The Seductive One Page 2

  He ignored the temperature and the hunger. This was not the right time nor the place, and she was sure as hell not the right woman.

  The thing was, he had a plan. Over the years he’d learned that a well-thought-out plan ensured that he always won. When the goal was revenge, it paid to be patient.

  His instincts told him that Brenna’s loan request was as unexpected as a home run off the first pitch. All he had to do was toss down his bat and circle the bases. But he wanted to be sure.

  “It’s a lot of money,” he said.

  She nodded as her mouth curved in a smile. “I know. I’ve detailed every penny. It’s all going into the wine. I’m not taking a salary. Oh, Nic, the land I want to buy is just perfect for Pinot Noir. There’s a sweet valley at the base of a hill that gets just the right amount of midday sun. That, combined with the fog and the salt from the ocean, creates perfect grapes. You’ll see.”

  Her enthusiasm was as tangible as the hand she put on his arm. He acknowledged the contact—and his reaction to it—by sliding away and picking up her portfolio.

  “I’ll look this over in the next couple of days and get back to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “How exactly do I do that?”

  Brenna chuckled. “I suppose a phone call to the hacienda would cause problems for both of us. My cell number is on the proposal. If you don’t get me, you can leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She clutched her hands together. “Nic, I know it’s a lot of money and that this is a risk for you, but I can do this. If you take a chance, you won’t be sorry.”

  “I won’t do it if there’s a chance I will be.”

  Her excitement didn’t flicker. “You’re going to be impressed. I promise.”

  He had a feeling she was right. Besides, one of his rules in life was to take advantage of every unexpected opportunity. If he agreed, he would insist on keeping close tabs on what she was doing, which was the same as keeping close tabs on Brenna herself. Being close to her had only ever led to one thing.

  So money wasn’t the only risk. Was that good or bad?

  He didn’t have an answer, but he knew time spent with Brenna wouldn’t be boring. Once again, they could be entering dangerous territory. The difference was this time he would be the one calling the shots.

  • • •

  Brenna drove back to the Marcelli winery, taking the long way around so she drove past the ocean. She rolled down the windows of her ancient Camry and let the warm salty air brush over her skin. Her suit jacket and high heels lay where she’d tossed them on the passenger seat. She had the radio cranked up and sang along with an old Beach Boys tune, delighting in the fact that although they’d been years and years before her time, she knew all the words.

  At this moment she felt free and wild and happy and so excited, she probably could have taken flight, if not for the seat belt anchoring her. She leaned her head back and laughed out loud at the sheer pleasure pumping through her.

  She’d done it. She’d done it!

  Oh, sure, Nic hadn’t said yes, not yet. But somehow down in her gut she just knew he was going to. He’d been willing to listen, something no one else had done, and listening was all she needed. Her carefully thought-out proposal was going to blow his socks off. Maybe even his pants.

  “I hope I’m around when that happens,” she murmured, then grinned at the thought of a bottomless Nicholas Giovanni.

  Until this past spring she hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years. He could have gotten wrinkled and paunchy, but instead he still had the power to make her entire body go up in flames. And maybe, just maybe, she’d seen a flicker of appreciation in his beautiful sex-god eyes.

  After several years of a crappy marriage, abandonment by a creep of a husband, and nine months and seventeen days since her last sexual encounter, male admiration—especially that coming from Nic—was a balm to her battered and horny soul.

  Not that anything would happen, she reminded herself. If Nic agreed, make that when Nic agreed, they were going to be business partners. There was no way she was going to be foolish enough to mix business and pleasure. Not with a million dollars and her future on the line. No one was that good in bed.

  She turned into the entrance to the Marcelli Winery and sighed. Okay, from what she recalled, making love with Nic had been spectacular. Incredible. Life-altering. But not worth a million dollars.

  She shifted uncomfortably. All this reminiscing about sex was getting to her. If she’d been a cat, she would have been rubbing herself against the nearest door frame. Not only was she going to have to avoid any sexual contact with Nic, she was going to have to stop thinking about him as anything but her loan officer. Nothing personal. Not again.

  Fortunately her resolution coincided with her arrival at the family hacienda. Judging from the number of cars crowding around the rear entrance, the entire family was home.

  The three-story Spanish-style home had been built in the late 1920s. Her great-grandfather had found plans for a house designed in the late eighteen hundreds by a Spanish nobleman with ten children, which made for lots of bedrooms. Good thing, she thought as she came to a stop in the shade of an old oak tree and turned off the engine. Currently the permanent residents of the hacienda included her paternal grandparents, her maternal grandmother, her parents, and herself.

  “Humiliating but true,” Brenna said as she slipped on her pumps and grabbed her suit jacket. “Twenty-seven years old and living at home.”

  Actually she’d moved back the previous spring when her jerk of a husband—a newly licensed cardiologist without a speck of gratitude or decency—had left her for a younger woman who happened to be a former cheerleader. He was poised to marry the bimbo the instant the computer print was dry on the divorce decree.

  Brenna had no desire to have her soon-to-be ex back in her life, but she wouldn’t mind a little justice. Her current favorite fantasy was some kind of genital infection that left him unable to enjoy the wedding night. Ever.

  All revenge aside, one of these days she was going to take the time to find a place of her own. For now, it was nice to be where a houseful of people loved her.

  She made her way up the rear steps and into the kitchen. As usual, the entire female contingent of the family collected there. Her two grandmothers held court over the food, with Grammy M stirring something on the stove and Grandma Tessa chopping vegetables. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, a box of wedding-invitation samples open in front of her. Katie, Brenna’s older sister, and Francesca, Brenna’s fraternal twin, stood in front of their mother.

  Their defiant posture made them look like five-year-olds who had just been caught spray-painting the dog.

  “What?” Brenna asked as she draped her suit jacket over her arm. “I was gone two hours. What happened?”

  “Nothin’ terrible,” Grammy M—aka Mary-Margaret O’Shea—said from her place at the stove. “Francesca has the most wonderful news.”

  Brenna’s mother didn’t look all that excited. “But we’d already picked a date and were about to order the invitations.”

  Wedding talk.

  First baby sister Mia had come within weeks of marching down the aisle, only to call the whole thing off. Then Katie had gone and gotten herself engaged to Mia’s exfiancé’s father. Twisted, but so California. Francesca had fallen for the handsome CEO of a security company who found out within days of their meeting that he had a twelve-year-old daughter he’d never known about. A few weeks after that, Francesca had turned up pregnant.

  Only Brenna had managed to escape love’s sticky snare and the ongoing soap opera that was the Marcelli family. Her current plan was to avoid romance and focus on work. She might be open to a little meaningless sex, but a relationship? She didn’t have the time or the energy.

  She crossed to the kitchen table, grabbing an iced cookie on her way. After six months of her grandmothers’ cooking, she didn’t want to think about what her cholesterol level must
be.

  “Tell me everything,” she said, stopping next to Francesca and eyeing her very beautiful, very thin twin.

  Nearly two months pregnant and was Francesca showing? Not even close. Brenna knew that if she was ever to play host to a marauding sperm, she would plump up overnight and look as if she were giving birth to a water-melon by week nine.

  Francesca shrugged. “I know we all talked about waiting, what with the baby and all, but Sam and I have changed our minds. And Katie and I want to have a double wedding. It could be a triple one if you wanted to get married again.”

  Groans erupted from the grandmothers. Brenna’s mother simply settled her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. “I’m getting too old for this,” she murmured.

  “A double wedding?” Brenna considered the possibility, while ignoring the comment about her getting married again. That was never going to happen. “It will be a cost savings,” she reminded her mother as she draped her suit jacket over a chair. “You’ll only have to feed the guests once instead of twice.”

  “What about the wedding gown?” Grandma Tessa looked up from her chopping. “We barely have time to make a dress for Katie and now this? Are you sure you want to go down the aisle in your condition? Not that we’re not happy for you, Francesca. A pretty girl like you needs a husband.”

  “Yeah, ugly girls live to be single,” Brenna whispered.

  Katie’s full mouth twitched as she tried not to laugh. “We’re willing to put the wedding date back to give us all time to get everything done.”

  “You could have the weddings at Thanksgiving,” Brenna said as she nibbled on her cookie. “We all know everyone in this family will be doing the happy dance to see two sisters married. For years everyone has despaired of ever getting us all hitched. Now we’re halfway there. That gives us so much more to be thankful for.”

  Grandma Tessa muttered something Brenna couldn’t hear. She half expected to see the older woman whip out her rosary for a quick trip around the beads. Fortunately Grandma Tessa contented herself with a couple of dark looks.

  “Turkey-day weekend works for me,” Katie said. “We could have the wedding that Saturday.”

  Francesca shrugged. “Sam doesn’t care about the date. As for a dress, I’ll pick something simple and flowing.”

  “Don’t bother,” Brenna told her. “You’ll be nine months pregnant and still not showing.”

  Their mother raised her head. “I don’t know. As it is, we’ll be sewing day and night.”

  Family tradition dictated that any Marcelli bride have a wedding gown handmade by the women in the family. A great idea in theory, but beading lace took forever. Brenna wasn’t worried about the additional sewing duties. She had a winery to run and therefore was excused from most of the needlework.

  Their mother pulled out a pad of paper. “If we’re going to have a double wedding, we need to start making lists.”

  The three sisters looked at one another and shook their heads. When Mom started making lists, an entire afternoon could fly by. Better to escape now.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” Brenna said, heading for a rack on the far wall.

  “I’ll get chocolate,” Francesca said.

  Katie walked to the cupboard. “Cheese and crackers or cookies?”

  “Cookies,” Francesca and Brenna said together.

  Their mother shook her head. “You girls aren’t going anywhere. We have two weddings to plan.”

  Katie snaked a plate of cookies from the counter, kissed both Grammy M and Grandma Tessa, and hurried out of the room.

  “Love you, Mom,” she called over her shoulder.

  Francesca quickly followed.

  Brenna collected a bottle of wine, an opener, and two wineglasses, then opened the refrigerator. As expected, there was a bottle of chocolate milk sitting on the top shelf. It was the Grands’ contribution to Francesca’s need to increase her calcium.

  “You guys think of everything,” she said as she shut the door.

  Her mother glared at her. “We need to plan.”

  “We’ll deal with it later,” Brenna promised. “Don’t worry. Everything will get done in time.”

  “I can’t believe you girls are having wine. It’s the middle of the day.”

  “We have things to celebrate,” Brenna said.

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You seem exceptionally happy today. Why is that?”

  Brenna wasn’t about to spill the beans about her potential deal with Nic. Not to her parents. While she knew they would understand her need to stand on her own, the information would put them in an awkward position. Her paternal grandfather was still the head of the family and he wouldn’t approve. Rather than make her parents take sides, she would keep her mouth shut.

  She smiled and started backing out of the room. “Two of my sisters are marrying wonderful men. Isn’t that enough to put a spring in my step?”

  “Not by a long shot. What are you up to, Brenna?”

  “Absolutely nothing. Cross my heart.”

  Grandma Tessa looked up. “You go to hell for lying, same as stealing, young lady. The good Lord knows all.”

  “Words to live by,” Brenna said with a laugh as she turned and raced up the stairs.

  2

  Brenna followed Katie and Francesca into the bedroom she and her twin had shared while they’d been growing up and where she’d returned to when she’d moved back into the hacienda. She set the wine and the glasses on the nightstand, then handed the chocolate milk to her sister. While Brenna went to work on the cork, Francesca flopped down on the bed opposite and Katie sat cross-legged on the foot of Brenna’s bed.

  “You know they’re not going to leave us alone for very long,” Katie said, accepting the glass of Cabernet Brenna handed her. “Mom’s right. There’s a lot to go into the wedding planning.”

  “So speaks Ms. Organized,” Brenna said. She poured a glass for herself and raised it. “To my sisters getting married.”

  But neither of them responded to her toast. Katie stared watchfully, while Francesca looked concerned.

  “What?” Brenna asked, kicking off her shoes and sinking onto the mattress. “You’re looking at me funny and that always makes me nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous. It’s just…” Francesca leaned toward her. “I’m worried about you.” She glanced at Katie. “We’re worried about you.”

  “Because I’m drinking wine in the middle of the day? I swear, it doesn’t usually happen. Most of the time I’m too busy to stop for lunch, which isn’t anything I ever thought I would say. Unfortunately with the Grands’ cooking being as fattening as it is, skipping a meal once in a while doesn’t work as a weight-loss plan.” She patted her stomach. “I guess I’m going to have to seriously think about portion control.”

  Her two sisters exchanged a knowing glance. Brenna sighed in exasperation. “I hate it when you talk about me behind my back.”

  “We didn’t,” Katie said defensively, but as she spoke she tugged on a strand of her reddish-brown hair and bit her lower lip—sure signs that she was lying.

  Francesca shrugged. “We’re just a little concerned.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re getting married.”

  Brenna took a sip of the 1999 Cab; ’98 had been a crappy year for California wines, but ’99 had been better. She eyed the cookies and thought about grabbing one, but maybe she should wait until she got things settled with her sisters.

  “Amazingly enough, your pending nuptials don’t exactly impact my day,” she said. “We’ll be harvesting the Chardonnay grapes any day now, so I’m going to be too busy for the sewing marathon everyone is about to embark upon. But I’ll be there in spirit.”

  “It’s not about the dress,” Katie said, then glanced at Francesca. “You tell her.”

  Francesca sipped her wine, then sighed. “We don’t want your feelings to be hurt.”

  While she appreciated that they worried about her, she
still had no idea what they were talking about. “Are you telling me you don’t want me at your wedding?”

  “Of course not,” they said in unison.

  “Then how could you hurt my feelings?”

  “You’re not seeing anyone.”

  They weren’t making any sense. Brenna gave up on self-control and grabbed a cookie. “If the concern is I’ll be depressed because I’m dateless, I swear I’ll be fine.” Right now a man was the last thing on her mind. Well, unless he had a million dollars to loan her. Then she was intensely interested.

  Katie shook her head. “Francesca, this isn’t the time for delicate psycho-speak. Just blurt it out.” But rather than wait for her sister, Katie continued. “Francesca and I are worried that you’ll be upset because we’ve finally found great guys and that bastard you were married to is getting married to someone else and you’re all caught up in the winery and what if our long-lost brother really does claim it, and without the winery, you don’t have a life and we’re afraid our happiness is going to depress you.” She paused to suck in a breath.

  Brenna took a bite of her cookie and chewed. “Impressive lung control,” she mumbled over the crumbs, then swallowed. “I’m fine.”

  Neither sister looked convinced. Brenna glanced between them. The Marcelli daughters were a perfect blend of their Italian-Irish heritage. Katie was mostly Irish with pale skin and reddish-brown hair. Francesca had the thick, dark hair from the Marcelli side of the family, but had also inherited hazel eyes and a tall, thin body from the O’Sheas. Brenna was pure Italian—dark hair, brown eyes, plenty of curves.

  Which left Mia. Brenna smiled as she thought of her baby sister’s bleached hair and high drama makeup. Mia had never met a tube of mascara she didn’t like. But then, Mia had always been just herself.

  Her sisters had been her best friends all their lives. No matter what else happened, she knew they would be there for her, as they always had been.

  “This is your time,” she told Katie and Francesca. “You don’t need to worry about me. I swear, everything is great. More than great.”