Aghast at the state of her family’s legacy when she first toured the winery, she’d spent a full million to refurbish the vineyard, the house and the winery proper. In addition, she’d hired a manager well-versed in viticulture to tend the grapes and make wine for Red Canyon Vineyards.
Quint’s offer astounded her. Seven million for a property she had refurbished for little more than a tenth of that figure? She didn’t know what to say.
He remained silent. He ate his steak in slow measured bites and sampled his cabernet in equal degrees of quiet observation.
She glanced out the window.
The restaurant fronted a courtyard emblazoned with colorful Mexican tiles. She could hear the splash of water from the large central fountain. The sycamore trees stood like proud guardians in the summer air, the leaves dancing in the breeze.
She settled her elbow on the table and let her chin rest in her hand but she still looked outside. “Seven,” she whispered. “That would be something.” She would be a fool to turn down seven.
“It could mean a different life,” he suggested, “or the one you have but better.”
She turned to him and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Quint. Even though I don’t yet have a meaningful connection to the winery, I just know this isn’t the time for me to sell. Red Canyon Vineyards is part of my family history. My ancestors were winemakers in Germany before they pioneered in this area. Besides, I haven’t even moved in and I’m looking forward to furnishing my new house.
“Maybe I’ll feel differently at some point down the road, but I don’t want to sell to you or anyone right now.”
“I may not be willing to offer seven million in the morning.”
She chuckled. “I can’t say that I care. Maybe I should but I don’t.”
He sipped his wine again. “Would you at least show me the property? Maybe I’ve got the wrong view of this.”
She searched his eyes. Did he believe what he said or did he use this kind of ploy to keep a deal in play? No doubt the latter.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She resumed eating her dinner. She didn’t want more memories of him, especially not at her winery. The taste of the chicken, however, distracted her from the stress of the conversation. The chef was a genius.
He cut another thick slice of filet. Silence fell for a few minutes until Quint whispered, “I’m seeing that face again.”
She gasped. “Would you stop?”
He chuckled. “You’re too pretty to be owning a winery I want to buy. It’s not fair of you.”
She tilted her head. “I feel so bad for you.”
He chuckled again. “This meal is perfect. Thank you for directing us here.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Carly, I know I don’t have the right to ask, but would you show me your winery anyway, as a favor?”
This also had to be a ploy, to ask a favor. Where did this place future obligation? Did a favor bind him to her, or the other way around?
She wanted to say no. The words rose to her lips, but he was so handsome sitting across from her that without warning, memories flooded her mind of all the ways he’d tended to her body.
Her stomach tightened into a knot of desire so powerful she struggled to breathe.
Tell him no.
Her gaze fell once more to his lips. She had loved the night she’d spent with him and though she had no intention of repeating the event, her entire being strained toward him. She wanted just a little more time with him before she packed him off to Phoenix.
Maybe it was a mistake, surely it was a mistake. “All right. If that’s what you want. But I’m not selling.”
The minute she saw his self-satisfied smile, she knew she’d made another rookie mistake.
Chapter Three
The next day, Carly met Quint at the winery. She wore her tour guide outfit, basic blue jeans, a long-sleeved light blue heavy cotton shirt, suede gloves tucked into her belt, and Timberline shoes. She left her hat in her Acura.
She introduced him to John Young, her winery manager. Quint surprised her by asking a host of questions, which John answered in simple terms…at first. But the more Quint exhibited his knowledge of the winemaking process, the more elaborate John’s responses became. Soon, John’s enthusiasm took over like a train gathering speed until he launched into a rhapsodic speech about the new grape crusher he’d installed.
Carly understood a little more about Quint’s abilities. She suspected he could get a scorpion to talk about the fascinating aspects of desert nightlife and which insects tasted best. She felt duly warned yet intrigued at the same time.
“Young’s a good man,” he stated as they left the winery and crossed to the house. “But I suspect you already know that.”
“Yeah, I do. When I interviewed him, with just a few pointed questions, he became the Superman of the grape world.” She opened the front door to the house, punched in the alarm code then led him inside the empty dwelling.
He whistled. “You’ve got some great bones here. I love all the arches. This is a terrific foyer and you’ve put a beautiful wood on the floor.”
“I had an excellent architect and an experienced builder. I also have a good friend who’s been working on the interior design for me as well. Grace Hartley. She’s such a sweetheart and boy does she have an eye. We’ll be going over the final details soon. It won’t be long before we start putting in orders for the furniture and drapes. Then I can move in.”
“You must be looking forward to that.”
“I am. It’ll be different. I’ve lived in the Uptown house for years. I know I’ll miss the location. I sort of like being in the middle of things.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I’ll bet you do. You’re the kind of man who’s never far from the action.”
Maybe she could have chosen her words better, but before she knew what happened, Quint pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Surprise held her immobile for a few seconds after which her traitorous senses became fixed on savoring his lips, his tongue, and that citrus-laced musky smell of his.
All those exciting memories raced through her. He groaned and pulled her closer so that she felt his erection pressed into her abdomen. So help her, she wanted more. Now.
Reality soon took charge, however. She recalled the danger he presented and drew away. When he closed the distance once more, she planted her hands on his chest. “Not gonna happen, Mr. Barron.”
His lids had gone half-mast.
“Are you always this ready to go?” she asked, amused.
He shook his head, his gaze dropping to her lips. He was so handsome. “You’ve got me worked up.”
“How is that possible?” she asked keeping a firm pressure on his chest.
“Just look at you,” he responded. He dipped his head toward her. His nostrils flared. “Beyond that, you know what you smell like? The way ancient seas would smell, like salty ocean air, pungent seaweed, mixed with a floral of some kind. Every time I get close to you, it’s like a five-alarm fire.”
“Ancient seas? Buildings consumed in flames?”
His voice roughened. “Every damn time.”
Now he was using his words to get her worked up.
He shifted his hands and what do you know her arms gave way a little. He leaned closer until his breath was on her cheek. His tongue streaked over her skin.
This wouldn’t have been significant if she hadn’t already slept with him. But she knew all too well what his tongue felt like on just about every part of her body. He’d been generous like that. Very generous.
The simple trip out to the winery started piling up monsoon clouds and threatening lightning and thunder. Her hands turned Benedict Arnold and slid north, up around his neck. She knew his neck really well. She’d sucked on it until he’d come. When had that been? Around three in the morning? Without thinking about what she was doing, she settled in on the citrusy column of his throat now. He groaned so loud
that it echoed down the long empty hallway.
“I remember,” he whispered.
* * * * * * * * *
Quint slid his hands low and caressed her buttocks. He was so close to coming and all he’d done was lick her face and now she suckled his neck.
Who was in charge, anyway?
He struggled to gain control of himself but her mouth, so familiar, knew how to work him.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “We should throttle down.”
“You started it,” she said, but she drew back and blinked up at him.
He’d seen that look over and over the night they’d been together—passion-drenched. He closed his eyes trying not to remember. He shook his head then looked at her again. God she was beautiful. He released her waist and turned just a little to stare through the living room window into the central courtyard beyond.
His heart thumped and his mind swam with strange ideas that involved keeping her pinned to his side. But this was crazy, this sudden inexplicable longing. Why the hell did she affect him this way, making him think not just of today but of many days, months even, things he never thought about, never considered beyond a snort and a laugh.
He drew in a deep breath. He was a sensible man. He prided himself on his ability to reason. He reasoned now. He didn’t do long-term relationships. He kept his love-life simple—sex, done. Women were another species, which he enjoyed, but he’d learned to keep them in their proper place…bed and nowhere else.
The longing passed.
He felt better, more like himself, but he still wanted her…yeah, like now.
He met her gaze again, those glittering brown eyes full of desire.
Her lips worked at a smile. She cocked her head. “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Was she taunting him?
Was she taunting him?
His body responded to the challenge like the recoil of a whip. He took a step toward her. “You might want to be careful about the darts you pitch at me.” He took another step toward her, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders hunched.
She jumped back. “Okay. I get it.”
He turned away from her and took some more deep breaths. “How many square feet in this house?” He wondered if he’d ever feel normal again.
“A little under five thousand.”
“Planning on a big family?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“But no husband in sight?”
“Nope.”
She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the question.
“How about you?” she asked. “Plans for a wife and children? After all, a man with an empire needs to leave it to someone.”
He shook his head. “Never had the smallest desire to marry or go the rug-rat route. When I’m dead, the state can take it all. Don’t care.”
* * * * * * * * *
Carly heard a thousand statements in his voice that made her want to ask another thousand questions, like who was Quint Barron that he lived such a solitary life without even the smallest interest in a family? She caught a glimpse then and there of something that must have gone wrong in his young years, something that still hounded him as though he ran through the woods with chains on his ankles and black-and-white stripes on his shirt and pants.
She sighed. She didn’t want to start thinking of him in these terms. Sympathy would so not help her right now.
She drifted away from him and moved down the long arched hallway to the great-room. The kitchen gleamed, all mahogany wood and stainless steel appliances, a beautiful dark wavy rust granite on every surface.
On the island, opposite a good size breakfast nook, her album sat. When Quint appeared at the end of the hall, she waved him forward. “Want to see some extensive befores and afters?”
“Sure.”
She flipped through the pages at a slow pace, evidence of all the labor the house had been for her, but also the joy. She showed him everything, the bulldozer phase, the vineyard reparations, the reconstruction of the winery that allowed many of the original brick walls to be retained within the new structure. She held nothing back. She wanted him to see her delight in the process and how much thought she’d given to every detail.
When she closed the book, he shook his head. “You did an amazing job. You this thorough with everything you do?”
“I guess I am.”
“Want to work for me?”
She caught her breath. She shouldn’t be so flattered but she smiled anyway. “Thank you for that, Quint, but I’m not interested, not one little bit.”
“I’m good to my employees.”
She just looked at him for a long moment then said, “I own a Jeep tour company and one day I hope to own more businesses. Like you, I kind of like being the boss.”
He got that half-lidded look again. She took a good step backward.
He laughed. “Am I that obvious?”
“I know some of your signs and when your eyelids droop, your hands and mouth tend to get busy really fast.”
He smiled then his eyes narrowed. “This will go a lot better for you, if you just sell the winery to me outright.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a warning. You need to know something about me, Carly, I always get what I want.” He held her gaze. “And I want your winery.”
His eyes darkened to an almost steely color and he didn’t smile. Carly felt a cold shrinking sensation throughout her entire body, like if she was smart she would shrivel to the size of a piece of dust and disappear between the floor-boards.
Intimidation.
Like she would let him get away with that.
She forced herself to breathe, to draw one breath right after the other, until that shrunken part of her re-inflated. Heat returned to her limbs and a new kind of fire burned in her veins. She felt a sudden need to open her mouth and let a string of expletives fly.
Instead, she held that powerful sensation tight in her chest and searched for the words she needed to send right back to him. At last, she said, “I once hiked twenty miles in rough terrain just to prove to myself I could do it. My feet hurt a little afterward and I had a couple of blisters the size of Texas, but that was all.”
His expression softened and his eyes returned to their usual Sedona blue. Her chest swelled. She felt all his other intentions once more pour from his body in heavy waves.
“Game on, then.”
“What game?” she responded, laughing. “I’m not selling my winery. E. O. S.” She slapped the album closed, drew the keys from her pocket. “Tour’s over, Quint. Time to head out.”
A few minutes later, she watched the last swirling dust from his speeding BMW drift into the desert. She had lived in Sedona a long time and had known a number of rich, powerful men. Sedona was one of those places where the wealthy tended to congregate and often retired.
But she had never met a man like Quint Barron before. He turned drive into a four-letter word. At least he’d warned her of his intentions but she honestly didn’t see how he could get her winery if she refused to sell it to him.
She climbed into her Acura and headed back to Uptown. She put Quint out of her mind at least for now. With any luck, he’d get sidetracked with one of his other projects and forget all about her insignificant winery. Of course, given what she knew about him, that would be as likely as a rattlesnake learning to smile.
Well, she wouldn’t think about that. She had a business to run and she needed to visit her friend, Martin Simms, to firm up her purchase of his Sedona Widows Board and Care Home, a house that had been converted in the eighties to provide independent living for low-income women. She was close now to making an offer on the large house that had for years been the domicile of eight elderly widows who lived on subsistence income. Most had been residents for over a decade.
When she told Quint she intended to own other businesses, the board and care home would be her first purchase. Not that she intended to turn a profit. This home had become mo
re of a mission than anything, her way of giving back to the community. Still, she took great pride in the fact that her careful management of her Jeep tour business as well as the budgeting of her unexpected inheritance had made the venture possible.
* * * * * * * * *
As Quint headed back to town, he turned the winery dilemma over and over in his head. He had a lot of respect for Carly, even more so after meeting her winery manager and after seeing the album detailing her renovation process. However, none of that altered his goal. If anything, he wanted the winery more than ever.
He’d been serious about the job offer. Carly had the goods and he knew it but something about that set his blood on fire all over again. Just thinking about her made his abs tighten. He sucked a breath through gritted teeth.
His thoughts ran amuck. He pictured her naked and in bed, in his bed, in his Scottsdale bed. He thought about waking up with her and taking her again, of coming home after work and taking her back to that bed, of being with her in that bed all weekend.
What was he thinking? Why did she have the power to press his thoughts into the future?
He had to get a grip.
Don’t think about Carly.
Think winery and investments.
The deal. The Napa deal. That’s why he was here.
Okay.
He could breathe again.
His gut told him that the beautiful red rock canyon country of Sedona was the right place to get any number of deals done. The house as well, built around a small central courtyard, had all the elements he wanted for setting the stage for getting new business; size, which always mattered, architectural interest, vineyard cachet, and location near excellent shopping, a well-respected art world, fine restaurants and four-star hotels.
Waiting to turn south, he watched a crowded Jeep roll by. The door of the vehicle had a logo showing a Jeep leaping over a boulder, Carly’s logo. He smiled. He respected her for taking a job and turning it into a business, a competitive one at that. She had guts and stamina. She drove a Jeep with demanding gears up a bumpy hard-bitten road. No doubt she worked every day, like he did, taking rest and pleasure when it came but not often. He made his turn and headed south toward I-17, back toward Phoenix.