He turned her toward him and kissed her. The soft pressure of his mouth made her eyes sink closed and her arms circle around his neck.
Yes, she thought hazily, parting her lips. This was what she wanted. This was what felt right. Being here with him on a sunny fall day when the air was sweet with possibilities.
He broke the kiss and looked at her. As she stared into his dark eyes, she saw down to the very essence of the man who had been so much a part of her life. She touched his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s never go back,” she whispered. “We could stay here forever.”
“What happens when the tide comes in?”
“Details.”
“I’m tempted.”
She wanted him to be more than that. She wanted him to be-
In love with her.
The truth crashed into Brenna like one of the waves slapping onto the sand. She wanted Nic to remember how good they had been together and know they could have all that again, plus the wisdom that comes with maturity. She wanted him to sweep her up in his arms and confess that he’d never stopped loving her, thinking about her, needing her, because-her breath caught-it was more than possible she’d never stopped loving him.
“Brenna? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she said automatically. “You’re right. We’d better head back.”
She led the way to the motorcycle and slipped on her helmet. But her mind wasn’t on the task. Instead she couldn’t stop wondering if it was really true. Had she spent the past ten years living a lie? Had she really never stopped loving Nic or had she been foolish enough to fall in love with him all over again?
Lorenzo walked into the small restaurant a little before ten in the morning. He knew the names and reputations of the men who wanted to meet with him, if not their faces. He even knew what they wanted.
A young man looked up from setting the two dozen or so tables in the main room. “We’re not open, sir.”
“I’m Lorenzo Marcelli. There is to be a meeting.”
“Oh. Yes, sir.” The young man straightened. “Right this way.”
He led Lorenzo into a back room filled with a long table. There weren’t any place settings here. Only pads of paper and a pot of coffee along with a few cups. Two men stood as he entered.
“Mr. Marcelli, thank you for coming. I’m Bill Freeman and this is my associate, Roger White. Please, have a seat.”
Lorenzo sat down heavily on one side of the table while the two men settled across from him. He knew what they were after, and while he wanted them to come to the point, he waited while they poured him water and offered coffee, which he declined.
“As you may have guessed, we’re very interested in your winery,” Bill Freeman said.
“I have little else that would interest men like you,” Lorenzo said. “I’m an old man. I don’t think you want to offer me a job with one of your companies.”
The two men chuckled. “Would you take one?” Bill asked.
Lorenzo shrugged. “Probably not.”
“Then we’re left with Marcelli Wines.”
He detailed the long history of the company, as if Lorenzo hadn’t lived it all himself. He was polite, well informed, and when he started talking numbers, even Lorenzo was impressed by the bottom line.
The words flowed on and on. Employees would be guaranteed their jobs for at least two years. His family would never want for anything. The family house was not to be touched, and he was welcome to retain a few acres around the house for his private use.
What would his father think of all this? Lorenzo wondered, then smiled faintly. Antonio would raise his fist to the heavens, then turn it toward the men. Never would a Marcelli sell.
But that was a long time ago. Much had changed. Once he had believed he would create a dynasty of fine sons to inherit. Marco was a good man, but there had been no other children, and no male grandchildren. Tessa always whispered it was because God punished Lorenzo for his arrogance in forcing Marco and Colleen to give up their baby. For many years Lorenzo had refused to believe, but now he was not so sure.
So these men, these strangers, offered him more money than he had ever imagined in exchange for Marcelli Wines. Which made him wonder why.
He listened as they continued to talk, all the while questioning what lay behind the words. These two were not interested in wine. They represented a soulless corporation. Wine making was an art. It got into the blood. So who was behind this? Who really wanted to buy the company?
When they had finished, he rose to his feet. “I will consider the offer,” he said. “Then I will be in touch.”
He left the way he’d come-alone and feeling very old.
Brenna looked over the new designs for the Chardonnay labels and had a feeling her grandfather wasn’t going to like these any better than the last ones. Still, it was her job to show them to him and then stand back to absorb whatever joy he might want to send her way. Besides, after her motorcycle ride with Nic the previous day there was virtually nothing that could upset her.
Humming “I’m a Little Teapot,” she left her office and walked down the corridor into his. The door was open and she entered without knocking.
“Hey, Grandpa,” she said, doing her best to sound upbeat and cheerful. Actually it wasn’t much of a stretch. “I have the new wine labels. You’re going to love them.”
Her grandfather’s response was a grunt. Not a very promising start, but she was determined to look on the bright side of things. She set the large pages in front of him.
“I explained what you liked and didn’t like about their previous work,” she said. “They went from there.”
“I don’t remember saying I liked anything,” he grumbled as he flipped through the designs.
Brenna ignored him and perched on the edge of his desk, which she knew he hated. “You adored at least two of them,” she said, carefully crossing her fingers behind her back to negate the potential cosmic effects of the lie.
He grunted again.
She grinned, then noticed how he was dressed. While her grandfather usually wore a long-sleeved shirt and the old man equivalent of Dockers, today he was in a suit and tie.
“Don’t you look spiffy,” she said. “What’s the special occasion? Did you and Grandma Tessa sneak away for a romantic lunch?”
“You’re in a good mood,” he complained.
“Actually it’s just my naturally sunny nature coming through. So did you go to lunch?”
“No. I met with some businessmen. They wanted to talk about buying the winery.”
It was like being by the ocean again. Brenna heard the sound of rushing water. The noise filled her head until it seemed to surround her. She was drowning. That had to be what was wrong.
The temperature in the room dropped to near freezing. She felt cold, then numb, then very, very sick.
No. No, this wasn’t happening. Selling? He couldn’t. She’d just survived the Joe crisis. This could not be happening.
She closed her eyes and accepted the truth. The winery was his. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.
She sucked in a breath, then pushed to her feet. Somehow she got out of the office, then she was running and running. Through the rows of bare vines, up over the slight hill at the edge of their property and across the fence lines. She ran until the pain in her side forced her to walk, and still she kept going. Her eyes burned from her tears, her chest ached. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but keep moving.
Some time later she saw a group of buildings and she headed for them. A voice in her head kept screaming “No!” as if by sheer force of will, she could make it not be true. She choked on her sobs. The unfairness of it all, the futility of her hopes and dreams, filled her with pain.
When she reached the building, she pushed through the unlocked door and into the office. It was the middle of the day, and several of the office staff were at their desks.
She felt their curious looks, heard the whispered questions. Should they stop her? Who was she? She ignored
