“Starting a label doesn’t come cheap.”

“I know.”

His dark gaze never left her face. “Where else did you go for financing?”

“Everywhere short of a loan shark.”

He nodded. “Let me guess. They want to know why you can’t get the money from your grandfather.”

“That’s some of it. They were also concerned that I don’t have any collateral. I’ve explained that the wine is collateral, but that doesn’t seem to impress them.” She shrugged. “You’re a man who likes to take risks, but only when they pay off. I’m the closest to a sure thing you’re going to find.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Brenna could have cheerfully thrown herself in front of a moving delivery truck. She could feel the heat on her face, but with her olive coloring, the blush wouldn’t show. It was a small consolation, but one she clung to like a life preserver.

“You know I can do this,” she said, as if she hadn’t caught the embarrassing wordplay.

“Maybe,” he said. “But why would I want to add to my competition?”

For the first time since driving onto the property, Brenna relaxed. “Oh, please. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to match ten percent of your production in five years. I don’t think you’re going to sweat me putting you out of business.”

“Fair enough. Why did you come to me?”

“You’re the only person I know with extra cash.”

“Your parents would have helped you out.”

“Possibly. But I didn’t want to make them choose between me and my grandfather. You’re a neutral party.”

“I’m a Giovanni. Doesn’t that make me second cousin to the devil?”

Gee, just what she’d been thinking earlier, only in her eyes, the relationship had been a little closer.

Coming to Nic was her last hope, but also a calculated risk. The Marcelli and Giovanni families had been feuding for years. Her grandfather might find out about the loan if she’d secured it through traditional sources such as a bank, but he would never know if Nic funded her. Grandpa Lorenzo would cheerfully rip out his tongue rather than speak to a Giovanni.

Brenna and her sisters had never been all that interested in the feud. Nic hadn’t been, either, which he’d proved the first time she’d met him. But to her grandparents-hostilities were alive and well.

“There’s a certain irony to this conversation,” she admitted. “I would think that appealed to you.”

He studied her. Brenna would like to know what he saw, but on second thought-maybe not. She was still recovering from a disastrous, impulsive haircut. Several months at the family hacienda eating her grandmothers’ cooking had added seven pounds to her already plentiful curves. She thought the suit she’d chosen looked pretty good on her, but was that enough? She’d come a long way from the seventeen-year-old who had promised to love Nic with her whole heart; but the question was, would he consider the changes good or bad?

“Rumor has it I’m a ruthless bastard,” he said casually.

“I’ve heard. Should I be scared?”

“You tell me.”

She could remember everything about being with Nic-the way he touched her, the way he kissed, the scent of his skin. She knew the boy he had been, but not the man. What was the same and what had changed? Or did it matter?

Ruthless bastard or not, she wanted the money.

“I don’t scare easily these days.” She pushed the proposal toward him. “Look it over and tell me what you think.”

He rested his hand on the leather cover but didn’t open it. “How much?”

The butterflies appeared in her stomach and began to fly in formation. She thought they might be practicing touch-and-go landings. Her mouth got dry, her palms got wet, and the room lurched once for good measure.

“A million dollars.”

Nic didn’t react in any way-at least not on the outside. He didn’t blink, didn’t shift in his seat; he didn’t even smile. But on the inside, his mild amusement and intrigue turned to impressed amazement. Brenna had gone and got herself some balls.

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and fingered the bills. “You want that in twenties?”

“I’m not in a position to be picky. Twenties are fine.”

“I don’t think I have that much with me today.”

“Bummer.”

She watched him, her big eyes betraying her nervousness. She was at the end of the line and they both knew it. If he turned her down, she wouldn’t get her loan. Any dreams of starting her own label would be squashed. Oh, sure, she could buy a few tons of grapes on the open market, borrow equipment, and set up a few dozen cheap barrels in a garage somewhere. She might get a loyal following, a little notice, maybe a write-up in Wine Spectator. But without an infusion of cash, she would never have the chance to make it big.

Not that he gave a damn about that. What mattered to him were his goals. How did her request fit into the big picture?

He rose and circled the desk until he stood in front of her, then he leaned against the surface, his arms folded over his chest. It was a position designed to intimidate. To challenge.

Brenna reacted by uncrossing, then recrossing her legs. In the silence of the office the sound of her silk stockings brushing and shifting grated against his ears. He found himself watching the movement, staring at the hem of her skirt, picturing her thighs underneath. And above her thighs?

Paradise. At least that’s what her body had been ten years ago. Dark, slick, secret-the road to redemption. Instead she’d steered him right to hell. Because of her, he’d been sent away from his home. He’d been exiled, abandoned, and written off for dead.

Unfortunately, the reminder didn’t do a damn thing for the unexpected tension crawling through him. He tore his gaze away before he distracted himself with the wrong kind of memories.

“I’m not saying no,” he told her.

“You’re kidding!”

She sprang to her feet, which put her less than a foot in front of him. Close enough for him to see the various shades of gold and brown that made up her irises, and the tiny scar by the corner of her mouth. Close enough for her perfume to invade his personal space. The scent was different; his reaction to it was not. Long-forgotten heat awoke, stretched, and went searching for sustenance.

He ignored the temperature and the hunger. This was not the right time nor the place, and she was sure as hell not the right woman.

The thing was, he had a plan. Over the years he’d learned that a well-thought-out plan ensured that he always won. When the goal was revenge, it paid to be patient.

His instincts told him that Brenna’s loan request was as unexpected as a home run off the first pitch. All he had to do was toss down his bat and circle the bases. But he wanted to be sure.

“It’s a lot of money,” he said.

She nodded as her mouth curved in a smile. “I know. I’ve detailed every penny. It’s all going into the wine. I’m not taking a salary. Oh, Nic, the land I want to buy is just perfect for Pinot Noir. There’s a sweet valley at the base of a hill that gets just the right amount of midday sun. That, combined with the fog and the salt from the ocean, creates perfect grapes. You’ll see.”

Her enthusiasm was as tangible as the hand she put on his arm. He acknowledged the contact-and his reaction to it-by sliding away and picking up her portfolio.

“I’ll look this over in the next couple of days and get back to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “How exactly do I do that?”

Brenna chuckled. “I suppose a phone call to the hacienda would cause problems for both of us. My cell number is on the proposal. If you don’t get me, you can leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

“Fair enough.”

She clutched her hands together. “Nic, I know it’s a lot of money and that this is a risk for you, but I can do this. If you take a chance, you won’t be sorry.”

“I won’t do it if there’s a chance I will be.”

Her excitement didn’t flicker. “You’re going to be impressed. I promise.”

He had a feeling she was right. Besides, one of his rules in life was to take advantage of every unexpected opportunity. If he agreed, he would insist on keeping close tabs on what she was doing, which was the same as keeping close tabs on Brenna herself. Being close to her had only ever led to one thing.

So money wasn’t the only risk. Was that good or bad?

He didn’t have an answer, but he knew time spent with Brenna wouldn’t be boring. Once again, they could be entering dangerous territory. The difference was this time he would be the one calling the shots.

Brenna drove back to the Marcelli winery, taking the long way around so she drove past the ocean. She rolled down the windows of her ancient Camry and let the warm salty air brush over her skin. Her suit jacket and high heels lay where she’d tossed them on the passenger seat. She had the radio cranked up and sang along with an old Beach Boys tune, delighting in the fact that although they’d been years and years before her time, she knew all the words.

At this moment she felt free and wild and happy and so excited, she probably could have taken flight, if not for the seat belt anchoring her. She leaned her head back and laughed out loud at the sheer pleasure pumping through her.

She’d done it. She’d done it!

Oh, sure, Nic hadn’t said yes, not yet. But somehow down in her gut she just knew he was going to. He’d been willing to listen, something no one else had done, and listening was all she needed. Her carefully thought-out proposal was going to blow his socks off. Maybe even his pants.

“I hope I’m around when that happens,” she murmured, then grinned at the thought of a bottomless Nicholas Giovanni.

Until this past spring she hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years. He could have gotten wrinkled and paunchy, but instead he still had the power to make her entire body go up in flames. And maybe, just maybe, she’d seen a flicker of appreciation in his beautiful sex-god eyes.