“I think I’ve figured that out for myself.” Jack opened the door and stepped out into the cool air of the gym. Brenna had been up and gone before he’d left the house this morning, so he had no idea how she was handling everything that had happened last night.
He’d finally figured out what he wanted around three o’clock this morning, and having a plan had allowed him to finally sleep a little. The erotic dreams of Bren awaiting him had been nice, but the memory of those dreams was definitely a distraction this morning.
“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to stomping on you in the near future.”
Jack shrugged as Roger fell into step beside him and they headed for the locker room. He had a three o’clock meeting, and he needed to put in a couple of hours at the office before he headed back to Sonoma.
“You know, investing in a winery sounds interesting.”
Jack stopped. “Good Lord, not you, too? It’s like an epidemic. Everywhere I turn, someone wants to own a winery.”
Roger grinned. “Except you, for some reason.”
“Because I have no romantic notions about wine-making.” Jack returned the greetings of the socialites at the juice bar, and got moving again before any of them decided to come over and say hello in person. He didn’t have time—or the inclination at the moment—to deal with that.
Roger trotted to catch up. “Come on, how difficult could it be? Stomp a few grapes, mingle with the tourists, drink a lot. Sounds like a sweet job to me.”
Jack spared a glance to see if Roger was kidding. Shockingly, Jack didn’t think he was. “When was the last time you were in a vineyard?”
“I took the tour a couple of years ago, when the last set of in-laws visited.”
Maybe Bren was right about not selling to just anyone. “And that makes you an expert, of course. Trust me, Brenna would cheerfully and painfully remove your feet if you put them anywhere near her precious grapes.”
Roger spun the dial on his locker casually. “I’m surprised you’re being so generous. Brenna Walsh must really love you.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “What?”
Backtracking, Roger sputtered. “I mean, you’re the best ex-husband a woman could ask for. She can’t be cursing your name too often.”
He doubted that. Brenna was probably burning him in effigy right now.
“You’re setting a bad precedent for the rest of us,” Roger continued.
Jack closed his locker with a satisfying bang. “Tell you what. You deal with your ex-wives, and I’ll deal with mine.”
Roger put his hands up and backed away. “Fine. I’ll have the papers on your desk this afternoon.”
Good. He’d have them in hand when he went back to Amante Verano tonight. He’d use the weekend to go through the rest of Max’s things and get Brenna on board with the new plan. By Monday this whole situation would be off his plate and his life could go back to normal.
As the hot water of the shower kneaded his muscles, he realized there was still one last possible problem with his plan. Was Brenna over last night’s debacle yet, or was she nursing her anger today, building steam to go another round or two? The fight, the rehashing of the past—it all left a bad taste in his mouth, but it didn’t dampen the fire in his blood. Remembering Brenna’s physical response only fanned it. He’d reacquainted himself with the way she smelled and the feel of her skin. If he’d just kept his big mouth shut…
Grimacing, he turned the water to cold and pushed the image of Brenna—deliciously wet and covered only in a scrap of fabric—from his mind. He had a lot of real work to do today, and a raging erection wasn’t going to help.
Concentrating on the zoning issues for the new property in Sacramento did help, and while he might have been slightly distracted during the endless meetings, he managed to keep Brenna off his mind for the better part of the afternoon.
As promised, Roger’s courier had the documents on his desk before the end of the business day, and Brenna was once again front and center in his thoughts. Only this time it was the image of Brenna, teary-eyed and trying to hold it together, that kept appearing.
Brenna had said she was finished crying for him. And she’d said it so candidly, without any other pretense; he was leaning toward believing it. Had she cried alone? Without him knowing?
That would make him a first-class bastard who deserved to have her walk out on him.
Yet another reason he needed out of this mess. Quickly. He should let Roger handle it from here. It would be easier on him and Brenna both.
Then why the hell was he on his way to Sonoma?
Because I want her. Brenna was like a bad habit he’d thought he’d kicked years ago, but one tiny taste was enough to awaken the craving. Last night had cleared the air a little about their past, and the papers he had on the seat next to him should take care of their present problem. If Brenna wasn’t holding a grudge, he planned to finish what they’d started last night.
As he made the turn onto Amante Verano property he was cautiously optimistic about the night ahead. But, like a junkie who knew his fix was just moments away, the craving intensified as he parked next to Brenna’s Jeep.
The low hum of the television greeted him as he opened the door, and he saw Brenna on the couch, her long legs stretched out across the cushions. A magazine lay open on her lap; her face was serious as she read. She toyed with a lock of hair that had escaped the loose twist on the back of her head, more relaxed than he’d seen her in a long time. The image disappeared, though, when she heard his steps on the marble floor and the thud of his briefcase landing on the table. Startled, she turned to find the source of the noise, and the magazine slid to the floor.
“Jack! I—I—didn’t realize you’d be back tonight.” She pushed a button on the remote and the TV went black.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all. I’ve already told you you’re welcome here.” Brenna sounded friendly enough, but he still approached with caution, picking the magazine up off the floor and handing it back to her. It was a wine magazine. No surprise there.
“Interesting reading?”
“Very much so.” She grinned at him and his stomach tightened a bit. “There’s a fascinating article on cap management regimes, if you are looking for some light reading.”
Bren wasn’t poised for attack; in fact he almost believed her attitude was genuine. Was she looking for a ceasefire as well? That would make this evening—and all his plans—much easier. “I’ll pass, thanks.” He took the chair opposite the couch and noticed the glass on the table between them. No stem. Straight sides. A dark amber liquid with a small film of white bubbles across the surface. “Is that a beer?”
Brenna laughed. “Yes, it’s beer. Dianne and I went to town this afternoon, and I was able to replenish the supplies. Help yourself. There’s actual food in there, too, if you’re hungry,” she called at his back as he headed to the fridge.
Brenna’s amazing attitude adjustment seemed too good to be true. His optimism grew.
“A beer is all I need. It’s been a hell of a day.” He twisted off the cap and held the bottle by the neck as he slid the new agreement out of his briefcase.
“Sorry to hear that. Something wrong at the office?”
Her attempt at small talk brought a smile to his face, and it was tempting to just take his beer back to the living room for the simple, normal activity of human company and conversation after a long day. But that would only be a stalling tactic, and he wanted to get business out of the way first.
Brenna still wore her open, friendly look as he returned to the living room, but it faded as she saw the papers in his hand. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not signing that.”
“You should really read it before you decide.” He handed it to her and reclaimed his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him and drinking from the bottle as she flipped through the pages.
“This looks like it could take a while. How about you give me the abridged version
instead?” She reached for her own glass, placing the papers on the table and leaving them there as she settled back against the cushions and looked at him expectantly.
“All right. Short version it is. This gives you an additional twenty-five percent share in the business.” Her eyebrows went up. “Free and clear,” he assured her. “That gives you a majority stake, no matter what happens. In return, you agree to the sale of my remaining twenty-five percent to Garrett Properties, and the company will back you as a silent partner for the next year. At the end of that year you agree to allow the company to sell its interest to whatever buyer it finds—you, of course, will have the right of first refusal at that time, but you cannot block the sale.”
“You’d give me another twenty-five percent?” She sounded as if she was waiting for the trap to snap shut. She picked up the papers and began scanning, obviously looking for the catch. “Why?”
Roger had asked him the same question, so he recycled his answer. “Consider it part of your divorce settlement. Half of my half.”
“But I didn’t get a divorce settlement. We weren’t married long enough.”
“Then this gives me the opportunity to rectify that lack.” Brenna shot him a distrusting look. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a gift. No strings beyond what I’ve already said.”
She flipped through a few more pages before placing them back on the table. Picking her glass up again, she stared at the liquid, her eyebrows knitting together as she thought. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head, but he had no idea what conclusions she was drawing.
“I know it’s not what you want, but it’s the best I can do for you, Bren.”
She nodded and drummed her nails on the side of the glass. Then she swallowed hard and lifted her brown eyes to his. “I know it is. And it seems more than fair.”
Chapter Six
BRENNA’S throat felt tight. It was very fair. More than she could have hoped for, actually. Jack looked shocked. What had he expected? It wasn’t as if she had much room to bargain. In fact she was shocked he’d been so accommodating. He could have just continued to hound her until she gave in. Because, though she hadn’t admitted it to anyone, deep down she’d known she would have eventually buckled under the pressure.
“You agree to those terms?” Jack seemed a little surprised at her easy acceptance.
She nodded and drank deeply from her glass, hoping the beer would loosen the constriction around her vocal cords. It didn’t.
Jack sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “I’m glad to hear it. There’s no sense dragging this out endlessly.”
He was being mighty friendly for someone who’d gone ten rounds with her the night before. And this offer, coming out of nowhere like a gift from the gods…What was the catch? Stealth maneuvers and shady business weren’t Jack’s style at all, though. Maybe there wasn’t a catch. “I agree. I assume, though, you won’t object if I have my attorney read this before I sign.”
“Don’t you trust me?” His lips twitched in amusement.
She snorted. “Based on what? Our long, happy history?”
Jack tilted his head, acknowledging the truth to her statement, and shrugged.
“What’s the saying? ‘Trust, yet verify’? I think on something this important, I should be sure I know exactly what I’m signing.”
“That’s a sound plan, Bren. But since there’s no trapdoors to worry about, I look forward to hearing from your lawyer sometime next week.” He raised his bottle in a small toast. “To equitable solutions.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She drained her glass with the toast. Oddly enough, the knots of tension in her stomach finally released a little. After being tied up for so long, the relief felt alien.
Although she did fully intend to go over that agreement with a microscope to be sure, she realized she trusted Jack enough to believe it said what he claimed. She was just glad to have the end of this nightmare in sight.
And it felt really good, even if her hands were still shaking from making a stand.
Jack turned up his bottle and drained it as well. “Another?” he asked as he stood and crossed behind her to the kitchen.
“Please.” She heard glass clinking, and the tiny psfft as Jack opened the bottles. Maybe she should choose something a bit stronger. It wasn’t late, by any stretch of the imagination, but if Jack was starting his second beer it meant he didn’t plan on heading back to the city tonight. As he settled back into his seat Brenna realized he might decide to spend the evening in here. With her.
Last night’s events were too fresh to ignore, and the memories came back in a disturbing rush of sensation and emotion. Goosebumps formed on her skin as she remembered the feel of his fingers teasing over her stomach, and the sincere shock in his eyes when she had accused him of not loving her. She closed her eyes, only to be met with a vision of water tracing down Jack’s chest in the dim patio lights. She quickly opened her eyes and focused on the painting on the far wall as she took deep breaths. The room felt overly warm, and the beer she gulped didn’t help cool her any.
Maybe she should go grab the bottle of port. Dull the edges a bit with something more fortified—and fortifying—than beer.
“No big plans for your Friday night?” Jack asked, snapping her back to the present.
Conversation. Focus on the conversation. “This is it. We lack a happening club scene out here. Much to my dismay, of course.” Jack snorted, and took another sip of his beer. “But I could ask you the same thing.” She was a happy homebody, while Jack was a social creature—and a popular one, she knew. His life was usually one exciting event after another; surely he had something better to do on a Friday night.
“Well, I’d planned to have a shouting match with you tonight, but it seems like that’s been shot down.” He winked at her. “Not that I mind, of course, but it has freed up my evening unexpectedly.”
“I could throw some insults at you anyway, if you’d like,” she offered, in what she hoped was a helpful, teasing tone. It would certainly help her keep her mind away from dangerous places. At the same time, though, it was nice not to be at daggers drawn with him.
“Pass.” Jack stared out through the French doors at the dark vineyard, and she wondered what he was thinking about. It was easier, though, than having him look at her, and she was glad for the reprieve. The house normally seemed so big and empty, but with Jack here she felt slightly claustrophobic.
How could he look so relaxed? Feet propped up, settled back comfortably in her second favorite chair, he looked very much like the monarch of the glen as he casually lifted the bottle to his lips. His throat worked as he swallowed, calling her attention to the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, where the crisp white cotton looked stark against his tanned neck and the dark hair that just brushed the collar.
She knew what it felt like to run her fingers over the hard muscles at the nape of his neck and thread them through the inky softness—he’d worn it longer when he was younger, and she remembered how it had tickled her skin like a silky caress…
“Don’t you get lonely out here, Bren?”
She jumped as he spoke, and felt the guilty flush rise up her neck again. Thankfully, Jack was still focused on the vineyard; maybe he hadn’t noticed her inappropriate stare. “Don’t you mean bored?” she challenged, out of habit.
“No, I meant lonely.” There was no sarcasm in his voice, and when he did turn to look at her she only saw sincere curiosity on his face.
She regretted her snark instantly. “A little. It’s been tough since Max died—being alone, that is. The house is awfully big for just one person.” She shrugged and stared into her glass, wishing for another beer. “I’ve been thinking about getting a puppy, though. I could use the company.”
Jack seemed to read her mind, and he made the short trek to the kitchen and returned with another bottle for them both. She skipped the glass this time, and held her own bottle by the neck as she drank. Drinking thi
s much this fast was going to give her one hell of a headache tomorrow, but she needed the balm for her nerves.
Instead of returning to his seat, Jack pulled a cushion off the chair and tossed it to the floor beside the couch. As he lowered himself to the floor, he asked, “Do you mind? My back’s a little tight from my racquetball game today and the drive back.”
“Be my guest.” She shifted on the couch, turning to her side to face him more easily in his new position. Jack closed his eyes and stretched, and Brenna’s pulse kicked up as she watched. Keep the conversation going. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, a puppy. Something big, like a Boxer or a Rottweiler.”
Jack smiled without opening his eyes. “And to think you wanted that little Corgi puppy before.”
“We lived in a suite in a hotel.” A dark eyebrow went up. “Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a shoebox apartment, but still, it didn’t seem fair to a bigger dog to not have a yard.” Jack’s grin was heartstopping. She’d forgotten what it was like. “Maybe I’ll get two. They can keep each other company. Play together.”
“Then who will play with you?” he asked softly.
Her heart skipped a beat and she reached for her drink again. “It’s not like I’m a hermit out here. I’ve got Dianne and Ted and the baby—not to mention the people who work here every day.”
“And that’s enough for you? You don’t have any other…uh…company?”
She nearly choked on her drink. She swallowed and coughed painfully. “Are you seriously asking me about my love-life?”
Jack shrugged—a strange movement, considering his position. “I have to admit, I’m a bit curious.”
“You should have asked me that before you propositioned me last night.”
Jack’s eyes popped open, and she saw a strange light there in the dark blue depths. “Probably,” he answered, and she realized too late she’d said that last thought aloud.
Damn it, she should have stopped after her second beer. Now her liquor-loosened tongue had taken her smack into the middle of the one topic she’d desperately wanted to avoid. “Just forget it.”
Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks! Page 7
