Silent and catlike, Rosa served their food in the grand dining room. Instead of family portraits, the walls were lined with oil paintings of massive, rectangular-shaped bulls, each frame adorned with a gold nameplate.
“I guess someone loved cows.”
“My great grandfather. My grandfather. And my father.” Amado sipped his wine. “Tierra de Oro was known throughout Argentina for its breeding stock.”
“Do you still breed them?”
“My father does, but it’s a hobby at this point. Not profitable. That’s why I started the vineyard.”
“You?”
“Yes.” He looked at her quizzically. “Why are you surprised?”
“Well, you’re only thirty.” She blanched when she realized she’d assumed that the research was correct and he was in fact Tarrant’s son. “Aren’t you?”
“As it happens, I am thirty. But I was fooling around in the fields and growing things by the time I was eight. By age eleven, I’d hybridized a Syrah that got people talking. My neighbor Santos taught me a lot. He’s ninety now and one of the true geniuses of winemaking. He helped me persuade my father to let me plant grapes in our pastures. By the time I was eighteen, we’d planted seventy hectares of vines.” He nodded at her glass. “You’re drinking their fruit now.”
“So, you skipped right over watching Power Rangers and action movies on TV.”
Amado smiled. “When the TV broke, no one cared— except Rosa. She missed her telenovelas.”
“Thank God your father finally came to his senses and bought a satellite dish.” The silvery voice made Susannah whip her head around. Rosa stood right behind her. A stern expression still tightened her inscrutable and impossibly ancient face.
Amado laughed. “Now she’s addicted to CNN broadcasts.”
She clucked her tongue.
“Someone’s got to keep the Alvarez family in touch with the modern world. Otherwise, all you’d do is fondle grapes and stick your hands up a cow’s backside.”
Susannah almost spewed her wine and Amado bent his head in laughter.
Rosa bustled away with an empty serving dish. Susannah leaned forward and whispered. “She’s a character. How old is she?”
Amado blew out a breath. “Probably older than the mountains. She’s certainly been here longer than anyone else. Every other person around here is her grandchild or great grandchild. For years I’ve been trying to convince her to retire and take it easy in her old age. She flaps her dishcloth at me and says she’d just as soon be dead.”
“What do you do around here for fun?”
“What could be more fun than testing the soil for nitrates?” Amado tilted his head and regarded her with mock seriousness. “What can I say? I love my work.”
“I know how you feel. I love mine, too.” She indicated the delicious meal spread before them. “I’m working right now. It’s a tough job, but, well, you know.”
“You traveled a long way. The least I can do is give you a good meal.”
“Much appreciated. I’m used to traveling though. I’m on the road about eighty percent of the time.”
Amado’s lips parted in dismay. “You’re away from home most of the year?”
Susannah shrugged. “My home is a featureless, one-room apartment in a busy part of Manhattan. It’s just a place to keep my stuff. I’m happiest when I’m out and about.”
He stared at her. “Where are you from originally? I mean, where did you grow up?”
She forced a bright smile. Here we go. “Everywhere. I was born in a tiny village in the Philippines where my parents set up a primary school. When I was eighteen months old, my parents moved to Burkina Faso to take over a mission there. When I was three, we moved to Papua, New Guinea. I turned six in a small village in Southern India, but that placement didn’t work out, so I had my seventh birthday in Columbus, Ohio while my parents attended a retreat there. Then we were back on the road to Honduras, El Salvador, Paraguay and Bolivia, which is why I speak fluent Spanish.”
The canned account of her strange childhood rattled out like a recorded recap.
“Your parents were missionaries?”
“You got it.” She raised her glass in a mock cheer. She was used to the sideways glances and snide remarks. Her parents were good people and they did what they thought was right.
Surprise trickled through her as she noticed Amado wasn’t mocking. He looked interested. “It must have been hard when you were a kid. To keep leaving your friends and your familiar environment.”
She shrugged. “I never lived any other way, so I guess I’m used to it. Their specialty is setting up programs and finding the right local people to run them. Then they move onto the next place. I guess the lifestyle shaped me, because I’m happiest when I’m moving from place to place.”
She realized Amado was staring at her with a look of...was it pity?
“What?”
He shook his head, as if shaking loose a painful thought. “Nothing. I guess it’s great that you love to travel. Everyone’s different.”
“You’re horrified, aren’t you?”
“No.” He laughed. “Okay, maybe a little. I don’t even like to go away on business for a few days. I feel like my roots have been pulled from the soil and I can’t wait to get back home and plant them among my grape vines again.”
His wry expression suggested that he was a little embarrassed by his deep attachment to his home.
That touched her. What would it feel like to be so deeply rooted in a place—in one special place—that you felt like you truly belonged there?
Amado’s brows gathered. “Are you okay? More wine?”
Her face must be giving too much away. “I guess I’m just tired from the long journey.”
He nodded, sympathetic. “Of course. Well, tonight, you are home in Tierra de Oro where I will take good care of you.” He rose and held out his hand to lift her from her chair.
His genial gaze rested on her face. “Come into the living room and we’ll light a fire. The nights are still cool and a fire warms the soul as well as the body.”
Susannah blinked as his words and the touch of his hand stoked a very different kind of fire.
He held her hand—casually—as he led her into the spacious living room and settled her into the butter-soft leather sofa in front of the grand carved-stone fireplace.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He offered her a knitted throw from a drawer. She shook her head.
He stroked it. “It’s pure alpaca, from the mountains. Soft as the clouds that gather in the foothills.” His sparkling gaze challenged her to resist.
“Well, if you put it that way.” She let him drape it over her shoulders. Soft as a breath. And somehow the caress of his strong hands transmitted through the lush fabric.
She slipped her shoes off, and put them on the floor. When she looked up, the fire was already lit and blazing.
“How did you do that? It takes me half an hour to get a fire going.” Sometimes even the fake logs sputtered out in her tiny apartment fireplace.
Amado shrugged. “Good kindling. Old wine barrels are the best.” He smiled. “And we have a steady supply.”
Without a word of warning, he picked up her left foot and began to massage the sole with his broad thumb.
Susannah’s mouth fell open.
Sometimes she was ticklish, but right now she had no urge to laugh. The penetrating motions of his thumb and fingers sent sensations ricocheting through her foot, up her leg and all over her body.
She should protest. This was far too intimate. But no words came to her mouth, and Amado just went about the task as if it was a service he provided to all his guests.
He knelt at her feet. His dark hair hung in his eyes and she couldn’t make out his expression. All she could see was the subtle movement of muscles in his bronzed forearms and powerful hands as he worked the day’s tension—heck, the entire year’s tension—out of her muscles with a deft, firm touch.
A lo
ng exhale escaped her.
“Ahh.” Amado smiled as he looked up. His hands didn’t even pause in their expert massage. “Now you’re starting to relax.”
His fingers worked their way up her instep and over her heel. Thank goodness she’d worn smart silk panty hose.
“You take good care of your feet.” Her sole buzzed deliciously as he went to work on the second foot. “They’re strong and healthy.”
Susannah laughed. “They’d better be with all I put them through.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll walk in the vineyards. You can stay tomorrow, can’t you?” The sudden concern in his eyes tugged at something inside her. Why did he care if she stayed or went?
“I’ll be here. I can’t go home without your DNA. I could get fired.”
Amado frowned and his fingers stopped their vigorous and soothing movements. “You’ll get fired by the guy who’s supposed to be my father? What kind of man is this?”
“A demanding one.” She tried not to pay attention to the way he cradled her foot in his hands. “He expects the best from all his employees.”
“Surely he can’t fire you for something I’ve done, or rather, refused to do?”
“Believe me, he can. He’d see it as firing me for my failure to execute.”
Amado looked thoughtful. Then he bent his head and resumed his precise massage. Susannah tried not to wriggle on the sofa as he nailed one pressure point after another, creating sensations of deep relaxation and startling pleasure.
She allowed herself to sink back into the cushions. To let go.
A night in Amado’s bed in exchange for the DNA sample.
Her skin tingled at the prospect of those magic hands roaming...all over it. She suppressed a shiver of anticipation.
She was sure he’d keep the bargain. There was something old-world about him. He positively reeked of honor and integrity.
And sensuality. Their eyes met. Desire darkened his eyes and a spark of...something leaped between them.
Amado settled her feet gently on the ground. He rose and crossed the room.
She exhaled with relief as his intense and dangerously handsome presence receded into the shadows.
Spend the night in my bed.
His words from earlier—spoken half in jest, no doubt—seemed to hover in the air, thickening it. The crackling fire echoed the heat building and snapping inside her.
She hadn’t made love in a long time.
Actually—not to put too fine a point on it—she hadn’t made love ever. She’d had sex, but not for, oh— Well, it was just plain embarrassing to think about how long it had been.
She was busy.
Always on the move.
Was there something wrong with having a sensual fling with an interested male? People did it all the time.
Her coworkers regaled their lurid exploits around the cappuccino machine in the office every Monday. Some of their stories made her jaw drop. They weren’t saving themselves for Mr. Right any more than they had been in college. They lived for the moment.
They had fun.
Why couldn’t she have some fun too, for a change?
Chapter Four
Susannah’s ears pricked up at an exchange between Amado and Rosa. A minute later she heard Rosa leave, closing the door behind her.
She tensed in anticipation at the sound of Amado’s decisive footsteps on the polished floor. He reappeared with two steaming white mugs.
And she’d get the DNA. Tarrant would be happy. She’d keep her job.
If Amado wasn’t his son, which she suspected, there’d be no harm done.
If he was, Amado would no doubt inherit some of Tarrant’s billions.
The retail tycoon was terminally ill and might have only weeks to live. He was trying desperately to find and embrace his long-neglected, illegitimate offspring before he died.
Either way, she’d be doing a good deed.
Right?
Amado handed her a mug. His dark eyes narrowed. “You have a strange expression on your face.”
“Me?” She let out a high, false laugh. “I’m just getting mesmerized by the fire, or something.”
Emphasis on the or something.
She sniffed the contents of the cup. “Coffee at this time of night? Won’t it keep us awake?”
Amado’s mouth hitched slightly on one side. Something resembling a smile—or rather a wicked grin—crept across his face so slowly she wondered if she was imagining it. “Sometimes it’s good to be awake at night.”
He settled into the sofa beside her. Close. His muscled thigh brushed against her skirt.
Her pulse quickened.
The heat of his body mingled with the warmth of the fire and her elevated body temperature.
What if Tarrant found out she’d slept with the man he thought was his son?
She swallowed hard. He wouldn’t.
Amado would never tell. The old-world-honor thing. She sensed that he kept his emotions close to his chest. They’d spent hours together and while he’d talked about each of his wines like a beloved mistress, there’d been no mention whatsoever of his personal life.
She also suspected that—like his charming vineyard tour and his expert foot massage—he did this quite often.
Which, rather than alarming her, actually took the pressure off.
She sensed his steady dark gaze on her as she sipped her drink. Mmm. Sticky, rich, dulce de leche sweetened the coffee.
“Where does your family live now?”
His question jarred her out of the sensual fog she’d drifted into. “You mean my parents?”
He frowned. “Yes, and your brothers and sisters.”
“I don’t have any brothers and sisters. There’s just me. My parents are back in the Philippines. They’re running a program there for at-risk teens.”
“They sound like good people.”
“They are. I wish I was more like them. Or at least I feel I should wish that. But someone’s got to devote their life to finding the best wines in the world, don’t you think?” Her words rang in the still air. Heat crept up her neck, embarrassment that she’d laid bare her insecurities.
Amado didn’t blink. “Each of us has his or her own path. By trying to follow the wrong one, you do a disservice to yourself and to others.” He laid a big, reassuring hand on her arm. “And I can’t think of a more worthy pursuit than the quest for excellent wine.” He tilted his head and his eyes glittered. “But then, I’m biased.”
Her arm heated under his palm. He was close enough that she could smell his scent. She distracted herself by trying to analyze it.
Complex aroma, rich and appealing. A risky but invigorating blend of coffee, fermented grapes, burnt wood and hardworking male.
Full and robust bouquet. The finish might well be bittersweet…but worth it.
His palm moved over her forearm. Not really going anywhere, just moving back and forth. Stroking her.
She glanced at his face, but he didn’t look up. He seemed intent on the simple motion. Was this some kind of weird Argentine seduction trick?
If it was, it appeared to be working. Strange sensations bubbled inside her. When his hand slid to her thigh, resting lightly on it through the thin fabric of her skirt, it felt as natural and unthreatening as a handshake.
Or a kiss on the cheek.
Amado’s lips brushed her cheekbone so lightly she wondered for a moment if she’d imagined it or simply wished it.
The second time his mouth rested for a moment right beside hers, until her lips stung with anticipation. His breath heated her skin.
His hand slid up her thigh, bringing her dress with it, until the hem climbed over her knee.
She realized she was leaning toward him. Since it felt so natural, she leaned closer, her nipples tight and tingling under her blousy top.
She slid one arm around him, aware of his muscled back through the soft fabric of his shirt.
Amado’s bare palm on her thigh made her gasp. He’d hiked
her skirt up almost to her underwear and warmth from the fire baked her skin.
She glanced at his face. His eyes were closed, his expression simple and familiar: the intense appreciation of a connoisseur.
Susannah’s eyes slid shut as his mouth claimed hers, hot and ready. She could feel his body heat through their clothes. Almost without thinking, she pulled gently at his shirt until it came loose from his pants in the back, then she slid her fingers over the firm ridges of muscle on either side of his spine.
Excitement built inside her as their kiss deepened.
Heat gathered between her legs and desire thickened inside her.
It had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone. Usually she avoided personal entanglements. She was busy, she traveled a lot, and she didn’t need the drama.
But this was perfect. They both knew what they wanted, and there was a neat and tidy ending already in sight.
Unless he was Tarrant’s son, of course. A frisson of unease rippled through her.
But that was unlikely. With his dark coloring and smooth, sculpted features, Amado didn’t look like the angular, blue-eyed Tarrant. And Clara certainly didn’t fit the mold of Tarrant’s glamorous ex-lovers.
She shoved the potential complication from her mind.
Tonight would be a delicious interlude. A sweet taste of pleasure, like the sip of a wine she knew she wouldn’t buy for the company, but that she drank purely for her own enjoyment.
Amado cupped her breast in his broad hand, strumming her nipple until it peaked against his palm.
“Come with me,” he breathed the words in her ear.
He picked up her hand and squeezed it in his. Anticipation shone in his coffee-brown eyes.
She rose from the sofa, legs shivering. Her whole body tingled with arousal, from her scalp to the soles of her well-massaged feet.
He led her by the hand, the perfect gentleman, except that he was doing something a perfect gentleman would never do—seduce a virtual stranger.
Somehow that gave her an illicit thrill.
She’d always been the good girl, the minister’s daughter no one even dared to look at, let alone entice into bed. She’d been taught from toddlerhood to set a good example for those around her. To think about others and put her own needs aside.
Grapes of Wrath (Billionaires' Secrets Book 2) Page 3
