The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  MacMillan's as we came in. Drafted Linc to go with her in case there was any heavy lifting involved in the setup. He'll keep her mind occupied."

  "It's always good to see them together, almost like brother and sister."

  "Mmm. Now, sit down." Helen patted the chaise. "Catch your breath and tell me all about your romance with David Cutter. With nearly thirty years of marriage under my belt, I have to live vicariously."

  "It's not really… we're enjoying each other's company."

  "No sex yet, huh?"

  "Helen." Giving up, Pilar dropped onto the chaise. "How can I have sex with him?"

  "If you've forgotten how it works, there are a number of very good books on the subject. Videos. Internet sites." Behind her lenses, her eyes danced. "I'll give you a list."

  "I'm serious."

  "Me too. Some very hot stuff in there."

  "Stop it." But she laughed. "David's been very patient, but I'm not stupid. He wants sex, and he's not going to keep settling for necking on the porch or—"

  "Necking? Come on, Pilar. Details, all the details."

  "Let's just say he has a very creative mouth, and when he uses it, I remember what it's like to be twenty."

  "Oh." Helen fanned a hand in front of her face. "Yes."

  "But I'm not twenty. And my body sure as hell isn't twenty. How can I possibly let him see me naked, Helen? My breasts are heading to Mexico."

  "Honey, mine landed in Argentina three years ago. James doesn't seem to mind."

  "But that's the point. You've been together for nearly thirty years. You've gone through the changes together. Worse, David's younger than I am."

  "Worse? I can think of a lot worse than that."

  "Try to be on my side here. He's a forty-three-year-old man. I'm a forty-eight-year-old woman. There's a huge difference there. A man his age most usually dates younger women. Often much younger women with tight bodies that don't sag."

  "Often paired with empty heads that don't think," Helen finished. "Pilar, the fact is, he's dating you. And if you're so self-conscious about your body, though that irritates me when I think of what's become of mine in comparison, make sure it's dark the first time you jump him."

  "You're a big help."

  "Yes, I am, because if he's put off by breasts that aren't twenty-two years old and perky, then he's not worm your time. Better to find out than to speculate and project. Do you want to sleep with him? Just yes or no," Helen added before Pilar could respond. "Gut instinct, primal urge. No qualifiers."

  "Yes."

  "Then buy yourself some incredible underwear and go for it."

  Pilar bit her lip. "I already bought the underwear."

  "Hot damn. Let's see."

  Nearly twenty-four hours after the tasting, and Tyler could still form a picture in his mind that made him laugh. Two dozen snooty, slick-faced club members had gotten the shock of their narrow lives with a sample of what he was calling Vin de Madeline.

  "'Unsophisticated'," he said, cracking himself up again, " 'but nubile'. Jesus, where do they get that stuff? Nubile."

  "Try to contain your hilarity." Sophia sat behind the desk in her office in the villa and continued to study the models Kris had chosen for the ads. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd warn me the next time you decide to add a mystery vintage to the selection."

  "Last-minute candidate. And it was in the name of science."

  "The tastings are in the name of tradition, reputation and promotion." She glanced up briefly, gave up when he just grinned at her. "Okay, it was funny, and we'll be able to turn it into an interesting, lighthearted article for the newsletter. Maybe even get a little human-interest and anecdotal press out of it."

  "Does your blood run on publicity?"

  "You betcha. Which is fortunate for all involved, as some members would've been very offended if I hadn't been there to spin it."

  "Some members are pompous, tight-assed idiots."

  "Yes, and those pompous, tight-assed idiots buy a great deal of our wine and talk it up at social events. As the winemaker is as unsophisticated and nubile as her wine, we can play it to our advantage." She made another note, weighed it down with the silly green glass frog Ty had given her for Christmas. "Next time you want to experiment, give me some warning."

  He stretched out his legs. "Loosen up, Giambelli."

  "That, from the king of the party animals." She picked up an eight-by-ten glossy, held it out to him. "What do you think of her?"

  He took the picture, studied the sloe-eyed blonde. "Does this come with her phone number?"

  "That's what I thought. She's too sexy. I told Kris I wanted wholesome." Sophia scowled into middle distance. "I have to fire her. She's not even trying to adjust to the changes. Worse, she's ignoring direct orders, giving the rest of the team grief." She sighed. "My spies tell me she had a meeting with Jerry DeMorney from La Coeur just the other day."

  "If she's causing trouble, why are you worried about axing her? Don't give me the line about not being able to replace her during the campaign or the reorganization."

  "All right. I hesitate because she's good, and I hate to lose her. And she has intimate knowledge of the campaign, of my long-range plans, and could very well lure some other members of the staff away with her. I hesitate, on a personal level, because I think she was involved with my father, and firing her might push her to make that public. Whatever I do, it's going to cause trouble. But it can't be put off any longer. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

  "I could do it."

  Sophia closed the file folder. "That's actually very nice of you. But it should come from me. I should warn you that cutting her loose is going to mean more work for the rest of us. Especially since my mother isn't going to be doing, or trying to do, any of the grunt work."

  "That sure cheers me up."

  "I was thinking about asking Theo if he wanted a part-time job. We could use a gofer a couple afternoons a week."

  "Great. Then he can hang around here mooning over you on a regular basis."

  "The more he's around me, the quicker he'll get over it. Daily contact'll take the edge off his hormones."

  "You think?" Ty murmured.

  "Why, Tyler, was that a twisted sort of compliment, or just your cranky way of saying I make you edgy?"

  "Neither." He studied the glossy again. "I go for sleepy-eyed blondes with full, pouty lips."

  "Peroxide and collagen."

  "So?"

  "God, I love men." She got up from the desk, walked to him, cupped his face in her hands and gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth. "You're just so cute."

  One hard tug on her hand had her tumbling into his lap. An instant later her quick laugh was cut off, and her heart pounding.

  He hadn't kissed her this way before, with impatience and heat and hunger all mixed together in a near brutal assault. He hadn't kissed her as if he couldn't get enough. Would never get enough. Her body quivered once—in surprise, in defense, in response. Then her fingers raked through his hair, fisted there.

  More, she thought. She wanted more of this edge, this recklessness, even the reluctant need.

  When he would have drawn away, she went with him, sliding up against the hard lines of him even as he broke the kiss.

  She scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, slowly. Deliberately. And watched his gaze lower to follow the movement. "What was that for?"

  "I felt like it."

  "Good enough. Do it again."

  He hadn't meant to do it the first time. But now his appetite for her was stirred, and not quite sated. "Why the hell not?"

  Her lips curved as he took them. Not quite as desperate now, not quite as rough. He could imagine, too well, what it would be like to slide into her. Into all that soft heat. But he wasn't sure how a man could get free again, or walk away whole.

  Even as he thought it, he was flipping open the buttons of her shirt. Even as he thought it, she was pulling him to the floor.

  "Hurry." Breathless, she arched wh
en his hands closed over her.

  Fast. He could imagine it fast, and hard and furious. A mindless coupling, all heat and no light. It was what she wanted. What they both wanted. He dragged her up, clamped his mouth over hers again. His belly tightened, desire and anticipation, as she tugged at his belt.

  The office door swung open. "Ty, I need to—" Eli stopped in mid-stride as he stared at his grandson, at the girl he thought of as his granddaughter, tangled together on the floor. Color flooded his cheeks as he stumbled back.

  "Excuse me."

  When the door slammed, Tyler was already rocking back on his heels. Mind swimming, body churning, he rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh perfect. Just perfect."

  "Oops."

  At Sophia's response, Tyler spread his fingers and stared at her through them. "Oops?"

  "My brain's a little impaired. It's the best I can do. Oh, God." She sat up, pulled her shirt together. "Not your typical family moment." Giving up, she dropped her head to her knees. "Jesus. How do we handle this?"

  "I don't know. I guess I have to talk to him."

  She lifted her head slightly. "I could do it."

  "You fire unsatisfactory staff members; I talk to shocked grandfathers."

  "Fair enough." She lowered her knees, stared down as she buttoned her shirt again. "Ty, I'm really sorry. I'd never do anything to upset Eli, or to cause trouble between the two of you."

  "I know." He pushed to his feet and after a brief hesitation held out his hand to help her up.

  "I want to make love with you."

  His already jangled system suffered. "I think what we both want's pretty clear. I just don't know what we're going to do about it. I have to go after him."

  "Yes."

  When he hurried out, she walked to the windows, crossed her arms. And very much wished she had something equally vital and specific to do. All that was left for her was to think.

  Tyler found his grandfather walking toward the vineyards, Sally faithfully at his heels. He didn't speak, hadn't worked out what he would say once he did. He merely fell into step beside Eli and began to walk through the rows.

  "Going to have to keep a frost watch," Eli commented. "Warm snap's teased the vines."

  "Yeah, I'm on it. Ah… it's nearly disking time."

  "Hope the rain doesn't slow that down." Like his grandson, Eli studied the canes and racked his brain for the right words. "I… should've knocked."

  "No, I shouldn't have…" Stalling, Ty leaned down, ruffled Sally's fur. "It just happened."

  "Well." Eli cleared his throat. He didn't have to talk to Tyler about the ways and means of sex. Thank Christ. He'd done that deed years before. His grandson was a grown man, who knew about the birds and bees, and about responsibility. But…

  "Holy hell, Ty. You and Sophie."

  "It just happened," he said again. "I guess it shouldn't have, and I guess I should tell you it won't happen again."

  "Not my business. It's just the two of you—hell, Ty, you were almost raised together. I know you've got no blood tie, and there's nothing stopping either of you from such a thing. Just a shock, is all."

  "All around," Tyler agreed.

  Eli walked a little farther. "Do you love her?"

  Inside his gut, Tyler felt the slippery knots of guilt tighten. "Grandpa, it's not always about love."

  Now Eli stopped, turned and faced Tyler. "My equipment may be older than yours, boy, but it works the same way. I know it's not always about love. I was just asking."

  "We've got this heat going on, that's all. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not go into that end of things."

  "Oh, it's all the same to me. You're both adults and you got two working brains between you. Both of you were raised right, so what you do is your own business. Next time, though, lock the damn door first."

  It was nearly six when Tyler got home. He was worn out, worked up and irritated with himself. He thought a cold beer and a hot shower might help smooth him back out. Reaching for the refrigerator handle, he saw the note he'd stuck there the night before as a reminder.

  Dinner at M's—7.

  "Shit." He lowered his forehead to the appliance. He could just make it, he supposed, if he busted his ass. But he just didn't have it in him. He wasn't in any mood to discuss business, even if it included a decent meal and good company.

  He'd never make good company himself that night.

  He reached for the phone, only to find he'd misplaced it again. Swearing, he yanked open the fridge, intending to pop the top on the beer before starting to search. And there was the phone, tucked between a bottle of Corona and a carton of milk.

  He'd make it up to Margaret, he thought, as he looked up her phone number. Take her out to dinner, or lunch. Whatever, before she left the city.

  She didn't hear the phone ring. Her head was under the shower and she was singing. She'd looked forward to the evening all day, shuffling meetings, writing reports, making calls. And finally stopping on the way home for a man-sized steak and a couple of enormous Idaho potatoes. She'd bought an apple pie at the bakery and fully intended to pass it off as her own.

  A man didn't have to know everything.

  It was, she knew, just the sort of meal Ty would appreciate.

  She'd already set the table, arranged candles, chosen music, had the outfit she'd selected lying on her bed. And the bed itself was plumped with pillows and made with fresh sheets.

  They'd had two or three dates before. Not that she fooled herself into believing Ty had thought of them as dates. But she hoped to change that after tonight.

  She stepped out of the shower and began to prepare herself.

  It was always exciting to groom yourself for a man. Part of the anticipation. Margaret's feminist beliefs didn't deny her the pleasure of that sort of ritual, but helped her celebrate the female rite of it.

  She creamed, scented, slid into silk and imagined seducing Tyler MacMillan over apple pie.

  She'd always had a yen for him, she supposed as she checked the apartment to see that everything was in place. The promotion, the travel, the excitement of her new responsibilities had, in a very real way, she decided, given her the confidence to make him fully aware of that yen.

  She took out the wine she'd earmarked for the evening. And noticed the message light blinking on her kitchen machine.

  "Margaret. It's Ty. Listen, I'm going to have to take a rain check on dinner. I should have called sooner but… something came up at the office. Sorry. I'll call you tomorrow. If you don't have plans, I'll take you out and we can go over business. Really sorry I didn't get back to you sooner."

  She stared at the machine, imagined herself ripping it out of the wall and heaving it. Of course that wouldn't change anything, and she was too practical a woman to indulge in useless tantrums.

  Too practical, she thought, struggling against tears of disappointment, to let food and wine go to waste because some idiot, inconsiderate man stood her up.

  The hell with him. There were plenty more where he came from. Plenty, she reminded herself as she yanked her broiler open and prepared to cook the steak. She'd had a number of interesting offers in Italy. When she got back, she might just take one of them and see where it led.

  But for now, she was opening the goddamn wine and getting good and drunk.