duty was to get married as soon as she turned eighteen. Which she had done. That relationship had taken her away from the vineyard she loved.
She turned and walked away. Her body ached, but that pain was nothing when compared with the emptiness of her soul.
Her grandfather blamed her for leaving. After all those years of telling her to get married, he now punished her for listening to him. Worse, Brenna almost couldn’t argue his point. She couldn’t figure out why she’d given up the vineyards to marry her ass of an ex-husband who was knee-deep in preparations for his wedding to wife number two.
Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. Not over Jeff. Not anymore. She’d moved past hate, regret, and revenge. Now she simply wanted that chapter of her life over. Let him get married again. Let him get married a dozen more times. As long as she had the grapes…
She crested a rise and turned to look back at the land. She’d been born and bred to work the vines, and she had walked away from them all. If only-
The bright sunlight made her squint. In the distance, on neighboring Giovanni lands, she saw movement. Was it Nic? She was too far away to tell.
If only what? If only she’d listened to her heart instead of taking the easy way out and marrying Jeff? Things would not have turned out much better with her grandfather. There were no if onlys. There was now and the fact that she’d finally found everything she wanted only to lose it again if her grandfather sold.
She’d learned her lesson. Unfortunately the education had come too late. What did it matter now if she never again trusted her heart and soul to a man? Without Marcelli Wines she was nothing.
4
Francesca hadn’t spent much time in Montecito, an upscale neighborhood just east of Santa Barbara. She glanced at the directions she’d scribbled down, then back at the street signs and wondered what she was going to do if she got lost. No doubt the local police would want to impound her truck for being the wrong type of vehicle, the wrong age, and definitely the wrong price. In this neighborhood even the maids drove Volvos.
Francesca chuckled as she recalled her terror when Sam called and suggested a barbecue at his place, or what he’d referred to as Montecito’s best grill kitchen. Her first thought had been she couldn’t-she had faulty birth control. Her second had been wild temptation, followed by bone-numbing fear. Obviously she needed to get out more. Pitifully, she’d accepted his invitation when he’d mentioned a live-in housekeeper who would act as chaperon.
Less than five minutes later she found the right street and the right house. Make that the right gate. Both sides of the narrow street were lined with tall fences and gates. Some stood open, but others were firmly closed. Francesca pulled in front of Sam’s, then opened her truck window to press the button on the control panel.
After a couple of seconds a familiar voice said, “Hello, Francesca. Glad you could make it.”
Sam’s words made her heart flutter like hummingbird wings. She felt giddy and nervous, but excited. “Hi, Sam.”
“Come on in.”
The large double wrought-iron gates swung open, allowing her to drive onto the property. A few hundred yards later, after rounding a bend, she stopped in front of an old two-story house built in the 1920s. The mock Tudor facade blended perfectly with the formal gardens stretching out on either side.
So the security business paid well, she thought as she opened the door and stepped onto the cobblestone driveway. Despite Sam’s elegant offices and his title as CEO, she’d never considered their economic differences. If she compared family fortunes, she would probably be in the ballpark, but personally she didn’t have a penny. Marcelli Wines belonged solely to her grandfather.
She glanced down at the simple sundress she’d worn. She’d taken the time to curl her long hair and put on a little makeup, but other than that, there wasn’t much she could do to dazzle anyone. Funny how she found herself wanting to dazzle Sam.
She crossed to the front door, which opened before she could knock.
“Hi,” she said before she got a good look at him. Which was well timed, because after she looked, she wasn’t up for much in the way of conversation.
She’d been picturing him in a suit, not that she’d wasted her entire day dreaming about him.
He wore a red polo shirt tucked into worn jeans and no shoes. Somehow the sight of his bare feet shocked her-as if she’d stumbled into his bedroom and accidentally seen him naked. They were just feet, she told herself. Big feet.
She held in a smile as she thought of what her sister, Brenna, would say about her observation on the feet front.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, smiling at her.
She found herself getting lost in those tawny-colored eyes she’d admired last night. His dark blond hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. What was it about a slightly rumpled man that women found appealing? Why did he seem more dangerous now than he had before?
“Thanks for the invitation.” She glanced around the foyer. “So this is the great grill place, huh?”
“Actually the grilling magic happens on my back patio. There’s going to be a write-up in Food and Spirits next month.”
“You’re going to be busy. I’m glad I could get in before the rush.”
“I’d make room for you.”
“You mean in time I could get my own table?”
“Maybe a chair, if you’re good.”
This is the place where a sophisticated, experienced woman would purr something about always being good. The words hovered on Francesca lips, but she held them back. Throwing herself into the deep end was one thing, but promising an Olympic performance instead of the ungainly flailing that was likely to follow seemed like a mistake.
“I’ll give you the nickel tour,” he said. “You can meet Elena, so you’ll know I wasn’t lying about her, then I’ll take you out to the patio and impress you.”
His low voice seemed to brush across her skin like warm velvet. She found herself wanting to move closer, to stretch until all the kinks were out, then rub against him. Maybe she could purr without words.
He took a step, then paused. “Take your shoes off if you want.”
Francesca hesitated a second, then slipped out of her sandals and dropped her bag next to them. Somehow the thought of both of them barefoot was more than a little scandalous, but she was playing with the big guys now.
She followed Sam across the hardwood floor of the entryway, past a large living room. She caught a glimpse of a library, a home office, and a dining room.
“Big place,” she said. “I can see why you have live-in help.”
Sam smiled at her. “I didn’t used to. Somebody came in and cleaned. My grandfather lives a couple of miles from here. He’s getting up in years and needs more help than he used to. Not that he’ll admit it. I wanted to get him someone, but he’s stubborn and wouldn’t agree. So I complained about wanting to hire a full-time person and not having enough work. He pretended to believe me. Elena spends most of her time with him, but she has a suite of rooms here. It’s a game my grandfather and I play, but it works.”
They crossed by the kitchen and entered a small hallway at the back of the house. Sam knocked on a closed door.
“Elena? Francesca is here.”
A small, redheaded woman in her early fifties opened the door. She was casually dressed in sweats and a T- shirt.
“Elena, this is Francesca. Francesca, Elena runs the house. My grandfather and I would be lost without her.”
“Nice to meet you,” Francesca said.
