Really? “Nothing that makes you just want to close your eyes, hang on, and let go of control?”
“Never.”
That couldn’t be true. “You don’t have sex?” she challenged.
He choked a soft laugh. “I didn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
He eyed her, the smile lingering on his face and adding a twinkle to his eye. “I stay in control. Always. Even with a woman. Especially with a woman.” He inched ever so slightly closer, holding her gaze, making her stomach flip like she was the one on a roller coaster, in a fast car, or flying down a ski slope. “She’s the one who loses control.”
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, actually. Couldn’t do anything but imagine what that would be like. “Too bad for you,” she said with remarkable lightness.
“Why?”
“It’s fun to lose control.”
“Fun isn’t a priority for me,” he said, plucking another grape, turning from her to take in the view or maybe shift the subject. “And I’m really not sure what my father was thinking when he made the decision to give me this winery knowing that about me, and the fact that I’m not the least bit interested in wine.”
“Did he say anything about the inheritances he’d planned before he died?” she asked.
“I had no idea my father was sick, let alone holed up in the Bahamas selectively choosing seven different parting gifts to confuse and confound his sons.”
She frowned, watching a storm brew in his eyes, gone as quickly as it had arrived. “So, you all got something like this winery?” she asked.
“Something. The entire estate won’t be divided up for years, but when he died, my father gave each of us a ‘legacy,’ and we have to…deal with it.”
“What do you mean, deal with it?”
He lifted a shoulder as if to say it would be too hard to explain. “It depended on whether it was property, a business, or an item. Like, Knox got a vintage motorcycle, and Hunter ended up with a treasure map.”
“Did he find the treasure?”
“He found a ring and put it on the right finger of a woman who helped him find it. Or should I say left, third one?”
She smiled at that, but she was more concerned about his legacy than the others. “So, how are you going to ‘deal with’ Villa Pietro?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, his precious control obviously taking charge of whatever he planned to say. Instead, he reached out and touched the cluster of grapes again, quiet.
“James?” she prodded.
“I’m dealing with it right now,” he finally said. “Touring the place and…”
“Tasting the wine.”
He angled his head and gave her a wry smile. “You want me to break my personal code for the sake of a sip of white wine.”
“Not any white wine. This is Pietro Fiorduva, which has won the coveted Tre Bicchieri award five years in a row,” she said. “You may never taste anything quite like it again.”
He stared at her for a long time, not answering, studying her face intently, and she could feel her argument losing ground in the face of his determination. He had to taste the wine, she thought. He wouldn’t experience Pietro if he didn’t taste the wine.
Before he could answer, she leaned a little closer.
“James,” she whispered.
“Why do I feel another tour guide speech coming on?”
Because it was. Undaunted, she looked right into his eyes. “I promise nothing so perfect will touch your lips while you are in Italy.”
A shadow of a smile curved those very lips, and he surprised her by moving his hand from the grapes to her face. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb, sending a thousand chill bumps up her arms and down her spine.
“Don’t be so sure of that, Kyra.”
For a long moment, the only thing she was aware of was…him. Not the crystal-clean air laden with the earthy scent of the vineyard or the brush of a breeze over the grape leaves. Just sexy James Brannigan who was…flirting with her. Pretty damn hard.
He finally tipped his head toward the house. “I guess one taste won’t hurt.”
“No,” she agreed on a sigh. “It won’t hurt at all.”
In fact, it might feel really, really good.
Chapter Six
James rolled over on the plush king-sized bed, suddenly, viciously wide awake. Must have been the damn wine. There was a reason he didn’t touch the stuff, and this was it.
But he hadn’t had enough of the liquid-gold silk they called Fiorduva or the deep, ruby rosso—even though he had agreed to taste every one of the award-winning vintages they’d put in front of him—to feel the effects.
No, this wasn’t a drinker’s three a.m. wake-up call, though that was the precise time on the screen of his cell phone. Nor was this jet lag, something he rarely suffered, anyway.
James pushed up and frowned into the darkness.
This was…loss of control. He knew this out-of-sorts ache of frustration that plagued him down to the bones. He didn’t feel in control of this whole situation.
For instance, what kept him from looking Lorenzo Sebastiani in the eye last night and telling him exactly what he’d planned to tell him: I’m selling this winery. Something had stopped him.
Was it uncertainty? Doubt? Or was it a blond sprite who made him laugh and drink wine and ride a scooter through sun-washed hills and think about…sex?
That was another aspect that felt a little out of his control. The low-grade hum of want that buzzed through him when he was near Kyra. And now, when he wasn’t.
He threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, snapping the waistband of the boxers he’d slept in, but not bothering to find anything else to wear. He walked into the wide hallway of the suite, following it into the expanse of the luxurious living room lit only by moonlight pouring in through a set of double French doors that led to the balcony.
Pushing them open, he stepped outside to a full moon high over the Mediterranean Sea and the glittering lights from the homes and buildings on the mountainside. A few yachts bobbed along the black horizon, the dark water glinting like it had been dusted with diamonds.
But he barely saw the view. In fact, he closed his eyes and the only thing he saw were bright blue eyes rimmed in dark lashes, pearly white teeth, and dimples so deep and cute he just wanted to…taste them.
Oh holy hell, he was going to make a decision this big with his dick? So he met a hot woman who made him act a little out of character. Hell, it was Italy. People went crazy here, with the food and wine and moon and flowers. Look what happened to Dad. One trip and the son of a bitch bought a winery.
But it wasn’t just her. It was them. The whole lot of noisy, drinky, happy Italians who’d built a world around Villa Pietro. They reminded him of…Brannigans.
Old Brannigans. Before Mom died.
Not that the families were anything alike, but there was an unspoken unity, something he could interpret in any language. They were a strong family, he could tell. What would the sale of the winery do to them?
Nothing, he reminded himself. They’d all be well compensated. He’d make sure Whitehouse took care of the people who’d taken care of the winery. Lorenzo would have a retirement fund, and Antonio would have money for the baby girl when she was…
“Good Lord,” he muttered, leaning against the balcony. What the hell was wrong with him? It was this place. It made him crazy. It made him worry about people he’d known for less than twelve hours.
What he needed was someone to make him sane. Someone to talk some sense into him and remind him that he could do whatever the hell he wanted with the legacy his father left.
“Gabe,” he murmured, turning to go back to the bedroom to get his phone. “Gabe gets it.” And it was six in the evening in California, so his brother should be available.
He picked up his phone, surprised to see a text had come in while he’d been on the balcony. He tapped the screen an
d cursed the little jolt of surprise at the first words. Surprise and pleasure. Of course, he’d given Kyra a number to contact him but hadn’t expected that contact to be made at three in the morning.
We’re hosting a special tour tomorrow for a small group from the States. Would you join us? It will be different from today and we thought it would be good for you to see how well our tourist business runs. She added a little happy-face emoji and a cluster of grapes. And a thumbs-up. And a glass of red wine, the Italian flag, the American flag, a scooter, a sun with a face, and a little pink heart.
And what did he do?
He smiled.
At emojis. He couldn’t think of a single person he texted who used those things, or imagine why the sight of them would amuse him. But that’s what Kyra did. She amused him. And, he thought, aroused him.
He couldn’t let that cloud his thinking. Without responding to her text, he called the brother he was closest to, both in age and temperament. Hunter, Gabe’s twin, might be the same age, but sharing a birthday was all those two had in common.
Gabe picked up on the first ring. “James, you son of a bitch. Where are you?”
The greeting didn’t surprise him, but there was something different in Gabe’s voice that he’d noticed for the last few months. Must be his new wife who made him sound less focused and driven.
“Positano, Italy.”
“Sounds glamorous. And, what the hell? Has to be the middle of the night there.”
James headed back to the balcony, drawn to the fresh air and mystical view. “Dead middle. Three a.m. and I can’t sleep.”
“Since when does Perfect James sleep?” he joked, using the brothers’ favorite nickname for him. “Hong Kong markets open up in half an hour. You should be getting your next deal lined up, slacker. Is something up?”
“Why didn’t you sell the ranch?” James asked, the question coming out with unexpected speed and urgency. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted an answer to that until now.
Gabe didn’t hesitate. “I told you when you were out here for our wedding. Josephine and I are fixing it up. It’s a cool project, making it new. And get this. I spent the weekend redoing that tree house. Do you remember the one Dad built, and Mom spent hours making those damn curtains? Remember how we teased her? Like seven boys cared about curtains.”
James closed his eyes, blocking out the moon-washed water for another beautiful image in his head. Mom, talking around pins clamped between her lips, hanging blue and white curtains over the windows that really existed for the sole purpose of bracing a toy gun aimed at another brother. But Mom insisted that the tree house have curtains.
“Why would you fix that thing up?” James asked. “I mean, unless you’ve come to your senses and are selling that property, which is worth a small fortune.”
His brother laughed softly. “Don’t need or want a small fortune, and this ranch has too many good memories.”
Memories? Of noisy boys and missing fathers and disappearing mothers? “Since when did memories matter to you, Gabe?”
“They matter. And Josephine and I plan to make even more.”
“Really.” James tried to visualize his brother in his usual habitat—in a suit, game face on, behind a desk, juggling at least four high-end real estate deals, keeping an eye on his ever-growing bank account.
When Gabe didn’t respond, James wondered if they’d lost the call. “You there?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just walking out to the koi pond to give something to Josephine.”
The koi pond? “Quitting work early today?” James asked.
“Oh hell, I blew today off. We rode horses half the day.”
What? “Why?”
“Uh, because I felt like it, and it was fun. Hey, I’m going to see Knox and Erin tonight before they leave for Yosemite. Did you know they’re going up to visit Luke and Lizzie? You should call us later, and we can all talk.”
What the hell? Since when did they do family group chats? Family anything other than Gabe’s wedding last year, and a lackluster email chain that he barely looked at.
“No calls, I’m too busy,” James said. “But, listen, I still want to know what was it about the deal on the ranch and the real reason you didn’t sell. I never knew you to pass up a payoff like that, Gabe.”
“I told you the real reason.…” His voice drifted off. Was he at the koi pond again? James’s frustration grew, which was weird with Gabe. He was the only one of all six brothers who thought and acted just like James. And now? James didn’t know who Gabe was anymore. Riding horses in the middle of a workday. Had marriage changed him that much?
Something had.
“Never mind,” James said, pushing up from the chair he’d taken.
“No, I want to tell you,” Gabe said. “I already have more money than I know what to do with. God knows, you do, too, but, stick with me now, okay?”
Maybe. Maybe not. “Okay.”
“Coming here showed me a side of Dad I’d forgotten existed. Do you remember him happy?”
James didn’t answer, closing his eyes for a second to try to picture Colin Brannigan happy.
“He was once,” Gabe continued. “He was happy when Mom was here with us.”
Yes, he was. Everyone was. The whole damn family.
“A piece of him died when she did, James. I didn’t see that until I came back here. I understand now that there was more to him. And, there are some things you can’t put a price on, you know? I think…”
“Yeah?” James asked when Gabe dragged that thought out too long.
“I think Dad wanted me to know that.”
James looked skyward. Gabe wasn’t helping at all. “Speaking of prices, I’m here in Italy saddled with this winery and I know he wanted me to get the best possible price for it. So, I wondered if there were some legalities or fine-print issues that stopped you from doing the same thing with the ranch.”
Gabe laughed again, not his old, wry laugh, either. This was warmer. “No fine print, bro. I found someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, and this ranch will always be part of our story. My children will ride ATVs up and down the trails just like we did.”
His children? What the hell?
“Give the winery a chance,” Gabe said, oblivious to James’s shock. “Something you want might be there.”
“There’s nothing I want here.” Except one hella hot woman. “I’ll figure it out,” he finally said. “I already have an offer for the place.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Nothing’s stopping me.”
“So, keep me posted,” Gabe said. “And I’ll tell Knox you said hi.”
“Except I didn’t. How is that little rebel?”
“Hasn’t been little for a long time, big brother, and he’s not much of a rebel anymore. Call him sometime. It’s important that we all talk.”
James looked at the phone, wondering if he’d somehow called the wrong man. “Sure thing, Gabe. Thanks.”
“You bet. Stay in touch.”
When he hung up, he stared at that emoji-filled text again, still rooting around for a sense of control that he couldn’t find.
Thanks for nothing, Gabe.
He strode back to the bedroom, turned on the light, and stood at the long desk that he’d already loaded with papers and his laptop, lifting the Whitehouse Wineries documentation. Flipping the file open, he narrowed his eyes at the price they’d offered.
“Shit,” he murmured. “That place?” It was worth fifty percent more than the dollar amount on the page. All that land. Those incredible cellars. The equipment and pergolas and stair-step vineyards and…family.
He swallowed and shook his head. Who the hell agreed to a price that low? They were giving that property away, and that was not how James rolled at the negotiation table.
He flipped through the supporting documentation that he hadn’t even really studied. Things were missing, or bare-bones. T
his wouldn’t do at all. He didn’t know Dad’s sideways logic for giving him this winery, and maybe he never would. But he was James Brannigan, and that meant he took control and made a huge profit. And with this deal, he would demand both, even if it prolonged the process a little.
Picking up his phone, he ignored Kyra’s text and sent another one to William Hayward, the business manager he’d hired to handle the winery and its sale.
Go back to the negotiation table with Whitehouse. I’m raising the price. Get me the description of liens, a discretionary earnings and cash flow statement, supplier and distribution contracts, financial ratios and trends, an asset depreciation schedule by tomorrow. I’ll review those and set a new price.
Then he went back to bed, knowing he’d sleep now.
Chapter Seven
Kyra woke a few hours after sunrise and donned one of her favorite dresses for the busy day with tourists that lay ahead. Tourists and…James?
She checked her phone again as she finished scrunching her curls and applying a bit of makeup, thinking about the invitation she’d sent in the middle of the night. And the fact that he’d ignored it.
Now what? He’d left yesterday with a vague promise that he’d be back, or Lorenzo would hear from someone in his company. Did that mean James was leaving? After one dinner? Yes, it had been warm and delightful, and he’d seemed to relax, especially after the tasting.
She liked him relaxed, she thought as she slipped on some sandals. The man was hot no matter what his mood, she couldn’t deny that. She got lost a few times in those smoky dark eyes that seemed to linger on her for one heartbeat too long. His hair was thick and dark, but had the occasional golden streak that made her want to reach out and grab a handful. He was muscular and strong, but even at six feet or so, he moved with the grace of a man who had complete control over his body.
He did, she reminded herself. Control over everything. Including this winery.
James Brannigan was very sexy in that New York businessman with oodles of money and too much power kind of way.
A type that didn’t interest her in the least.