An Exquisite Challenge

by Jennifer Hayward

  “Yes, but I took it too far. I stole clothes from the department store for our prom because I was so bitter at having nothing and got busted for it. I started staying out at night, sometimes not coming home until the next day. And then I met Damon, the head of a biker gang, and we started dating.” Her mouth curved as his jaw dropped. “He was hot, powerful and he satisfied my rebellious side perfectly.”

  “You dated the head of a biker gang?”

  She nodded.

  “Your father must have lost his mind.”

  “He did. He forbade me to see him. Grounded me. But I loved egging him on. I loved finally having his attention.”

  “I would have tied you to the bed,” Gabe said darkly.

  Her mouth twisted. “I’m sure he would have done that, too, if he’d thought it’d work. He kicked me out instead, and I went to live with Damon.”

  He looked at her as though she’d just descended from Mars.

  She sighed. “It was nuts. He was involved in illegal activity, I knew it, but he kept me well away from it. He had some legitimate businesses. I was only sixteen. What did I know?”

  His breath hissed through his teeth. “Sixteen?”

  She nodded. Stared down at her glittering champagne-colored nails. She’d thought she was so grown up with Damon—thought she’d known exactly what she was doing—but she’d been in way over her head. “Damon and I went out one night to a movie. He was doing a drop that night. I never knew and didn’t suspect anything because he never did that with me around. The cops must have known, though, because they picked us up almost as soon as we left the house and searched us.” She looked up at Gabe. “They found a kilogram of heroin in the saddlebags.”

  “Did you ever do drugs?” he asked quietly.

  “No. That might have been the only smart decision I made.” She took a deep breath, but her lungs felt constricted. “They threw us in jail. It was Damon they wanted, but they tried to use me to get to him. Said they would implicate me, too, if I didn’t give them what they wanted.” She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. “I—I was by myself in a separate holding room. The guy—the sheriff’s deputy who questioned me—was the same deputy who’d answered my shoplifting call. I could tell he thought I was trash. He made me feel like I was two inches tall. But—” she sank her teeth into her lower lip “—I could also tell that he liked me.”

  Gabe put his hand on her knee, his expression dark and intent as a storm cloud. She realized she was rocking back and forth. “That was the guy who put his hands on you.”

  She nodded. “I was crying, scared. I begged him to let me call my father, but he kept coming back to question me, again and again, and he didn’t let me call home. I think they were intent on breaking Damon that night.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “That’s against the law not to let you call.”

  She made a face. “This is Mission Hill we’re talking about. Nothing is above the law.”

  She rocked forward—she couldn’t help it when that miserable, dirty beige room they’d interrogated her in that night was so vivid in her mind it was as if it had happened yesterday. “They were relentless,” she said harshly. “Damon kept telling them I knew nothing about the drugs, but they wouldn’t stop. It was late—the middle of the night—when the deputy finally gave up. I asked him again to let me call my father.” Her gaze lifted to his, her lips trembling. “He told me he would if I was nice to him.”

  Gabe’s fingers tightened around her knee. A dark thundercloud moved over his face. “I refused. I fought him when he tried to touch me. I screamed and screamed until he got scared someone would come and he let me go.” Tears burned the back of her eyes and she blinked them furiously away. She did not cry about this. She never cried. “I called my father. They hadn’t heard from me in weeks. He was so angry. So mad at me he just yelled. I asked him to come get me.” She looked down at her hands, her knuckles white they were twisted so tightly together. “He told me I could damn well wait until the morning. That he needed his sleep.”

  There was a long pause. “He told a sixteen-year-old girl that?”

  She inclined her head. “I expect I deserved it.”

  “Cristo, Alex, of course you didn’t.” He took her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Maybe you deserved to be taught a lesson, but you did not deserve to be left alone with a law enforcement official who couldn’t keep his hands off you.”

  She dropped her gaze to his chest. “I pushed him too far.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You are his child. You deserved his protection. You did not deserve to be left alone in a jail cell overnight.” He cursed and gathered her to him. “Thank God you were a fighter, Lex.”

  She stiffened. “I don’t need your pity, Gabe. I reaped what I sowed.”

  “You were a baby,” he bit out tautly.

  “You don’t understand.” She pulled herself out of his arms. “I made it impossible for them to love me. They were so tired of me by then they wanted me to disappear. And I don’t blame them.”

  His gaze softened. “I think you wanted to be loved. Your parents don’t sound like they’re capable of it.”

  “I’m not capable of love. I’ve been destructive in every relationship I’ve ever had. It’s a pattern, Gabe.”

  “Not with your sisters,” he pointed out. “They worship the ground you walk on.”

  “That’s different. They have no choice but to put up with me.”

  “They love you. That’s the difference, Lex. People who love you reciprocate. People who love you protect you.”

  The ache in her throat grew to gargantuan proportions, the urge to run almost incapacitating. “It’s very kind of you to try and convince me I’m not as messed up as I am, Gabe, but I’m fully aware of it. I’m actually okay with it. It works for me.”

  His gaze sharpened on her face. “Sì, because you like to use it as an excuse. Just like you always make those comments about how you can’t trust men. Or how you say you’re a bad girl. You’d rather paint yourself like that, convince yourself you’re incapable of a healthy relationship rather than face the reality of being in one.”

  Heat consumed her, so blindingly hot she thought she might implode. “Do not tell me what I’m capable of, Gabe De Campo. You have no idea what it’s been like to live my reality.”

  His eyes darkened, a forbidding, severe green now. “I’m just saying what all of us have seen for years but everyone’s afraid to say. You’re so busy perfecting your prickly Alex act to keep people from getting too close that you don’t know how to live. You’re a fighter, Lex, in everything but your personal life.”

  She dragged in a breath, her gaze trained on his. “I’ve been through therapy. I know what my issues are. But what about you, Gabe? You’re the top bachelor who can’t get off the list because you’re looking for perfection. For the one woman who can live up to those impossible standards of yours. Well, news flash,” she bit out, glaring at him. “She doesn’t exist.”

  “I am not looking for perfection.”

  She scrambled for the side of the bed and set her feet on the floor. “You know what’s rich about this? You are the one who made this about sex. You’re the one who suggested a one-night stand. So don’t lecture me about my relationship skills or who or what I am when that’s all this was supposed to be.”

  She ran then. She didn’t care that it made her look out of control, didn’t care that her emotions were plastered across her face. Getting away was paramount.

  She didn’t hear Gabe’s softly spoken words as the door slammed shut behind her. “You’re not so difficult to know, Lex. The question is, will you ever let anyone in?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  GABE WAS IN the winery with Pedro late that afternoon, far away from Hurricane Alex, when Elena arrived with coffee and a package.

  “It just came,” she said, setting the box on the counter. “I thought you might need it.”

  Gabe opened it. The wooden box inside the pa
ckaging contained a bottle of wine. The label bore the blue and yellow design of a Vintage Corp. premium blend. Jordan Lane’s wine. His gaze sharpened on the name done in an elegant black scroll. Black Cellar Select—A Premium Cabernet-Merlot Blend.

  He froze. Took in the beautifully packaged bottle. This was it. This was Lane’s Devil’s Peak. Pedro had not been able to get a sample of it. No one had. Now Lane had hand delivered a bottle to him to throw it in his face. The day after his launch, when he was riding high.

  His chest felt weighted. It was difficult to breathe. Pedro peered over his shoulder and Gabe heard his indrawn breath. “This is it,” he exclaimed. “The bastardo sent it to us.”

  Gabe noticed a card tucked into the box. He took it out and slipped the note from the envelope. “‘Congratulations on what I’ve heard was a hugely successful launch, De Campo. Nice to know Black Cellar Select will be in good company.’”

  Following the words were Lane’s signature and a list of a dozen of the country’s top restaurants that would be featuring Black Cellar Select as their wine of the month.

  His blood ran cold. “Give me a corkscrew.”

  Pedro pulled one out of a drawer. Gabe slammed two glasses on the counter and opened the wine. The first taste of the blend on his tongue made his stomach roll. If Lane had taken The Devil’s Peak and matched it scientifically, trait by trait, it couldn’t have been closer.

  A two-million-dollar party, a ten-million-dollar ad campaign—spent on a wine which was now one of two. One of Dio knew how many, if he knew Lane. He felt the room sway around him as everything he’d worked for over the past eight years came tumbling down around him. The board needed to see a significant profit this year. The Devil’s Peak had to sell like wildfire. Now he had a competitor. A competitor who had the potential to blow him out of the water.

  What was he supposed to do now?

  Pedro put his glass down. His shocked gaze met Gabe’s. “It’s the same wine. How is that possible?”

  Gabe put a hand on the bar to steady himself, to stop the roiling turmoil in his head. “It has to be one of our winemakers. Someone in the lab. It’s too exact a copy.”

  “But there is no one—”

  “There is someone,” Gabe growled. There had to be.

  Pedro took another sip of the wine. Shook his head as a slow frown crossed his wrinkled brow. “You have no choice now.”

  Gabe pulled in a breath, feeling as though he was breathing fire. He exhaled slowly. “You think we should launch the Angel’s Share?”

  The other man nodded. “The wine is magnifico, Gabriele. You could bottle it tomorrow and it would score a ninety-seven.”

  Gabe levered himself away from the counter and shoved his hands in his pockets. “The question is, is the market ready for it?”

  Pedro raised a thick gray brow. “You made your choice on this one two years ago, mio figlio. Now is not the time to second-guess yourself.”

  No, it wasn’t, he realized. Pedro had taught him not just about wine, he’d taught him about vision. About seizing the moment. His mentor had not hesitated when Gabe had asked him to come to America with him to pursue this dream. It was Pedro’s as much as it was Gabe’s. If Pedro thought the wine was ready, it was ready.

  Gabe’s mouth tightened. “Antonio will fight us every step of the way.”

  Pedro rested his unflinching gaze on him. “Then make him see the light.”

  Gabe looked at the expensively packaged bottle in front of him. It sounded so simple. Fly to New York this week for the quarterly De Campo board meeting, explain to his father and brother their star wine had been stolen by their chief competitor and secure their approval to bet the bank on a varietal that didn’t even represent a 5-percent share of the Californian mix.

  He grimaced. It was either madness or a stroke of genius. He wasn’t sure which.

  He looked at Pedro. “Can we be ready in a month?”

  The old man smiled. “Sì. On the scale of The Devil’s Peak?”

  “Sì.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Pedro clapped him on the back and went off to make things happen. Gabe took another sip of the wine and felt it burn his soul. He would bury Jordan Lane if it was the last thing he did. Someday, at some point, there was going to be a moment when he took a nail and hammered it into Vintage Corp.’s coffin. And he was going to relish every minute of it.

  He abandoned his coffee and headed back up to the house to tackle his other problem. Alex had been wrapping things up with suppliers all afternoon, stomping around with fire in her eyes. He wanted to tell her she’d been absolutely right—it had been his idea to have a one-night stand. She hadn’t asked for the grand inquisition he’d given her. He wasn’t even sure why he’d done it, he’d just had to know. And now that he knew the depth of the baggage she was dragging around, his predominant thought was to agree with her and cut it off now.

  She’d dated the head of a biker gang, for Cristo’s sake! The guy she ended up with, if she ever ended up with anyone, was going to have to be okay with having a keg of dynamite in his backyard at all times. Not something the vice president of one of the world’s biggest companies needed anywhere near him...

  He walked down the hill toward the house, noting the absence of trucks in the parking lot. Good. He could get this over with without delay. Best for everyone. Because Alex had most definitely gotten under his skin. She was like a fever that way. Something that got in your system and fried your brain. And if there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a fried brain when everything depended on him being clearheaded and deadly methodical about what happened next.

  Elena looked up from the stove as he walked into the kitchen.

  “Alex around?”

  “She left for the airport an hour ago. Said to tell you there’s an issue with Zambia and she’s caught a flight back to take care of it.”

  He blinked, sure he hadn’t heard right. If there was a venue issue with De Campo’s SoHo wine bar, Zambia, where the New York event was to be held, surely someone in New York could have dealt with it.

  “She didn’t want to bother you working,” Elena continued, turning back to the stove. “She said she’d call later to update you.”

  She had run. Walked out on him. Fury raged like an untamed beast, roaring to life inside of him. He should be happy she was out of his hair. Instead he wanted to strangle her.

  “She said she has her mobile if we need her,” Elena murmured. “Call her.”

  His hands clenched by his sides. Oh, no. No—he wasn’t going to call her. He was going to find her when he landed in a couple of days and treat her to a rude surprise.

  His fists uncurled as he flexed his fingers. It was then that he realized he and Alexandra Anderson were categorically not done.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS EASIER this way.

  Alex slid onto a stool at the bar of the trendy Manhattan trattoria where Lilly was to join her for dinner and signaled the bartender. Parachuting out of Napa three days ago to take care of the venue issue at Zambia meant Gabe hadn’t had to pretend any interest in her after her true-confession experiment, and she hadn’t had to pretend it didn’t bother her.

  The way she saw it, she had another forty-eight hours to insulate herself against Gabe before she walked him through the venue in anticipation of this weekend’s event. Forty-eight hours to convince herself what had happened between them was forgettable, one-night-stand material instead of an event she was sure was going to be burned into her memory forever.

  The bartender ambled over in his oh-so-cool hipster way. She ordered a glass of Argentinean red and tapped her glossy nails on the bar, her foolishness reverberating in her head. The one-night-stand part she could almost be okay with. The truth-serum part, not so much. What had gotten into her? Sex was one thing. Opening herself up to Gabe, the amateur psychologist, was another.

  The bartender slid the wine across the bar to her. She picked the glass up and started to sniff the bouq
uet, then slammed it back down. Damn him. He was everywhere, destroying her peace of mind.

  She pulled her phone out to go through some emails. Saw Georges Abel’s story had run. She scanned through it. The word rift and Antonio and Gabe’s names in the same sentence made her grimace. However, he also raved about the wines and gave them a big thumbs-up. She could live with that.

  She took a sip of her wine, sans bouquet. Spun the glass around on its stem in a desperate attempt to distract herself. To avoid Gabe’s disturbing conclusions that kept running through her head, taunting her. You’re a fighter in every part of your life except your relationships. You’d rather paint yourself as bad, convince yourself you’re incapable of a healthy relationship rather than face the reality of being in one.

  Ugh. She growled low in her throat. Had he really had the gall to say that? It wasn’t in her DNA to be in a relationship. Hadn’t been since Jordan.

  She stared into the rich, ruby-red liquid in her glass. How was she supposed to have a normal relationship with a man? The very man who was supposed to bring her up, to nurture her, had turned his back on her when she’d needed him most. A law enforcement official, the very person she was supposed to trust, had assaulted her belief that she could trust anyone. And when she had tried, really tried with Jordan, thrown herself into her relationship with him with a blind faith that maybe her past was not the way it had to be, he had discarded her as though she was defective, worthy only of a cheap affair. And wasn’t that always what men wanted from her? Her body for the short period of time it took to slake their thirst?

  Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass and drew it to her. She didn’t want to be a loner. Sometimes she desperately wanted someone to lean on—to catch her when she fell so she didn’t always have to be the last line of defense. But that was the way it was. She chose not to engage because she wasn’t capable of a relationship. Not because she didn’t want one.

  Gabe was wrong.

  “Lex.”

  Lilly’s excited voice came from behind her. She turned, ready to gather her sister into a huge hug and spill her guts, then saw who was with her. All three De Campo brothers, dressed to kill in designer suits and designer smiles. All except Gabe, that was.