Susan Mallery - Seductive One

“Nothing. Everything. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know. I knew. It’s not a surprise or anything.”

“Want to translate that into English?”

She scratched Max’s ears. “My grandfather told Joe that the winery could be his if he wanted it. Just like that. No training, no love of anything Marcelli, just ‘here’s your inheritance.’” She turned to look at him. “What is it about male heirs? Would I be so damn different if I had a penis?”

“You would be to me,” he said honestly, more than a little startled that Lorenzo would play his cards so quickly.

“You know what I mean,” she told him. “I wouldn’t be any more interested in the winery, or smarter or good at my job.”

That he could agree with. Nic leaned back against the tree. Lorenzo leave the winery to a virtual stranger? Was it possible? If the old man went ahead with it, Nic would have a slight delay of his own plans.

Brenna looked at him. “This is where you’re supposed to make me feel better.”

He met her gaze. “I don’t believe your grandfather is going to leave Marcelli Wines to someone he just met. Joe doesn’t know one end of the bottle from the other.”

“I’ll bet he knows that much, but little else.” Despite her obvious pain, she smiled. “Joe admitted he’s more of a beer drinker.”

Nic leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I’ve had a beer or two in my life. It wasn’t bad. Don’t tell anyone.”

“At last. Blackmail material.”

Her smile widened, then quivered and faded. Tears filled her eyes before falling down her cheeks.

“It’s so horrible,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “He’s never happy. Everything is a fight. No matter what I suggest, it’s wrong.”

She kept talking, but as her tears increased, her voice shook and Nic found it difficult to understand her.

He reached toward her, then dropped his hand to his side. What was it about a crying woman that made a man feel awkward and inept? “It’s not so bad, is it?”

She wiped away the tears. “Just when I think it’s getting b-better, it all falls apart again. He s-said he was disappointed in me. I hate that. I’m twenty-seven years old. Why d-do I care what he thinks? But I do.”

The last couple of words came out on a sob. Max raised his head and looked at Nic as if asking him why he wasn’t doing something. Oh, because Nic was so clear on the next course of action. Right.

Feeling like an idiot, he shifted so that he could wrap his arms around her. He drew her close, resting her head on his shoulder and stroking her hair. Max jumped off her lap, stretched, and began sniffing their shoes.

“I’m s-sorry,” Brenna whispered.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

I’m here. When had he ever said those words to a woman? When had he last offered comfort? The situation between himself and Brenna Marcelli was more than a little complicated, but he couldn’t think about that. At this moment she wasn’t the enemy. She was simply Brenna.

Slowly her sobs faded. The tears fell less often and her breathing grew more relaxed. He continued to stroke her hair, liking the fresh smell of her shampoo and the way she curled up against him. She was familiar in the best way possible.

When she straightened, her face was blotchy and her eyes swollen. He dropped his hands as she wiped her face with her fingers.

“Sorry,” she murmured, not looking him in the eye. “I didn’t mean to get all weird.”

“Not a problem.”

He handed her a handkerchief. She used it to mop up the last of her tears. Her mouth was swollen, as if she’d been kissing someone. As if they’d been kissing.

Once the thought took root, he couldn’t seem to think about anything else. Nor could he stop himself from leaning close and pressing his lips to hers.

Her skin was damp and salty, and this close she smelled like sunshine and grapes. He wrapped his arms around her again. The passion that was never far below the surface made an instant and powerful appearance, but he ignored the heat and the pressure in his groin. Instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled back and looked into her eyes.

“You’re not incompetent,” he told her. “You’re gifted. I admire what you’re doing with Four Sisters, and if your grandfather doesn’t appreciate your vision for Marcelli Wines, then he’s a fool.” He brushed her hair off of her face. “For what it’s worth, you’ve impressed the hell out of me.”

As soon as he spoke the words, he realized he meant them. When he’d first loaned her the money, he hadn’t been sure what was going to happen, but now he knew she would be really big, if given half a chance. Ironically, he and her grandfather were the two men who held her fate in their hands.

The corners of her mouth turned up. “You sure know how to turn a girl’s head.”

“I’m telling the truth. Maybe that’s why Lorenzo is riding you so hard. He sees that you’ll do better than he did and it bugs him.”

“Maybe. But it’s a stupid reason to leave everything to Joe or sell out.” Her dark eyes clouded. “You don’t think he would really sell, do you?”

“We’ve already talked about that.” He rose and held out his hand. “Come on. You can help me with my homework. That will distract you from all these questions.”

She placed her fingers on his palm and stood. “What homework?”

“Remember Sophia’s diary?”

She nodded.

“I’m about three pages further along in it. You took Italian in high school, so it can’t be as bad as mine. We’ll work on it together.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” she told him. “But I’m game.”

An hour later he had to concede that her Italian was worse than his. They’d managed to work through half a page, and he wasn’t sure they’d gotten any of it right.

Brenna picked up the old book and flipped through the densely written pages. “We could be at this for the rest of our lives. Do you want the practice of translating it or do you just want to know what it says?”

“I have a choice?”

“Sure. Mia is the language expert in our family. She’s disgustingly fluent, both reading and writing. This wouldn’t take her very long.”

“Go for it.”

She closed the diary. “If she finds directions to a gold mine on Wild Sea lands, I can’t promise to share the information with you.”

“Fair enough.”

She took the book. He thought she might say she had to go, but instead of leaving, she leaned back in her chair.

“I told my grandfather about us.”

Nic wasn’t sure what “us” she meant. That she had borrowed money from him or that they had made love the other night? No, he told himself. She couldn’t have mentioned-

“That we used to go out,” she clarified. “That we’d met ten years ago and had become important to each other.”

“I’m surprised.”

“Me, too.” She placed the diary on the kitchen table. “He was going on and on about how horrible it was that I’d brought you to the party. Did I know who and what you were? Who your family was? That sort of thing. I snapped. I told him we’d gone out and that the sky hadn’t fallen.”

“I doubt that impressed him.”

She shrugged. “You’re right. He makes me crazy, but that’s hardly news. Unfortunately, he’s getting better at it. This thing with Joe…” She sighed. “I wish I could hate my brother, but I don’t. In his situation I don’t think I’d act any differently. Mia’s torturing him about his friends, which makes him squirm.”

“Which you enjoy.”

She grinned. “Absolutely.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell. I need to get back.” She rose and touched his arm. “Thanks for listening and letting me blubber all over your shirt.”

Then she bent down and kissed him before heading for the back door.

His mouth burned where she’d brushed it with her own. The fact that she’d already left the house didn’t stop his body from responding. He’d always been a sucker where she was concerned.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if he could erase the fleeting contact. As if he could change things and make her not matter. She didn’t. She couldn’t. And yet…

Things were different. He couldn’t say how exactly, but he could feel them changing. Brenna’s comment about her grandfather’s questions reverberated. Did she know who and what he was?

Brenna didn’t. To her he was Nic, her next-door neighbor, an ex-lover, the guy who had offered to fund her dream for the future. She didn’t know anything about his plans for her family’s business. Brenna might be the better wine maker, but Lorenzo was the smarter businessman. It never hurt to find out too much about a potential enemy.

Not that Lorenzo knew. No one knew, save his handpicked front men. And Maggie, who disapproved. Maggie, who had spent the last seven years being his conscience. Only this time he wasn’t listening.

Late that afternoon Brenna tapped on Mia’s door. When there was no response, she knocked louder, then pounded on the wood. Finally Mia opened the door and grinned. Her baby sister wore headphones and was dancing to a wild beat only she could hear. In a tank top and shorts, without her makeup, she looked about fifteen.

“You scare me,” Brenna said as she stepped into the room. Mia clicked off the Discman and set the headphones on her desk.

“You’re just jealous because I have rhythm.” She proceeded to demonstrate a couple of dance steps that involved fast foot movement and flailing arms.

“I think what you have is a seizure.”

Mia stuck out her tongue and sank onto the unmade bed. As usual, her room was a disaster area. Books were piled three deep on the desk in the corner. Piles of clothes covered the bed, the dresser, and the only chair in the room, while several open CD cases formed a free-style hop-scotch pattern on the floor.

Brenna picked two bras, a skirt, and three T-shirts from the chair and tossed them at her sister.