He flipped through the six remaining designs. “Too flashy. Too new. Why do we have to change the labels on the Reserve Chardonnay? The old labels work fine. People know what they look like. Simple. Marcelli Wines in big letters. Not this.”

He flung the sheet with the picture of the arch over the entrance to the winery at her. Brenna caught it and set the paper on her clipboard.

“We’ve been using the same label for five years, Grandpa. It’s time for a change.” She willed herself to be patient. “We discussed this. You agreed.”

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand. “I wouldn’t agree to such nonsense. I hate them all. Who did you hire to come up with these?”

Brenna’s teeth ached from grinding them together. “A firm in Los Angeles. I picked them because they were innovative and excited by the project.” She took the rest of the pages from him. “I happen to like what they’ve done.”

He frowned. “Not the goat.”

“It wasn’t my favorite, but I thought the others were great. Obviously you didn’t. I’ll phone them and have them send us out some more ideas.”

“Tell them to make the new labels like the old ones.”

“If you want them exactly the same, what’s the point in bothering with a new design?” She sucked in a breath. “I know our loyal customers recognize our label, but they would still find us with a new one, and we might attract new buyers.”

“So now you know what our buyers think, eh?”

“I’ve been reading up on marketing. I’ve given you several articles. Didn’t you look at them?”

He shrugged. “I’m busy. Besides, what do they know? My father started Marcelli Wines from nothing. He took this earth and he created all that you see around us. When they respect that, we’ll talk.”

Brenna wasn’t even sure who “they” were. Before she could ask, her grandfather sighed heavily and tossed the labels on the floor.

“You need to respect the old ways.”

Hardly a news flash, she thought as she gauged the distance to the door and wondered if running screaming into the afternoon would make her feel better. It wasn’t quite as good as running screaming into the night, but a woman had to make the best of what was available.

“I respect the old ways,” she said, striving for calm. “I’m also interested in what the new ways have to offer.”

He shook his head in obvious disgust. “Your brother, he would listen.”

Brenna was so stunned, she nearly dropped the clipboard. “What? My brother? The guy you’ve never even met? How on earth do you know what he would do or not do? That is such an unfair thing to say to me. If Joe has any interest at all in this winery, it’s only for the money.”

She would know. When she and Francesca had gone to meet Joe Larson, their long-lost brother, he’d shown little or no interest in the Marcelli family until he’d heard there was a winery worth about forty million dollars.

Lorenzo drew his thick eyebrows together. “The wine is in his blood.”

“I don’t think so. You can’t be serious about leaving everything to him.”

Her grandfather shrugged. “I do what I have to do.”

He turned and left.

Brenna sank onto the floor and rested her head on her knees. “This is not happening,” she murmured. Her eyes burned, her chest hurt. There was no way her grandfather could really leave the winery to someone he’d never met. Blood or no blood. And doing it just because Joe was a guy?

“This sucks,” she whispered.

It more than sucked. It hurt down to her bones. Of course she’d known that having a brother changed things, but she’d hoped she’d been wrong.

The designs for the labels lay where Grandpa Lorenzo had tossed them. Apparently her disagreements with him over the labels were the least of her problems. Things had gotten so difficult that she and her grandfather couldn’t go a day without arguing about something. Half the time she expected him to fire her. Except she was family and he couldn’t.

But he didn’t have to keep her in charge. If he hated everything she was trying to do, why not hire someone who would hang on his every word and do things exactly as he wanted? He could also change his will, if he hadn’t already.

“Just a reminder of why starting my own label was the right thing to do,” she told herself as she scrambled to her feet. “It doesn’t matter what he does. I’ll have my own winery to worry about.”

But the words didn’t offer as much comfort as she would have liked. Nothing in her world was the way she thought it would be. Not her past and certainly not her future.

“Final figures,” Nic said when he entered Maggie’s office and slapped the folder on her desk. “Read them in awe.”

She raised her eyebrows, then flipped through the pages. “As long as you’re not letting success go to your head.”

“Would I do that?”

“Answering that the way I want to would be unprofessional.” She closed the folder. “I’ll work up a projection based on these numbers. You’ll have it in the morning.”

“Great.” He sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “What about the numbers for Marcelli Wines?”

She flipped through a stack of papers by her computer and handed him several sheets. He read the estimations for gross sales, broken down by region.

“That’s as good as we can do without looking at their books,” Maggie told him. “I had the sales guys nosing around, but they can only find out so much.”

“This is good,” he said.

The sales projections were even better than he’d thought. There was plenty of profit to be had. Once he’d modernized everything and streamlined operations he would—

He glanced up and saw Maggie watching him. “What?”

She shrugged.

“You still disapprove of what I’m doing,” he said.

“That’s too strong a word. I don’t like it, but liking it isn’t part of my job. I keep thinking about that loan to Brenna Marcelli. What are you going to do with her? Destroy her?”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Maggie shook her head. “Gee, Nic, you’ve loaned her a million dollars and given her the chance to start her own winery. She’s moving ahead with the belief that all her dreams are about to come true. Yet at any moment you could call the loan and pull the rug out from under her. I’m guessing when that happens she’s going to be a little broken up. What would you call it, if not destroyed?”

“Interesting question.”

“Do you have an answer?”

“Not yet.”

The callable note gave him options. Now that he’d seen Brenna in action, he knew that given time, she could make a go of Four Sisters Winery. Maybe he would sit back and collect interest like one of the good guys. Maybe not. The only thing he knew for sure was that seducing her hadn’t been part of his plan, but since that damn kiss he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Maybe it was time for a different plan.

“You’re looking very predatory,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to know what you’re thinking.”

He grinned. “You’re right.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Maybe I’ll go meet Brenna Marcelli and see for myself what she’s like. If I hate her, I won’t feel so guilty about being a part of all this.”

“You haven’t done anything but your job. You have no guilt in this.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He knew he couldn’t talk Maggie out of her feelings. She’d always been a soft touch. “Suit yourself.”

“Aren’t you going to warn me not to say anything about the secret plot to purchase her family’s winery?”

Nic stood. “No. You work for me. You’d never be indiscreet. That would mean breaking the rules. Something you don’t do.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I know. That’s why I always win.”

“In the past you’ve won without breaking the rules. Something tells me that this time is different. Be careful, Nic.”

“Always,” he promised as they walked to the door.

They both knew he was lying, but Maggie wouldn’t say anything. Had Brenna been privy to the conversation, she would have called him on it in a heartbeat. Of course if she knew about his plans for Marcelli Wines, she would have his head mounted on the fence dividing their property.

Not something he wanted to think about. He would be fine just as long as Brenna didn’t find out the truth until it was too late to stop him.

It had been a good night’s work, Brenna thought sometime after midnight as she watched the last of the grapes move from the crusher to the presser. Her second load of Chardonnay grapes had arrived on time. The quality had been everything she’d hoped for—each bunch had been ripe and bursting with flavor and juice. She’d managed to put her latest fight with her grandfather behind her. She refused to think about him or her brother showing up and claiming everything. Even better, she was only thinking of Nic every forty-eight seconds, a marked improvement from earlier in the week. In a day or two she might work up to ten whole Nic-free minutes at a time.

It was that damn kiss, she acknowledged. He was too sexy by half. If that hadn’t happened, she might have been able to convince herself that whatever she remembered from the past was simply time rewriting history. She could have convinced herself that no one was that good. Unfortunately reality had been better than her memories. She’d gone from zero to take-me-now in less than five seconds. Just her luck—she was hotter than a Ferrari.

“So I’ll get over it,” she told herself, stepping back from the presser.

She would have to. She and Nic were all about the past and that was a place neither of them was likely to want to go. Her life was here in the present.

She crossed to the open doors and breathed in the cool air. She could hear crickets and other night creatures. The sky was clear and it seemed as if she could almost reach up and grab a star or two. Would it grant her a wish if she promised to set it free? What would she wish for?

Brenna returned to her equipment. Not success, that was too easy. Not love. She might be alone right now, but she wasn’t lonely. Peace, she thought. Or maybe contentment.

Before she could decide, she heard a fast, clicking sound, followed by a yip and a slide. She glanced at the open door and saw Max slipping around the corner before loping into the big room. He looked around, saw her, and barked with delight.

Brenna barely had time to brace herself for the fact that where Max was, Nic was soon to follow, when the puppy plowed into her. She laughed and bent down to gather him into her arms. He wiggled and licked at her face, his whole body vibrating as his tail wagged so hard it went in circles.

“Hey, good-looking,” she said, holding the puppy close.

“How are you?”

“Not bad.”

She had to swallow before looking up to watch Nic enter. She hadn’t seen him in a few days, and she hated that she’d actually missed him. He wore his usual uniform of jeans and T-shirt, which managed to emphasize his broad shoulders and long legs. Every cell in her body went on alert, while a small biplane flew through her brain, dragging a banner behind that read “I want some more of that.”

Honest to Pete, she really had to get a grip.

“Actually I wasn’t talking to you,” she said. “Max and I were having a moment.”

“That dog has quite the life.”

She set the puppy on the ground. When Max went off to investigate exciting smells, Brenna tried to keep her attention off of Nic’s mouth. Was it her imagination or could she actually see the sparks arcing between them?