The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family)

by Beverly Preston

  Tracy kicked a smooth rock laying in the sandy topsoil with the toe of her boot, exposing an ancient shell bleach white from exposure. She picked it up, rubbing off the crusted dirt. “A seashell?”

  “Si`. It is scattered with seashells. Forty million years ago this land was under the sea.” He pointed to his property near the lower valley. “Our land is made up of a sandier soil providing excellent drainage, but this land is better. The nutrients far exceed ours.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “How many acres are here?” Reaching up to knead the lobe of her ear, she raised to her tippy toes speculating where the property ended.

  “I would guess between three and four thousand.”

  Numbers began to multiply in her head. Tracy folded her arms over her chest, her brow wrinkled, deep in calculations.

  “I can see your brain is working very hard right now.”

  “Hmm?” She muttered. A smile flirting across his lips pulled her from a daze. “Have you considered buying this place?”

  He raised a doubtful brow.

  “Right.” Tracy nodded recognizing it was a silly question. Not many people could simply purchase a castle. “How about a long term lease on the land?”

  “No.” A fissure of interest exposed in his melancholy. “The estate has never gone up for sale. It used to be a hunting lodge for a wealthy socialite. He and my papa were, how you say, not friends?”

  “Rivals?”

  “Si`.” He held her hand as they walked, recanting stories of the enmity between the men. The man’s hunting dogs and horses got loose on several occasions trampling through his papa’s crops. Tracy laughed out loud listening to Vincent’s child-hood memories of finding the horses, hooves, and lips stained red and purple from their overnight feasts.

  Vincent spread out the wool blanket in the middle of the vacant courtyard over the lawn turned yellow from months of winter. The mid-day sun streamed through tree branches warming the blanket beneath them. Tracy quietly took mental notes of every detail of the amazing architecture. Faded stucco looked like soft embroidery, loved by elements of time. It would be impossible to recreate the grandeur of age and appeal hidden in the mortar of bricks surrounding them.

  “May I ask a question?”

  Tracy shifted to her left side, picking fuzz balls from the plaid blanket. “Yes.”

  “Do you agree with my brother?” His voice transfixed and firm. Tracy got the feeling this issue weighed heavily on his mind and he needed to get it off his chest. “About exporting?”

  The majestic oak, arms stripped bare and spindly, rustled in the breeze swallowing up her silence. This wasn’t the line of interrogation she’d hoped for. What’s your favorite food or movie or musician would have sufficed just fine. Registering the question, she drew in a big breath of air and exhaled.

  “Not completely.” Tracy hesitated before continuing bluntly, “Look, can we just take your brother out of the equation? Because, I have. To be honest, I’ve taken both of you out of the equation. My focus is what’s best for the future and success of Castlello Giovanni, not Vincent or Antonio.”

  “Success isn’t simply measured by how financially prosperous you are.” Vincent stated slicing the cheese into thin wedges with his pocket knife. “Success is about the things you accomplish, the mark you leave on people.”

  “I agree.” She held his hand, caressing her thumb over his palm.

  “Successful winemaking requires an intimate relationship between the winemaker and the environment. The earth, the vines, the grapes, the process, the taste, even the bottle…it represents our family. Staying true to my heritage is important to me. More important than having it on a shelf in some supermarket halfway around the world.”

  “The market is changing, Vincent. You cannot afford to ignore the fact that the industry is booming on a global scale. It’s no longer Italy, France and California dominating the market. Wine is being produced in more than forty counties around the world.” Tracy nibbled on a delicious piece of hard cheese. “And that number is growing every year. I’m not suggesting you do what is trending to keep current.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “Vincent, if you don’t alter your business plan or at least vary your output…you risk the chance of losing everything…in a matter of a few years.” She placed a long kiss to his palm. “You need to consider all avenues and carve out a new path. A path that you can leave for your children and your children’s children.”

  “It would no longer be my family’s heritage. The nuances of the right blends and maturity have been passed down from generation to generation. They will be lost if we alter the process.”

  “Is it possible to do both? Old and new?” Tracy hoped to find a solution that would suit each of their wants by splitting the distribution.

  “Not with the size of our estate.”

  “You have to evolve, raise the bar. Your neighbors are moving forward. There are benefits to exporting, using stainless steel tanks, as well as a dozen other key elements of winemaking, but that doesn’t mean you have to change them all.”

  “I refuse to even consider using steel tanks.” He responded coldly, snatching a grape from the stem and tossing it into his mouth. Stubbornness blazed in his eyes.

  “There’s a growing interest in using steel and wood fermenters to achieve optimal flavor, Vincent. Other wineries in the region are having success with them.” Tracy rested on one elbow, perched on her left side. “I’m sure it comes with its own set of challenges, but I think you need to consider all options.”

  “My family is not simply another winery in the region.”

  “Okay then steel tanks aren’t a possibility. But you will need to compromise.”

  “Are you an expert now?” Cynicism rippled off him in waves.

  “No. You know damn well that is not what I’m saying. But, numbers don’t lie. If you don’t make essential modifications, your winery is going to blend into the hillside like your sign at the end of your lane. People will pass right by you.” Regret riddled the harsh truth.

  “Just because you can spout off a long list of statistics that you read on your laptop, that doesn’t compare to years of knowledge. I have spent my life learning the soil and techniques.”

  “I agree one hundred percent.” She laid her hand on his forearm hoping to settle the nerves she’d struck. “I have zero experience in winemaking, but I’m damn good at numbers and I can do the math, Vincent. If you don’t make changes, drastic changes, you risk the chance of losing everything. Life is too damn short for should’ve, would’ve and could’ve. If you don’t make changes now, you’ll regret it.”

  The sullen strain etched across his face, softened. Something she said triggered a tender reaction in him, a distant look in his eyes. His thoughts seemed to drift off.

  “I do not want to live with regret.” Remorse coated his words as if he spoke from experience.

  “Regret has a way of eating at your spirit.” She added tenderly. “The most important thing is keeping your family heritage alive, that doesn’t mean you’re discounting your father’s memory.”

  Vincent’s focus drew to her thumb turning slow circles over the dark hair dusting his arm.

  “Someday, Vincent, your children might be in this position. What would you expect of them?”

  “But the old ways…”

  “Your ancestors took chances. Why shouldn’t you? Bring Castlello Giovanni into the twenty-first century.”

  “So, the designer comment the other day? You really think we need to change that too?” An edge of intrigue mixed with distress.

  “Vincent, you need to update this place, leave an imposing mark esthetically. Starting with your label. Right now it says nothing about your family. Even if you keep it simple…it’s desperately missing character.”

  “Our name is what sets us apart. I don’t want to copy the other vineyards.” Sitting cross-legged, Vincent uncorked the pale gold liquid
, objectively examining the ultra–ordinary label.

  “I’m not suggesting you imitate your neighbors. I’m suggesting you do it better than your neighbors.”

  This seemed to please him, kissing the curve of her neck as he handed her a glass. Tracy tried not to wrinkle her nose taking a long sip.

  Vincent shook his head slowly in an appalling manner, watching her. “Bella, go slow and close your eyes when you take it in.”

  Muscles at the apex of her thighs, ones she didn’t know existed, clenched in rhythmic pulses. Her brows furrowed, carving a deep V in the bridge of her nose. “Vincent,” she warned. “If you’re going to talk like that I’m going to take you inside and call out Oh my God, Vincent while I drag you room-to-room.”

  Laughter drenched in sweet honey. “The complexity of wine dances in your mouth,” he continued. “It changes even as you are tasting them. Wine is like a good painting; the more you look at them the more there is to see. In some of the older wines, the complexities can evolve into the realm of the sublime.”

  Vincent nodded, indicating for her take another sip. She lifted the glass to her lips. His hungry gaze fixated on her mouth.

  “Don’t move on too quickly. Hold onto it and let the essence dance in your mouth. Tell me, what do you taste?”

  The cool liquid rested in her mouth turning tepid. “Apple?”

  “Yes. What else?” He paused before giving her hints. “Do you taste the honey? Let the flavors linger before you swallow.”

  Filth!!! Tracy’s pulse rocketed. She raised to her knees and moved in front of him, curling a lock of dark hair behind his ear before draping her hands behind his neck.

  His hands traveled down the outside of her legs, curling inward behind her bent knee. Sneaking his fingers inside the cuff of her riding-style boot, he splayed them firmly over her calf muscle. “You have amazing calves.”

  Self-consciously her gaze fell to the top of his shoulders, thoughts derailed straight to the gutter. She bit back a sultry grin envisioning her red toes slung beside his head as he—

  Damned if he didn’t read her mind. A glint of humor twinkled in his eyes. “How long has it been since you have dated?” His voice rasped slightly, pressing a sweet kiss to her neck.

  A shiver of nerves skittered through her. Vincent wrapped her in a warm embrace, surrounding her in understanding and compassion. She knew with every heart stopping smile and each touch of his hand, Vincent was going to be a very generous lover. Yet something in the way he handled her, the skillful control, made her want to please him beyond her wildest dreams.

  “A long time.” She admitted begrudgingly, burying her face into his shirtfront. A feeling of pitiful remorse set in, not wanting to divulge the truth of how long it had been since she had enjoyed sex with a real man. Even then, enjoyed would be a far stretch term for the sex she’d experienced up until this point in her life. Tracy had gotten good at taking care of herself and it didn’t require a handful of Friday night dates with men who shared none of her interests or found her intelligence off-putting. It simply required batteries.

  “It has been a long time for me as well.”

  “Three years,” she croaked. Her pride melted, replaced with tiny sparks of heat climbing up her neck and cheeks like a hot ember catching fire in a gust of air.

  A sympathetic groan rustled in his chest. The scent of his cologne and clean male skin filled her senses. Need triumphing over self-respect. His hand stole to the inside of her open sweater coasting up and down her spine, callouses snagging on the thin layer of her shirt. Points of heat flickered and popped, bringing a rush of excitement to her stomach.

  “My head is all better now.” Came a timid whisper, taking the lobe of his ear gently between her teeth.

  She could feel his answer No dragging from side-to-side over the top of her hair as he shook his head. Loss of dignity stuck in her throat like a spikey cactus ball. Embarrassment pooled at the inner corner of her eyes.

  Vincent took an unnerving amount of time to say the words out loud. “I’d feel better if we give it another day, bella.”

  His fingers weaved through her hair, gently touching the lump on the back of her head. Rejection rushed through her like glacier runoff. Tracy wanted him so badly, years of pent up sexual frustration threatened to come by way of tears.

  She grumbled smugly, “What? Do I need a doctor’s release in order for you to have sex with me?”

  The rubbing came to a halt. He clutched around the small of her back, arching her to his muscular frame. His long tapered fingers balled into a fist, tugging greedily at the cotton material of her shirt. “I have no intention of having sex with you. I’m trying to be mindful of your injuries, but I’ll be lucky if I survive one more day without making love to you.”

  The moisture of his breath drifted near her ear in harsh gusts. His hand slid up her back and curled over the top of her shoulder, locking her to his body. Vincent rocked upward against her hips, giving her a promise of what would come.

  “Because once I bury myself inside you, ‘Oh my God, Vincent’ will be falling from your lips all night long. For days, months, years.” He growled taking a gentle bite of her neck. The potent dose of masculine confidence made her toes curl inside her boots. “And there will be no going back.”

  “Ravishing me properly?” She croaked, half asking, half pleading in a low moan as his teeth sunk into her skin.

  “I’m going to consume every…single…inch of your beautiful body.” He eased her head back, wet kisses tumbled across her cheek and hairline. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”

  Tracy remained perfectly still, aching all over, fearing if he thrust again she would come right there on the spot. “Friday?”

  “It’s the fucking reckoning. My dick has been hard since the moment you walked in the damn door. You are driving me crazy!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. Lying in bed, she replayed his words from the day before And there will be no going back. She wondered what he meant. No going back to work for the weekend? No going back to the states? No going back because he would consider her to be his? Tracy would’ve found the idea of a man claiming stake to her repulsive, but every time she replayed his words in her head, her heart rocketed. She would gladly apply for dual citizenship, hand over her passport, hell, she might even be completely audacious and call in sick.

  When the clock ticked over to 12:01 she considered knocking on his doorstep in nothing but a robe and a white t-shirt with The Reckoning written in red lipstick. At some point after 2:00am her dreams finally spiraled into a dozen possibilities for a new prospective future, for the vineyard and her love life.

  The next morning she texted JC before walking out the door to the vineyard:

  Not yet, but he is going to be a Cherry Garcia!!!

  It was mid-morning by the time Vincent came to see her. She pounded away on her keyboard when a movement near the door caught her eye. A grin broke over his face when she glanced up at him. He slouched against the opening, dressed in jeans, a black sweater and a day’s worth of stubble, stealing the air right from her lungs. As if he wasn’t handsome enough without the scruff.

  “Morning,” he simmered crossing the room in a few long strides. Turning her chair, Vincent tugged her from the seat and pulled her into his arms.

  “Happy Friday.” Her hands went around him, snuggling into his chest.

  Vincent peered down at an envelope lying on the edge of her desk with his name written on it. “What’s this?”

  She could barely contain her giddiness shooting him a resolute nod. “It’s a doctor’s release.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. The imprint of his cold fingers on the back of her bare arms sent pleasant prickles skittering across her limbs.

  The skin on her neck felt as if it might burst into flames. “I’m all cleared for ravishing.”

  “Should I read it?” He picked up the envelope.

  “No! No, not now! It�
��s personal. I mean, it’s just for you.” She snatched the letter from his fingers, hiding it behind her back. “Honestly, it’s not much. Just something…I wanted to say. It’s only a few sentences.”

  Though the note only contained a mere few words, it had taken Tracy an hour to work up the courage to put them on paper.

  I am hereby released for

  A lifetimes worth of

  Ravishing

  &

  Lovemaking

  Your supervision is required

  The words were much more than the stain of ink soaking into a piece of parchment, they were the feelings engraved deep into her heart.

  “You talk fast when you get nervous.” He reached around her, lips grazing the slope of her neck as he playfully hunted for the envelope. His eyes tapering into a sexy squint, groping her left butt cheek before stealing the note from her fingers and slipping it into his back pocket.

  “I do? Actually, yes I do.”

  Buzz buzz buzz The sound of her phone vibrating on top of the desk, captured their attention. JC’s face appeared on the screen. Tracy ignored the incoming text.

  The smile chased away from his face, all emotions vanished. Vincent released her abruptly as if the touch of her body turned to fire beneath his fingers, blistering his flesh. Picking up the phone staring at the screen. Confusion darkening his gaze turning it toward Tracy.

  “Who is this?” he demanded in an unbearable whisper.

  A hard-running tremor coursed beneath his exterior.

  Something was very wrong. Submerged in growing anxiety, she forced a feeble smile taking the phone. “That’s my sister, JC.”

  “Your sister?” Features sharp with anger, visible in the shadow of his averted profile.

  Tracy tried to keep her voice steady, but calmness had already turned to catastrophe. “Please don’t tell me you’ve slept with my sister?”

  A slow look of disgust burned across his face. His head moved from side-to-side indicating no however his eyes pierced straight through her. Tracy moved toward him, but he backed away, crushing her heart into pieces.