“This is the fourth night you’ve worked late. Have you been getting any sleep at all?”
He’d noticed how many nights she’d been here? She told herself not to read anything into the comment. Nor would she allow herself to think about how he’d circled around the equipment to stand fairly close to her. The sparks continued to arc, but she was determined to ignore them, too. If Nic was going to pretend nothing had happened, she could pretend five times better.
“I’m getting by on an hour or two. This is my last batch of Chardonnay. Then I get a break until the Pinot comes in, then the Cabernet.”
Max trotted by, heading for a dark and puppy-appealing corner. “He’s up late,” she said.
“I was doing some paperwork. I like to walk him before I head up to bed.”
Ah, the b word. It took her a second to clear her brain of the erotic images that had instantly popped up. She and Nic had mostly made love in nontraditional places, but they’d done it in bed just enough for her memory to provide the appropriate erotic slide show.
“You thought I’d be a lousy dog owner,” he said. “You were wrong.”
“I never thought that.”
“Liar.”
She couldn’t help chuckling. “Okay, maybe I was a little concerned that you weren’t ready for the responsibility.”
“Is this where I remind you I run Wild Sea?”
“Business and puppies are very different.”
“Tell me about it. The business has never chewed my shoes.”
He was smiling at her. Despite the attraction and the yet-to-be-discussed kiss, she felt some of her tension ease. Why was it that being around Nic always felt so right?
On second thought, she didn’t want an answer to that.
He jerked his head toward the vat. The first of the juice spilled into the big stainless-steel container. “May I?”
She nodded. He collected a plastic cup from the bag she’d left on the floor and held it under the stream. To the untrained palate, the liquid would be little more than intense grape juice, but Nic would taste the subtleties and the possibilities.
He sipped, frowned, and sipped again. Then he looked at her and swore. “What did you do?”
“The grapes are from three different vineyards. Instead of getting one delivery from each location, I arranged for five smaller deliveries. I’ve coordinated so I get grapes from all three locations on the same day. It cost a little more, but I’ve been able to blend from the crushing stage instead of later in the process. The different grapes are already working on each other. Isn’t it the best?”
He took another sip. “How did you pick the grapes?”
She explained how she’d spent a lot of the past couple of months driving around the valley, figuring out what vineyards got what kind of sun.
“I might have snuck on and tasted a grape or two over the past month,” she admitted. “Then I placed my order. My quantities were small enough that even people who don’t usually sell were willing to give me a ton or two. Including one of your foremen.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re using Wild Sea grapes?”
“Just a few of your best.”
“Well, hell.”
She tried not to feel smug, but it was difficult. “You have all the raw material, Nic. You need to use it better.”
“Thanks. Want a job?”
“I already have one, but if things change, I’ll let you know.”
She knew he wasn’t seriously offering her employment, but it was nice to know she’d impressed him.
“You think you’re hot shit,” he complained. “This is like the time you lectured me on the quality of the oak we were using for our wines. You were what, sixteen?”
“Probably. You can’t go cheap if you’re going to ferment in wood. It would be better to go straight to stainless.”
He finished the juice and tossed the cup in the trash. “You’ll be happy to know I listened. Thanks to you I made a lot of changes here at Wild Sea.”
She appreciated knowing that. “If only I could say the same thing about my grandfather.”
Nic crossed to one of the chairs and pulled it out. Brenna sat down and he settled across from her.
“Is Lorenzo still making things difficult?”
“Difficult being an understatement. We’re arguing about everything. First he complains that the labels are too old-fashioned. We need something new. I happen to agree with him-in fact, I’ve been bugging him about it for a while. So I get new labels designed. Suddenly he says there’s nothing wrong with the old labels, we shouldn’t change anything, yada, yada.”
“Did he forget? Is this an age thing?”
“No. It’s a make-Brenna-crazy thing. He’s always been a curmudgeon, but it’s worse than it’s ever been. He’s on my case about everything. Now he’s talking about my brother. ‘Joe would listen to me about the old ways,’” she said, lowering her voice to sound more like Lorenzo’s. “I always knew having a brother show up didn’t help my case, but I guess…”
She swallowed and looked at him. “Joe inheriting is more real to me now. I don’t like it.”
Nic’s expression tightened. “At least if he inherits, it will stay in the family. It beats Lorenzo selling.”
“Not by much. I can’t believe he would leave everything to a virtual stranger. That would kill me. I would almost rather he sold.” She tried to smile. “I guess you would, too. That way I would inherit cash instead of a piece of the winery and I could pay you off.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
Must be nice not to worry about a million dollars, she thought wistfully. She suddenly had a thought.
“You could afford to buy Marcelli.”
Nic raised his eyebrows. “Was that an invitation?”
“No. My grandfather would never sell to you.” She shook her head. “Crazy. I know you wouldn’t try to buy Marcelli, but who else would? Never mind. I don’t want to think about it. Everything is so complicated.”
“Hang tough,” Nic told her. “It will get better. You’ve always been important to your grandfather. He’ll come around.”
Brenna stiffened and leaned back in her chair, instantly wary. Her family wasn’t exactly a safe topic of conversation.
Nic held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I meant that in a good way. You two used to argue, but in a lot of ways you’re the granddaughter closest to him.”
She nodded. “I guess I still am. I know some of the problem is that I moved away.” She hesitated, not wanting to start down that path, either. For people who hadn’t seen each other in years, she and Nic sure had a lot of things they couldn’t talk about.
“Was your grandfather angry about the divorce?”
Brenna didn’t know what to say. Talking about her marriage to Jeff-even the dissolution of the marriage-felt very twisted.
Nic shrugged. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t mind.” She didn’t. Not exactly. “My grandfather was pretty cool about the whole thing. The whole family was. Everyone claimed to adore Jeff right up until he asked for a divorce, then suddenly they all claimed to have hated him from the beginning. I know they were rewriting history to make me feel better, but I didn’t care. Besides, it worked.”
“A good Italian family like yours. I’m surprised no one offered to take him out.”
She laughed. “I never thought of that. You’re right. They should have.”
The night seemed very quiet now. Brenna wasn’t sure why Nic had shown up tonight or why they were talking about her divorce, but she didn’t want to break the spell by asking. Sitting here like this felt really good. Awareness kept her blood zipping through her body in a way that made her feel alive and breathless. While a foolish part of her wanted a repeat of the kiss they’d shared before, the sensible side was grateful for something as uncomplicated as
