Back in His Bed: Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks! / Unfinished Business with the Duke / How to Win the Dating War. Heidi Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ explanation would do. “Exactly.”

      But the pump seemed to be working fine. At least that part of her life was moving along on plan. Although it freed her mind to stew over other issues for the next six hours, she didn’t discover any new solutions to her problems.

      She took her time hosing out the crusher for the last time, then puttered around the lab, stalling for time. Calling it a day would put her back in the house with Jack. For such a big house, it felt very small with Jack in it, and, since she was still having trouble controlling her hormones while he was around, putting herself in close proximity to him didn’t sound like a great idea. Plus, there was no way to avoid more discussion of the future of the vineyard, and without any bright new ideas she wasn’t in any hurry for another round with Jack over that.

      But she couldn’t hide in her lab forever, and as the sun went down her irritation grew—both with herself and Jack. She was avoiding her home, for goodness’s sake. Just because of him.

      That irritation fueled her up the hill to the house, and as she toed off her boots in the mudroom she felt ready for a fight and actually hoped Jack was nearby.

      Then she heard Dianne’s voice in her head: “Don’t antagonize him.” That deflated her indignant bubble a bit. She’d be nice if it killed her.

      But Jack wasn’t around. The kitchen was empty, the sale paperwork still sitting on the counter. The living room was just as empty. She glanced down the hallway, but no light or noise came out of the office either.

      Jack’s car sat in the driveway, so he hadn’t gone far. Of course his room and the gym were on the far side of the house, but she didn’t have a good excuse to go wandering down that hallway to see where he was. Plus, she didn’t want to take the chance of running into him while he was hot and sweaty and half dressed again. Last night had been bad enough.

      For the time being she was alone, and for the first time in a long time she didn’t mind the quiet. With her stomach still tied in a knot, eating was out of the question, but a glass of wine sounded like a great plan.

      She grabbed a glass and a bottle of last year’s Chardonnay and retreated behind her bedroom door.

      She still had a lot of thinking to do.

      The sun was completely behind the hills and he still hadn’t heard Brenna come in. She’d been gone early, too, probably around dawn, because the coffee she’d left in the pot had tasted old when he’d made his way into the kitchen this morning.

      The early morning was to be expected; he remembered all too well the rush to get the grapes in before it got too hot—for the grapes, not the people. But sunup to sunset? That meant something had gone wrong at the winery with the crush, and Brenna would be in a bad mood when she finally did make it back to the house.

      He wasn’t going to concern himself with her mood—beyond the fact it would make any conversation even more difficult than last night’s had been. The papers were still on the counter, unsigned, but in a different place than he’d left them, telling him she’d at least looked through them at some point.

      He’d spent the day in Max’s office, alternating between talking to his secretary and going through the winery’s books. He didn’t want to leave until he had this settled with Brenna, because he fully intended to never darken the doorway again once he left this time, but he couldn’t be away from the city indefinitely. At some point he did need to finish the preparations for his meeting in New York next week. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to come up with many ideas that would both placate Brenna and sever his ties with this place at the same time.

      Dianne Hart, whom he only vaguely remembered as one of Brenna’s friends from high school, had brought two plates of dinner to the house late in the afternoon, explaining as she did so that she normally fed Brenna during harvest time, and bashfully explained she’d figured he’d need dinner, too.

      She’d chatted to him as she moved easily through the kitchen, balancing a wide-eyed baby on one hip, explaining how she’d moved to Amante Verano five years ago, shortly after Brenna’s mother died. When Brenna took her mother’s place as vintner, she’d hired Dianne’s then newlywed husband Ted as viticulturist. Dianne seemed loyal to Brenna to the core, and had only glowing things to say about her, yet she didn’t seem to share Brenna’s animosity toward him.

      Or if she did, she did a better job of hiding it than Bren. He hadn’t missed the way her eyes had strayed to the papers on the counter, though. No doubt Dianne was fully up-to-date on the situation, and he vaguely wondered if Brenna had sent Dianne with instructions to help smooth the path.

      But before he could question her, to uncover any underlying motives, she’d been gone. Dianne was Brenna’s polar opposite in both looks and temperament, but she had that same earth mother wholesomeness. Years ago that had been part of Brenna’s allure—so different from the women he’d grown used to at home. He’d learned his lesson well, though. He’d take Gucci over granola any day.

      Boredom and an empty house drove him outside to the pool, where he pulled up short. He’d forgotten how Max had recreated his rooftop retreat at Garrett Tower here—only on a larger scale. White flagstones, warm under his feet, formed the pool deck, while large pots of hibiscus, hellebores and yarrow divided the space, providing secluded seating areas and privacy for the hot tub. Eerie. Almost like being at home.

      He swam several laps, then hooked his arms over the edge and listened to the quiet sounds of the evening. Even with the sun down the night was still warm—no need to heat the pool here in the summertime. With nothing more than a few vineyards scattered over the surrounding miles, the lack of light pollution made the stars seem brighter, clearer. A few wispy clouds crossed in front of the rising moon, but no high-rise buildings blocked the view.

      This was possibly the only thing he didn’t dislike about Amante Verano. When Max had bought the vineyard, this was what had first brought Jack out here, not some love of the vino.

      The French doors to Brenna’s bedroom opened, and she stepped quietly onto the patio. Her hair was pulled up and secured with a clip, leaving her profile and the long column of her neck exposed. She drank deeply from a large wine glass as she walked, obviously unaware of his presence, the belt to her short robe trailing behind her on the flagstones. Brenna set the glass carefully on a stone table and shrugged out of the robe.

      And then he remembered what else had attracted him to Max’s vineyard.

      Even in the dim light he could see the defined muscles in her slender shoulders, arms and back—muscles developed from hauling endless bins of grapes, not on some piece of equipment in a gym. The dark bikini didn’t cover much, allowing him a sight he hadn’t seen in years but had never forgotten. Her body was compact, strong. He knew from experience the power in those thighs, the way the firm muscles covered in soft skin would flex under his hands.

      The water, warm just a minute ago, now felt cool against his heated skin, and that old flame sparked to life.

      Then Brenna stretched, her back arching gracefully as she lifted her arms over her head, drawing his eyes to the generous curve of her breasts and down the flat plane of her stomach.

      And the flame seared through him like a flash fire, fanned by the rush of erotic memories tumbling through his heated brain. He flattened his palms on the pool apron and pushed, heaving himself out of the water.

      At the noisy rush of water Brenna spun, the force causing the clip to lose its grip and sending СКАЧАТЬ