by Nora Roberts
Perfect, Jerry thought as he watched the evening newscast. Absolutely perfect. They’d scramble, of course. Already were scrambling. But what would the public hear?
Giambelli. Death. Wine.
Bottles would be poured down the sink. More would sit unsold on the shelf. It would sting quite a bit and for quite some time. It would cut into profits, short- and long-term. Profits La Coeur would reap.
That alone was a great satisfaction. Professionally and personally. Very personally.
It was true a couple of people had died. But that wasn’t his fault. He had nothing to do with it—directly. And when the police caught the one who did, the damage to Giambelli would only be compounded.
He’d wait awhile. Bide his time. Watch the show. Then, if it seemed advantageous, there could be another anonymous call.
Not to the media this time. But to the police.
. . .
“Digital is comes from foxglove.” Maddy knew. She’d looked it up.
“What?” Distracted, David looked over briefly. He had a mountain of paperwork on his desk. In Italian. He was much better at speaking it than reading it.
“Would they have grown foxglove near the vines?” Maddy demanded. “Like they grow mustard plants between the rows here? For nitrogen. I don’t think they would because they’d know foxglove had digitalis. But maybe they made a mistake. Could it infect the grapes if the plants were grown there, and turned into the soil?”
“I don’t know. Maddy, this isn’t for you to worry about.”
“Why? You’re worried.”
“It’s my job to worry.”
“I could help.”
“Honey, if you want to help, you could give me a little space here. Do your homework.”
Her lips began to pout. A sure sign of personal insult, but David was too distracted to notice.
“I’ve done my homework.”
“Well, help Theo with his. Or something.”
“But if the digitalis—”
“Maddy.” At his wits’ end, he snapped at her. “This isn’t a story or a project. It’s a very real problem, and I have to deal with it. Go find something to do.”
“Fine.” She shut the door of his office and let the resentment burn as she stomped away. He never wanted her to help when it was something important.
Do your homework, talk to Theo, clean up your room. He always fell back on those crappy deals when she wanted to do something that mattered.
She bet he wouldn’t have told Pilar Giambelli to find something to do. And she didn’t know squat about science. Music and art and looking pretty, that’s all she knew. Girl things. Not important things.
She stalked to Theo’s room. He was sprawled on the bed, his music blaring, his guitar lying on his belly, and the phone at his ear. From the dopey look on his face it was a girl on the other end.
Men were so lame.
“Dad wants you to do your homework.”
“Beat it.” He crossed his ankles. “Nah. It’s nothing. Just my idiot sister.”
The phone knocked hard against his jaw when Maddy launched herself at him. In seconds Theo was dealing with the shock of pain, the squeals in his ear and the pummels and kicks of a furious Maddy.
“Ow! Wait! Damn it, Maddy. Call you back.” He managed to drop the phone, and in the nick of time protect his privates from a knee jab. “What the hell?”
After a long, sweaty minute, he managed to flip her—she didn’t fight like a girl, but he still outweighed her—and pin her down. “Cut it out, you crazy little bitch. What’s your problem?”
“I’m not nothing!” She spat it at him and made a valiant attempt with her knee again.
“No, you’re just nutszoid.” He licked the corner of his mouth, cursed at the unmistakable taste. “I’m bleeding. When I tell Dad—”
“You can’t tell him anything. He doesn’t listen to anybody except her.”
“Her, who?”
“You know who. Get off me, you big, fat jerk. You’re just as bad as he is, making gooey noises to some girl, and not listening to anybody.”
“I was having a conversation,” he said with great dignity to counter the gooey snipe. “And if you hit me again, I’m hitting you back. Even if Dad grounds me for it. Now what’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem. It’s the men in this house making asses of themselves over the women in the villa that’s the problem. It’s disgusting. It’s embarrassing.”
Watching her, Theo wiped the blood from his mouth. He had a very creative fantasy life going where Sophia was concerned. And his baby sister wasn’t going to spoil it for him.
He shook back his mop of curly hair. Yawned. “You’re just jealous.”
“I am not.”
“Sure you are. ’Cause you’re skinny and flat-chested.”
“I’d rather have brains than breasts.”
“Good thing. I don’t know why you’re having a snit-fit because Dad’s hanging with Pilar. He’s hung with women before.”
“You’re so stupid.” Every dreg of disgust gathered in her voice. “He’s not hanging out with her, putz-face. He’s in love with her.”
“Get out. What do you know?” But his stomach did a funny little jump as he dragged a bag of chips off his dresser. “Man.”
“It’s going to change everything. That’s the way it works.” There was a terrible pressure in her chest, but she got to her feet. “Nothing’s ever going to be the same again, and that sucks out loud.”
“Nothing’s been the same. Not since Mom took off.”
“It got better.” The tears wanted to escape, but rather than let them fall in front of him, she stormed out of the room.
“Yeah,” Theo muttered. “But it didn’t stay the same.”
Sophia hoped air, cold and clear, would blow some of the clouds from her mind. She had to think, and think precisely. She was spinning as quickly as she could, but the newscast had caused some damage. Too often the first impression was all people ever remembered.
Now her job was to shift that impression. To show the public that while Giambelli had been violated, the company had done nothing to violate the public. That took more than words, she knew, more even than placement and delivery. It took tangible action.
If her grandparents weren’t even now packed for Italy, she would have urged them to do so. To be visible at the source of the problem. Not to fall back on the safety of “no comment” but to comment often and to comment specifically. Use the company name again and again, she thought, making mental notes. Make it personal, make the company breathe.
But . . . they had to tread carefully around Margaret Bowers. Sympathy, of course, but not so much it implied responsibility.
To do that, to help them do that, Sophia had to stop thinking of Margaret as a person.
If that was cold, she would be cold. And deal with her conscience later.
She stood at the edge of the vineyard. It was guarded, she thought, against pests, disease, the vagaries of weather. Whatever threatened to invade or damage it was fought against. This was no different. She’d fight the war, and on her terms. She wouldn’t regret any act that won it.
She caught a shadow of movement. “Who’s there?” Her mind leaped toward trespasser, saboteur. Murderer. Without hesitation she charged, and found her arms full of struggling young girl.
“Let go! I can be here. I’m allowed.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Sophia stepped back. “You scared me.”
She hadn’t looked scared, Maddy thought. But she had looked scary. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you were. I said you scared me. I guess we’re all a little jumpy right now. Look . . .”
She caught the glimmer of tears on the girl’s cheeks. As she didn’t like having her own crying jags brought into issue, she gave Maddy the same consideration.
“I just came out to clear my head. Too much going on in there right now.” Sophia glanced back at the house.
<
br /> “My father’s working.”
There was just enough defense in the statement to have Sophia speculating. “There’s a lot of pressure on him right now. On everybody. My grandparents are leaving for Italy first thing in the morning. I worry about them. They’re not young anymore.”
After her father’s rebuff, Sophia’s casual confidence soothed. Still cautious, Maddy fell into step beside her. “They don’t act old. Not, like, decrepit or anything.”
“No, they don’t, do they? But still. I wish I could go instead, but they need me here right now.”
Maddy’s lips trembled as she looked toward the lights of the guest house. Nobody, it seemed, needed her. Anywhere. “At least you’ve got something to do.”
“Yeah. Now if I could just figure out what to do next. So much going on.”
She slanted Maddy a look. The kid was wound up and sulking about something. Sophia remembered very well what it was like to be fourteen, wound up and sulking.
Life was full of immediacy and intense moments at fourteen, she thought, that made professional crises seem like paper cuts.
“I guess, on some level, we’re in the same boat. My mother,” she said when Maddy remained silent. “Your father. It’s a little weird.”
Maddy shrugged, then hunched her shoulders. “I gotta go.”
“All right, but I’d like to tell you something. Woman to woman, daughter to daughter, whatever. My mother’s gone a long time without someone, without a good man, to care about her. I don’t know what it’s been like for you, or your brother or your father. But for me, after the general strangeness of it, it’s nice to see her have a good man who makes her happy. I hope you’ll give her a chance.”
“It doesn’t matter what I do. Or think. Or say.”
Defiant misery, Sophia mused. Yes, she remembered that, too. “Yes, it matters. When someone loves us, what we think and what we do matters.” She looked over at the sound of running feet. “From the looks of it, somebody loves you.”
“Maddy!” Breathless, David plucked his daughter off her feet. He managed to embrace and shake her at the same time. “What are you doing? You can’t go wandering off like that after dark.”
“I just took a walk.”
“And cost me a year of my life. You want to fight with your brother, be my guest, but you’re not to leave the house again without permission. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Though secretly pleased, she grimaced. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Think again.” He hooked his arm around her neck, a casual habit of affection Sophia had noticed. And envied. Her father had never touched her like that.
“Partly my fault,” Sophia told him. “I kept her longer than I should have. She’s a terrific sounding board. My mind was going off in too many directions.”
“You should give it a rest. You’re going to need all circuits up and working tomorrow. Is your mother free?”
He didn’t notice the way Maddy stiffened, but Sophia did. “I imagine. Why?”
“I’m slogging through reports and memos, in Italian. It’d go faster with someone who reads it better than I do.”
“I’ll tell her.” Sophia looked at Maddy now. “She’ll want to help.”
“Appreciate it. Now I’ll just drag this baggage home and pound it awhile. See you at the briefing. Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be ready. ’Night, Maddy.” She watched them walk through the fields toward the guest house, their shadows close enough to merge into one form in the moonlight.
Hard to blame the kid for wanting to keep it that way. Hard to make room for changes. For people, when your life seemed just fine as it was.
But changes happened. It was smarter to be a part of them. Better yet, she decided, to initiate them.
Tyler kept the radio and the TV off. He ignored the phone. One thing he could control was his own reaction to the press, and the best way to control it was to ignore the press altogether. At least for a few hours.
He was working his way through his own files, his logs, every record he had available. He could, and would, ascertain that the MacMillan area of the company was secure.
What he couldn’t seem to control were his own questions about Margaret. An accident, suicide or murder? None of the options was appealing. He eliminated suicide. She hadn’t been the type, and he sure as hell didn’t have the towering ego that suggested she’d killed herself in despair because he’d broken a dinner date.
Maybe she had been interested in him, and maybe he’d ignored the signals because he hadn’t felt the same way. And hadn’t wanted the complications. Life was complicated enough without tangling up business and personal relationships.
Plus, she just hadn’t been his type.
He didn’t go for the fast-track career woman with attitude and an agenda. That kind of woman just took too much energy.
Take Sophia.
Christ, he was beginning to think he’d explode if he didn’t take Sophia. And wasn’t that the point? he reminded himself as he roamed restlessly downstairs again. Thinking about her that way muddled up the mind, strained the body and complicated an already complex business association.
Now more than ever it was essential he keep his mind on his job. The current crisis was going to pull his time and energy away from the vineyards when he could least afford it. Long-range forecasts warned him that frost vigils would be necessary. Several casks of wine were on the point of being ready for bottling. Disking had already started.
He didn’t have time to worry about police investigations, potential lawsuits. Or a woman. And of all of them, he was finding the woman the hardest to shove out of his mind.
Because she’d invaded his system, he thought. And she’d be stuck there, irritating him, until he got her out again. So why didn’t he just march over to the villa, storm up her terrace steps and deal with it. Finish it.
He knew exactly how pathetic and self-serving that was as rationalization. And decided he didn’t give a damn.
He grabbed a jacket, strode to the front door and yanked it open.
And there she was, stalking up his steps.
“I don’t like irritable, macho men,” she told him as she slammed the door at her back.
“I don’t like bossy, aggressive women.”
They dove at each other. Even as their mouths began a mutual assault she boosted herself up, wrapped her legs around his hips. “I want a bed this time.” Her breath already tattered, she tugged at his shirt. “We’ll try out the floor later.”
“I want you naked.” He nipped his teeth into her throat and began to stagger up the steps. “I don’t care where.”
“God, you have this incredible taste.” She raced her lips over his face, his neck. “It’s so basic.” Her breath caught when he rapped her back against the wall at the top of the steps. Her fingers fisted in his hair. “This is just sex, right?”
“Yeah, right, whatever.” His mouth crushed down on hers. Using the wall to brace her, he began dragging her sweater over her head. “God. You’re so built.” He tossed her sweater aside, took his mouth over the soft swell of breast that rose above her bra. “We’re not going to make the bed.”
Her heart hammered as he used his teeth on her. “Okay. Next time.”
Her feet hit the floor. At least she thought they did. It was hard to know where she was, who she was with as the geyser of greed erupted inside her. Hands were pulling at clothes; something ripped. Mouths ran hot over flesh. Everything blurred. Over the wild beat of blood she could hear her own whimpers, pleas, demands, a kind of mad chant that merged with his.
She was already wet, already aching when his fingers found her. The violent glory of the orgasm ripped through her, molten gold release, so strong, so welcome she might have melted bonelessly to the floor.
“Uh-uh. No you don’t.” He pressed her back against the wall and, riding on her thrill, continued to drive her. “I want you screaming. Go up again.”
She couldn’t have stoppe
d herself. Welcoming the burn, craving it, she let him take, empty her out until her mind was filled with the dark and the feral.
And filled, she tore at him, whipped him past reason. She watched his eyes go opaque and knew it was she who blinded him. Heard his breath heave and tear, and thrilled that she could weaken him.
“Now.” Once more she anchored her hands in his hair and shuddered, shuddered as she poised on the next thin edge. “Now, now, now.”
When he plunged into her, she came again. Brutally. Her nails dug into the sweat-slicked slope of his shoulders as her hips pistoned. Lightning-fast. With his mouth fused to hers, he swallowed the small, greedy sounds she made. Fed on them as he hitched her up to give more. Take more.
Pleasure careened through him, left him shattered, stupefied.
He managed to hold on to her as both of them slid to the floor.
Sprawled over him, her heart still racing, Sophia began to laugh. “Dio. Grazie a Dio. Decanted at last. No real finesse, but a fine body and excellent staying power.”
“We’ll work on finesse when I’m not ready to howl at the moon.”
“Wasn’t complaining.” To prove it, she brushed her lips lightly over his chest. “I feel fabulous. At least I think I do.”
“I can verify that. You feel incredible.” He blew out a breath. “I’m winded.”
“That makes two of us.” She lifted her head, studied his face. “Are you finished?”
“Not hardly.”
“Oh, good, because neither am I.” She shifted, straddled him. “Ty?”
“Mmmm.” His hands were already stroking up her torso. She was so smooth, he thought. Smooth, dusky, exotic.
“We probably need to set guidelines.”
“Yeah.” She had a pretty little mole on the curve of her left hip. A kind of sexual punctuation.
“You want to get into that now?”
“No.”
“Good. Me either.” She braced her hands on either side of his head, leaned down. She brushed her lips at the corners of his mouth, teasing little sips. “Bed?” she whispered.
He reared up, wrapped his arms around her. “Next time.”
Sometime around midnight, she found herself facedown on his bed. The sheets were tangled and hot, and her bones were limp as water.
