Jennifer pulled back, as if readying herself for an argument.
“Jen, do as she says.” Blake appeared in the doorway, his icy gaze on his sister. He’d left his work boots downstairs again. His white socks sported dark brown marks on top from dirt getting through his bootlaces.
Simmering with anger, Jen spun around and stomped out of the room.
Regret raced through Cori. She needed to apologize to Jennifer. But first, she needed to clean up the room.
“Sit up on the bed, Peanut, so I can clean this up.”
“I didn’t do it, Mommy.” Michael clung to her leg with no signs of weakening his grip.
“Yes, you did,” she said calmly, gently trying to pry Michael loose from her leg.
“There was this spider and I tried to kill him with my pillow.”
Cori sighed. She saw the blue pillow on the desk below the shelf. Chances were the spider was still alive and vulnerable to another attack.
“IS THAT HOW YOUR MOTHER kills spiders?” Blake tried to soften his words but didn’t quite succeed in covering his irritation. Cori hadn’t shown up at the river any night this week. He’d waited Monday night in the cool darkness and then gone home and kept vigil by his window until he was sure she wasn’t coming. Every time he’d seen her since, she’d used Michael or Sophia as an excuse not to talk. He’d spent more time this week with Michael than with Cori. Not that he was complaining about time spent with his son. But Blake’s plan was for a family that included Cori. He wanted to win her back. He couldn’t do that if she wouldn’t even talk to him.
“No,” Michael finally replied in a little voice.
“Did you know those dolls were breakable?” Blake stepped closer to Cori and the kid.
“I didn’t do it.” The boy turned his face away.
“Blake,” Cori said in a warning tone, a mother defending her cub.
Blake raised his eyes from the kid to Cori, then shook his head with a frown. “Let the boy answer.”
When Michael kept his lip buttoned mutinously, Blake repeated the question. “Did you know those dolls were breakable?”
“He’s four years old.” One hand came up to warn Blake off, the other curled protectively around her son’s head, pulling him more securely against her.
One more step and her palm would be flat against Blake’s chest, her warm flesh over his heart.
“He won’t learn to tell the truth or use better judgment if you let him get away with things like this.”
“If you’re questioning my parenting skills…”
“I know you’d never spank him, but you didn’t even tell him to be more careful when he broke the syrup pitcher.”
Brown eyes flashed. “The kitchen was practically on fire. I hardly think that’s the time—”
“And the vase that’s missing in the hall? Did he get a time-out for that?”
Her hand dropped to her side.
“I thought not.” Blake crouched down to the kid’s level. “Look at me.”
Michael kept his head turned away from Blake, his chin tucked to his thin chest. At this angle, with his short haircut, Blake couldn’t miss that his ears stuck out a lot.
“You’re going to sit on that bed until your mom cleans up this mess. No toys. No TV.”
Michael’s lower lip trembled.
“You’re going to tell your mom you’re sorry you broke her dolls. Then you’re going to tell Grandma Sophia that you’re sorry you broke her vase. No TV until that’s done.”
Michael sprang onto the bed, threw himself facedown onto the bedspread and began to wail. Luckily, pillows muffled most of his tantrum.
Blake unfurled himself and stared down at Cori.
“Thank you,” Cori said, her face tightly drawn and eyes studying her toes.
They stood without speaking, barely a foot apart. Divergent opinions on discipline wasn’t the only thing separating them. Why was she avoiding him?
“We’re back to that.” Blake shouldn’t have expected anything but her thanks. He had to figure out a way to break through the defenses of her good manners and return to the candid relationship they’d once shared.
But Cori surprised him. She squared her shoulders and regarded him defiantly. “I’m polite. Sue me.”
Brown eyes sparked the tinder he’d been hiding for so many years in the cave he called a heart. Suddenly, Blake felt incredibly alive. Twice in a week, he’d pushed Cori past the exterior layer of Messina polish that she maintained, mining the real emotion beneath, getting a reaction out of her. The Cori he’d first met was beneath the facade of the ice princess.
His mind hadn’t been tricking him by keeping her in his thoughts. It just hadn’t allowed him to let her go because he still loved her. And he was growing to love their son, as well. How could he not, when they’d created Michael out of the very act of love?
Thin, dark eyebrows arched over her brown eyes when he didn’t immediately respond. But Blake was momentarily distracted. He loved her. Blake wanted to laugh at the joy welling inside of him, because he knew everything was going to be all right.
He wanted to share this discovery with her. He wanted to run his hands over her soft skin, but repeating Saturday’s blistering kiss wasn’t an option, because eventually, job or not, Cori would return to her life in Los Angeles, taking Michael with her, unless Blake rebuilt the bond they’d shared when Michael was conceived. He’d have to proceed carefully, and rediscover the key to her heart. For the first time in days, since he’d learned he was a father, Blake allowed himself to hope.
Cori held herself still, despite a wailing kid in the background that grated on everyone’s taut nerves. Many other mothers would have cracked by now and been flaying Blake alive for butting into her life. Blake nearly puffed himself up with pride. She was really something. And she was his.
“You’re pissed off. Wouldn’t you like to just tell me off?”
“Yes.” Her eyes smoldered.
Blake laughed. “What’s stopping you?” He gestured to Michael. “He’s not paying attention. And nobody could hear you over him.”
This close, Blake could sense Cori’s frustration. Her jaw worked and her eyes narrowed. He could see her temper ignite. Her body trembled with it. He couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. And then she exploded.
“You want to hear that you’re right? Well, fine. You’re right!”
She was beautiful when she cut loose. No woman could match her blazing eyes and fiery cheeks. Blake wished the light had been better that night at the pool so he could have seen her like this.
“I’ve been trying to get Michael to tell the truth rather than punishing him. So, this is good. I’m punishing him.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip.
“Wrong. I’m punishing him.”
She tossed her hands. “That’s so like you to think you know everything about him. And me. We’ve been here, what? A little over a week? Wasn’t it just a few nights ago you said you never knew me?”
Blake should leave. Heaven knows, he had enough work to do. Workers were still grafting new vines on the south acreage, work that should have been done weeks ago. There was Jennifer to talk to, Sophia to check on. But he just couldn’t keep from looking down on Cori’s flushed face or stop thinking about how much he loved her. Then he made one of the biggest mistakes of the day.
He smiled at her.
“Don’t you dare find anything amusing in this situation,” she warned, but her lips twitched suspiciously.
The goofy smile, the one he reserved for days when Jennifer did something he couldn’t help but be proud of, wouldn’t cease. Cori Sinclair was mad as hell at him, his son was exercising his lungs as if practicing for the opera, and Blake couldn’t stop smiling because he suddenly realized that he hadn’t done more than exist to pay bills and provide for Jennifer in years.
“If you laugh, I’ll place the curse of the Gypsies on you.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry,” he said at the narro
wing of her eyes.
“No apologies or thanks, remember. The curse of the Italian Gypsies. On your head.” Cori reached up with two fingers and pushed him gently on the forehead. Then she sidestepped him and made her escape, leaving him with a throbbing spot above the bridge of his nose and one at the base of his heart.
“AHH-AH.”
Cori froze in the library at the cry of pain and glanced out the door. Her grandfather was down on one knee, groaning about one-third of the way up the stairs.
Cori’s fingers tightened on the cool leather of the old book her mother had sent her to find. Was Grandpa dying, too? While she watched, he hitched himself to his feet and, with a death grip on the banister, hauled himself slowly up the stairs.
“Are you all right?” Cori asked, moving quickly up the steps behind him.
Grandpa almost fell over again at her words. Cori held his arm to steady him. It was thin beneath his jacket. The idea that Salvatore Messina was weakening with age was not one she’d ever considered.
“Where did you come from?” There was no frailty in his tone. It cut sharply enough to make her drop her hand and step back in confusion. Then she recognized the look in his black eyes. It was the same she saw in Mama’s every day—a quiet resignation.
“I might ask the same of you.” Cori straightened her shoulders. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. You’re never home this early.”
Her grandfather looked away and moved up the stairs meticulously. “I have to get ready for a dinner tonight. The annual winemaker awards are this evening. I’m receiving an award.”
Cori watched him struggle with detachment. “When is John Sinclair coming?”
“He won’t come.”
“You didn’t ask him,” she accused, frowning.
“I asked.” He struggled up another step. “He’s just not the type of man to do what’s right.”
The need to help him, this man whom she’d respected and loved as much as he’d let her, warred with the feeling that he was getting what he deserved. Her grandfather wanted to control everything. Until Cori’s rebellion, John Sinclair was apparently the only other thing he hadn’t been able to control. How would he handle Luke’s leaving?
“Prove it.”
Her grandfather stopped and angled his head around to look at her below him. “I’ll expect your information, as agreed, and then you’ll stay out of my business.”
Why was he so bent on retribution? “So. You still plan to get your revenge, even if I don’t feel you need to?”
“My family has been wronged. I have to take action.”
“No, you don’t,” Cori stated firmly. “Our agreement was for John Sinclair to come out and make peace with Mama. Revenge wasn’t part of the deal.”
“I’ll give you his number and you can talk to him yourself. Don’t romanticize him. There’s a reason we don’t stay in touch.” He straightened and took a deep breath. “Then you can consider our bargain complete.” Continuing up, her grandfather took each step slowly, moving one foot on a riser, then with deliberate care pulling himself along with a tight grip on the banister.
Cemented in place, Cori watched the man she’d never credited with a weakness fight his body upstairs. How long had this gone on? She’d never known her grandfather to be sick.
When it became apparent her grandfather was heading toward Mama’s room with its closed door, Cori moved quickly, easily passing him in the wide, planked hallway and opening the door for him. She held on to the cool metal of the doorknob and stepped to one side.
His black eyes dropped to her hand with a frown.
The memory returned of her grandfather coming into Mama’s room the week before. This time, Cori made the connection that he’d leaned on the doorknob for support, the same as he’d done on Sunday when he’d given her a nugget of hope after she’d admitted her blunder to Sidney. Her hand fell away from the knob and she backed up a step, dropping her eyes. Still, she caught her grandfather’s silver eyebrows lowering ominously.
“What a pleasant surprise.” Mama spoke slowly and softly, as if she couldn’t spare enough breath to speak.
“I’m still allowed to visit, aren’t I?” her grandfather said gruffly, placing his hand almost casually on the doorknob, then gradually leaning his weight upon it. “I’m going out tonight.”
Cori walked to her mother’s bed and gave Mama a smile, placing the book on the nightstand. She’d read it to Mama later. She was convinced that with this pain, her grandfather couldn’t go out tonight. Cori wasn’t even sure how he’d made it to the conference in San Francisco.
“Oh, the awards. I’d forgotten.” Mama looked at them in turn. “Why don’t you take Cori tonight?”
“What? Mama, I don’t want to leave you,” Cori protested.
“It’s always a lovely dinner, and I’m sure Papa would enjoy having you there.” Mama panted after the long-winded speech, a slight frown on her face. “In fact, I insist.”
“Mama,” Cori began. She shouldn’t be caught anywhere near a wine industry function, not after what had happened on Sunday.
Coal-black eyes landed upon Cori, halting her argument, reminding her that every request of Mama’s should be honored.
“Maybe you should go, Corinne.” The steel was back in her grandfather’s voice. As invitations went, this one was cold as ice. “I could use your help.”
“What about Michael? I can’t take him.”
“We’ll see what we can do, won’t we, Papa?”
“Of course.” His smile was all for his daughter. The chilly rebuff churned in the pit of Cori’s stomach.
“It’s so nice to be surrounded by family.” Mama smiled, probably thinking they were mending the rift between them.
Cori experienced a twinge of guilt. They weren’t anywhere near reconciliation. She practically hid Michael from her grandfather to avoid any unpleasant scenes like the one they’d experienced that first day back. They ate early in the kitchen to avoid him. Much as Cori wanted to close the gap between them, she didn’t know how.
“I just need that telephone number from you before I go. So I can make that call.” Cori met her grandfather’s black eyes. Where her mother was concerned, she’d do almost anything, even brave her grandfather’s wrath.
“Tonight,” he said bluntly, his brows pulled low.
BLAKE SHOWED UP LATE at the awards dinner. He’d spent too much time walking the fields with a new employee. Then he’d wanted to make sure Sophia and Michael were settled in with Maria and an angst-ridden Jennifer. He’d raced over to the Sonoma Mission Inn in the new truck, his tux on, but his hair still wet.
Even amidst the throng of tuxedos and sequined dresses, Blake easily located the Messina group. There was only one seat left at their table. Next to Cori. When had she been invited? It didn’t matter. Blake couldn’t believe his good luck. Facing the door, she glanced up and briefly met his gaze before returning her attention to someone sitting across from her. He recognized the expression on her face immediately, pleasant but impersonal, the Messina game face.
Just looking at her stole his breath and took him back to that first summer they’d met. Her black dress seemed to sparkle, making her slicked-back blond hair shine and her dark eyes seem large. As he drew nearer, her deep red lips caught his eye. Diamonds sparkled at her throat but not her ears. She was the epitome of understated elegance.
Blake sat down and received Salvatore Messina’s withering glance. His employer hated anyone to be late or to bring undue attention to the winery. Luke, on the other side of his grandfather, gave Blake a half grin.
Cori turned and said something to her grandfather, and Blake’s eyes widened. The entire back of her gown was missing, the front held up only by a thin strap around her neck. Her skin, smooth and tawny, beckoned for his touch. Blake tugged at the tight knot of his collar. Mr. Messina caught his expression with a reproachful frown.
“Your dress,” Mr. Messina began, tilting his head toward Cori.
“W
as in my closet,” Cori said with a shrug.
If that dynamite dress had been in her closet, where had she worn it before? The thought had him reaching for his water glass.
Salvatore Messina took a deep breath and returned to the discussion of the potential ramifications of the wine glut that was hitting the market. The abundant supply in the United States, combined with the rise in imported wines from Chile, Italy and Australia, was driving prices down.
“What I’d like to know is, will consumers stay with the brands they buy now and enjoy the lower price, or trade up to higher quality brands now that they’re more affordable?”
As someone offered an answer to his question, Salvatore Messina leaned over to Cori. “Make sure Congressman Lyle talks to me after his speech.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
“They’re just serving dinner.”
Salvatore Messina gave her The Look before returning to the discussion. Blake was used to The Look. It meant move your butt quickly, no questions asked.
“The number?” Cori asked, perhaps misunderstanding the meaning of The Look.
Salvatore Messina turned slowly back to Cori. “Not now. Now you need to talk to Congressman Lyle’s people.”
Cori stood, possibly a little less gracefully than usual, as their chairs were all crowded closely around the circular table. Her hip brushed Blake’s arm, and when he turned his head, he came face-to-face with her chest. The material strained around her breasts, curves that had increased since she’d last worn that dress, he was sure.
Blake looked at his salad, focused on the various green textures and tried not to notice the plump cherry tomatoes peeking between the leaves. He took a drink of water and forced his eyes on the bread bowl, willing himself not to think about Cori slipping back into her seat. It was important to Blake that he take things slow, to reestablish a level of friendship before he touched her intimately again.
Cori returned a few minutes later. Blake wasn’t sure if she was trying to avoid him or not, but she slid into her seat using the space next to her grandfather.
Blake sighed, but he wasn’t sure it was in relief. He took a sip of the wine, savoring the liquid on his tongue before swallowing. It was a competitor’s and very good. A subtle blend of oak and spices. Not as good as Cori tasted, but just as complex.
Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 20
