Bill grinned. “Any cleaner than this and I’d sell to you.”

“You don’t own Marcelli Wines.”

“You make me wish I did.”

Roger White flipped to the second page. “You’re promising to keep all the employees for at least two years. I heard that he’s got his granddaughter running things these days. Will that apply to her as well?”

Nic understood Roger’s concern. An angry family member who had just lost an inheritance could be a liability. “The clause stands.” He held up his hand before Roger could interrupt. “Brenna Marcelli will quit the second she finds out I’m the actual buyer.”

“You’re sure?”

Nic thought about Brenna’s temper and how she was going to feel about the deal. They’d even discussed him buying Marcelli, however briefly, before she’d dismissed the idea. As much as she would hate him buying out her inheritance, she was going to be even more furious at being played for a fool.

“I’m positive,” he said.

She would want to skin him alive. Not that he would blame her. If someone was doing to him what he planned to do to her, he would be out for blood. Brenna’s need for revenge would be hampered by the million-dollar callable note he held. No matter what, he was going to win.

They discussed a few more points, then adjourned the meeting.

“You’re a hell of an opponent,” Roger said, shaking hands with Nic. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Nic grinned. “You want that in an e-mail?”

“Sure.”

He opened the conference room door for the men. Bill paused. “You’re going to make a lot of enemies with this one, Nic.”

“I can live with that.”

The older man studied him for a second, then shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. I’ve wanted Marcelli for a long time.”

“You’re about to get them.”

Nic watched them leave, then returned to the table to pick up his copy of the offer. One more pass and it would be ready. Bill and Roger would present it, and then the real game began.

Lorenzo Marcelli would be a fool to dismiss the deal, but Nic knew his acquisition wasn’t a sure thing. Marcelli Wines was a family business. There was more than just money at stake. But he was confident.

He crossed to the window and stared out at the winery. To the left was the building where Brenna’s wines were fermenting. She showed up every night and worked until dawn. Despite her years away from the business, she still had the magic touch. He didn’t doubt that every one of her wines was going to be a medal winner and sell out in days.

If he gave her the time she needed.

He felt a twinge right between his shoulder blades. Guilt? Not possible. He hadn’t done anything wrong. This was business.

The phone on the conference table buzzed. He walked over and hit the speaker button.

“Yes?”

“Nic, you have a call on line seven. A Brenna Marcelli.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before pushing the flashing button. Why would she be calling him?

“Let me guess,” he said by way of greeting. “You sold your four acres of Pinot to a theme-park developer for a cool five million.”

She laughed. “Not even on a bet. Your assistant said you were just getting out of a meeting. Are you planning to produce wine coolers?”

“Yeah, we’re going to blend them with tropical fruits.”

She made a gagging sound. “That’s disgusting. Not even you would do that.”

“I would if the profit margin was right.”

“Oh, please. What about family pride? Anyway, I didn’t call to lecture you about your shady business practices.”

Ouch. “Good to know. Why did you call?”

“Well, that’s an interesting question.” She cleared her throat. “I, ah, I told you before about the engagement party. For my sisters. Anyway, if you’re not busy Saturday, I thought maybe you’d like to go with me. Not as a date or anything. Just as, well, I guess I don’t know. Friends. Or something.”

He sat and stared at the phone. Brenna inviting him to the family homestead? For a party? Unbelievable. He would never have guessed she would change her mind.

“Nic?”

“I’m here. I’m surprised.”

“I know. It’s just…” She sighed. “I can’t explain it. Just tell me if you want to go.”

“Sure.” Why not? This was a chance to see operations up close. Brenna would be happy to give him a tour. They would spend the evening together, which wasn’t much of a hardship. “I’d like to go with you.”

“Great.”

He couldn’t tell if she sounded relieved or horrified.

“What time?” he asked.

“Say six-thirty. But I’ll pick you up. It might be dangerous for you to drive onto Marcelli property by yourself.”

He chuckled. “Will I be shot on sight?”

“Instant death would be the least of your problems. So I’ll see you Saturday.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Funny. When he hung up the phone, he found he really was.

10

Brenna was so nervous, her knees were knocking. Since she was trying to drive her car, this wasn’t a good thing. Fortunately it was an automatic, and she didn’t have to worry about using a clutch.

“What on earth was I thinking?” she muttered as she turned onto the main highway. “I wasn’t thinking. Okay, I was, but with the wrong part of my brain.”

Actually, there was no excuse for what she’d done. She wasn’t even a guy, so she didn’t have the “little head” to blame for her poor decision. The night was going to be a disaster and she had no one to blame but herself.

She’d invited Nic to the party in part because she felt guilty, in part because her grandfather was driving her crazy and she wanted to act out against him, and in part because she wanted to spend some time in Nic’s company. Were those good reasons or bad reasons? Did it matter at this point?

And what about her family? Should she have warned her parents? Her sisters all knew and had been supportive, if Mia teasing her about still having the hots for Nic counted as support. She pressed a hand to her stomach to try to calm the uneasy rumbling that was the result of her nerves.

At least she looked good, she thought, trying to find a bright spot in the one-act spoof that was her life. Over the past couple of weeks she’d actually been too busy to eat, and, miracle of miracles, she’d lost a couple of pounds. So the sleeveless black sheath she’d wanted to wear had slid over her hips without a single whimper of protest. She’d chosen fashion over comfort and had borrowed a pair of impossibly high black strappy sandals from her mother’s department-store-sized collection. Mia had fussed with her hair, using a combination of mousse, gel, and hair-spray that gave her normally uncooperative hair lift and shape. A touch of makeup, a spray of perfume, and she was ready to go.

Except for the chorus line warming up in her midsection.

She turned from the road onto Wild Sea property. If only this didn’t feel so much like a date. Was it a date? It couldn’t be. She and Nic didn’t date. Some days they barely spoke. But she’d asked him to a party and she was picking him up in her car, so it looked like a date. Sort of.

She arrived at the house far more quickly than she’d wanted to. Once there, she didn’t have an excuse to linger in the car, so she forced herself to get out and walk to the door. She was shaking and hyperventilating. What the hell had she been thinking?

After knocking on the front door, she tried to calm herself. She was a mature adult who could handle any situation. She was—

Nic opened the door and smiled at her. Just like that, one smile and her brain went from al dente to mush. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, probably couldn’t breathe, although who cared about that? The man looked amazing.

Dark slacks, dark shirt, dress shoes, gleaming hair, freshly shaved cheeks, and a delicious glint in his brown eyes. Italian sex appeal at its very best.

While she was still trying to collect her synapses and force them into functioning, Nic leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You look great.”

She swallowed and managed a smile. “Thanks. You, too.”

He held open the door and she stepped inside.

“I know I’m early,” she said as she clasped her hands together. “I was ready and I couldn’t stand the waiting. Plus I had to get away while I could. The place is complete chaos. Between the Grands trying to get the food ready at the last minute—because God forbid we should hire a caterer instead of just serving staff—my mom rearranging the flowers, and Grandpa Lorenzo changing his mind about the wine, I thought a timely escape the best course of action.” She glanced around the living room. “This hasn’t changed much, has it?”

“Not really.”

She tried to tell herself that the two of them being alone in Nic’s house after dark didn’t mean anything. She’d been here before when they’d needed lamps. Of course, that had been many years before, in the dead of night, and for the sole purpose of finally making love in a bed.

Best not to think about that, she told herself. Best to just study the furniture and pretend she was completely fine with her plans for the evening.

Nic watched Brenna’s gaze dart around the room. She looked nervous enough to jump out of her skin.

“You didn’t tell them about me coming to the party, did you?” he asked.

She sucked in a breath. “My sisters know. They’re all really excited about meeting you.” She smiled. “Between the motorcycle and black leather jacket, not to mention your reputation for being a troublemaker as a kid and a ruthless businessman now, you’re something of a legend in these parts.”

“I’m flattered.”

He led her to the sofa. While she sat, he crossed to the table by the window and poured them each a glass of Cabernet.

“Wine?” Brenna asked as she took the drink. She stood up and clutched it in both hands. “I guess it won’t hurt.”

“Are you going to be like this all evening?”

“What? Insanely tense? Maybe. Is that a problem?”

He studied her large eyes, the fullness of her mouth, then looked lower at the simple black dress that skimmed over her lush curves. He didn’t even get as far as her bare legs before he felt interest stir.

“Not a problem at all.” He touched his glass to hers. “To your sisters’ happy engagements.”

“To not throwing up on any of the guests.”

“Is that a real possibility?”

“I sure hope not.”

She held the glass up to the light and studied the color, then inhaled the fragrance. After swirling it around several times, she inhaled again.

“Brenna, just drink the damn thing.”

“What?” She glanced from the glass to him. “Oh, sorry.” She took a sip. “It’s lovely.”

“Now I know you’re really nervous. You never compliment my wines.”

“I know. I guess I should. Some of them are very nice.”

He winced. “Nice, huh? Maybe you’d like to be our spokesperson.”

She set her glass on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, Nic. I know tonight is going to be fine. I’m really glad I’m taking you.”

He waited for the “but” part of the sentence.

She sighed. “But I’m terrified. Silly, huh?”

“Understandable.”

“Do you mind if I pace?”

He waved his arm. “Feel free.”

“Thanks.”

She kicked off her sandals, then, barefoot, walked the length of the living room. “I’m a grown-up. I’m a capable person. My parents are going to be fine with this. We’re going to have a good time.”