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