Читать книгу Back in His Bed - Heidi Rice, Aimee Carson - Страница 10

“I SWEAR, Di, it’s frustrating. I just want to scream. Or something,” she muttered. Brenna positioned her clippers and separated the grape cluster from the vine with a satisfying, overly forceful snip.

“Picturing Jack’s neck, are we?” Dianne teased from the other side of the row of vines. Chloe napped peacefully in a carrier strapped to Dianne’s chest, her hat with its embroidered Amante Verano logo shielding her fat baby cheeks from the early-morning sun.

“It’s cathartic.” She snipped two more clusters and added them to the bucket at her feet. “And safer for Jack.”

“What are you going to do?” Dianne asked the question casually, but Brenna knew everyone in the vineyard was on edge, waiting to see what would happen next. Jack’s plan to sell would affect everyone in some way.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m open to ideas if you have any.” She’d been up most of the night, tossing and turning as she tried to figure out her options. There weren’t many.

“I wish I did.”

“Stubborn. Arrogant. Domineering. Jerk.” She punctuated each comment with a snip of the clippers.

“Max could be like that sometimes. He’s his father’s son; that’s for sure.”

Brenna laughed. “Oh, I dare you to tell him that. It’ll really get his goat.”

“I don’t think antagonizing Jack further is really the best idea right now, do you?” Dianne was always so calm, so unflappable. So annoyingly right most of the time.

“I was trying to be nice last night. Trying to be reasonable. That didn’t work out so well.”

“Because you have a history with Jack.”

“Ancient history,” Brenna clarified.

“Still, it complicates things.”

No kidding. She’d seen the papers in the kitchen this morning; she’d even glanced through them while she waited for her coffee to brew. Turn over fifty-percent of the vineyard to the highest bidder? She’d been tempted to feed Jack’s stack of papers into the shredder and leave a bag of confetti hanging on his doorknob.

For the thousandth time, she wished she had the money to buy Jack’s share. But while the banks would be happy to loan her barrels of money as long as Jack was a co-owner, no bank in the world would loan her the money to buy him out. It still wasn’t an ideal solution—buying Jack out only solved one problem while causing a whole slew of others.

In the small hours of the morning, though, she had realized how much of their current problem was rooted in their heated, reckless past. She needed to recognize it and figure out good ways to move past it. Dianne wasn’t the only one realizing that. “That knowledge—however truthful it may be—doesn’t make the situation suck any less.” It certainly didn’t make her feel any better. She was drowning—in anger, frustration, guilt, worry, and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t quite name. The painful knot in her stomach was bordering on debilitating.

Dianne nodded understandingly, then looked at her watch. “I hate to harvest and run, but I need to shower so I can get the shop open in time. Plus, I think Chloe is waking up.” Dianne cooed at the baby as she stripped off her gloves.

“I appreciate the help. And the company, of course. Getting up at dawn goes above and beyond the call of duty.”

“But it’s fun—at least for the first couple of hours,” she added, as Brenna raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “Do you think you’ll finish today?”

“Marco brought a full crew, so if not today definitely tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll see you at lunch. Tuna salad okay with you?”

“That’s great. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Dianne tossed over her shoulder as she left.

Brenna had enjoyed the company—having Di to talk to had been a nice distraction, one that she missed as she fell back into her rhythm and her mind started to wander.

There had to be a solution. She just needed to find it. If she’d only known Jack would carry such a grudge…

It wasn’t all her fault, she thought as she carried the full bucket of grapes to the bin at the end of the row and emptied it. He was just as much to blame for their disastrous relationship and the fallout as she was. The early days had been fantastic—the type of thing romance novels were written about. The boss’s handsome son, descending from the city to sweep the winemaker’s daughter off her feet. Picnics in the vineyard; stolen kisses behind the barrels of Merlot. Making love under a canopy of Cabernet vines, then feeding the ripe grapes to each other in the afterglow.

It had been everything she’d ever dreamed of. Romantic and passionate and all-encompassing. Jack had made her feel like the center of his universe—beautiful and sexy and interesting. It had been too easy to fall in love.

But, while opposites attracting worked great in movies, the reality hadn’t been dreamy at all.

While it had all gone to hell later, she did have fond memories of being eighteen and head-over-heels in love. Jack had been different then, too: more carefree, with a smile that melted her knees even in memory.

The old Jack would be more reasonable and much easier for her to deal with. The old Jack wouldn’t want to sell her winery out from under her, or ruin everything she’d worked for simply out of spite. He’d changed so much in the last ten years. He’d become more reserved, harder and colder. Sometimes she wondered if he was really the same man.

She missed the old Jack. The one she fell in love with. The Jack who didn’t hate her.

She shook off the reverie and the sinking feeling. She had to deal with this Jack. And quickly—for the good of Amante Verano and her own mental health.

“Daydreaming on the job, boss?” Ted grinned at her as he upended his overflowing bucket into the bin. “You seem pretty far away.”

“Trust me, I’m here. Just sending up quick prayers that the pump doesn’t die again.”

“After the way you cursed at it yesterday? It wouldn’t dare.”

She laughed. “It deserved it. Cantankerous thing.” Much like someone else she knew. She pulled off her gloves. “Unless you need me here for some reason, I’m going to head back to the winery. Lots of grapes to process, and…”

“You have a cantankerous pump to deal with,” he finished for her.

That explanation would do. “Exactly.”

But the pump seemed to be working fine. At least that part of her life was moving along on plan. Although it freed her mind to stew over other issues for the next six hours, she didn’t discover any new solutions to her problems.

She took her time hosing out the crusher for the last time, then puttered around the lab, stalling for time. Calling it a day would put her back in the house with Jack. For such a big house, it felt very small with Jack in it, and, since she was still having trouble controlling her hormones while he was around, putting herself in close proximity to him didn’t sound like a great idea. Plus, there was no way to avoid more discussion of the future of the vineyard, and without any bright new ideas she wasn’t in any hurry for another round with Jack over that.

But she couldn’t hide in her lab forever, and as the sun went down her irritation grew—both with herself and Jack. She was avoiding her home, for goodness’s sake. Just because of him.

That irritation fueled her up the hill to the house, and as she toed off her boots in the mudroom she felt ready for a fight and actually hoped Jack was nearby.

Then she heard Dianne’s voice in her head: “Don’t antagonize him.” That deflated her indignant bubble a bit. She’d be nice if it killed her.

But Jack wasn’t around. The kitchen was empty, the sale paperwork still sitting on the counter. The living room was just as empty. She glanced down the hallway, but no light or noise came out of the office either.

Jack’s car sat in the driveway, so he hadn’t gone far. Of course his room and the gym were on the far side of the house, but she didn’t have a good excuse to go wandering down that hallway to see where he was. Plus, she didn’t want to take the chance of running into him while he was hot and sweaty and half dressed again. Last night had been bad enough.

For the time being she was alone, and for the first time in a long time she didn’t mind the quiet. With her stomach still tied in a knot, eating was out of the question, but a glass of wine sounded like a great plan.

She grabbed a glass and a bottle of last year’s Chardonnay and retreated behind her bedroom door.

She still had a lot of thinking to do.

The sun was completely behind the hills and he still hadn’t heard Brenna come in. She’d been gone early, too, probably around dawn, because the coffee she’d left in the pot had tasted old when he’d made his way into the kitchen this morning.

The early morning was to be expected; he remembered all too well the rush to get the grapes in before it got too hot—for the grapes, not the people. But sunup to sunset? That meant something had gone wrong at the winery with the crush, and Brenna would be in a bad mood when she finally did make it back to the house.

He wasn’t going to concern himself with her mood—beyond the fact it would make any conversation even more difficult than last night’s had been. The papers were still on the counter, unsigned, but in a different place than he’d left them, telling him she’d at least looked through them at some point.

He’d spent the day in Max’s office, alternating between talking to his secretary and going through the winery’s books. He didn’t want to leave until he had this settled with Brenna, because he fully intended to never darken the doorway again once he left this time, but he couldn’t be away from the city indefinitely. At some point he did need to finish the preparations for his meeting in New York next week. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to come up with many ideas that would both placate Brenna and sever his ties with this place at the same time.

Dianne Hart, whom he only vaguely remembered as one of Brenna’s friends from high school, had brought two plates of dinner to the house late in the afternoon, explaining as she did so that she normally fed Brenna during harvest time, and bashfully explained she’d figured he’d need dinner, too.

She’d chatted to him as she moved easily through the kitchen, balancing a wide-eyed baby on one hip, explaining how she’d moved to Amante Verano five years ago, shortly after Brenna’s mother died. When Brenna took her mother’s place as vintner, she’d hired Dianne’s then newlywed husband Ted as viticulturist. Dianne seemed loyal to Brenna to the core, and had only glowing things to say about her, yet she didn’t seem to share Brenna’s animosity toward him.

Or if she did, she did a better job of hiding it than Bren. He hadn’t missed the way her eyes had strayed to the papers on the counter, though. No doubt Dianne was fully up-to-date on the situation, and he vaguely wondered if Brenna had sent Dianne with instructions to help smooth the path.

But before he could question her, to uncover any underlying motives, she’d been gone. Dianne was Brenna’s polar opposite in both looks and temperament, but she had that same earth mother wholesomeness. Years ago that had been part of Brenna’s allure—so different from the women he’d grown used to at home. He’d learned his lesson well, though. He’d take Gucci over granola any day.

Boredom and an empty house drove him outside to the pool, where he pulled up short. He’d forgotten how Max had recreated his rooftop retreat at Garrett Tower here—only on a larger scale. White flagstones, warm under his feet, formed the pool deck, while large pots of hibiscus, hellebores and yarrow divided the space, providing secluded seating areas and privacy for the hot tub. Eerie. Almost like being at home.

He swam several laps, then hooked his arms over the edge and listened to the quiet sounds of the evening. Even with the sun down the night was still warm—no need to heat the pool here in the summertime. With nothing more than a few vineyards scattered over the surrounding miles, the lack of light pollution made the stars seem brighter, clearer. A few wispy clouds crossed in front of the rising moon, but no high-rise buildings blocked the view.

This was possibly the only thing he didn’t dislike about Amante Verano. When Max had bought the vineyard, this was what had first brought Jack out here, not some love of the vino.

The French doors to Brenna’s bedroom opened, and she stepped quietly onto the patio. Her hair was pulled up and secured with a clip, leaving her profile and the long column of her neck exposed. She drank deeply from a large wine glass as she walked, obviously unaware of his presence, the belt to her short robe trailing behind her on the flagstones. Brenna set the glass carefully on a stone table and shrugged out of the robe.

And then he remembered what else had attracted him to Max’s vineyard.

Even in the dim light he could see the defined muscles in her slender shoulders, arms and back—muscles developed from hauling endless bins of grapes, not on some piece of equipment in a gym. The dark bikini didn’t cover much, allowing him a sight he hadn’t seen in years but had never forgotten. Her body was compact, strong. He knew from experience the power in those thighs, the way the firm muscles covered in soft skin would flex under his hands.

The water, warm just a minute ago, now felt cool against his heated skin, and that old flame sparked to life.

Then Brenna stretched, her back arching gracefully as she lifted her arms over her head, drawing his eyes to the generous curve of her breasts and down the flat plane of her stomach.

And the flame seared through him like a flash fire, fanned by the rush of erotic memories tumbling through his heated brain. He flattened his palms on the pool apron and pushed, heaving himself out of the water.

At the noisy rush of water Brenna spun, the force causing the clip to lose its grip and sending the mass of red hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Jeez, Jack, when did you take up skulking in the dark as a hobby?”

He was already reaching for her when her words registered, and he grabbed a towel instead, busying his hands by drying himself off and knotting the towel around his waist in an attempt to camouflage the raging erection she’d caused. “Since when is swimming ‘skulking in the dark’?”

“Since you started doing it here.” Her hands weren’t entirely steady as she gathered her hair and secured it back on top of her head. He felt as well as saw Brenna’s eyes move over his chest like a caress, tracking downward until her cheeks reddened. When her eyes flew upward to meet his, he recognized the glow there. It had been a while since he’d seen it, and it stoked the fire burning in him.

Brenna shifted uncomfortably as he returned his slow gaze to her body, and she reached for her robe.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before, Bren. No need to be modest.”

Her jaw tightened, but the goad didn’t bring a retort. Instead, she stared beyond him into the dark vineyards. The silence stretched out for long minutes as they stood there, until Brenna finally cleared her throat. “If you’d—I mean, are you tr—Um, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Retreat again, Bren?”

Her shoulders pulled back and settled. “No, no retreat. But I came out here to relax, and fighting with you is not on my list of things I’d like to do tonight.”

Images of what he’d like to do tonight swam in front of his eyes, and he forcefully shut them out. His body’s reaction to Brenna might be beyond his mind’s control, but he wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d learned his lesson the hard way and, while she was very tempting…

Who was he kidding? He wanted her. Badly. “Don’t let me stand in the way of your swim.”

“Swim? Oh.” She smiled weakly. “I wasn’t planning on a swim.”

He looked pointedly at her swimsuit. “Interesting choice of attire, then.”

Brenna rolled her eyes at him as she reached for her wine glass. “I’ve had a long day,” she said as she stepped around the pots of hellebores and sank into the bubbling hot tub with a sigh. She arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you mind?”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he took the opening anyway. “Not at all.” He’d dropped his towel and taken the seat opposite her in the hot water before Brenna could stop sputtering. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Brenna closed her eyes and sank lower, until the water covered her shoulders. “Not tonight, Jack.”

She didn’t realize the vineyard was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “Why not?”

“Because I really don’t want to fight with you again. It’s exhausting, and I’m exhausted enough already.”

“Who said we had to fight?”

She opened her eyes, giving him a “get real” look. “We haven’t had a civilized conversation in years. You think we’ll succeed tonight? Under these circumstances?”

Brenna had a point, but the soft, husky voice had him mesmerized. Even her snappy comebacks lacked any real sarcasm or heat. It boded well. He leaned back, mirroring her position, and shrugged. “So far, so good.”

She laughed softly. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

He was actually suffering from déjà vu at the moment. Brenna, quiet if not quite relaxed, the steam rising in wisps around her face, her legs stretched out on the bench only inches from his. His body reacted to the memories, wanting to pull her into his lap…

“How are things with the hotels? Max said you were planning on expanding to the east coast?”

Brenna’s question snapped him back to the present. “Everything is going well. I’m headed to New York next week to finalize the deal.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Max would be pleased. He always wanted a hotel in Manhattan.”

“And all this time I thought he just wanted a winery.” He winked at her, enjoying the look of surprise that crossed her face at the gesture.

“Well, he got that. But you know how Max was always thinking ahead to the next thing.”

“Garrett men aren’t satisfied easily.” He met her eyes evenly, and held the stare until her cheeks flushed and she broke away.

Brenna’s eyes traveled over his chest and shoulders hungrily, before she snapped them back up to his face and coughed awkwardly. “They’re also hard to please sometimes,” she retorted, but she did it with a smile on her face so he couldn’t take it as an attack.

Brenna closed her eyes again and sank a little deeper into the water. Her legs brushed against his, and she moved them away quickly. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, and he watched the tension slowly begin to ease from her body. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm and casual again. “We got the last of those grapes in today. It was a really nice yield, and they made gorgeous juice.”

Small talk seemed oddly easy at the moment. It certainly beat fighting, and his hopes that this night might turn out to be interesting grew. “Only you would call grape juice gorgeous.”

She smiled. “Gorgeous juice makes gorgeous wine. And that makes me very happy indeed.”

“What else makes you happy, Bren?” The question came out of nowhere, shocking him almost as much as her.

She sighed tiredly. “Are we going to fight now?”

He couldn’t stop the small smile her question caused, but Brenna’s eyes were still closed and she couldn’t see it. “Not unless you start it. It’s a simple question.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Fine. Let’s see.” She thought for a long moment, floating her hands on the water’s surface and humming. “Good grapes and good wine.”

Did she ever think about anything else? “Besides wine, Bren.”

Brenna pursed her lips in mock annoyance. “Um…Walks through the vineyard right at sunset—when it’s peaceful and cool, but not dark yet.”

They’d been on several memorable sunset walks together, but he didn’t think Brenna would appreciate the reminder at the moment.

“Brownie fudge ice cream. And…And…Can I say good wine again?”

“That’s not very creative.”

That caused her eyes to open again. “What can I say? I have simple needs. What about you?”

He had to think. “Board meetings where no one brings me a disaster to fix. Fast cars. Single-malt Scotch.”

Brenna shook her head. “That’s a strange list.”

“Well, we all can’t be blissful just hanging out at Amante Verano making good wine.” He shrugged.

He’d said it off-hand, but Brenna’s chin dropped and her teeth worried her bottom lip. He knew that look, too, so he waited to see what she was working up the courage to say.

“I’m very sorry, Jack.”

An apology? He’d expected a volley about the sale of the winery, or even a statement about Max, designed to play on his sense of duty to the vineyard. Not an apology. What was she angling for? “What for, Bren?”

“A lot of things. But mainly for keeping you away from here.”

He snorted, and Brenna looked at him in question. “Brenna, if I’d had any desire to come out here, your presence wouldn’t have stopped me.”

Confusion wrinkled her forehead. “But you used to love it here—you were out here all the time. It was just after…after, you know, the divorce that you quit coming. I know that was because of me, and I am sorry for that.”

Interesting. There were many ways he could respond, but something about Brenna’s honesty brought out the same in him. “I don’t like wine, I don’t like grapes, and I certainly don’t have any interest in agriculture of any sort. Think about it—how often did I come out here in the two years after Max bought the property?”

“Maybe twice that I know of…”

He leaned forward and held her gaze. “That’s because you were in school and I hadn’t met you yet. Then I came out with Max for your graduation…”

Brenna’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Are you saying you only came out here to see me that summer?”

He nodded, enjoying the waves of shock that moved over her face as she re-aligned her thought processes. “And after we were over there was no reason for me to come back.”