Intoxicating (9 page)

He paused at the doorway to whisper to Kiara, “I'm going into town to make sure Miss Hampton is comfortable, but when I return, carve a chunk of time from your schedule. You and I are going to have a long talk.”

 

W
YATT GOT
J
ANET
Hampton ensconced in her hotel and had a glass of wine with her. She told him her life story. How she'd been dumped by her rat-bastard boyfriend and had decided to go on a trip to clear her head. He let her cry on his shoulder, gave her a pep talk and left the inn feeling pretty proud of himself.

It wasn't until he was back at Bella Notte that he even remembered why he was here. He'd been so caught up in impressing Kiara that he'd forgotten he was supposed to be a spy. He put the glasses back on that he'd taken off while interviewing Janet. They felt artificial and heavy on his nose. He was starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing. Especially after what had happened between him and Kiara in the wine cellar.

“How did it go?” Grandfather Romano greeted him in the parking lot. Fierce green eyes, identical to Kiara's, fixed on him.

“Lawsuit successfully averted.”

Grandfather Romano studied him so long Wyatt started to feel itchy. “You look like someone.”

“Oh.” Was the old guy on to him? Even though Wyatt himself wasn't in the wine business, his family was. And the wine community was a very small one. He'd been dumb to think he could fool the people at Bella
Notte for long. He wasn't a spy. He just liked having a good time and going undercover had sounded fun. Now it felt…well…
wrong.

If the older man raised the alarm, and Kiara found out who he really was, Wyatt would never have a chance with her.

Never have a chance with her? What the hell did that mean? Chance for what? Hot sex? Beyond that, he never stood a chance anyway. As soon as she found out he was a DeSalme, everything was over.

Well, that bites.

Disappointment nibbled at him. Why?

“What's your name again?” Grandfather Romano asked. “Wyatt Jordan.”

“And you're a new intern?”

“I am.”

“Bit old for an intern.”

“Yes.”

“Your age has served you well. You've got some sharp people skills.”

“I appreciate the compliment.”

The old man kept scrutinizing him. “You'll be good for her.”

“Sir?”

“My granddaughter. She's a brilliant scientist and has a great head on her shoulders when it comes to business, but she works too hard. A charmer might just be what she needs. But if you hurt her, I'll hunt you down like a rabbit and dispatch you.”

“Excuse me?” Wyatt swallowed.

The old man smiled jovially. “You heard me.”

“I'm not—”

“Save the protests. I noticed the way you looked at her. More importantly, I saw the way she looked at you. Be careful, young Wyatt. You play fast and loose with her heart…” He paused to draw a finger dramatically across his throat.

“Got your message, Don Romano,” he joked. “You won't have to put a horse head in my bed.”

The old man burst out laughing. “You're a funny guy. I like you. Treat Kiara right and all will be well.”

“I have no intention of hurting your granddaughter, sir.”

“Good, good.” He placed a heavy hand on Wyatt's shoulder. “Come to dinner.”

He couldn't shake the feeling that Grandfather Romano knew who he was. “Pardon me?”

“Come to dinner tonight. Kiara's father and mother have returned from San Francisco. We're having a small celebration.”

“Um…I'm not sure Kiara wants me there.”

“Are you a man or a mouse?”

Wyatt drew himself up. He was a good four inches taller than the elderly man, but the senior Romano made him feel like a schoolboy. “A man. Definitely.”

“My granddaughter is very willful. If you want to be with her, you must be stronger than she is.”

“I can do that.”

“Do you want another tip?”

“I'm all ears.”

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

 

I
N THE LAB
, Kiara squinted at the vine sample under her microscope. After Wyatt had left with their trouble
some guest, she'd called the Idyll veterinarian clinic and made an appointment to have Felix neutered, chipped and vaccinated for the following morning. If she was going to keep the naughty feline, it was time to assume responsibility for his health care. Now, she was trying hard to concentrate on her work. The past three days had been very disruptive, from the arrival of the new interns to the earthquake to Janet Hampton's accident in the barrel room to her own inexplicable misbehavior in the cellar.

She thought of Wyatt, how easily he'd turned a tricky situation into a nonissue. How had this man come into her life and so quickly inserted himself in it as if he belonged there? She'd only known him seventy-two hours. What was with this sensual sensory overload that preoccupied her every time she looked at him? Thought of him.

Kiara was unaccustomed to breathless physical responses that left her confused and irritated because they were so unfamiliar and unwanted. But as she stared at the vine sample and her mind wandered back to the wine cellar, her nipples beaded beneath the thin cotton material of her dress, her long hair trickled the backs of her bare arms, she felt her pulse quicken as her body—oh, who was she kidding, it was more than her body—yearned with abject longing for something that could rock her world as effectively as any earthquake.

For a whisper of a second—an infinite, empty second—loneliness twisted her stomach. Immediately, she shoved it aside. She understood, had no choice but to understand, that her uncharacteristic impulses were dangerous to her position as head of Bella Notte. She
was not free to let her emotions off the leash. Nor did she want that freedom.

All her life, she'd been surrounded by romantics and their fanciful myths and legends, and she'd never once been tempted to succumb to the allure of lore.

There was her great-grandparents' explosive romance that had sparked a town legend. Then her grandmother had been engaged to another man until her grandfather had come to school to pick up his nephew where her grandmother was the new schoolteacher. She broken up with her fiancé the very next day.

Her parents had met in San Francisco at a small Italian restaurant where her mother worked as a waitress. Kiara's father had been delivering wine and her mother showed him to the wine cellar at the same moment there had been a blackout. They ended up locked in the cellar for several hours. By the time they were rescued, they were engaged.

Maurice and Trudy met at a wine-tasting event. One look into each other's eyes and they went out for dinner afterward, and stayed up all night talking. Maurice sauntered into the vineyard the next morning and announced he'd found the woman he was going to wed. They married a month later and a year after that Mia was born.

Kiara was the odd woman out—as if she was a self-possessed island, her family the distant mainland with no bridge or boat to connect them—and she'd known it from early childhood. Although the family reveled in her uniqueness, they put her up on something of a pedestal, revered her level-headedness. It made it difficult to make a mistake without rippling repercussions.

It bothered her too, whenever she did slip from her
lofty perch. Her mistakes ate at her, kept her awake at night. So she buckled down, kept her nose to the grindstone and kept romantic liaisons light, few and far between. Emotionally, her heart was untouched, and physically, no man had ever roused her to the trumpet-blaring ecstasy so enthusiastically touted by novels and love songs and sappy greeting cards. Proving what she suspected all along—romance was bunk. Or at least it was for her. Was she some sort of genetic anomaly? Maybe she simply didn't possess the capacity to feel deep emotion.

You were feeling pretty deeply this morning.

That wasn't emotion. That was lust. Animal magnetism. Nothing more.

What dismantled her was that this behavior was so out of character for her. Never in her life had she been drawn to someone the way she was drawn to Wyatt.

How did she stop this feeling?

A soft knock sounded at the inside door that led into the main house. Her stomach jumped. Was it Wyatt? Had he finally come back from his trip to Idyll? “Come in.”

The door opened and her grandmother appeared. “Your parents are at the ferry,” she said. “Maurice has gone to fetch them.”

“I'm so happy Dad's in remission.”

“We're having a surprise party. I didn't tell you because you're so busy, but I was wondering if you could help me in the kitchen.”

“Sure thing, Grandmamma. What do you need?”

“I'm making tiramisu. Could you soak the lady fingers?”

She followed her grandmother down the long corri
dor to the main kitchen. Kiara had her own small, one-room apartment, complete with a tiny kitchen, just off the lab, but she often took her evening meals with the family.

She washed her hands and then made the espresso for soaking the ladyfingers while Grandmamma started beating egg yolks over a double boiler. She'd been lucky to grow up in a big, loving, extended family. She knew that, but sometimes she wondered if maybe being nestled so securely in the bosom of her loved ones was one of the things that made her so reluctant to venture into the outside world. Her sister, Deirdre, called their family smothering, but Kiara didn't see it that way. To her, making her living at the home where she'd grown up was an honor and a privilege.

“Did you know your great-grandmother Maria made this recipe for Giovanni on the very night he proposed?”

“Yes, Grandmamma,” Kiara said, suddenly feeling sentimental. “But I'd love to hear the story again.”

Grandmamma cocked her head at Kiara, a surprised smile curling up the corners of her mouth. “Oh, you were never one for the romantic stories. When your mother tried to read Cinderella and Snow White to you, you'd pull out your grandfather's field guide to butterflies and flowers. We knew even then that you were different from most girls,
caro.
”

“I'm sorry.”

“Kiara, no,” Grandmamma scolded. “Never apologize for being who you are.”

“But I'm not like the rest of you. There's not a romantic bone in my body.”

“And yet, here you are, asking about the story of
Giovanni and his beloved Maria.” Grandmamma's eyes twinkled.

Kiara poured hot coffee into a shallow bowl, and added half a cup of Kahlua. Then she took ladyfingers from the cookie jar on the counter. One by one, she soaked the delicate cookies in the liquid, then lined them up in neat rows along the bottom of a baking pan.

“So how did Great-grandfather Giovanni know that Maria was the one he wanted to take up to Twin Hearts?”

“Maria stepped off the ferry on that fine day in June. She'd come from Italy to visit her relatives. Giovanni was in the village buying flour. He took one look at her and he wanted her with a burning need unlike anything he'd ever felt before.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Maria was struggling with her bags, and Giovanni, with the flour flung over his shoulder, dropped it in the middle of the road and ran to help her.”

“Sounds like a traffic hazard.”

Grandmamma chuckled. “I suppose it well might have been. He touched her hand and Maria looked into his eyes and the rest is history.”

“What about you and Grandfather? Was it love at first sight for you?”

Her smile grew sly. “Did I ever tell you he was naked the first time I saw him?”

Kiara's jaw dropped. “Grandmamma!”

Grandmamma held up her hands to her mouth and giggled. “He was skinny-dipping in the dawn. Like Maria, I was a newcomer to Idyll. I'd been hired to teach school in the village, and on the first morning I awoke in town, I opened my bedroom window and
looked out across the inlet and there he was. Whew.” She fanned herself. “My Nico was something to look at in those days.”

“I don't think I want to hear anymore,” Kiara said. “I can't imagine Grandfather skinny-dipping.”

“It was planting season and he'd been working in the vineyards all night and he'd gone to the ocean to cool off.”

“So what did you do?”

“I watched.” Grandmamma laughed again. “I was late for my first day of school.”

“So what happened when you met face to face?”

“He came to school to pick up his nephew from my class that very afternoon. He stood in the door and when our eyes met it was an instant bond so deep and solid that nothing could break it.”

“You know that really sounds far-fetched,” Kiara said, even as she thought,
That's exactly how I felt the minute I looked at Wyatt.
Could it be this thing between them was something more than the hot rush of lust? More than mere chemistry?

It's illogical and unscientific. You don't believe in that romantic nonsense, remember?

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.”

Vineyard wisdom: The deeper the roots,
the sturdier the vines.

D
INNER 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 im
pulse 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.

 

K
IARA 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.