by Susan Meier
He could not like her. He would hurt her. Or she would hurt him.
But even that line was blurring now, which meant he liked her a lot more than was advisable.
They stopped at her condo door. She punched in the key code. “Why don’t you come in. It’s four hours ’til dinner. There’s plenty of time for us to have a glass of wine on the balcony.”
He glanced outside at the place where they’d had wine the night before, where he’d helped her come to another conclusion and where she’d kissed him.
The power of that simple kiss snapped through him and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. To drink wine and laugh. Except that would only make him like her more. As it was, he was dangerously close to letting go, letting himself enjoy her company. Then, when she left, when she got home and realized how much she’d missed her life, he’d barely be a passing thought. And if he as much as moped one day over her, his family would think he was an idiot.
It was one thing to fall for one woman who’d been on the rebound. Falling for a second would make him the world’s biggest fool.
Which was why he said, “No. Thanks. I’m going to look at some accounts before dinner.”
She smiled. “Why don’t we have the glass of wine, then I could come over to your condo and help you do whatever it is you have to do.”
He laughed. “Right. I’m going to audit accounts after a couple of glasses of wine?”
“I said one glass.”
“I saw how you are with wine. I saw you refill your glass twice last night without even hesitating.”
“Because it was good.”
The simplicity of her answer soothed his agitated soul. But that was what being with her did to him. Made him happy. Calmed him down. Made him feel like he’d found his place. Like he wasn’t the one helping her. She was the one helping him. And in a way she was. He hadn’t realized how empty his life had been without intimacy until he’d met her.
“Thanks.” He longed to run his fingers through her hair, to be allowed to touch her. Just to have contact. But none of this was real for her. Oh, she might think it was, but being away from her dad, Charles, the gossip about her running from her wedding, had put her in something of a protective bubble. She’d be strong about some things when she returned home, but she would realize she missed others.
Maybe even Charles.
“How about if I help before the wine?”
He stepped back. “No. I’m good. We’ll both have enough wine with dinner at Nanna’s tonight.”
She nodded, opened her condo door and walked inside.
He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets as his heart drooped. It was cruel of fate to find him a woman to bring him back to life after Cicely, to remind him of all the things he’d wanted, to long for things he’d thought were beyond his reach. Because Morgan wasn’t any more able to give them to him than Cicely had been.
He turned and headed for his condo. He was thankful she only had a few more days before she could go home, but when he walked inside his quarters that odd feeling struck him again. The one he’d had the day they’d arrived in Spain...
That he missed her.
That his life just wasn’t complete without her in it.
He knew what was happening. Despite his best efforts and all his good arguments, it would hurt when she left.
* * *
Morgan dressed in a peach floral sheath dress for dinner that evening. Nerves pricked at her stomach but she ignored them. She’d stood by her door after she’d gone inside that afternoon, waiting to hear Riccardo leave but he didn’t. For a good five minutes, he stayed in the hallway, in front of her door.
She’d thought he would change his mind about the wine, thought he might actually be changing his mind about everything. God knew she was. Every time she tried to tell herself she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be making emotional decisions, he did something wonderful and she would know she wasn’t falling for him because she was vulnerable. She was falling for him because he was a man worth loving.
She couldn’t even think about him without losing her breath.
In the end, he’d walked away and gone to his condo to look at his accounts, but they were having dinner that night with the family. They would have five minutes alone walking over and five minutes walking home—then there would be time at her door. He might kiss her again. Or maybe she would kiss him...
Twenty minutes went by with her pacing in front of the sofa, waiting for him to knock on her door. When she recognized they’d be late if they didn’t leave now, she wondered if he’d decided not to walk her over. He’d never actually said he’d get her for dinner, but it was common sense to go to family meals together. They were on the same floor of the same building. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, “ditch” her.
When another five minutes went by, she knew she either left now or she’d be late. Rationalizing that he could be on the phone with someone or napping, she realized that if she waited for him she’d look like an idiot who couldn’t even walk herself next door.
She stepped into the hall and stood staring at Riccardo’s door.
She could knock. If he answered, she could say something light and fun, like, “Hey, we’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on.”
But knocking on his door seemed hopelessly desperate. She refused to be desperate. She might want to kiss him. She might even be falling in love. But Morgan Monroe was not desperate.
She raced along the cobblestone path and up the stairs to Nanna’s. She did as Riccardo always did, pressed the doorbell, but walked inside without waiting for someone to answer.
She entered the sitting room with a smile. “Good evening, everyone.”
A general greeting came from his family, as Nanna walked over and escorted her to the sofa. “Get her some wine, Alonzo.”
Alonzo complied and brought her a nice glass of red. Taking a sip, she glanced around surreptitiously and didn’t see Riccardo.
She wanted to ask. But what was the point? If he was on the phone with someone, no one at Nanna’s would know. If he was napping, same deal.
Still, no one seemed concerned that he was late, and when dinner was served and he still wasn’t there, no one mentioned it. No one mentioned him all night.
At the end of the evening, Julia rose from the sofa and said, “Time to get moving.” She caught Alonzo’s hand and pulled him from his seat before she turned to Morgan. “Riccardo asked us if we’d walk you home.”
Her breath froze at the mention of his name until she realized what Julia had said. “He asked you to walk me home?”
“Yes,” Alonzo said. “He had a long day, and said he was too tired to join us for dinner, but didn’t want you walking home alone. Especially since our town house is on the way.”
He wasn’t at dinner because he’d had a long day?
She’d been with him most of the day and she wasn’t tired—
Unless he just plain didn’t want to see her?
He hadn’t wanted to come to her balcony for wine, didn’t want to have dinner with her and now didn’t want her walking home alone?
The insult of it built like storm clouds on the horizon.
The nerve of that man. He looked at her like she was his favorite jelly on a croissant, then avoided her?
Julia hooked her arm through Morgan’s. “Let’s go.”
As they started for the door, a new sense of insult rose in her. Not only did he not want to see her, but he also had somebody walk her home as if he was afraid she’d escape. He couldn’t seem to let go of his commitment to her dad to watch her.
Okay. In fairness, she had almost bought a ticket to leave. But to protect him. Not to get away from him.
Alonzo and Julia deposited her at the door to the condo building and she rode up in the elevator in silence. She didn’t even look at Ricc
ardo’s door, just powered through the hallway and into her own quarters.
Fuming, she fell into a fitful sleep but her phone rang what felt like only minutes later. She groggily said, “Hello?”
“It’s time!” Julia’s excited voice burst into Morgan’s ear.
They’d talked about needing to pick the grapes very, very soon. “Probably tonight,” Alonzo had said at dinner, and having lived on a vineyard most of her life, Morgan understood.
She whipped off the covers. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
“Someone will drive you back by ATV. Wear jeans.”
Not taking even two seconds to think, Morgan jumped into jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. The heat of the day gave way to cooler nights and she wasn’t taking any chances. In less than five minutes, she was in the hall, pressing the button for the elevator. Grapes had to be picked when they were at the perfect stage of ripeness. Once they hit the peak, a vintner had very little time to get them harvested. With a vineyard as large as the Ochoa family’s that was a monumental task, especially harvesting by hand.
Waiting for the elevator, she didn’t think about Riccardo, didn’t glance at his door. He could sit and spin for all she cared.
The elevator finally came. She jumped in, rode to the first floor and raced out to the grounds of the main house. Nanna waved her over.
Walking to Riccardo’s grandmother, she said, “You’re picking grapes?”
“I haven’t missed a year since I married Santiago and Carlos’s father. I’m not stopping now.”
Three ATVs pulled up to the cobblestone walk. Alonzo drove one. Julia drove the second. Riccardo drove the third.
Nanna gave her a quick shove. “Go on. I’ll ride with Alonzo.”
Annoyed that Riccardo had avoided her, she walked toward Julia’s ATV.
But Riccardo caught her arm. “You come with me.”
Before she could argue, someone else jumped on Julia’s ATV.
She raised her chin and slid on behind Riccardo. “I’m surprised you’re willing to take me.”
He shoved the vehicle into gear. “Are you kidding? Let you alone among hundreds of people with access to the road?”
She couldn’t believe he was still guarding her, couldn’t believe he didn’t understand that letting her run away would end his responsibility.
“You do realize that if I left you’d be off the hook?”
He turned around to gape at her. “Off the hook? Your father would shoot me.”
“I am a twenty-five-year-old woman. All you have to do is tell him I wanted to leave and you didn’t want to go to jail for holding me against my will.”
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, that made him laugh. He turned around and hit the gas, and the ATV roared to life.
Out of stubbornness, she’d avoided sliding her arms around him. But as the thing bumped and jerked along the rough path, she had no choice. Forced, she slid her arms around his middle.
She closed her eyes, trying to dispel the tingles that whispered through her. In her mind’s eye, she saw the abs her hands currently rested on. Wet from his shower the morning she’d seen him in only a towel.
She popped her eyes open to stop the vision, and saw they’d made it to the vineyard’s staging area. Huge construction lights lit the rows of grapes, mimicking daylight. A cart held food and coffee. People stood in a huddle getting instructions from Santiago or lessons with the small shears required to cut the grape stems from Carlos. Trucks arrived with more pickers. Laughing townspeople and tourists piled out and headed to Alonzo for gloves, baskets and shears.
Riccardo got off the ATV and offered his hand to help Morgan off. She all but batted it away.
“I can get myself off an ATV.”
“Fine. Let’s go to my dad for instructions.”
“On how to pick grapes?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“I grew up in a vineyard. I’ve picked grapes.”
“Great. Then we’ll go to Santiago for our assignment and Alonzo for our shears and baskets.”
“Fine.” Her head high, she marched to Santiago. He started giving her an assignment, but Riccardo took the sheet from his hands. “She’s with me.”
Santiago smiled and Morgan cursed old-world cultures that still thought women were helpless. Out of respect, she said nothing to Santiago, but when she and Riccardo were alone, heading back to his ATV after getting gloves and baskets from Alonzo, she snatched the paper from his hands.
“I can find my way alone.”
“Or you could just get on the ATV and ride out with me.”
Morgan stopped by the little red all-terrain vehicle. “Great. Nothing like feeling you’re in prison.”
Riccardo got on the ATV. “You’re not in prison. You’re free to do anything you want.”
She slid on the ATV. “Really? I can leave tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. I’ll come with you.”
“The point is to get away from you.”
“With the three hundred bucks you have left?”
Assuming she’d have his blessing, she’d intended to use his credit card, but she supposed that was off the table now.
She made a sound of exasperation as the ATV took off toward their assigned rows. He’d chase her down in Paris but wouldn’t have dinner with her that night. Sure. That made sense.
When the vehicle stopped, she jumped off, grabbed her basket and shears and stormed to find her place.
But in the vines, her anger suddenly disappeared. The night was cool, not cold, and the air so refreshing she took a long breath to enjoy it. With her gloves on, she angled her shears on the stem of her first cluster of grapes and snipped. They fell into her hand and she set them in her basket, the way her mom had taught her when she was six.
“I see you do know how to do this.”
“Did you think I was lying?” She wouldn’t look at him. She knew he had some sort of conciliatory expression on his face and she’d add that to his good looks and instantly forgive him for refusing to be around her, for sticking her with Julia and Alonzo and for basically telling her he’d follow her if she left. She didn’t want to forgive him. She wanted him to like her.
There. She’d admitted it. She felt like a silly teenager with a crush on an older boy, but it was what it was. If she could figure out a way to get to Paris without him monitoring his own credit card, it wouldn’t matter.
“I just thought that since it had been a while, you might have forgotten.”
A new pain hit her. She remembered the night her mom had taught her where and how to cut the grape stem, her mom’s laugh as it echoed through the vineyard and the many nights after that they’d picked together.
“You never forget the last thing you did with your mom.”
* * *
Riccardo’s heart stumbled to a stop. She’d tried to keep the sadness out of her voice, but he’d heard it. In all the time they’d spent together, she’d barely mentioned her mom.
“Why don’t you tell me about her?”
She did the thing where her chin lifted and it almost made him laugh. She was like an adorable kitten trying to pretend she was a lion. His growing feelings for her spun through him again, but he easily stopped them. He’d spent most of the night reminding himself of the humiliation and embarrassment after Cicely canceled their wedding. Falling in the same trap twice would be infinitely worse. Able to keep himself in line now, he could spend time with her, even have fun with her.
“No, thank you.”
“It’s going to be a long night if we don’t talk.”
When she didn’t reply, he said, “In all our conversations, you’ve never even told me her name.”
“Montgomery.”
“No. What was her first name?”
“Montgomery was her first name. It was her grea
t-great-grandfather’s last name. They gave her the name to honor him.”
He chuckled. “And to make her life miserable in kindergarten.”
Morgan shrugged. “She never mentioned that. She always talked about how she loved it. How it made her feel connected to her roots.”
“I understand that.” He felt the same way about his family. “Santiago and my father might be old-school sometimes, but my family is bound by tradition. Honor. A reason to make good grades at university. A reason to make my family proud.”
She softened a bit. “Yes. That’s obvious.”
The noise of harvesters arriving to take their rows ebbed and flowed around them. Riccardo was sure that would cause Morgan to clam up. To his surprise, she kept talking.
“My mom was busy. A lawyer with some impressive clients. But she always made time for me. Every couple of months, we’d go shopping in Chicago.”
He remembered her guessing they were going to Chicago when he’d told her they were going to Spain, and felt like a heel for not realizing there might have been a reason. He’d spent so much of their time together working not to fall for her that he’d missed some pretty important things.
They snipped more grapes, carefully laid them in their baskets.
“She taught me how to know what looked good on me and what didn’t.”
Eager to keep the conversation going, he said, “Which is why you have a great fashion sense.”
She shook her head. “I seem to remember you making fun of the clothes I bought at the airport and in the casino shops.”
“I’m sure there wasn’t much to choose from.”
“You are such a charmer.”
“Yet, you’re mad at me.”
“Because you don’t trust me.”
“The price of not going back to Lake Justice is being under my supervision. And it’s not like I’m a hard taskmaster. You have your own rooms. You come and go with Nanna. If you want freedom, I’ll arrange for the family jet to take you home.”
* * *
Snipping a stem, Morgan considered taking him up on that. She was infinitely stronger than she had been the day she’d run from her wedding. She’d already talked to Charles. If her dad insisted on being in on the first conversation when she got home, it wouldn’t make any difference. She could leave Riccardo Ochoa to the rest of his Vegas-going, probably womanizing life.
