“Zach!”

She didn’t know what she wanted from him. Maybe that he wouldn’t stop. Maybe that this would go on forever.

Zach watched the passion flare in Katie’s eyes. He could feel the tiny shudders building inside of her. Every part of him screamed out to simply bury himself inside of her and have his way, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she was so close.

So he gritted his teeth and thought about the baseball card collection he’d had when he was a kid. If he’d kept it, it would have been worth a fortune. Except then he started thinking about Katie in a baseball jersey and nothing else, and her perched on a counter while he plunged his hard, throbbing c-

Math. Times tables. Seven times seven was-

She gasped. He felt the hard knot of nerves pulse, and suddenly she contracted around him. He groaned as she milked him, making her sweet, slick body impossible to resist. He continued to touch her until the shudders stopped, then he leaned forward and dropped his hands to the bed.

In and out he pumped, feeling the pressure build and build. Her eyes locked with his. Her legs came up around his hips. Suddenly her hands were on his ass, her nails digging in as she pulled him deeper and deeper. Her head arched back and the contractions began again. This time she screamed.

It was as if her entire body conspired to send him over the edge. The pressure was unbearable and the point of no return was a heartbeat away. He squeezed back as hard as he could, waiting until the last of her contractions faded. Only then did he give in to the rush of release that exploded out of him like a bullet.

When rational thought returned, he wrapped his arms around her and shifted them both onto their sides. Katie stared at him wide-eyed and flushed.

“I’m guessing you didn’t learn that in law school,” she whispered.

He laughed. “I did. It was extra credit.”

“Where did you study? There weren’t any classes like that at UCLA.”

“Sure there were. You just have to know what they’re called.”

She smiled.

Zach kissed the tip of her nose, pulled back the covers, and waited for her to slip under them before sliding next to her. When they were settled, he turned out the lamp on the nightstand.

Katie rested her head on his shoulder. “I guess it’s your turn to sneak away in the night,” she said teasingly. “I promise not to take offense.”

“I have a seven A.M. meeting. My leaving won’t be about you.”

She sighed. “You say the sweetest things.”

He pulled her close. “I mean them.”

“I’m glad.”

While her breathing slowed, he stared into the darkness. He did mean them. In this case, if he didn’t have an early meeting, he would be content to stay in her bed and wake up with her. He could imagine a long time spent in the shower while they discovered just how limber each of them could be, followed by breakfast at her small, painted table. Surrounded by plants and candles and too many pillows, he would listen to her plans for the day and talk about his own schedule.

The concept of domestic bliss usually sent him screaming for the hills, but not this time. This time he didn’t want to walk away, and for the life of him, he couldn’t say why.

Katie watched the clock slowly ticking off the hour. She stared at the lining for Mia’s wedding gown that she’d spent most of yesterday sewing together, then back at the clock.

“Where are you?” she asked aloud, more than a little annoyed that her baby sister couldn’t be bothered to show up on time for the very first fitting of her wedding gown.

Katie paced the width of her small living room. She had a thousand and one details to take care of for the fund-raiser. There were phone calls to make, details to confirm, prizes to be picked up, and inventories to go over.

“I don’t need this,” she muttered and headed for her phone. She punched in her sister’s number, then clenched her teeth when she heard the familiar message.

“Hi! It’s me, and if you don’t know who ‘me’ is, then you probably have the wrong number. Leave a message.”

“Mia, it’s Katie. I can’t believe you didn’t show up for the very first fitting of your wedding dress.” She tightened her grip on the phone. “Dammit, Mia, I was defending you and your right to have your own life. I understand the rest of the family not talking to me, but you have no right to be mad at me.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but what was the point? She was being given the cold shoulder. Only time would fix things. She hung up and reached for her ever-present briefcase. With the countdown to the fund-raiser beginning, she had plenty of work to keep her occupied.

17

Brenna pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with an old elastic band she’d found in her jacket pocket. She was having a bad hair day-probably because she hadn’t bothered to shower that morning. Actually she hadn’t done much more than wash her face, brush her teeth, and put on clean underwear.

She looked like hell, which suited her mood because she felt like hell. Whoever said change was good was either an idiot or had never been through a divorce. She alternated between blinding rage and numbing depression-not that she liked either state. She wanted to feel normal again.

She wanted not to be fighting with Katie.

She still felt badly about what had happened last week. While she didn’t agree with her sister’s stand, she understood why Katie was worried about her. In truth, she kind of liked her concern, which meant not talking to her was really stupid. But calling meant admitting Katie might be right, and Brenna hardly wanted to have that conversation.

The truth was, she missed her sister, and now that Francesca had contacted Jeff and arranged to meet him, Brenna was having second thoughts. Did she really want her ex-husband to come on to her twin?

Rather than dwell on the mess that was her life, Brenna raised her face toward the sun and breathed in the sweet spring air. It was May-a busy month at the vineyard. Training had begun a week ago in the southernmost fields.

Speaking of which…she squatted down to examine the vines more closely, then fingered the sturdy plant. Already green leaves covered all the new growth and much of the old. Tiny clusters of flowers danced in the afternoon breeze. Green tendrils found their way toward the sun.

“Not for long,” she said, tugging on one tendril, then pulling it free of the stem.

Training the vines was both an art and a science. Each plant produced an excess of leaves, flowers, and new growth. Skilled workers came through and stripped off what wasn’t needed, leaving the most healthy and strong growth to produce the best grapes. If too much was removed, the harvest would be small and disappointing. Not enough removed, and the grapes wouldn’t grow and ripen as well as they could. Sun and air needed to flow through the vineyard, rolling across like a wave from the sea.

Brenna straightened and arched her aching back. They were well into their first week of training, and she had the sore muscles to prove it. The ache was like an old friend-almost forgotten, but still a bit of a lingering memory. She knew that Grandpa Lorenzo had insisted on the manual labor to test her determination. Brenna wasn’t worried; she refused to fail.

She touched another leaf. Here in the southern part of central California, frost wasn’t an issue, but it could cause damage in their northern vineyards. Every day she spoke to the managers there as she slowly returned to the rhythm of the vineyards.

She headed toward the property line. For the past couple of weeks she walked a different portion of the land to refamiliarize herself with what had once been her entire world. When she allowed herself to consider all she’d lost by marrying Jeff, she wanted to raise her fists to the sky and demand justice. Unfortunately she had no one to blame but herself. She had chosen what seemed like the safe path because any other was out of the question. Unfortunately she’d chosen a selfish man who had taken advantage of her devotion and left her with nothing to show for giving away her very soul.

She reached the edge of the property and checked on the railings. The posts sat securely in the ground. She was about to return to the east fields when she saw someone walking toward her. Someone on the other side of the fence. The evil, Wild Sea Vineyard side.

She wanted to run for cover for a number of reasons, one of which being that she was dressed like a day hire, the second being the fact that she’d gained five pounds in the past six or seven weeks. The combination of self-pity and the Grands’ cooking had done nothing good for her hips and thighs.

The third and perhaps most important reason was that he was the last person on the planet she wanted to see when she wasn’t at her best.

But there was no way she could escape. Not without seeming like an idiot. Brenna figured she’d done enough of that in the past nine years without continuing the pattern. So she squared her shoulders, took a breath for luck, and turned to face the man her grandfather thought of as the devil incarnate.

Nicholas Giovanni. Nic to his friends.

At one time Brenna had known him well enough to call him Nic. She’d called him a lot of other things, too, depending on her mood and the circumstances. Sometimes he’d laughed, sometimes they’d fought, and sometimes they’d simply lost themselves in sensual lovemaking that had left them both breathless.

The sun was in her eyes, making it difficult to see details. She saw a tall, powerful silhouette walking toward her. The man from her past had always dominated the landscape. Too arrogant, too handsome, too many things. It was pathetic to think that at the ripe old age of twenty-seven there had only been two men in her life. She really needed to get out more.