She took a sip, letting the wine's changing flavors wash over her tongue. "It's good," she said. "Very good." She felt a twinge of guilt at her snideness of a moment ago. If Daryle was working—finally—that was a good thing. Not that he needed to work, financially, but Suzanne was of the mind that work was good for people. It was good to be a productive, contributing member of society. She took another sip of wine and smiled at Daryle. "You look nice in that suit, by the way. Respectable."
He smiled back. Actually, he was looking much more than respectable, she had to admit. There was a subtle pinstripe in the wool of his suit, a detail she hadn't noticed earlier in her shop, and his red tie had been loosened slightly around the collar of his crisp white shirt. She couldn't think of an occasion when she'd seen Daryle dressed in a suit and tie. He cleaned up nicely, she thought. He looked older than when she had last seen him, but not in a bad way. His father had passed away some years ago, but Suzanne had seen photographs of him. He'd been a handsome man all the way into his sixties. At 35, it looked as though Daryle would age similarly well.
By the second glass of wine, Suzanne was feeling relaxed and warm. The stress of her day began to feel like a distant memory. She let Daryle do all the talking, which he was apparently happy to do. He went on and on about Iris Vineyards and the changes they'd been making. A crusher, steel tanks, a laboratory, tasting room ... She watched him talk more than she listened, watched how animated his face was, how surprised he seemed at times by what he was telling her, as if he almost couldn't believe it himself.
Their entrees arrived. Monkfish and pearl risotto for him. Shrimp and angel hair pasta for her. The food countered the wine in her stomach and re-sharpened her mind. She began to remember why she was there in the first place. Coffee arrived and it took just one sip to clear the remaining wine fog from her brain.
"So ... this proposal you have for me. Are you looking for investors for Iris Vineyards? Because The Cupcakery is not quite that successful yet."
Well, I can't avoid this any longer. I hope I can talk her into this.
"My mother is ill," he began.
A look of concern creased her forehead. "I'm sorry to hear that, Daryle."
"Terminally ill. She's not expected to live more than another year or so. My sister is not interested in running Iris Vineyards. Her art career is going well, she wants to stay in New York and so on and so forth. I, on the other hand, do want to run the vineyard."
"You seem taken with it," she murmured neutrally.
"But here's the rub. My mother has said she will not leave Iris Vineyards to me unless I marry. More specifically, she won't leave it to me unless I marry you."
He watched her cautiously, wary of her reaction. He saw a flurry of emotions he couldn't identify skitter around her face until, finally, the one she settled on was amusement. She laughed. "Why me?"
"Of all my girlfriends, you are the one she liked most."
"But she barely knows me. We only met once."
"I think she likes you because you dumped me. You obviously weren't dating me because of the family money."
"Because I broke up with you she wants me to marry you? That has to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She shook her head. "And what earthly reason would I have for agreeing to such a thing?"
He was quiet for a moment. "There is something in it for you, as well."
She looked up at him, one eyebrow lifted in question.
"Two million dollars. Stay married to me until my mother passes away and you get two million. No strings attached. I pay for the divorce."
She gasped. The amusement in her eyes was gone now, he saw, and replaced with a look of shock.
"You have got to be kidding," she said through clenched teeth. She set her coffee cup down so hard, the coffee sloshed up and over the rim, spilling on the pristine white tablecloth. "Damn."
He reached over and dabbed at the spill with his napkin. "I'm not," he said. "Kidding, that is. I'm perfectly serious. I mean, think about it for a minute, Suzanne. What could you do with two million dollars?" He put down the soaked napkin and touched her wrist. "Expand your business? Hire more staff? Buy a home? I know you're still renting that same place."
She pulled her hand away from his, as if she'd been burned. The heat from his hand had gone straight up her arm and into her chest. The sensation unnerved her, as did his dark eyes staring right into hers. She and Daryle had always had chemistry to spare, but chemistry was not what the present situation called for, she thought ruefully.
"I am completely serious, darling," he said. "Don't tell me you couldn't find a use for that kind of money."
Her mind was flooded with all the things she could, in fact, do with that kind of money even as she tried to force those ideas from her head. She had started The Cupcakery with the small amount of money her mother had left her when she died. Fortunately, the business had been quickly profitable, but it was still a struggle. Corporate and party orders were stretching her staff thin and the shop's little kitchen wasn't really big enough to handle both the daily shop sales and catering. A larger kitchen just for catering orders would allow her to expand that side of the business. And customers were always asking when she was going to open a location in their neighborhood. She knew she would do well in Noe Valley, Berkeley, Marin, downtown ...
He could see her weighing the possibilities. That was a good sign. He didn't really know the state of her business but he was guessing she struggled like most small businesses did. And he knew she wasn't an extravagant person. She was careful and cautious when it came to money. She probably wasn't spending money she didn't already have in the bank.
Another thought pushed its way into his mind. God, she was beautiful. Even when she was serious and thinking hard, as she was at that moment, she had an easy, effortless beauty. Not like the women he usually dated, who worked hard on their looks, too hard sometimes. Suzanne was the most naturally beautiful woman he'd ever gone out with. She didn't need makeup. Or to inject chemicals into her face. Or tight dresses and four-inch heels. She woke up beautiful. He knew that from personal experience. And she would absolutely kill him if she ever learned this, but sometimes when he was in bed with another woman, he imagined himself with Suzanne instead. Especially when confronted with body parts that weren't, shall we say, entirely God-given.
Suzanne could afford to have high standards when it came to men, standards he had never been able to meet. But he needed to get her to lower those standards now, just for a year or so. She had to agree to marry him or he would lose Iris Vineyards forever. And that was not an outcome he was prepared to accept.
"You don't have to tell me yes tonight," he said. "You can take some time to think about it."
"Well, that's good. Hope you're not expecting me to tell you yes any other night either."
"I'm expecting you to give it some serious consideration and not walk away from a life-changing offer just because you're still mad at me."
"I wasn't aware my life needed changing," she said frostily. "And I have given it some serious consideration. It just didn't need very much consideration. Take me home, Daryle. Thank you for the lovely dinner, but I think we're done here."
Chapter 2
In the car, Suzanne fumed quietly. Marry him! It was just like Daryle to expect to get whatever he wanted with no effort whatsoever. Now he wanted to be some big shot winemaker. Well, he'd have to figure out how to do that without her help. As for The Cupcakery, she would figure out how to expand her business on her own, thank you very much. She'd gotten this far on her own and she would make it further on her own, as well.
She didn't respect Daryle. That's what their relationship had come down to. He'd never had to work for anything, nor did he ever want to work for anything. Suzanne just couldn't find it in herself to respect a person like that. She could have married him years ago and been a wealthy, trophy wife leading a life of leisure. But she wouldn't have been able to live with herself. And how to face her mother! Her mo
ther had worked so hard to raise Suzanne by herself. Some years, she had worked two or three jobs to make ends meet. Her mother had taught her the value of work, of contributing something productive to society, of taking care of yourself.
Daryle stopped the car at the top of a hill. Suzanne looked down the steep hill, all the way to the bay at the very bottom. San Francisco's famous hills. She loved to walk up and down them. It was great exercise ... and great therapy. One's reward for huffing and puffing up to the top of a hill was a fabulous view. She loved the way the views changed from block to block. Face it, she adored this city, her adopted home. That was the one good thing that had come from her relationship with Daryle. He had gotten her to move to this lovely place.
She glanced at the LED clock, glowing blue from the car's dashboard. Nine-thirty. It felt much later to her. The wine and the weight of the food in her stomach—combined with the exhaustion of her workday—was hitting her like a ton of bricks right now. The traffic light turned green and Daryle eased the car across the intersection and Suzanne felt her stomach drop as the hood of the car pointed downward. She leaned back into the cool leather seat, closed her eyes and let the sensation of falling wash over her.
He looked over at her as he gently braked to a stop at the next intersection. Her hair, which had started out the evening neatly pulled back into the tight ponytail that was Suzanne's trademark, was considerably messier now. Strands hung loose around her cheeks and ears. Her face was alabaster-pale, which only served to highlight how flawless her complexion was. She was thirty-four, but she looked easily a decade younger. She really is exhausted, he thought, and he felt bad for dragging her out on the town after what was clearly a tough day at the office. She worked hard. Always had. He hadn't really appreciated that when he persuaded her to move to California. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone would have a problem slipping into his carefree lifestyle. But she hadn't been able to do it. Food industry hours are killer and not compatible with partying until the sun comes up or jetting off to the Virgin Islands on a moment's notice.
Not that farmer's hours were any better and that's what he was, he had learned right away, a glorified farmer. Everyone always thought running a winery was such a glamorous job. But really it was just farming. Up before dawn and even up in the middle of the night if an unexpected rainstorm came through or high winds. He was hyper-attuned to the weather these days, to anything that might affect the grapes.
He let the car coast down the next block. So this wasn't going to be easy, convincing Suzanne to marry him. Well, he hadn't really thought it would be, had he? Sure, there were plenty of other women who would gladly marry him for a few million dollars. But Suzanne wasn't one of them. Oh, a tiny voice in the back of his mind had whispered, Maybe she's changed. Maybe she's tired of working like a dog seven days a week. That voice was a lot quieter now, cowed by the reality of her reaction.
But he wasn't giving up that easily. He couldn't. He was not going to lose Iris Vineyards.
She awoke with a start and looked out the window. I dozed off. Where were they? She rubbed her tired eyes and squinted at the scenery rushing past, the dry yellow hills and row upon row of suburban houses. They weren't in the city anymore. It took her a minute to recognize that they were north of San Francisco.
"Hey!" She turned toward Daryle. "Where are you going?"
"Change of plans," he said coolly. "I want you to see the winery before you make up your mind."
She felt like screaming, but swallowed that impulse. Instead, she said through clenched teeth, "I don't need to see your winery. I've been on winery tours before. I'm sure yours is no different."
"I beg to differ," he replied.
"And I've already made my decision. I thought I made that clear back at the restaurant. There's a word for women who marry for money."
"Golddigger?"
"Well, I was thinking of a different word. But that one works, too. I'm not surprised that came immediately to your mind."
They were silent for several minutes, until Suzanne reached out to turn on the radio. He immediately turned it off.
"What, no entertainment on this wine train?"
Daryle said nothing. Fine, she thought. The silent treatment. He hasn't changed one bit.
"I have to work tomorrow, you know," she said. "Of course, that probably wouldn't occur to you. Working."
"I will have you back to the city bright and early."
"You're kidnapping me, you know. I could call the police." Her leather purse was lying on the floor at her feet. She leaned over and pulled out her cell phone. With a speed that startled her, Daryle reached over and grabbed the phone. He tossed it into the back seat.
"I'm not kidnapping you. I just want you to see the winery. I want you to seriously consider my proposal."
"Your proposal," she sputtered.
"Okay, the favor I am asking of you. You once loved me, you know. We once loved each other. Does that preclude our helping each other out?"
"It precludes our ever getting married!"
"If it's of any comfort to you, it will be a marriage in name only. I won't make you sleep with me. Not that I ever had to force you before."
The nerve! He was assuming her agreement even though she had said "no" how many times tonight? And why did that little bit of snideness about not sleeping with her leave her feeling punched in the solar plexus?
Suzanne unbuckled her seat belt and leaned into the back seat to retrieve her phone. She'd call Brent. Brent would meet her at Iris Vineyards and take her home. Her fingers had just about grasped the phone, when the car suddenly swerved onto the rough shoulder of the road and came to a sharp stop. Daryle's longer arms reached the phone first. Before she could protest, he had lowered the window and tossed the phone out onto the dark highway. She gasped in disbelief at what he had just done.
"I'll buy you another one tomorrow. Now put your seat belt back on."
Suzanne crossed her arms across her chest and stared at him. Who was he to boss her around like this? To throw her phone out the window? It was nice that he could be so cavalier about money, but not everyone could afford to. And it was a waste, that's what bothered her so much about Daryle's approach to life. He wasted things. Money. Time. Opportunities. She couldn't tell if the burning sensation behind her eyes was tiredness or the sheer rage she was feeling at the moment, or a mixture of both.
"Fine, have it your way," Daryle said as he leaned over her body to reach the seat belt on the other side. He pulled it across her breasts. Her lovely, full breasts. He couldn't just ignore how close he was to them and how long it had been since he'd been this close. His fingers grazed the softness of her sweater as he pulled the nylon strap toward himself. His breathing slowed. He inhaled her sweet scent. She smelled like coffee and vanilla. He was aware of her chest lifting and falling, lifting and falling, in rhythm with his own breathing. He snapped the seat belt into place around her hips just as his lips lowered onto hers.
Her taste came back to him in a flood of memories, her hot breath a tantalizing whisper of remembered passion. He tried to open her lips to taste her more fully and, for one split second, she allowed it. But then, just as quickly as her lips had begun to open, she closed them and pressed her head back into the seat, breaking their contact.
Judging by the look on her face, there was a very good chance he was about to get slapped. He braced himself for impact.
"Yeah, that most definitely crossed my mind," she said, reading his.
He knew he should probably apologize but, damn it, he didn't feel like it. He sank back into his seat, then shifted the car into drive again and pulled out onto the highway.
After a few miles, he said, "You know, this isn't exactly the way I'd like to receive my inheritance either. Personally, I'd prefer to get it no-strings-attached. But that's not the way my mother does things."
"Aren't you dating someone?" Suzanne asked. "Maybe you can suggest an alternative wife?"
He sighed. "I was dating some
one. Not seriously, mind you, but enough to suggest her to my mother. No go. It's you or no one. You or no winery. That sort of ended the other relationship."
Suzanne was surprised to feel herself stung by the idea that he was dating someone, even though she had brought up the idea herself. The heat from his lips lingered, the sensation of his tongue darting at hers not entirely faded yet. She was quiet, letting herself privately enjoy the taste of his breath on her lips. When it was gone, she sighed. "Why do you have to be married in order to run a winery?"
"I don't," he replied. "I'm perfectly capable of running the show without a wife. My mother isn't married, and that doesn't seem to have hurt her business acumen. But she sees marriage as a sign of stability and maturity, two qualities she believes I lack."
Suzanne couldn't prevent a tiny snort from escaping her nose.
"I won't dignify that with a response."
"She thinks you need an anchor, someone to keep you from changing your mind and moving on to the next interest du jour."
Daryle didn't respond to that either. He let the car glide into the exit lane. "Believe me, Suzanne, I've tried to talk her out of this. I've been trying for over a month now. The only way I get my inheritance is to marry you."
"So what happens if you don't marry?"
"My mother sells and gives the money to charity."
"What's wrong with that? I think giving your family fortune to charity is a fine idea," Suzanne said, shooting a sweetly false smile in his direction.
"I have offered some of the family fortune to charity," he replied, looking pointedly at her. "Here we are." He steered the car onto the long winding driveway that led up the hill to Iris Vineyards. Long branches hung dark and heavy over the driveway. The gravel crunched and popped beneath the car's tires. Even in the darkness beneath the canopy of trees, Daryle expertly guided the car around each bend and curve in the road. When the car emerged from the trees, Suzanne's breath caught in her throat. Before her was the winery's main building, a sprawling complex in the style of a grand old manor home. Its grey slate roof and stone-covered turrets were bathed in moonlight. The lawn sloped up a gentle hill. Flanking the walkway were two large metal sculptures of Dutch irises.
Cupcakes & Chardonnay Page 2
