reached for Marissa’s hand only to pull her in for a hug. “We hug where I’m from,” she said with a smile.

      “Oh? And where’s that?”

      “The South. Louisiana. What about you, dear. From where does your family hail? With that beautiful brown skin, those high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes, I’d probably lean toward the islands. Would I be wrong?”

      “We all landed stateside as far as I know. I was born and raised in San Diego, ma’am, where I still live.” Marissa suppressed a smile as she felt a subtle tug on her dress. She was sure it was Donovan’s way of alerting her that Detective Genevieve’s interrogation had begun.

      “And your parents, they still live in San Diego as well?”

      “No. My father is a minister who a few years ago was asked to become senior pastor of a prominent church in Chicago. They live just outside the Windy City in a suburb called Naperville.”

      Genevieve nodded. “I’ve heard of it, but have not been there. In fact, it’s been years since I’ve visited the Midwest, including Chicago. I do love their deep-dish pizza. Donovan, what was the name of the restaurant we visited, what, ten years ago?”

      “I don’t remember, Mom. But speaking of food, Marissa and I were—”

      “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Genevieve went on. She did a surreptitious sweep of Marissa from head to toe. “Of course, with your stunning hourglass figure, you probably stay away from such calorie-laden treats.”

      “Probably not as much as I should.”

      “Hmm. I must say it is wonderful to talk with someone without having to look up continually. All of my children took after their father in that regard. What are you, five-three, four?”

      “Okay, Mom. Let’s not continue this round of twenty questions.”

      “How else does one get to know their guests?” Genevieve asked dryly with raised brow.

      Marissa chuckled. “Really, Donovan. It’s okay.” Looking at Genevieve, she continued, “I understand completely. I’m five foot four and also the shortest one in my family, not counting my cousins or my nephew, who just turned two.”

      “Ha!”