Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks!

by Kimberly Lang

  Small talk seemed oddly easy at the moment. It certainly beat fighting, and his hopes that this night might turn out to be interesting grew. “Only you would call grape juice gorgeous.”

  She smiled. “Gorgeous juice makes gorgeous wine. And that makes me very happy indeed.”

  “What else makes you happy, Bren?” The question came out of nowhere, shocking him almost as much as her.

  She sighed tiredly. “Are we going to fight now?”

  He couldn’t stop the small smile her question caused, but Brenna’s eyes were still closed and she couldn’t see it. “Not unless you start it. It’s a simple question.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Fine. Let’s see.” She thought for a long moment, floating her hands on the water’s surface and humming. “Good grapes and good wine.”

  Did she ever think about anything else? “Besides wine, Bren.”

  Brenna pursed her lips in mock annoyance. “Um…Walks through the vineyard right at sunset—when it’s peaceful and cool, but not dark yet.”

  They’d been on several memorable sunset walks together, but he didn’t think Brenna would appreciate the reminder at the moment.

  “Brownie fudge ice cream. And…And…Can I say good wine again?”

  “That’s not very creative.”

  That caused her eyes to open again. “What can I say? I have simple needs. What about you?”

  He had to think. “Board meetings where no one brings me a disaster to fix. Fast cars. Single-malt Scotch.”

  Brenna shook her head. “That’s a strange list.”

  “Well, we all can’t be blissful just hanging out at Amante Verano making good wine.” He shrugged.

  He’d said it off-hand, but Brenna’s chin dropped and her teeth worried her bottom lip. He knew that look, too, so he waited to see what she was working up the courage to say.

  “I’m very sorry, Jack.”

  An apology? He’d expected a volley about the sale of the winery, or even a statement about Max, designed to play on his sense of duty to the vineyard. Not an apology. What was she angling for? “What for, Bren?”

  “A lot of things. But mainly for keeping you away from here.”

  He snorted, and Brenna looked at him in question. “Brenna, if I’d had any desire to come out here, your presence wouldn’t have stopped me.”

  Confusion wrinkled her forehead. “But you used to love it here—you were out here all the time. It was just after…after, you know, the divorce that you quit coming. I know that was because of me, and I am sorry for that.”

  Interesting. There were many ways he could respond, but something about Brenna’s honesty brought out the same in him. “I don’t like wine, I don’t like grapes, and I certainly don’t have any interest in agriculture of any sort. Think about it—how often did I come out here in the two years after Max bought the property?”

  “Maybe twice that I know of…”

  He leaned forward and held her gaze. “That’s because you were in school and I hadn’t met you yet. Then I came out with Max for your graduation…”

  Brenna’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Are you saying you only came out here to see me that summer?”

  He nodded, enjoying the waves of shock that moved over her face as she re-aligned her thought processes. “And after we were over there was no reason for me to come back.”

  Chapter Four

  BRENNA struggled to make sense of his words. The chirp of crickets and the bubbles of the tub’s jets covered the sound of her rough, shallow breaths as the ramifications of his simple statement hit home. “I always assumed it was me keeping you away.”

  Jack shrugged a muscular shoulder, drawing her attention back to his body. Thankfully, much of it was submerged, and no longer quite the magnet for her eyes. Jack in nothing but swim trunks brought back too many memories, and her brain simply couldn’t balance both important conversation and gawking at Jack’s body at the same time. She struggled to focus on what Jack was saying.

  “Why? You knew good and well by the time we got divorced that there wasn’t much attraction out here for me.”

  She’d been the attraction before. That explained some things…“But you didn’t even come to see Max after the divorce.”

  “Staying under the same roof with your ex—especially when your former mother-in-law is sleeping with your father—isn’t exactly a tourist attraction.” A wry smile crossed his face. “No matter how nice the scenery.”

  Okay, she knew that. She’d even considered moving back into her old house at the time, only Max and her mom had talked her out of it.

  Jack’s legs were so close to hers under the bubbling water they rubbed against hers as he shifted position. The brief contact sent a zing through her. But she couldn’t hold eye contact, because the smoldering look there wreaked havoc on her insides. If she kept her eyes on his forehead it was easier to concentrate, and she’d be able to keep up with this conversation.

  “Then Max started spending even more time out here and less in the city,” he continued, as if he didn’t know how she was having trouble following along, “and the company took over my life. What little free time I had left I wasn’t going to spend it out here, regardless.”

  Suddenly she realized that for the first time since…well, since the beginning of the end, there was no anger underlying Jack’s words. While that absence calmed her guilty conscience, and the part of her that was always so on edge whenever she so much as thought of him, she wasn’t deaf to the other heat adding weight to his words. That heat her body recognized immediately, even though she hadn’t heard it in years. To her great embarrassment her breasts began to tingle and a familiar ache settled in her core.

  It was gratifying to know that after everything Jack wasn’t completely immune to her. That he didn’t hate her enough to make his body forget what had brought them together in the first place. Her skin felt flushed, and she hoped the steam and the hot water would take the blame.

  But she couldn’t lose focus. This conversation was too important. His concise explanation didn’t quite explain as much as his casual demeanor implied. “But Max always…” She stopped herself, unwilling to say the words.

  Jack looked at her closely. “You think Max blamed you?”

  She nodded. “He had to. He was so disappointed after the divorce.”

  “Max didn’t like having his plans thwarted. He had this whole hotel-slash-winery empire planned, and you managed to accomplish the one thing he couldn’t do—made me give a damn about this place. The divorce put him back at zero—at least until he came up with this ridiculous scheme. Max didn’t blame you for the divorce, Bren. He saved all the blame for me.”

  Jack didn’t sound bitter, just matter-of-fact. If anything, it made her feel worse about the situation. “Then I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I caused a rift between you and Max.”

  “Quit apologizing. You didn’t cause anything. You were just a handy excuse.”

  Just an excuse? No way. “There’s got to be more to it than that. Your relationship with Max—”

  “Has nothing to do with the current situation.” He brushed her words aside with a wave of his hand.

  She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them. The stress she’d come out here to alleviate was building instead. Hot tub jets were no match for the knots Jack caused, but the stress was much less disturbing than her inappropriate tingling. “Then why? If it’s not because of me and it’s not because of Max, then why do you want to sell so badly?”

  She worked up the courage to look at him then, but he didn’t look angry. More like resigned and tired of talking about it. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to own a winery. I know that’s an alien concept for you, because you do, but not everyone has a burning desire to make wine. You need to get off the property more. Expand your circle of friends and see there’s a whole world out there not obsessed with grapes.”

  There it was. The snide remark. The dismissive tone. She shoul
d have known it was coming instead of being lulled by his civility and the intimate atmosphere caused by their surroundings and the conversation. She needed more space, and she pushed herself out of the steaming water. The air felt chilly against her heated skin but did nothing to cool her rising temper. “God, you’re such a jerk.”

  Jack had the nerve to look taken aback. “What now?”

  The tingle thankfully disappeared as old resentments bubbled up. This was much easier. “You. Acting so superior and condescending. Little Brenna is so sheltered and naïve, she couldn’t possibly know any better.”

  “You can’t deny you’ve been sheltered out here. You used to admit that readily.”

  She started to pace in agitation. “Maybe. That doesn’t mean I’m naïve. Just because I never went to college…”

  Jack pushed out of the water as well and sat on the edge of the tub. “That was your decision. UC Davis would have let you in.”

  “Only because my last name was Garrett at the time. And why would I spend all that time at school for them to teach me what I already knew about wine-making?”

  “You might have enjoyed it. Or you could have gone to a different school and studied something else.”

  Now a pang of old hurt joined the resentment. “Oh, I’m so sorry my lack of formal education was such an embarrassment in front of your snobby city friends.”

  “Having interests other than grapes makes them snobs?”

  “No, looking down on people makes them snobs.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should know from all the practice you’ve had.”

  Jack ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Why are we having this fight again? We’re not married anymore.”

  And they’d just run through many of the reasons why. Again. “Thank goodness for that.” She reached for her wine glass and drank deeply.

  “If anyone’s a snob, Brenna, it’s you.”

  She choked on her wine. “What? Hardly.”

  Jack stood and walked to within an inch of her. “You’re a wine snob. All that ‘fruit of the vine, nectar of the gods’ garbage. It gets old. And quite boring.”

  The comment stung, but she stood her ground. “Gee, I’m sheltered, naïve, snobbish and boring—and you’re an overbearing, condescending jerk with a superiority complex. 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. How had she forgotten she was practically naked? And that he was, too? Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her bikini, and a slow half-smile crossed Jack’s face. “Oh, I think you remember why, Bren,” he said quietly. “I know I do.”

  His husky voice moved through her and every nerveending came to life. 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. Damn him. “D-don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not. This has always been the subject.” He traced a finger over her collarbone and down the top of her arm. Gooseflesh rose up in its wake, and a shiver moved through her. “We’ve always had this.”

  “Jack, don’t.” Her voice sounded breathy and unsteady even to her, but she couldn’t pull away from the tease of his touch or the promise in his voice. Her body screamed for more, and all she’d have to do would be to take a tiny step forward…

  No. She closed her eyes, blocking the sight of temptation, but her other senses were still under assault and she swayed on her feet. 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. In this case it could only make things worse. More complicated.

  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.

  She knew what his hands could do to her, remembered the feel of his skin against hers. And from the fire in Jack’s eyes she knew he was remembering as well. A tiny shiver of desire rippled through her.

  His finger finished its slow path down her arm and now tickled across the sensitive skin of her waist, over her stomach, where butterflies battered her insides.

  “Jack, I…I mean we shouldn’t. Can’t.” She didn’t know exactly what she was trying to say, but weak protest was better than none at all.

  Jack’s voice rumbled through her. “But we can. And you know you want to.” The tickling fingers became a warm caress as his palm moved over the dip in her waist to the plane of her lower back.

  Be strong. Brenna inhaled, filling her starved lungs with oxygen and the enticing smell that was uniquely Jack. Now step away. The signal to her feet to move got lost in transit as Jack’s arm began to encircle her.

  She was wavering, and she hated herself for it. What harm could it do? her body argued.

  A lot, her heart responded.

  Hundreds of reasons—solid, rational reasons—why this would be a mistake raced through her mind, but that didn’t stop her from taking a step closer to him. Jack’s fingers tightened on her back, urging her closer still, until she could feel the hairs on his chest tickling faintly across her skin.

  Brenna’s brain felt foggy, and she lifted her hand to his chest to create a barrier. Jack inhaled sharply at her touch, and the muscle under his skin jumped in response.

  Just a taste.

  Jack’s hand came up to lift her chin, angling it for his kiss, and reality intruded one last time. She’d regret this either way, but which choice would she regret more?

  His mouth was almost on hers when she clasped her hand around his wrist. She could feel the heavy beat of his pulse under her fingers, matching the thumping in her chest. Jack’s cheek slid across hers as she turned her face away.

  “You want me, Bren. I can feel it,” Jack whispered.

  Oh, he was so right about that. And she could feel how much he wanted her. All she had to do was say yes…

  “I’ll make this easier for you.” Jack kissed her temple, then moved to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “Give me tonight, and I’ll give you the winery.”

  Jack heard her sharp gasp a second before her hands landed on his chest and pushed him forcefully away from her. Anger hardened her jaw as her fingers flexed, then curled into a fist. Closing her eyes with the effort, she lowered her hand to her side.

  When she opened her eyes, the heat blasted him. “Are you kidding me?”

  Her anger cut through the last of the sensual haze that had snared him and had to have been the source of his offer. The thought of simply giving her the winery had crossed his mind briefly, as a quick and easy way out of this unholy mess, but he hadn’t entertained it seriously. After all, as Brenna had pointed out, business was built into his DNA, and giving one away wasn’t exactly approved business practice.

  But the offer was out there now, even if he didn’t know what had possessed him to make it. “I’m serious, Brenna.” He held the stare, watching as Brenna moved from anger, to shock, through disbelief, and finally settled on outrage. He wasn’t going to back pedal, not even as he watched the angry flush creep up Brenna’s neck as her temper boiled. Even with indignation radiating off her in waves he burned for her. His fingers itched to touch her again, to feel that smooth skin quiver in pleasure and desire. He knew her taste, and the craving was awakened, familiar and frustrating at the same time.

  It would give her the excuse she needed to give in to the desire he knew she felt without recriminations in the morning. He’d be able to get Brenna out of his system and break their stalemate over the winery at the same time. Win-win all around.

  “Oh. My. God.” Brenna took another step back, shaking her head in disbelief. As her shoulders tensed, he braced f
or the full blast of her temper.

  But the blow-up didn’t come. Her anger seemed to drain away as quickly as it had flared. She moved to the table and perched on the edge, her hands folded against her chin. “I always thought we’d hit every low possible, but this is a new one.” Her shoulders slumped as the last of the ire went out of her voice, and she laughed hollowly. “It’s a hell of an offer, Jack. Prostituting myself in order to keep my vineyard. It’s appropriate, though. I’m screwed no matter what I do.”

  Put like that, his proposition sounded tawdry, instead of expedient yet pleasurable for them both. “If you want to look at it that way—”

  “There’s another way?” she scoffed. “If I sign off on the sale I get you out of my life permanently, but I gain God-only-knows-who as a partner, and there’s no telling what that will do to my business. If I don’t sign off on the sale you’ll make my life hell in a multitude of interesting ways.” Brenna started to pace, her hands moving in agitated circles as she talked. “So I can sleep with you, throwing away what little self-respect I still have, but gaining my business free and clear. In theory, that sounds really great—except I’ve already told you that I need your name backing me for a while.”

  She finally faced him, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving under her skimpy bikini top. The anger was back. “Tell me, exactly what other way there is to look at it. The way where I’m not screwed, personally and professionally?”

  Wide-eyed and expectant, she glared at him, waiting for an answer. He didn’t have one readily available. He’d backed her into a corner, and she had no graceful means of escape. The professors from his MBA program would be proud—hell, Max would be proud—of his use of the time-honored strategy of putting his adversary into a position where he definitely had the upper hand in the negotiations.

  Except putting Brenna there didn’t bring the satisfaction it would in any other situation.

  As the silence stretched out Brenna’s breathing turned ragged, and he saw the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, as if she were trying to pull herself together and hold the tears at bay.