Intoxicating Page 10

  No, but part of her wanted to. Was that so wrong? Not wrong, just not real. As long as she understood it was a fantasy and not reality, then might it be okay to indulge in a little wish fulfillment?

  “We’ve been married fifty-three years. What more proof do you need than that? You know the same is true for your mother and father. Follow your heart, caro. It will never lead you astray.”

  7

  Vineyard wisdom: The deeper the roots,

  the sturdier the vines.

  DINNER WITH THE Romanos was a lively affair. It was a true celebration in every sense of the word, with Kiara’s father, Gino, present and his cancer in remission. Kiara’s mother, Beth, stayed by his side the entire night, holding her husband’s hand and reaching over from time to time to pat his cheek as if unable to believe their extreme good fortune.

  Wyatt dressed for dinner, putting on the only decent clothes he’d brought with him on his undercover assignment—a pair of simple khaki slacks and a button-down white shirt. He left the top two buttons undone and wore a plain brown belt with brown deck shoes. Hoping he didn’t look too put together for a winery intern, he’d gone to the house feeling more nervous than he’d felt since that first morning in the tasting room.

  Kiara seemed genuinely surprised when her grandfather led Wyatt into the kitchen, but she hadn’t commented on him being invited to dinner, had simply greeted him with a subdued hello and gone back to putting platters of food on the table. Had she forgotten he told her that they needed to have a long talk?

  One glimpse of Kiara and he felt a hot rush of desire so intense he had to school his features into a mild expression for fear the astute people in the room would see exactly what he was feeling.

  She wore slim black jeans—a sexy change from the shapeless dresses—and a long blue V-neck tunic that molded softly against her breasts and showed off her amazing cleavage. Her hair was down for once, tumbling around her shoulders in a fiery cascade instead of pulled back into a ponytail. She’d even put on a bit of makeup—lipstick, mascara and blush—and had exchanged the gold studs for dangly crystal earrings. When the light caught the crystals, it sent a halo of tiny rainbows dancing around her ears. She looked like some mythical fairy princess.

  He thought about that morning in the wine cellar. Had it been only such a short time ago? It felt like aeons since he’d touched her bare skin, kissed those sweet lips.

  The big oak table was laden with delicious homemade Italian fare—stuffed mushrooms, lasagna Bolognese, eggplant rollups, pasta with sausage and tomatoes—all served family-style. They started the meal with antipasto of Genoa salami, kalamata olives, roasted garlic, pepperoncini, artichoke hearts, mozzarella and provolone sprinkled with olive oil. There was tiramisu and gelato for dessert and wine flowed freely. Having spent most of his adult years in Europe, Wyatt felt right at home.

  Kiara was in rare form. She laughed and made jokes and hugged her father every time she hopped up from the table to retrieve more wine or tea. She ruffled the hair of her young cousins, teased Maurice about the Janet Hampton incident, girl-talked to her cousin-in-law Trudy, her mother and her grandmother. He’d never seen her so relaxed and wished he could help her feel like this all the time. He was just beginning to fathom the scope of the stress she’d been under, between her father’s illness, the winery’s financial trouble and taking over the helm at Bella Notte.

  The food was superior, the company more so. Wyatt looked around the table. Grandfather Romano sat at the head of the table, his wife at the foot. Maurice sat to Grandmother Romano’s right and beside him was Trudy. Juliet sat beside her mother. Directly across the table from Maurice sat his other three children. Mia was to the left of her grandmother, Elliott in between her and Samuel. Kiara’s mom sat next to Samuel. Kiara’s dad was next to her mom. Wyatt was seated across from Kiara’s dad and to the right of Grandfather Romano. Kiara sat between Wyatt and Juliet. They all made him feel as welcome as if he were a long-lost relative.

  And that made him feel guilty.

  They lingered over the meal until Kiara’s father suggested an evening walk through the vineyard. Everyone pitched in to clean up the leavings of the meal, then the entire bunch headed for the vineyard.

  He hesitated, not knowing if he was wearing out his welcome or not.

  “Come along, Wyatt.” Grandfather Romano motioned for him to follow.

  His own family was a bit fractured. His parents had divorced when he was a kid, not long after DeSalme Vineyards went corporate, and they’d both remarried. His mother lived in Alaska with Lars the crab fisherman, and his father, along with wife number three, lived on the French Rivera. Wyatt saw him more often, but he tried to keep his distance from his young stepmother who had a tendency to grab him inappropriately when his father wasn’t looking. He loved his brothers and their families, but he didn’t have much in common with them. Scott and Eric lived and breathed the corporate lifestyle. They loved making money hand over fist. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Wyatt just had different priorities. Or at least he used to. Those had begun to shift when his brothers had called and asked him to do this thing for them, made noises about him coming to work for the company. That was a first. At last, his family needed him for something. Wyatt just had different priorities. Sailing his yacht, working as a PR consultant whenever he wanted to. Enjoying his friends and the beauty of the Greek Isles. Or at least he used to.

  But after only three days here at Bella Notte, this was more like what he really wanted—close-knit, comfortable, dedicated to producing excellent wines, not just making money for money’s sake.

  Since when did you want that?

  Since he’d first looked in Kiara’s eyes.

  It disturbed him, these thoughts. He felt as if he’d shucked his skin and slipped into someone else’s, and it was a disconcerting notion.

  The vineyards were so quiet, peaceful. He noticed everyone but the children were holding hands— Grandfather and Grandmamma Romano, Gino and Beth, Maurice and Trudy. That left him and Kiara not touching. Maurice and Trudy’s four kids darted through the grapevines, playing tag as the sun simmered on the horizon. The days were at their longest. Everyone’s shadows hung from their heels, tall and skinny.

  The old, nearly forgotten memory was upon him again. The green-eyed, auburn-haired girl he’d plowed into at his grandfather’s vineyard so many years ago. Did he have a mental template from the past that made him think Kiara was something special? Was this all some crazy fractured childhood illusion of the perfect girl?

  Wyatt glanced up and found Kiara’s eyes on him. Ah, this was no girl. She was one-hundred-percent woman, all rounded curves and knowing eyes. He wanted her in his bed—oops, you’re sharing bunk beds with Steve—okay, in her bed, in the vineyards, in the wine cellar. Any-damn-where he could get her.

  He gave a brief, honest smile and she rewarded him with a glowing grin, bright as those rainbow-inducing earrings. He thought about what her grandfather had told him.

  Don’t give in to her too easily. Romance is sweetest when you have to work for it.

  Up ahead of them in the row of grapes, Beth rested her head on Gino’s shoulder and they stood swaying together as one, watching the setting sun. Gino’s arm went around his wife. Wyatt felt embarrassed to witness this relentlessly tender moment between a husband and wife who’d just come through the staggering challenge of a serious illness.

  Then for no reason at all, a lump rose in his throat. What was that all about? He wasn’t a sentimental guy. Why the sudden mush of melancholia? This wasn’t his family.

  That was the thing, wasn’t it? His father and his mother didn’t have this kind of deep-rooted relationship. They’d quit on their marriage. Quit on each other. And they hadn’t gone through anything a quarter as challenging as what the Romanos had been through. What gave some couples stick-to-it-ness? Was it genetics? DNA? Was his parents messy love life any indication that he too, was seriously flawed when it came to love? Was that why he�
��d never been able to feel anything more than surface emotions for the women he’d dated? Or—please God, if You’re up there—could true intimacy be found and nurtured by anyone, no matter what their heritage?

  From the time he was a young kid, he’d learned that keeping things light and lively made the people around him happy. He’d been the class clown, then, later, the daring swashbuckler. Showing off, grabbing attention any way he could. Racing cars too fast. Bungee-jumping. Snowboarding. Skydiving. He had the money and means to pursue whatever interest caught his fancy. Always looking for fun, fun, fun. Never stopping long enough to let pain catch up with him.

  For the first time, it dawned on him how empty his life was with his racecars and his yacht and the Rolex and string of girlfriends. He’d been trying to fill his life up with things and activities and a revolving door of people just to keep from feeling too deeply.

  What was his life going to be like when he was Gino’s age? Would he be like his own father, sugar daddy to a woman young enough to be his daughter? A woman destined eventually to take him for as much money as she could and then clear out when a younger, handsomer face came along? Everyone but his dad could see the writing on the wall.

  Wyatt took a deep, sobering lungful of air. Inhaled the scent of good, honest earth and knew he didn’t deserve to breath it. He’d been glib and wasteful and self-indulgent, and he suddenly wanted to change that more than anything. He wanted to belong here.

  It was an unexpected realization and he knew it was all due to the woman standing beside him.

  Kiara lowered her eyelids, but she was still watching him. What was she thinking? Was her mind on grape yields and micro-oxygenations, or was she, like him, thinking of something far more philosophical?

  Probably not. She wasn’t the philosophical type. Her mind ran to more solid corners—concrete, provable corners with definite outcomes.

  Then he saw her lick her lips and thought, ah-ha. She was thinking about sex.

  The events of that morning came rushing at him. How he’d held her naked in his arms. How they’d been within minutes of making love before Maurice had interrupted them. What would have happened if they had made love? Would they now be holding hands?

  The rest of her family kept walking, but Wyatt and Kiara stayed behind by unspoken consent, saying nothing, just looking at each other. Twilight edged around them, casting her in cool shadows. The dying sunlight swirling through her auburn hair made it glint fiery-red and tinted her milky skin.

  It was as if he’d been killing time with those other women, just waiting for Kiara to show up. As if somehow his subconscious mind had known she was out there and had prevented him from ever feeling like this with anyone else.

  Whimsical, that thought, but he couldn’t shake it. More to the point, he didn’t want to shake it. Every instinct in his body pushed him to carry her off somewhere private and finish what they’d started. It would be so simple. So natural.

  He wanted to claim her, make her his. Which was startling. He’d never been possessive toward a woman. The emotion turned him every which way but loose.

  Don’t give in to her too easily. Romance is sweetest when you have to work for it.

  He strolled over, put his hand on her shoulder and peered deeply into her eyes. “Kiara,” he said.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “I have something to ask of you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let me out of the lab. I want to work in the vineyards.”

  She was visibly startled. “You don’t want to work with me?”

  “Oh, I want to.” He reached out to trace a finger over her lips. “That’s the problem. I want to too much.”

  She took a step back, clearly rattled. “I don’t understand.”

  “The thing that happened this morning in the cellar—”

  “Was a mistake,” she finished quickly.

  He forced a sigh of relief. He prayed her grandfather was right. That playing hard to get was the way to land Kiara. If not, this whole thing could blow up in his face. “Do you really think that?”

  “Of course it was a mistake. We were acting on impulse and that’s never a good thing. Thank heavens Maurice showed up when he did.”

  “Yes,” he said, but didn’t mean it.

  “And you’re right,” she went on. “The vineyard is a much better place for you. I’ll pick another intern as an assistant. Perhaps that enthusiastic young blonde. What’s her name?”

  “Lauren.”

  “Yes. I think that would be a much better fit.”

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  “Great.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Terrific.”

  What was he doing? By putting himself in the vineyard, he was not only placing distance between himself and Kiara, but he was losing out on some prime spying.

  Except Wyatt knew that in his heart, he’d already given up on that. Let his brothers deride him. There was something much more important at stake than a tiny portion of DeSalme’s market share. The company would survive losing Sonoma’s Best of the Best Award.

  But Bella Notte? They might not.

  KIARA HAD NO idea what was going on with Wyatt. He ran hot as lava one minute, cool as the ocean breeze the next.

  Fickle. The man was fickle and she certainly didn’t need that. But what if he was just as confused as she was by this undeniable attraction? Maybe he’d figured out what an unlikely couple they were—the scientist and the slacker—and he was getting out while the getting was still good.

  She couldn’t blame him. She should be grateful really. It was the smart thing to do. Sever the connection before either one of them got electrocuted. Disaster successfully averted.

  Except for the fact she couldn’t sleep.

  Insomnia was no stranger. With a mind chock-full of the details of precision viticulture—micro-oxygenation, reverse osmosis, spinning cones, evaporators—Kiara often had trouble sleeping. Her science littered her mind with chemistry and biology and botany like a playroom floor cluttered with Lego and Barbies and little green plastic army men, arms raised in constant battle. Her work was her play.

  Except all that had changed since Wyatt’s arrival.

  Oh, her insomnia was still there, but the cause, that had changed.

  Equations and formulas and experiments no longer danced in her head, keeping her awake. Now Wyatt prowled her nights. Images of him flashed through her head almost constantly and there was little defense against them—the way his dark hair fell rakishly over his forehead, the sound of his rich laughter bubbling up from his chest like a free-flowing spring, the feel of his five-o’clock shadow against the tips of her fingers, the extravagant taste of his lips.

  He was always in her mind and she couldn’t escape. Not even in sleep. For when she slept, she dreamed. And her dreams were even more vivid than her daytime fantasies.

  In the lab, her new intern Lauren turned out to be a bubbly asset, eager to do whatever needed done, oftentimes anticipating Kiara’s needs and doing it before she could even tell her.

  Two weeks went by. Kiara stayed longer hours in the lab. Burning the candle at both ends, working on new, organic methods of keeping the grapes healthy, dreaming up marketing campaigns for wider distribution after Decadent Midnight won the Best of the Best Award. She arose before dawn, got into bed long after midnight. Sometimes she didn’t go to bed at all, just took catnaps at her desk.

  Felix came through his neutering with flying colors and he became the exemplary pet, often lying curled at her feet, taking catnaps with her. He was the perfect male companion. She tried to convince herself that he was the only male companion she needed, but her body wasn’t buying it.

  Her body craved Wyatt.

  Because of that, she did her best to stay out of the vineyards, sending Lauren whenever she could, and when business forced Kiara there, she would tell herself she was not going to look around for Wyatt. But then, damn, if she didn’t lift her head
and search among the interns tending the vines until she spied his form toiling in the hot sun.

  Then her stupid pulse would kick up a notch and she’d duck her head and rush back to the lab, forgetting why she’d come to the vineyard in the first place.

  It was an uncomfortable way to live and she did it for two weeks. Pushing, pushing, pushing, working, working, working herself to exhaustion, anything to keep from dwelling on Wyatt.

  On the twenty-first of June, she woke with a summer cold. Headachey, miserable congestion, sneezing. She tried to push herself from the bed, but dizziness assailed when her feet hit the floor, sending her falling back among the covers. She called Lauren, and told her to spend the day in the vineyard with Maurice instead of coming to the lab, and then, feeling resentful of the illness in particular and Wyatt in general, went back to sleep.

  She woke sometime later to the sound of a gentle knocking on her door. Groggily, she sat up. It was probably her mother or Grandmamma. Lauren must have spread the word that she was ailing. Kiara sighed. She hated to be fussed over.

  “Come in,” she called and drooped against the pillow.

  The door opened, but it was neither her mother nor her grandmother.

  Wyatt stood there, backlit by sunshine so that she couldn’t see his face, only his hard-muscled form. “I heard you were under the weather.”

  “Just a cold,” she said, but with her stopped-up airways it came out sounding like, “Jussa cole.”

  “You’ve been working too hard.”

  She couldn’t argue.

  “And not sleeping,” he said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

  Now she could see his face and a familiar shivery thrill rushed over her. Probably just running a fever. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve seen the light on in the lab at all hours for the last week.”

  “What have you been doing up wandering the grounds at all hours for the last week?”

  He shrugged. “Stretching my legs.”

  So he hadn’t been sleeping either. She canted her head, studying him. He carried a brown paper bag.