“I don’t know how we ever ended up together in the first place.”

She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. When would she learn not to wave the red flag in front of the bull just because she was angry?

Jack’s eyes lit alarmingly and traced a path down her body, leaving her skin tingling again in their wake. A slow half-smile crossed Jack’s face. “Oh, I think you remember why, Bren,” he said quietly. “I know I do.”

She was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. A rush of desire slammed into her, making her knees wobble and her heart beat faster. He traced a finger over her collarbone and down the top of her arm. A shiver moved through her.

“We’ve always had this…”

Sex wouldn’t solve anything. It never had, she reminded herself. They’d been down this path many, many times. Fight bitterly, then have fabulous make-up sex. It never made anything better.

She had to remember that. No matter how much her body begged to differ. No matter how strong the ache was.

No matter how much she wanted him.

Dear Reader

I’ve been turning this story over in my head since a trip to San Francisco in 2008. We took a drive through wine country, and I was so taken with the scenery I knew I had to set a book there. I spent the plane ride home plotting and planning.

But then Jack and Brenna came to life. They were such strong characters that my plan for the story went out of the window as they took over. Sparks flew—and not just between Brenna and Jack! I know: sane people don’t normally argue with the fictional beings they have created. But this was their story, and they weren’t about to comply with just any old plot. This book allowed me to grow as a writer, and the end result is much better than I planned on that long-ago plane ride.

I had to learn a lot about wine for this story, and I’m very thankful to have had two very knowledgeable sources to help me out with the details of wine-making: Frank LaFoon of LaFoon Vineyards, and Karen Hand of the Blue Sky Vineyard. Frank grows amazing grapes, and Karen makes wonderful wines—Brenna would definitely like both of them!

My first book was released a year ago this month, and it’s been an amazing and incredible year. I’ve learned so much and had a fabulous time! I thank all of you who have taken the time to write and let me know how much you’ve enjoyed my books—those e-mails brought home the fact this was all real, not just some really cool dream.

All the best

Kimberly

Kimberly Lang hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily ever after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama, with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.

Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!

Recent titles by the same author:

MAGNATE’S MISTRESS…ACCIDENTALLY EXPECTING!

THE MILLIONAIRE’S MISBEHAVING MISTRESS

THE SECRET MISTRESS ARRANGEMENT

Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks!

By

Kimberly Lang

MILLS & BOON ®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for my mom:

If books are like children, then this book was me at

fifteen: headstrong, occasionally wilful, and not afraid

to do its own thing. But, based on your example, I just

kept faith in it, and it turned out to be fabulous and

totally worth it in the end (hopefully also like me!).

I love you, Mom. Thanks for putting up with me.

Chapter One

“THEY’RE ready, Brenna. I’ll call Marco and tell him to have the crews here in the morning.”

“It’s too soon.” Brenna double-checked the number on the refractometer in shock. No one else in Sonoma had grapes ripe this early; that was for sure. “We should have a couple of more weeks, at least.”

“You doubt me?” Ted’s affront was only partially feigned, and, though they’d been friends and coworkers for years, Brenna rushed to smooth the ruffled feathers of her viticulturist.

“Not at all. No one knows these vines better than you. I’m surprised, that’s all.”

Placated, Ted popped a grape into his mouth and chewed, a small, blissful smile crossing his face. “Obviously these grapes like our sunny summers and this drought. You just don’t want to harvest in the heat.”

“True.” But that was only part of it. The new tanks had only arrived last week and were stacked haphazardly around the building. The main pump was still being temperamental, and there was so much paperwork left to do…and…and…she needed those couple of extra weeks just to finish getting her head together. She wasn’t ready to start the crush right now.

Brenna looked at the vines, all heavy with ripe fruit—fruit that wasn’t going to hold on while she adjusted to the new situation at a leisurely pace. Amante Verano Cellars was her responsibility now.

Well, mostly.

Ready or not, these grapes were coming in. She knew what to do; she’d been doing it her entire life. But she’d never done it alone. That responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders.

“I just wish Max were here.” The sigh in Ted’s voice brought her back to reality with a jerk.

“I know. These vines were Max’s ticket to wineworld domination—or at the very least a gold medal.” She smiled weakly at Ted as her inspection of the grapes digressed to aimless fiddling. “He really should be here for this. It’s not fair.” She blinked back the tears threatening to escape again. She couldn’t fall apart in front of Ted—or anyone else. Max would expect her to solider on, and everyone at Amante Verano needed to believe she had this under control. “Call Marco. We’ll have the first grapes in the tank by tomorrow night.”

They walked up the hill together, stopping occasionally to test the sugars and make notes on the grapes on different acres. The other vines were being slightly more predictable in their timelines. Another two weeks—give or take—and they’d be ready. September would be high-gear time.

“Have you talked to Jack yet?” Ted asked the question too quietly, too casually.

Her heart thumped in her chest at the mention of his name. “Not since the funeral, and then only for a minute.” And that had been awkward and difficult, not to mention painful on more levels than she cared to admit. She’d exchanged condolences, shaken his hand and left. End of story.

“Does he know?”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. Max’s lawyer called me to explain the partnership and what it meant, and I have to assume Jack was the first to know.”

“And?” Ted was the first to brave asking the question she knew was on everyone’s mind.

“There is no ‘and.’ I’m sure Jack has his hands full with the hotels, and the lawsuit against the driver that hit Max’s car, and everything else, so we’ve got to be pretty low on the priority list.” Max’s death had left them all scrambling these last few weeks, just trying to sort out the wide range of Max’s businesses and projects. In a way it had helped her grieve as well; she hadn’t been able to lose herself in her grief as she’d wanted to, and the pain seemed a little easier to deal with when she could concentrate on keeping Max’s beloved winery running smoothly.

Ted didn’t look relieved.

“After the crush I’ll make an appointment with the lawyers and we’ll get it all sorted out.” She patted his shoulder fondly. “Go on home. We’ve got several very busy days ahead of us.”

“In other words, I should see my daughter while I can?”

“Yep.” The crush would give them all something to focus on. And when it was over she would have proved to everyone she was more than capable of shouldering the responsibility Max left her.

“Do you want to come to the house for dinner? You know you’re always welcome, and Dianne will happily feed you.”

It was tempting, very tempting, but she really needed to learn to cope on her own. Dianne had been mothering her way too much in the weeks since Max had died, and she needed to be strong now. She needed to be a grown-up. “Thanks, but no. Give my goddaughter a kiss for me, though, okay?”

“Will do.” With a wave, Ted was gone, leaving her standing in the shadow of the main house alone, while his long legs covered the distance to the little house quickly. She could see the lights on upstairs in the apartment over the wine shop, which he shared with Dianne and baby Chloe.

She’d left a light on in the house as well, because she hadn’t gotten used to coming home to a silent and dark house yet. She wondered if she ever would. Maybe after the craziness of the crush was over she’d get a puppy. It would keep her company, make the house feel less empty, and give her someone to talk to when she got home at night.

Her footsteps echoed in the hallway as habit directed her toward the office—just her office now, since Max was gone—where the winery’s paperwork waited for her. As always, the work gave her something to do, a way to fill the long evenings.

Pressing “play” on the stereo filled the room with music and chased the dreadful silence away. Max’s huge desk dominated the space, and she turned her chair away from his empty one as she tried to focus on the invoices and orders that kept her inbox overflowing no matter how much time she spent on them.

But her usual focus wouldn’t come. Ted’s earlier question had brought everything she was trying so hard to repress right back to the forefront of her mind.

Amante Verano would make it to the top of Jack’s to-do list eventually, and she had no idea how she’d handle that once it did. Avoidance—her time-honored and safe way of dealing with anything Jack-related—wasn’t going to work this time. She had to make this work, because she couldn’t run a business if she couldn’t talk to her business partner.

The thought of Jack brought up all kinds of feelings she didn’t want to deal with. Their history was just too complicated to pretend it didn’t exist. Max had been her mentor, her friend, her surrogate father, and she, Max, and her mom had been a happy—if slightly oddly configured—family. Jack, not solely by his choice, had never been a part of that. Add in their private history, and the whole mess would put any soap opera plot to shame.

But she’d have to meet with Jack eventually. The thought kicked her heartbeat up a notch, and all the cleansing breaths in the world couldn’t help calm it. She needed to be an adult about this. She needed to concentrate on the present and not let the past interfere.

Her glib response to Ted was starting to sound pretty good: a meeting on neutral ground, with lawyers doing most of the talking so she wouldn’t have to. This was business, not personal, and surely she could swallow all the competing emotions long enough to get through a business meeting.

Many years ago Jack had told her how important it was to keep her personal life from rolling over into her business dealings. “Don’t ever let one affect the other,” he’d said. It was a major point of pride with him, and it seemed to work well as he expanded Garrett Properties all down the west coast.

Jack would want to keep this strictly business. If she could do that, it would make things a lot easier. For everyone, but most especially for her and her sanity.

Brenna took a deep breath, feeling a little better after her self-therapy session. They could come to a workable situation. One that was business only and ignored all the messiness of the past.

The fact she’d been crazy enough to marry him once wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Jack sincerely hoped insanity didn’t run in the family. That Max’s will was merely an act of early-onset senility caused by too much wine over the years, or even some kind of weird joke on Max’s part. There had to be an explanation, and he’d love to have just five minutes with his father to find out what the punch line was supposed to be.

Otherwise, insanity was the only explanation he had for the fact he now owned half of a winery in Sonoma. Him personally—not the company.

And the other half belonged to Brenna Walsh.

Brenna should be a footnote in his dating history—a cautionary tale about youthful infatuation and reckless decision-making—not a recurring character in his life.

Bad decisions must go hand-in-hand with anything Brenna-related, because he spent most of the drive out to Sonoma questioning his decision to handle this in person. His attorney, Roger, had offered to take care of it, but for some unknown reason, he felt this was a discussion he and Brenna should have face-to-face. The closer he got to the vineyard and Brenna, though, the more he realized this probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. God knew he had enough work on his desk waiting for him, and his trip to New York to negotiate the expansion of Garrett Properties should be his main focus right now, but he’d decided to get this off his plate first.

He rolled his eyes. He should have waited, gotten through more important, more pressing issues first, instead of letting his desire to cut ties with this place override his common sense.

The vines almost covering the sign welcoming him to Amante Verano had matured in the five years since he’d been out here for Brenna’s mother’s funeral, and grapes hung heavily from the canopy. As he turned on to the property the acres of vines laid out in perfectly aligned rows, the white stucco house at the top of the hill, and the weathered wooden winery building created a picturesque scene straight out of a movie’s stock footage file.

Change came slowly to Amante Verano—if it ever came at all—and it looked much the same as it had when Max had bought the winery twelve years ago.

That had been before Max’s hobby had turned into his obsession. Before he’d left San Francisco for good and moved out here full-time to play in his grapes. Before Jack had become the Garrett in charge of Garrett Properties and the responsibility had consumed his entire life.

He drove slowly past the little house—that was Brenna’s free and clear now, even if Max had converted it into the winery’s shop once Brenna and her mother had moved into the main house—and noted the gravel parking lot was empty. Well, it was still early in the day for the tourists on their trips to wine country.

Where to find Brenna? Her lab? The office? He just wanted this over and done with as quickly as possible, so he could get back to civilization and his life. This place hung like an albatross around his neck, and the sooner he could get Brenna’s signature on the documents, the better.

He didn’t even like wine, for God’s sake.

As he crested the next low hill he could see a tractor lumbering its way in the direction of the winery, the trailer overflowing with grapes.

He had never learned the intricacies of grapegrowing or wine-making, and what little he had picked up he’d tried hard to forget, but even he knew it was early for harvesting. A strange turn of events, but it answered his first question nicely.

Brenna would be somewhere in those damn vines.

He sighed. He could either trudge through the vineyard looking for her, or he could wait at the house until she was finished for the day.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered to himself.

Cursing the entire ridiculous situation, Jack took his overnight case and laptop into the house, dropped them in what had used to be his room, and headed down the hill on foot to find his ex-wife.

“Brenna, they need you at the building. The pump’s acting up again,” Ted called from the end of the row she was working on. “Rick kicked it and nothing happened, so he asked me to get you.”

Brenna sighed. The new pump was on backorder, and wouldn’t be here until sometime in the next couple of weeks. Which would have been in plenty of time for the crush if Ted’s grapes had kept to their usual timetable. “Did he kick it in the right place?”

Ted nodded. “Twice.”

Straightening, she slid her clippers into her back pocket and pulled off her gloves, before wiping a hand across her sweaty forehead. “Great. Exactly what I didn’t want to do today. Do you have this under control?”

“Of course. I didn’t need you out here to begin with,” he teased.

They didn’t have time for this, and they would only get further behind if she had to take the whole pump apart again. Beads of sweat rolled down her spine, and she grimaced at the feeling. At least she’d be out of the heat sooner than planned. She’d call Dianne and get her to bring a clean shirt along with their lunches.

She pulled her cellphone out of her other pocket, replacing it with her gloves. Dialing Dianne as she walked, she didn’t see the man who stepped into her path until she ran face-first into him. The force knocked her hat off her head, and the cellphone hit the dust at her feet.

“Sorry,” she said, as strong hands closed around her arms to steady her. In the split second that followed her brain registered the fine cotton shirt—far too nice for any of her guys to be wearing while they worked—the strangely familiar feeling of the man’s grasp, and the subtle spicy scent tickling her nostrils.

And then her brain shut down altogether as one thought crystallized: Jack.

“It’s a bit early to be harvesting, isn’t it, Brenna?”

His deep voice rumbled through her, causing her brain to misfire in shock, but the bite of sarcasm brought her world back into focus. Shrugging off his hands in what she hoped was a casual way, she tried to match his tone. “The grapes are ready when the grapes are ready. You should know that.”

She made the mistake of meeting his eyes when she spoke, and the smoky blue stare caused her to take a step back. She bent to retrieve her hat, but as she stood, she saw the assessing roaming those eyes made down her body, taking in her sweat-darkened T-shirt, battered jeans, and dusty work boots before settling back on her face.

She just hoped the flush she felt on her cheeks looked like a response to the heat of the sun, not the heat of his stare.

One of his dark eyebrows arched up at her in surprise as she captured her ponytail under her hat and pulled the brim down to shade her eyes.

“You really need a new hat, Brenna. That one’s seen better days.”

Damn it, he’d recognized it. Jack had bought her this hat—a silly gift from the early days of their relationship—and if she’d had even the smallest clue he’d show up she’d have left it at the house today. It was her favorite hat—wide brimmed and very comfortable—and she’d absolutely only kept it because it worked so well for her, not because it was a gift from him.

She hoped he didn’t think otherwise.

Brazening it out regardless, she lifted her chin. “It’s perfectly serviceable.” Shifting her weight onto her heels, she put her hands in her back pockets and tried to act normally, although she felt anything but normal. Her heart pounded in her chest and her palms felt clammy. Be an adult. “What brings you to Amante Verano, Jack?”

Her words seemed to amuse him. “I know the lawyer explained Max’s will to you. You had to be expecting me.”

“Actually, no. I was expecting another phone call from your lawyer—not a personal visit from you.” This was the longest conversation they’d had in over five years, and she wasn’t handling it well. She knew she sounded defensive and prickly.

“We don’t need lawyers for this.” He pulled a folded manila envelope from the back pocket of his jeans. “If we could go somewhere quiet—”

Somewhere quiet. Brenna’s knees wobbled a little bit at the rush of memories those two words brought. That summer after graduation, when finding “somewhere quiet” had always led to…

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.

Chapter Two

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 had never said anything to her face, but Brenna knew that deep down he had to blame her, to resent her for Jack’s absence and the breach in his relationship with his son.

She’d been trying to make that up to Max every day for the last ten years, at the very least by making his winery everything Max had wanted it to be. Even if he’d made it more difficult for her now, by bringing Jack into the mix. Rationally, she knew why Max had split the vineyard between them, but it was still a difficult situation to handle.

The confrontation in the vineyard with Jack still had her cringing. Could she have been more juvenile and defensive? In all of the possible scenarios she’d imagined, Jack accosting her in her vineyard with some crazy idea about selling to a stranger had never crossed her mind. Not to mention how totally unprepared she’d been to actually be that close to him again. It had taken her an hour just to calm down.

She turned off the water and sighed. If this wasn’t a disaster, she didn’t want to know what was. Amante Verano had always been the one stable pillar in her life, her haven, and now even that foundation was shaking. She needed some time to think. And food.

Her stomach was growling loudly by the time she’d dried off and slid into a clean pair of pajamas, so she left her hair to dry naturally and padded to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

Dianne, bless her, had left a plate in the fridge for her, and in less time than it took for her to pour a glass of wine her dinner was ready. She took her plate to the counter and grabbed the TV remote.

Just as she took the first bite Jack walked in, causing her to choke on Dianne’s homemade quiche.

A black sleeveless T-shirt exposed shoulder and arm muscles covered in a sheen of sweat. Gym shorts rode low on his hips, giving her a glimpse of tight abs between the hem of the shirt and the waistband as he reached into the cupboard for a glass and then filled it with water. Powerful thighs. Defined calves.

Mercy.

Oh, she remembered his body all too well—and far too frequently—but to have it displayed for her in reality had her coughing painfully as her mouth went dry and it became hard to chew. A look of concern crossed Jack’s face and he reached for her.

She did not need him touching her. Even if it was for the Heimlich maneuver. Waving him away, she swallowed with difficulty.

Jack offered her his water, and she waved that away as well; the thought of sharing his glass just seemed too familiar and intimate. She reached for her own glass, but the normally smooth wine burned her throat on the way down. She coughed one last time and willed herself under control.

It didn’t quite work, but at least she wasn’t choking now. She forced her eyes back to his face. “I see you found Max’s gym.”

“I did. Nice set-up you’ve got in there.” Jack’s eyebrows went up as he belatedly noted her pajamas, and Brenna felt a flush rise on her neck. Get real. They’re just pajamas. Boring ones at that. Just eat.

“Max seemed to think we needed one, but I never have understood why.” Stab, lift, bite, chew, swallow. “We tend to get our exercise the old-fashioned way around here.”

Don’t stare, for God’s sake.

“I remember.”

Jack leaned against the other side of the counter, and she could feel those blue eyes boring into her. She concentrated on eating, ignoring the impulse to take her plate to her room. The weight of his stare, though, got to be too much. “Must you watch me eat?”

“You’re a bit hostile tonight.” Calmly enough to make her even more jumpy, Jack lifted his glass and drank.

Mirroring his calm, she placed her fork carefully on her plate. “You expected something different?” She latched on to the easiest excuse, the one that was much easier to deal with. “You come storming out here, telling me you want to sell out—without any discussion at all—and I’m supposed to be happy about it? Get real, Jack.”

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he swiped at it, giving her another quick glimpse of his abs as his shirt rose. A familiar heat settled low in her belly. “You want reality? Good. We can skip past all the small talk and get straight down to business.”

His tone doused the heat nicely. Brenna straightened her spine and tried to pretend she was wearing more than a pair of thin cotton pajamas. “Business. Excellent. As you saw, we have an early set of grapes coming in—a hybrid vine Max and Ted have been babying along for the last couple of years. I’m going to make an excellent, yet deceptively simple white from them, and it’s going to put Amante Verano on the map.” She stood and moved around the counter, put her plate into the dishwasher. “I’ll be sure to let you know when it’s ready to taste.”

Jack hadn’t moved, and getting to the dishwasher had put her in close proximity to him. So close she caught his scent, reigniting that heat again. She tried to breathe shallowly through her mouth as she closed the machine and stood to face him.

“Brenna, don’t.”

Feigning innocence, she met his eyes. “Don’t what? Talk business?”

He crossed his arms across his chest casually, looking completely unruffled—to someone who didn’t know him, at least. She, however, knew better, and his next words confirmed it. “I could not care less what you’re doing with those grapes—or any of the grapes. I just want you to sign off on the sale.”

“In case I was unclear earlier, I’ll sign off when hell freezes over. You’re not selling half of this place to some stranger.”

In that same even tone—the one that meant he was only barely keeping his frustration with her in check—he asked, “Then what do you want, Brenna?”

“I want you to go back to San Francisco. Go run your empire and leave Amante Verano—” and me, she added silently “—alone.” The words came out in a rush, and she took a deep breath to stem the flow. “You can be a silent partner—just let us do our thing, and we’ll mail you a check for your share of the profits.”

“Profits?” He laughed, a mean humorless sound that stabbed her. “This place is nothing but a money pit. Without Max’s bankroll—”

“We had a couple of lean years, yes, but we’re about to turn a corner. Do you have any idea how long it takes for a winery to become profitable? Years, Jack. We’re nearly there, ahead of all our predictions.”

“I’ve seen your books, Bren.”

Bren. The nickname caught her off-guard, throwing her momentarily. “Then you know what I’m saying is true.”

“It doesn’t matter. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a winery?”

Her frustration was starting to build, and she wished she had the ability to control it like Jack. “It’s just a winery, for God’s sake, not a brothel.”

He snorted. “No, brothels are profitable.”

“And so are wineries. You just have to be patient. Not that you’d have any idea what that concept is like,” she added under her breath.

“Brenna…” Impatience tinged his voice, and the muscle in his jaw was working again.

Enough defense. Time to take offense. “Who’s being hostile now?”

“If I’m hostile, it’s only because you’re being completely unreasonable. Again.”

Talk about a time warp. Less than a day and they were already settling back into their fighting stances. Oh, she’d love to throw something at him. “Don’t start.”

His fingers tightened around his biceps. “I’d love to finish, actually.”

She took a step back. “Why are you so hot to sell? This is Max’s legacy.”

“Max’s legacy is Garrett Properties.”

There was that sting of the slap again. “So would you be so quick to sell off a piece of that?”

“If the price were right and the situation called for it, yes. It’s called business, Brenna.” He finally levered himself out of his casual lounging against the counter, and suddenly she felt as if she should keep something between them. This would be easier with a barrier keeping him from looming over her.

“There’s the difference, Jack. This is more than just a business for me. It’s more than a paycheck and a profit margin. It’s my home. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and you know that.”

“Really, Bren? This is what you want?”

The question shook her, but she fought not to let it show. Instead, she crossed her arms, copying his earlier casual stance. “Of course.”

Jack looked at her strangely, and she struggled to keep her face impassive. “Since when?”

Another memory slammed into her. Of course Jack would have to remember the one thing she’d hoped he would forget. “It’s been a while, Jack. People change.”

That damn eyebrow quirked up again. “Obviously.”

Don’t let this turn personal. Focus on the business. “I’ll buy you out.”

Jack looked at her in surprise. “You have that kind of money squirreled away someplace? I’m impressed, Bren.”

“Well, no.” She paced as she tried to think fast. “I can’t do it now, but I will eventually. Maybe a little at a time over the next few years…”

“I’m not shackling myself to this place indefinitely.”

That’s right. He was just as trapped as she was with this partnership. That knowledge gave her a little spurt of courage and she smiled. “Then we seem to be at a stalemate.” Oh, that had to bother him, and the narrowing of his eyes told her she was right. She could end the night on a high note. “I’m going to bed. I have to get up early to get the grapes in. Make yourself at home. Or, better yet, go home. We’re done here.”

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path of retreat. Once again she was too close to his body, and her libido reacted immediately. “No, we’re not.”

She needed distance to get her body back under control, needed quiet and space to figure out what she was going to do. “Move.”

“What? So you can stomp off again? Try to stall some more? Stave off the inevitable?”

She had to tilt her head back, but she met his hard stare. “Inevitable? Selling is inevitable? Hardly.”

“If you knew a thing about business, you’d know there’s no way this partnership can work as long as we’re at odds. You can sell now, or lose everything later.”

Cold prickles climbed her spine. “You wouldn’t. You’d never intentionally let a business—any business—fail. It’s not in your DNA.”

Jack stepped back, finally giving her the space she needed, and she inhaled in relief. The relief quickly faded, though, as he tossed down the gauntlet. “There’s a first time for everything, Brenna.”

The sobering knowledge of what he was threatening settled around her. Granted, he couldn’t sell without her approval, but he could certainly make it next to impossible for her to do business at all. That scenario had never occurred to her, but something in his eyes told her he could do it. Would do it. Easily. Her eyes burned at the thought, and she bit the inside of her mouth to distract herself with physical pain. She would not cry in front of him, not now. She couldn’t get her voice above a whisper, though, when she asked, “Do you hate me that much?”

His eyes raked over her before he answered. “It’s just business.”

Oh, no, this crossed a line, no matter what he tried to say.

“Go ahead and stomp off now, Bren, but think about what I’ve said. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Her knees were trembling, but Brenna tried hard to keep her head up as she left the kitchen. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she closed the door and leaned against it before her legs could give out completely.

She’d never seen Jack like that. Not even after their last fight, when she’d packed her bags while Jack had called a car to bring her back here. When pushed, Jack turned silent and broody, not coldly calculating. And since Jack never made empty threats…Damn it. She’d been fooling herself to think they could move beyond their past and forge any kind of business relationship. She’d had no idea his dislike of her was so strong that he’d rather destroy everything Max had created out here than work with her.

She looked skyward. “Why’d you do this to me, Max?”

No answer came, and she flopped on the bed, wrung out, yet still jumpy from the evening.

Jack’s sarcastic rebuttal of the one argument he really shouldn’t be able to question had thrown her off her game. Of all the things for Jack to bring up…Hell, she’d practically forgotten; why hadn’t he? Oh, the optimism and arrogance of an eighteen-year-old girl in love. She groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. Back then she’d figured Max and her mom would run Amante Verano forever. She, on the other hand, would take her knowledge out into the wide world, educating the masses on wine-making, visiting wineries in France and Italy and bringing new ideas back to their vineyard—in general, just getting the hell out of Sonoma and doing something more. Jack had embraced that idea, encouraged it.

But the wide world hadn’t had a place for her, and she’d come home. Then her mom had died…

Amante Verano was where she belonged, it seemed. And she’d accepted that, thrown herself into it, made it her life.

She couldn’t let Jack undermine that. Not now. No matter how much Jack hated it.

Or her.

For the second time that day Jack let Brenna stomp away, wondering when he’d lost his lauded ability to finesse a situation. What had possessed him to think he’d be able to handle this negotiation just like any other of the hundreds he’d done? Make the plan, work the plan—common sense and good business tactics had always worked for him before. Except when it came to Brenna. Bren just knew the right buttons to push to cause him to lose his temper—a hard pill to swallow, since he never let his temper loose any other time.

Hell, who was he kidding? Brenna was his button. Nothing between them had ever been steady or calm or predictable. It was all drama and tension and theatrics.

Oh, they’d started with a bang. But once the initial glow had faded their relationship had fallen apart with alarming speed. All the dreams and plans and excitement had crumbled under the strain of reality, and “love” just hadn’t been enough. Before long they’d just made each other miserable.

Except in bed. The familiar heat spread over his skin. Making love to Brenna was like holding a live fuse too close to the gunpowder: hot, dangerous, explosive.

And ultimately destructive.

But they’d been young then, too young and stupid to realize sex wasn’t enough to hold them together until it was too late. No matter how great it was.

If tonight was any indication, his body hadn’t forgotten that in the intervening years. Her plain, mostlikely organic cotton pajamas did a good job of camouflaging what was underneath, but his body had reacted anyway, reigniting that old urge to get her under him as quickly as humanly possible.

But reality hit home pretty quickly once Brenna started in on him. While his hands had still itched to touch her, he’d been reminded exactly why they were in this mess in the first place.

Regardless of their past or their present, he didn’t necessarily relish the idea of destroying her dreams for this place. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be a part of it, either. Max might have found someone willing to build his little wine-making dynasty, but Jack didn’t want to play along. And, Brenna, for all her talk of a partnership, couldn’t really want him around either.

Not after everything.

He needed something stronger than water to drink. A look around revealed several bottles of wine but little else, and nothing of interest. Wine on the counters, wine in the cupboards, wine in the largest non-commercial fridge he’d ever seen. Was there a damn beer anywhere on the property?

Max would have Scotch in his desk. He always did. His passion for wine-making couldn’t have squelched his love of a good single malt.

Jack had to pass Brenna’s bedroom to get to the office. Light escaped around the doorframe, but the room was silent as he paused in front of the door, debating whether he’d made a mistake in letting Brenna walk out in the middle of their discussion.

Discussion? Right. He seemed incapable of having a civilized discussion with Brenna about anything. Between her temper and the emotional attachment she had to this place, the chances of any civil discourse seemed remote.

The Amante Verano business office was large—larger than such a small operation probably needed, but that was just Max’s style—and Max’s desk dominated the room. A smaller desk he assumed was Brenna’s sat at an angle to Max’s. He recognized the set-up; he’d learned the family business in much the same fashion—except the view from the offices of Garrett Properties encompassed San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge, not acres of vines.

The second drawer on the left-hand side produced the Scotch he had been looking for. He leaned back in Max’s chair as he poured two fingers and contemplated Brenna’s desk. His father had initially planned for that desk to be Jack’s, from where he would run the winery as well as the hotels. It hadn’t mattered that he didn’t want to.

Hell, after Max had gotten over the shock of Jack and Brenna’s elopement he’d been practically gleeful over the “merger.” The divorce had given Jack a valid reason to stay away all these years, but it seemed Max was trying to have the final say after all.

“Sorry, old man. You can’t make me run this place.”

No matter what Brenna wanted to believe, she wasn’t even the main reason he wanted out from under Amante Verano. Max’s first business ate up enough of his life as it was, especially since Max had all but turned the hotels over to him completely once this winery had become his focus. The complication of Brenna didn’t add any appeal, though.

His body disagreed, growing hard again at the thought of her. Good God, it had been ten years. Shouldn’t he be past that by now?

He sipped the Scotch in silence for a few minutes, willing his body to get over it. When he heard a noise to his right, he looked up to see a barefoot Brenna slip quietly into the room.

“I thought you had to get up early in the morning.”

Brenna jumped, a small cry escaping her as she turned around to locate the voice. Her hand fell away from her throat as she found him, and her shoulders dropped. “Damn it, Jack, you scared the life out of me. What are you doing in here?”

He shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“It’s my office.” Brenna’s chin lifted in challenge.

Unable to resist prodding her, he raised the glass in salute. “And now it’s half mine.”

Brenna shook her head. “Whatever.” She slid into her chair and turned her back to him as she booted up the computer. “I need to do some work, so if you’ll excuse me…?”

She wanted him to retreat so she wouldn’t have to? Hardly. “Go ahead. You won’t bother me at all.” Brenna’s hands tightened around the armrests of her chair, and even in the semi-darkness of the room he could see the white knuckles. If he listened carefully, he’d probably be able to hear her grinding her teeth next.

He heard her sigh, then her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, the clicking sound filling the silence. “The new hotel in Monterrey is selling the Pinot faster than I can get it to them. Max’s idea to market our wines in your boutique hotels was a fabulous one.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder, causing it to spill over the back of the chair, where the light bounced off it in a coppery glow. “It means you may be seeing those profit checks sooner than you thought.”

That was supposed to convince him he wanted to own half a winery? “I don’t need the money.”

Brenna shrugged. “Good. I’ll buy new tanks instead.”

So much for polite conversation. “You just bought new tanks.”

Brenna spun in her chair, sputtering. “Are you questioning—?”

He shouldn’t prod her, but he just couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah, I am. You just bought new tanks. Italian ones. Very expensive. I saw the invoice.”

Bren straightened her spine, and she seemed to be trying for a lofty, all-business tone. “I’m slowly trying to replace all the old ones that desperately need it, and the best tanks come from Italy. Since the best equipment lets me make the best wines, it’s money well spent.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, why are you poking around in my invoices? I thought you didn’t care about this place.”

“I don’t. But since I now own half of it…” he loved the way her eyes narrowed every time he reminded her of that fact “…I have to make sure it’s running properly. It’s in my DNA, remember?”

“You know nothing about this business, so I think the silent partner idea is best.”

“I don’t do silent. Until I sell my half…” He let the sentence trail off and let her fill in the blanks.

It only took her a second to make the leap, and her hackles went up again. “Are you seriously planning to buck me on every decision I make around here?”

“Of course. Weren’t you listening earlier?” Brenna’s eyes widened, and he was lucky looks couldn’t kill. “But you know it would be really easy to get me away from your books. Sign on the dotted line, Bren, and I’m out of your hair.”

Brenna rolled her eyes and turned back to her computer. She started to type, then stopped as she leaned her head against the chair-back. “First you threaten to drive my winery into the ground. Then you threaten to drive me insane. To think Max used to say how good you’d be for this place.”

“There’s a simple solution, you know.”

“It’s not simple at all.” She moved her chair slightly, turning her profile his way. Her eyes were closed, and her throat worked as she rubbed her hands over her face.

“It’s a lot easier than you’re making it, Bren. You don’t want me in your business, and you know it. Sign off on the sale and I’m gone.”

“I’ve already said no. Come up with a new idea.”

Lord, the woman was stubborn. “There are no other ideas.”

“You’re going to tell me that the great Jack Garrett doesn’t have a Plan B?”

He swirled the drink in his glass. “I don’t need a Plan B.”

Brenna turned to face him again, and her voice turned conciliatory for a change. “Max wanted Amante Verano kept as a small family business. He didn’t want outsiders involved.”

“And what, exactly, are you?”

Brenna pulled back as if she’d been hit, and he regretted the harshness of his words.

“That’s unfair, Jack. We were a family, and this is a family business.”

“Brenna—”

She held up a hand. “Wait. Just—Just—” She took another deep breath and faced him across the expanse of Max’s desk. “I don’t want to fight any more. Especially not with you.”

“Then don’t fight me. Neither of us wants to be in this situation.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment while she thought. “You’re right, you know. I don’t want you around anymore than you want to be here. But…” She took a deep breath. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she turned to meet his eyes. “I need you.”

The desire that slammed into him with those three simple words nearly caused him to drop his glass. Oh, part of him knew she was still talking about the damn winery, but his body was reacting to that throaty whisper—she’d whispered those words in his ear countless times as she’d wrapped herself around him.

Need. She’d always referred to him as a need. He’d nearly forgotten, but the response of his body proved those six months they’d had weren’t as deeply buried as he’d thought. He shifted in his chair, attempting to bring the reaction under control.

Brenna seemed not to notice. “Max was the brains behind the business. I’m sure you know that. And I could learn, but Amante Verano would suffer in the meantime. I know that’s why Max put us in this partnership—he always said the Walsh women made great wine, but they needed Garrett men to make it profitable.” She folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers together as she talked. “It took me a while to figure out what he meant—beyond the MBA-approved business model, at least. The Garrett name opens a lot of doors.”

“You should know that from experience. You were a Garrett for a short while.”

She paled a bit at the reminder. “Don’t go there, Jack. What I mean is that as long as there’s a Garrett behind Amante Verano I can do business. Get loans to expand, for example. A small winery is a bank’s nightmare—unless there’s a Garrett on the books, of course, and then we’re golden. I just need you to back me—in name, if not spirit—for a few years. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You ask a lot.”

“Why? How? You don’t have to do anything.”

He just looked at her.

She nodded. “Except deal with me. And you hate that more than anything else.”

He’d never heard Brenna sound so flat, so lifeless. He’d almost prefer her anger to that toneless resignation. “I don’t hate you, Bren. But I’m not going to be your partner either.”

She cocked her head. “Once bitten?” she challenged.

“I’m not afraid of your bite.” In fact, the thought of her teeth on his skin brought back a slew of sensual memories. Unwilling to circle this topic again or battle with his body any longer, he stood. “Decide what you’re going to do. I’ll leave the sale paperwork in the kitchen.”

Brenna’s jaw dropped at his words, then she spun her chair back to her computer. He heard her mumble something under her breath as he turned to leave.

He doubted it was a compliment.

Chapter Three

“I SWEAR, Di, it’s frustrating. I just want to scream. Or something,” she muttered. Brenna positioned her clippers and separated the grape cluster from the vine with a satisfying, overly forceful snip.

“Picturing Jack’s neck, are we?” Dianne teased from the other side of the row of vines. Chloe napped peacefully in a carrier strapped to Dianne’s chest, her hat with its embroidered Amante Verano logo shielding her fat baby cheeks from the early-morning sun.

“It’s cathartic.” She snipped two more clusters and added them to the bucket at her feet. “And safer for Jack.”

“What are you going to do?” Dianne asked the question casually, but Brenna knew everyone in the vineyard was on edge, waiting to see what would happen next. Jack’s plan to sell would affect everyone in some way.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m open to ideas if you have any.” She’d been up most of the night, tossing and turning as she tried to figure out her options. There weren’t many.

“I wish I did.”

“Stubborn. Arrogant. Domineering. Jerk.” She punctuated each comment with a snip of the clippers.

“Max could be like that sometimes. He’s his father’s son; that’s for sure.”

Brenna laughed. “Oh, I dare you to tell him that. It’ll really get his goat.”

“I don’t think antagonizing Jack further is really the best idea right now, do you?” Dianne was always so calm, so unflappable. So annoyingly right most of the time.

“I was trying to be nice last night. Trying to be reasonable. That didn’t work out so well.”

“Because you have a history with Jack.”

“Ancient history,” Brenna clarified.

“Still, it complicates things.”

No kidding. She’d seen the papers in the kitchen this morning; she’d even glanced through them while she waited for her coffee to brew. Turn over fifty-percent of the vineyard to the highest bidder? She’d been tempted to feed Jack’s stack of papers into the shredder and leave a bag of confetti hanging on his doorknob.

For the thousandth time, she wished she had the money to buy Jack’s share. But while the banks would be happy to loan her barrels of money as long as Jack was a co-owner, no bank in the world would loan her the money to buy him out. It still wasn’t an ideal solution—buying Jack out only solved one problem while causing a whole slew of others.

In the small hours of the morning, though, she had realized how much of their current problem was rooted in their heated, reckless past. She needed to recognize it and figure out good ways to move past it. Dianne wasn’t the only one realizing that. “That knowledge—however truthful it may be—doesn’t make the situation suck any less.” It certainly didn’t make her feel any better. She was drowning—in anger, frustration, guilt, worry, and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t quite name. The painful knot in her stomach was bordering on debilitating.

Dianne nodded understandingly, then looked at her watch. “I hate to harvest and run, but I need to shower so I can get the shop open in time. Plus, I think Chloe is waking up.” Dianne cooed at the baby as she stripped off her gloves.

“I appreciate the help. And the company, of course. Getting up at dawn goes above and beyond the call of duty.”

“But it’s fun—at least for the first couple of hours,” she added, as Brenna raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “Do you think you’ll finish today?”

“Marco brought a full crew, so if not today definitely tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll see you at lunch. Tuna salad okay with you?”

“That’s great. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Dianne tossed over her shoulder as she left.

Brenna had enjoyed the company—having Di to talk to had been a nice distraction, one that she missed as she fell back into her rhythm and her mind started to wander.

There had to be a solution. She just needed to find it. If she’d only known Jack would carry such a grudge…

It wasn’t all her fault, she thought as she carried the full bucket of grapes to the bin at the end of the row and emptied it. He was just as much to blame for their disastrous relationship and the fallout as she was. The early days had been fantastic—the type of thing romance novels were written about. The boss’s handsome son, descending from the city to sweep the winemaker’s daughter off her feet. Picnics in the vineyard; stolen kisses behind the barrels of Merlot. Making love under a canopy of Cabernet vines, then feeding the ripe grapes to each other in the afterglow.

It had been everything she’d ever dreamed of. Romantic and passionate and all-encompassing. Jack had made her feel like the center of his universe—beautiful and sexy and interesting. It had been too easy to fall in love.

But, while opposites attracting worked great in movies, the reality hadn’t been dreamy at all.

While it had all gone to hell later, she did have fond memories of being eighteen and head-over-heels in love. Jack had been different then, too: more carefree, with a smile that melted her knees even in memory.

The old Jack would be more reasonable and much easier for her to deal with. The old Jack wouldn’t want to sell her winery out from under her, or ruin everything she’d worked for simply out of spite. He’d changed so much in the last ten years. He’d become more reserved, harder and colder. Sometimes she wondered if he was really the same man.

She missed the old Jack. The one she fell in love with. The Jack who didn’t hate her.

She shook off the reverie and the sinking feeling. She had to deal with this Jack. And quickly—for the good of Amante Verano and her own mental health.

“Daydreaming on the job, boss?” Ted grinned at her as he upended his overflowing bucket into the bin. “You seem pretty far away.”

“Trust me, I’m here. Just sending up quick prayers that the pump doesn’t die again.”

“After the way you cursed at it yesterday? It wouldn’t dare.”

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