Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks! Read online

  And then her brain shut down altogether as one thought crystallized: Jack.

  “It’s a bit early to be harvesting, isn’t it, Brenna?”

  His deep voice rumbled through her, causing her brain to misfire in shock, but the bite of sarcasm brought her world back into focus. Shrugging off his hands in what she hoped was a casual way, she tried to match his tone. “The grapes are ready when the grapes are ready. You should know that.”

  She made the mistake of meeting his eyes when she spoke, and the smoky blue stare caused her to take a step back. She bent to retrieve her hat, but as she stood, she saw the assessing roaming those eyes made down her body, taking in her sweat-darkened T-shirt, battered jeans, and dusty work boots before settling back on her face.

  She just hoped the flush she felt on her cheeks looked like a response to the heat of the sun, not the heat of his stare.

  One of his dark eyebrows arched up at her in surprise as she captured her ponytail under her hat and pulled the brim down to shade her eyes.

  “You really need a new hat, Brenna. That one’s seen better days.”

  Damn it, he’d recognized it. Jack had bought her this hat—a silly gift from the early days of their relationship—and if she’d had even the smallest clue he’d show up she’d have left it at the house today. It was her favorite hat—wide brimmed and very comfortable—and she’d absolutely only kept it because it worked so well for her, not because it was a gift from him.

  She hoped he didn’t think otherwise.

  Brazening it out regardless, she lifted her chin. “It’s perfectly serviceable.” Shifting her weight onto her heels, she put her hands in her back pockets and tried to act normally, although she felt anything but normal. Her heart pounded in her chest and her palms felt clammy. Be an adult. “What brings you to Amante Verano, Jack?”

  Her words seemed to amuse him. “I know the lawyer explained Max’s will to you. You had to be expecting me.”

  “Actually, no. I was expecting another phone call from your lawyer—not a personal visit from you.” This was the longest conversation they’d had in over five years, and she wasn’t handling it well. She knew she sounded defensive and prickly.

  “We don’t need lawyers for this.” He pulled a folded manila envelope from the back pocket of his jeans. “If we could go somewhere quiet—”

  Somewhere quiet. Brenna’s knees wobbled a little bit at the rush of memories those two words brought. That summer after graduation, when finding “somewhere quiet” had always led to…

  She shook herself, forcing the memories and the tingle they caused back into the past, where they belonged. Concentrating on the envelope in his hand helped; she had a very sick feeling she wasn’t going to like what was in there, otherwise Jack wouldn’t have wanted to take the conversation elsewhere. Hoping for steadiness in her voice—if not her knees—she met his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy at the moment. Surely you remember how this place works?”

  “Brenna…” The muscle in Jack’s jaw tightened, showing his frustration with her.

  That helped. Irritation flowed through her body, displacing the earlier, more disturbing emotions. Jack was not going to walk onto her property after all these years and act as if he owned the damn place. Okay, so he owned half of it, and the guilt that she was the reason he never came out here anymore nagged at her a bit, but still…She focused on her irritation.

  He wasn’t the boss of Amante Verano. Or her. Whatever was so all-fire important enough to pull him away from the excitement of his life in the city could just wait. “I have grapes losing quality while I stand here talking to you, and I need to go fix a stupid pump if I want to get them into the tanks tonight. You’ll just have to wait your turn.”

  Pleased with herself for getting the last word, she brushed past him, intent on getting to the winery and back to work. Jack grabbed her arm, halting her steps and pulling her too close for comfort. His face was only inches from hers—something her body reacted to instantly. And embarrassingly.

  Heat, real heat, the kind she hadn’t felt in years, surged through her. He was so close she could see herself in the pupils of his eyes, smell the spicy scent of his soap. She swallowed hard. “Not now, Jack. I’m—”

  “Busy, I know. So am I. Do you think I wanted to come out here?” His dark brows pulled together in a sharp vee as he gritted out the words.

  He might as well have slapped her. The pain and shock were the same. In a way, she welcomed it. It would help her focus on the present.

  Then the heat dropped out of his voice. “I’m selling my half of the winery.”

  Outrage replaced her shock. What? “You can’t. Max set up the partnership—”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of how this ridiculous partnership is set up. It’s barely legal and completely beyond reason. But I’ve found a buyer, and all you have do is sign off on it.”

  She hadn’t planned on owning Amante Verano right now either—much less sharing it with him—but he didn’t have the right to go selling off his part of it. His attitude wasn’t exactly helping the situation any either. “There’s no way in hell I’m signing anything. I’m sorry if you find the arrangement distasteful. Trust me, it’s not exactly a picnic for me either. But we’re stuck with each other.”

  “You won’t have to be stuck with me once you sign off on the sale.”

  The grip on her arm was bordering on painful, and she smacked his hand away. He stepped back, the muscle in his jaw still working.

  She bristled. “To whom? Let me guess: you found someone who fancied the odd break from city life and wanted to come stomp grapes on the weekends?” The look on Jack’s face told her all she needed to know. “That figures. My answer is no.”

  “That’s not an option, Brenna. I don’t want a winery. Not even half of one.”

  Bless Max for his forward-thinking and iron-clad partnership clauses. Otherwise she’d be royally screwed about now. “Tough. I’m certainly not turning half of everything Max and I worked for over to someone who doesn’t know squat about this business.”

  “You’d rather deal with me? Isn’t that worse?”

  How could she explain her reasoning to Jack? It barely made sense to her. And would it make any difference if she did? “I’ll take the devil I know any day.”

  Jack opened his mouth to argue, but her phone rang. A quick glance at the number reminded her of all the things she needed to be doing instead of standing here fighting with Jack. “I’m going to go take a pump apart now, because I have wine to make. This conversation is over.”

  This time Jack didn’t move to stop her—which was a good thing, because with her temper riding so high she would probably take a swing at him if he tried. But it didn’t stop him from flinging the last word at her back as she stalked off.

  “This is not over, Brenna. Put that in your damn tank and ferment it.”

  Jack let her stomp away, recognizing the signs of a fullon Brenna fit brewing even after ten years. She had her shoulders thrown back and her head high, but he could tell she was talking to herself by the agitated movements of her hands.

  Maybe confronting Brenna like that had been a slight tactical error. He’d let his desire to get this over with override his business sense. Hell, his common sense seemed to have checked out—as it always did with Brenna.

  It was the only explanation he had.

  He’d had the whole conversation planned—he knew Brenna well enough to know how to approach her—but when she’d slammed into him his body had remembered each and every curve of her and promptly forgotten his earlier plan. Then his hands had curved around her biceps, and the muscles there had flexed in response…and he’d felt the tiny shudder move through her when she’d realized who he was.

  He should have known Brenna would react like this to his news. It wasn’t as if their history didn’t complicate this situation even more than it should have been. When you added in Brenna’s temper…What was it Max had said shortly after
Brenna and her equally copper-headed mother had moved in? “The only things I’ve learned to fear are red-headed women and downhill putts.” Since Jack didn’t play golf—he simply didn’t have the time or patience for the game—he’d dismissed both warnings at the time. He’d learned the hard way the truth of at least half of Max’s statement. Pity he’d forgotten it before he came out here.

  He should have let his lawyer handle this instead of thinking he and Brenna could do it the easy way. Hell, hadn’t he learned long ago that nothing with Brenna was easy?

  With a sigh of disgust, he folded the envelope again and put it back in his pocket. Tonight, after Brenna had the day’s harvest safely in the tanks, they’d talk again.

  She couldn’t put him off forever, and the house, while large, wasn’t big enough for her to avoid him. Red hair aside, Brenna’s anger rarely had lasting power, so that would work in his favor as well.

  He still had to go through some files in Max’s office, but even with the delay caused by Brenna he should have plenty of time to deal with her, take care of business, and get the hell out of Sonoma tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  SHOWER. Dinner. Drink. The thought of those three rewards kept Brenna’s legs moving as she dragged herself back to the house, but the black Mercedes parked next to her Jeep was an unwelcome reminder of Jack’s presence. Not that she needed one. He’d been circling her thoughts all afternoon, distracting her and keeping her temper on edge. While she’d bemoaned rattling around the house alone recently, Jack wasn’t exactly the company she’d been hoping for.

  She left her boots in the mudroom and headed straight for the safety of her bedroom. Jack must be holed up in his old room, because the house still echoed like it always did these days. Technically, Jack’s room was the guest suite now, but Max had always held out hope that Jack would make use of it again one day.

  And now he was. It had only taken Max’s death and inheriting half the winery to get him back out here. That familiar guilt settled on her again as the shower washed away the dirt from the vineyard and she scrubbed the grease from the pump from under her fingernails. Max had never said anything to her face, but Brenna knew that deep down he had to blame her, to resent her for Jack’s absence and the breach in his relationship with his son.

  She’d been trying to make that up to Max every day for the last ten years, at the very least by making his winery everything Max had wanted it to be. Even if he’d made it more difficult for her now, by bringing Jack into the mix. Rationally, she knew why Max had split the vineyard between them, but it was still a difficult situation to handle.

  The confrontation in the vineyard with Jack still had her cringing. Could she have been more juvenile and defensive? In all of the possible scenarios she’d imagined, Jack accosting her in her vineyard with some crazy idea about selling to a stranger had never crossed her mind. Not to mention how totally unprepared she’d been to actually be that close to him again. It had taken her an hour just to calm down.

  She turned off the water and sighed. If this wasn’t a disaster, she didn’t want to know what was. Amante Verano had always been the one stable pillar in her life, her haven, and now even that foundation was shaking. She needed some time to think. And food.

  Her stomach was growling loudly by the time she’d dried off and slid into a clean pair of pajamas, so she left her hair to dry naturally and padded to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

  Dianne, bless her, had left a plate in the fridge for her, and in less time than it took for her to pour a glass of wine her dinner was ready. She took her plate to the counter and grabbed the TV remote.

  Just as she took the first bite Jack walked in, causing her to choke on Dianne’s homemade quiche.

  A black sleeveless T-shirt exposed shoulder and arm muscles covered in a sheen of sweat. Gym shorts rode low on his hips, giving her a glimpse of tight abs between the hem of the shirt and the waistband as he reached into the cupboard for a glass and then filled it with water. Powerful thighs. Defined calves.

  Mercy.

  Oh, she remembered his body all too well—and far too frequently—but to have it displayed for her in reality had her coughing painfully as her mouth went dry and it became hard to chew. A look of concern crossed Jack’s face and he reached for her.

  She did not need him touching her. Even if it was for the Heimlich maneuver. Waving him away, she swallowed with difficulty.

  Jack offered her his water, and she waved that away as well; the thought of sharing his glass just seemed too familiar and intimate. She reached for her own glass, but the normally smooth wine burned her throat on the way down. She coughed one last time and willed herself under control.

  It didn’t quite work, but at least she wasn’t choking now. She forced her eyes back to his face. “I see you found Max’s gym.”

  “I did. Nice set-up you’ve got in there.” Jack’s eyebrows went up as he belatedly noted her pajamas, and Brenna felt a flush rise on her neck. Get real. They’re just pajamas. Boring ones at that. Just eat.

  “Max seemed to think we needed one, but I never have understood why.” Stab, lift, bite, chew, swallow. “We tend to get our exercise the old-fashioned way around here.”

  Don’t stare, for God’s sake.

  “I remember.”

  Jack leaned against the other side of the counter, and she could feel those blue eyes boring into her. She concentrated on eating, ignoring the impulse to take her plate to her room. The weight of his stare, though, got to be too much. “Must you watch me eat?”

  “You’re a bit hostile tonight.” Calmly enough to make her even more jumpy, Jack lifted his glass and drank.

  Mirroring his calm, she placed her fork carefully on her plate. “You expected something different?” She latched on to the easiest excuse, the one that was much easier to deal with. “You come storming out here, telling me you want to sell out—without any discussion at all—and I’m supposed to be happy about it? Get real, Jack.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he swiped at it, giving her another quick glimpse of his abs as his shirt rose. A familiar heat settled low in her belly. “You want reality? Good. We can skip past all the small talk and get straight down to business.”

  His tone doused the heat nicely. Brenna straightened her spine and tried to pretend she was wearing more than a pair of thin cotton pajamas. “Business. Excellent. As you saw, we have an early set of grapes coming in—a hybrid vine Max and Ted have been babying along for the last couple of years. I’m going to make an excellent, yet deceptively simple white from them, and it’s going to put Amante Verano on the map.” She stood and moved around the counter, put her plate into the dishwasher. “I’ll be sure to let you know when it’s ready to taste.”

  Jack hadn’t moved, and getting to the dishwasher had put her in close proximity to him. So close she caught his scent, reigniting that heat again. She tried to breathe shallowly through her mouth as she closed the machine and stood to face him.

  “Brenna, don’t.”

  Feigning innocence, she met his eyes. “Don’t what? Talk business?”

  He crossed his arms across his chest casually, looking completely unruffled—to someone who didn’t know him, at least. She, however, knew better, and his next words confirmed it. “I could not care less what you’re doing with those grapes—or any of the grapes. I just want you to sign off on the sale.”

  “In case I was unclear earlier, I’ll sign off when hell freezes over. You’re not selling half of this place to some stranger.”

  In that same even tone—the one that meant he was only barely keeping his frustration with her in check—he asked, “Then what do you want, Brenna?”

  “I want you to go back to San Francisco. Go run your empire and leave Amante Verano—” and me, she added silently “—alone.” The words came out in a rush, and she took a deep breath to stem the flow. “You can be a silent partner—just let us do our thing, and we’ll mail you a check for yo
ur share of the profits.”

  “Profits?” He laughed, a mean humorless sound that stabbed her. “This place is nothing but a money pit. Without Max’s bankroll—”

  “We had a couple of lean years, yes, but we’re about to turn a corner. Do you have any idea how long it takes for a winery to become profitable? Years, Jack. We’re nearly there, ahead of all our predictions.”

  “I’ve seen your books, Bren.”

  Bren. The nickname caught her off-guard, throwing her momentarily. “Then you know what I’m saying is true.”

  “It doesn’t matter. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a winery?”

  Her frustration was starting to build, and she wished she had the ability to control it like Jack. “It’s just a winery, for God’s sake, not a brothel.”

  He snorted. “No, brothels are profitable.”

  “And so are wineries. You just have to be patient. Not that you’d have any idea what that concept is like,” she added under her breath.

  “Brenna…” Impatience tinged his voice, and the muscle in his jaw was working again.

  Enough defense. Time to take offense. “Who’s being hostile now?”

  “If I’m hostile, it’s only because you’re being completely unreasonable. Again.”

  Talk about a time warp. Less than a day and they were already settling back into their fighting stances. Oh, she’d love to throw something at him. “Don’t start.”

  His fingers tightened around his biceps. “I’d love to finish, actually.”

  She took a step back. “Why are you so hot to sell? This is Max’s legacy.”

  “Max’s legacy is Garrett Properties.”

  There was that sting of the slap again. “So would you be so quick to sell off a piece of that?”

  “If the price were right and the situation called for it, yes. It’s called business, Brenna.” He finally levered himself out of his casual lounging against the counter, and suddenly she felt as if she should keep something between them. This would be easier with a barrier keeping him from looming over her.