Back in His Bed

“I’m not the one rushing off to work this morning.”

From her upside down position, she could see Jack sitting cross-legged on her bed, the sheet tented over his knees. She tugged the comb through one last tangle and stood up straight again, the blood-rush from her head making her wobble a bit as she did so. Jack crooked a finger at her and gave her a look that made her knees wobble for real. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and lose herself in him again.

What was she thinking? Less than twelve hours after becoming the majority owner of a winery—not to mention the fact she was the vintner as well—and she was already considering shirking her responsibilities because Jack had a magnetism that was near impossible to resist. And what would happen when Jack went back to the city? She’d be left with nothing but a batch of ruined wine.

Jack was temporary. He wasn’t for her—she’d learned that the hard way. The sharp stab of regret she felt at that thought only confirmed what she’d admitted yesterday. Jack did still have a piece of her heart. And she was setting herself up for another massive heartbreak.

She must have stood there too long, arguing with herself, because Jack tossed back the covers and crossed the room quickly to catch her hand. He gave a small tug, but she resisted. His eyebrows went up in question.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

That grin of his would be her undoing one day. “Isn’t it obvious? Bringing you back to bed.”

The fact he was gloriously naked wasn’t helping either. But she couldn’t let either his grin or his body distract her. “No. I mean what are we doing? You and me. Here. Like this.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Do we have to analyze it?”

“Yeah, I think we do.” She stepped back and sat on her vanity stool. “I have to admit, my head is still spinning.”

“Then why ruin that feeling?”

“Because…Because…” She couldn’t find the right words. “All things considered, I think we should quit while we’re ahead.”

“Meaning?”

Meaning this is a dangerous game I don’t want to play. Because I’ll lose. “Meaning, I’m glad we’ve managed to call a ceasefire of sorts, and that we’re not sniping at each other anymore. It will make things much easier in the future and last night was great…” She was rambling now, not making a lot of sense, and she knew it. The look Jack was giving her wasn’t helping any.

She was making a mess of this, and in another minute or two she’d end up making a fool of herself. She grabbed her clothes and put them on quickly. “Look, um, I really need to get to the winery.”

“Brenna…” Jack started.

She backed toward the door, hating the feeling of retreat. Lord, I’m such a wuss. But she desperately needed some distance to make sense of this situation and figure out what she was going to say to him. Without babbling next time. “We’ll talk later, okay? There’s, um, plenty of food and stuff in the fridge. Just make yourself at home. Bye.”

Jack called her name as she bolted, the exasperation in his voice very clear even from a distance.

But retreat—no matter how cowardly or graceless—really was the best option right now. Otherwise she was going to make a big fool of herself over him.

Again.

Jack was tempted to go after Brenna, but the scaredrabbit look in her eyes kept him standing still. No need to back her into a corner right now.

He’d been awake less than an hour and his day was already turning surreal. Brenna certainly had a way of spinning his world off its axis. He’d forgotten what it was like, but oddly enough he didn’t feel half as frustrated as he figured he should. Instead, dealing with Brenna seemed to have blown the cobwebs out of his brain, energizing him.

Her retreat this morning—whatever had triggered it—had left his body still burning for her. But now that he wasn’t thinking only with his libido, he realized Bren might have a point. The events of the past few days had his head spinning, too, and maybe he should decide what, exactly, his next plan would be.

Amante Verano wouldn’t be his problem much longer, but what about Bren?

He really hadn’t been awake long enough for his brain to be working properly. He needed coffee. And a shower and a shave.

Then he’d spend some time in Max’s office, as he’d originally planned.

That would give Bren time to calm down and give him time to decide what he was going to do about her.

She was going to ruin this entire batch of wine, and it would be all Jack’s fault. Brenna checked her numbers again, willing them to make sense. It would be nice if something made sense today.

In the safety of her office, she’d hoped to find the answers she needed. Three hours later she still didn’t have a clear idea of what she wanted, much less what she thought was the right thing to do. The last couple of days with Jack had awakened so many of her old feelings, but new ones were fighting for recognition as well. On the one hand, it seemed as if they were simply picking up where they’d left off, but at the same time it felt different. Like a new start.

But it probably wasn’t. This was just an interlude, a hiatus from real life, her mind kept telling her. The idea of starting again, starting over, was just wishful thinking on her part.

Of course none of this was helping her get any work done. For the umpteenth time the scribbles on the paper in front of her swam out of focus and Jack’s blue eyes filled her mind. “Damn it.” The curse bounced off the fermentation tanks and echoed around the room. This was ridiculous. She glanced over her shoulder, checking the door to the fermentation room was shut firmly, and gave in to her frustration.

Childishly, she flung the notebook to the floor and stomped on it. Then she jumped on it. It didn’t help anything, but she felt a tiny bit better after the outburst. She blew her breath out in a huff and picked up the crumpled notebook to smooth out the pages.

“Focus, Brenna, focus,” she muttered.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Jack’s amused voice spun her around, and she found him leaning against the door and biting back a smile. His hands were in the back pockets of his battered jeans, causing the gray T-shirt he wore to strain over his broad shoulders. From the scuffed work boots to the lock of black hair that fell over his forehead the entire effect was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

This was the Jack she remembered.

She cleared her throat and reached for the pencil stuck through her ponytail. “Just making some notes.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “With your feet?”

So he’d seen her little temper tantrum. Great. As if it wasn’t awkward enough right this second, she also got to add “caught acting like a three-year-old” to her list of cringe-worthy topics of conversation. “It’s traditional,” she bluffed. “Secret winemaking superstitions handed down through the generations. It’s essential to the wine mojo.”

Jack nodded sagely. “I see. You don’t stomp the grapes anymore, so you stomp the office supplies instead. Interesting.”

She straightened her spine. “I don’t question your business methods…”

His hands came up in appeasement. “Not questioning your methods at all.”

She held the notebook close to her chest like a shield, and wrapped her hands tightly around the edges to steady them. “Not to sound, um, rude, but what brings you down here?”

“A sudden interest in deceptively simple Chardonnays?”

There was that smile. The one that usually meant he was thinking about…Her knees wobbled a little, but she gripped the edges of her notebook tighter and forcefully steadied herself. “That isn’t Chardonnay.”

“Huh? Well, I’m not really—”

“Interested. I know.” She sighed, causing Jack to laugh.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

“How about I promise not to tell you what’s actually in those tanks, and you promise not to ramble on about stocks or square footage or zoning laws?”

“Deal.”

That was easy. Too little, too late, but nice nonetheless. Jack hadn’t moved from his casual lean, but her stress level began to increase with his continued presence and increasingly interested look. Why was he here? What was he after? “Jack? Was there something you needed from me?”

“Not really. You said this would only take a couple of hours, and when you didn’t come back I came to check everything was okay.”

“Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. You know how it is.” There was an understatement. She didn’t even have a plan to deviate from. “Everything okay at the house? Did you find everything you need?”

Jack looked at her oddly. “I got a little bit of work done. I’ve been going through some of Max’s things, and I need to know if there’s anything specific you want.”

Her heart twinged a little. With everything Jack had stirred up in her recently, she hadn’t thought about Max actually being gone in days. “Probably nothing that you want. A couple of photos, Max’s sketchbook, the decanter set in the office. Why don’t you pack up whatever you want to take, and I’ll deal with the rest?”

“All I need is some of Max’s paperwork, a few old files.”

“Whatever, Jack. Really.” Her voice broke a little. It hurt to think of Max’s things being divvyed up, but the underlying thought of Jack taking those things when he left confirmed her earlier thoughts.

He was beside her in an instant, his face concerned and his hand gentle on her arm. “Are you okay? I’d forgotten this might be tough on you—as close as you and Max were.”

Her eyes burned, but she took a deep breath. “How is it not tough for you?”

Jack’s face clouded briefly. “Max and I had our problems. Our differences. You know that. I’m not saying it doesn’t bother me, but I know it’s a lot worse for you.” He sighed. “I understand, really. If you’d like to wait a while before…There’s no real rush, Bren.”

“No. It’s—it’s…” She paused and pulled herself together. “I’m okay. We can do this.” Closure all the way around. She patted his hand absently as she spoke, but Jack’s hand closed over hers and squeezed. She looked up in surprise.

He was too close. She could count his eyelashes, smell the faint scent of his soap. The concern was still there in his face, but it was tempered by something else. The something she’d spent the last hours trying to convince herself wasn’t actually there. All the rational pep talks she’d given herself spun away and she felt dizzy.

“Bren…” Jack whispered as he moved another inch closer to her. His fingers twined in hers, and he pulled her hand up to his mouth and traced her knuckles with his lips. “Come back to the house with me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jack.” Jack’s lips snaked across her wrist. Her eyelids felt heavy as they slid shut.

“You’re right,” he murmured, and her heart sank. This was it. She’d known it was coming. It was for the best.

Then why did it hurt like hell?

He closed the last bit of space, the notebook she still held against her chest the only thing keeping her from being pressed completely against him. She could feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat against her hand. But the words she was bracing herself for didn’t come. Instead, his mouth landed on the sensitive skin of her neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Remembering how that sound you make just before you come echoes in this room.”

She remembered, too. In blinding detail. The contrast of the cool steel against her back and the hard heat of Jack against her chest and between her legs. Liquid heat pooled in her stomach, and she dropped her notebook in shock. Jack took advantage of both, pressing his body completely against hers and leaning her against the closest tank. Her gasp echoed off the tanks, and she felt his lips curve into a smile at the sound.

Her fingers closed around the soft cotton of his shirt, bracing herself as his free hand slid over the small of her back into the waistband of her jeans. The warmth of his hand after the chill of the tank had her gasping as he pulled her closer still and covered her mouth with his.

The first time Jack had kissed her, they’d been in this room, not far from where they were now. The kiss had left her so dizzy she’d thought something was wrong with the CO2 fans. That same feeling swept over her now, as Jack’s tongue made a leisurely exploration of her mouth.

A sharp tug at her waist released the snap of her jeans, and a second later Jack’s finger dragged a groan from deep in her throat.

A clatter outside reminded her where she was. The huge door to the fermentation room didn’t have a lock, and any of her staff could wander in at any moment. She broke the kiss, panting. “Jack. Not here. Someone could—”

Jack kissed her again, cutting off her protest, but then his arm tightened around her waist, lifting her off her feet and maneuvering her behind the largest of the tanks, out of sight of the door.

In the relative privacy they’d found, Jack’s kisses became more demanding, his hands more purposeful as clothing was pushed aside, stripped off. Soon she was clinging to him for support, unsure she could handle the onslaught.

Oddly, though, she gained clarity on one thing: the decision she’d been fretting over all morning. The one she’d made but didn’t want to admit—not even to herself.

If Jack was going to leave—this time for good—she wanted one last good memory to keep with her. She’d take what he was willing to give.

Would she regret this? Probably. Did she care? Not in the least. For just a little while she wanted to feel like she had when she was eighteen and Jack had wanted her more than anything.

Strong hands closed around her waist, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around him, and then she couldn’t think at all.

She heard her cries of pleasure echoing around her, mixing with the rasping sounds of Jack’s breath. She wanted more. Wanted what only Jack could give her.

It wouldn’t be enough, but it would have to do.

Chapter Eight

BRENNA had the most beautiful back. Jack traced his fingers along the indentation of her spine until the sheet draped over her hips stopped his lazy exploration. The sunlight played over her body, bathing her in a golden glow as she lay on her stomach on his bed. Last time he’d checked her eyes had been closed, and their nonsense conversation was easy and relaxed.

But he couldn’t keep his hands off her. It was as if his body wanted to make up for lost time—all the years he hadn’t had Brenna in his bed.

And suddenly he couldn’t remember why that was.

Brenna stretched lazily under his hand and hummed lightly in pleasure. She shifted, turning slightly on her side to face him and resting her head next to his arm. Her fingers traced idly along the arm supporting his body and she sighed deeply in satisfaction.

He pushed her hair over her shoulder to trace the line of her collarbone. “The symphony is hosting a reception Wednesday night, honoring Max’s support over the years.”

Brenna nodded. “I know. We sent wine.”

“But you’re not planning to go?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

She scrunched her nose in displeasure. “The crowds, the small talk—I’m not very good in those situations. You know that.”

He did know that. Just another thing they’d fought about more than once. “Still shy in a crowd, huh?”

“I’m not shy,” Brenna rebutted, “just not good at mingling with people.” She shrugged as her fingers moved aimlessly to his chest. “Plus there’s the drive down, and since it would be so late I’d have to find a place to stay for the night…”

He laughed. “A place to stay? That’s a weak excuse. I own a hotel not four blocks from the concert hall.”

Brenna’s hand stopped. “Yeah.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And there’s that.”

Understanding dawned. “Oh. I see. You didn’t want to run into me at the party.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but, yes. I’m avoiding you.” She snorted. “Or at least I was.”

“And now that you’re not?”

“Still in the ‘not going’ camp. There’s no one there I really want to see—”

“Except me,” he teased.

Brenna pursed her lips and made a face at him. “I know you like these kinds of events, but I don’t.”

“No one likes these kinds of events. You go because you have to.”

“Really?” She pushed up onto her elbow. “You always seemed so keen on them.”

“Only in comparison to you and your absolute dread of parties.”

Brenna stuck out her tongue and lay back down on her stomach, bunching the pillow under her head.

“You should come, though,” he added. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out a bigger incentive. “For Max.”

“Don’t lay a guilt trip on me,” she mumbled into the pillow. “The event isn’t for Max. It’s for Max’s money. Max wouldn’t care either way.”

“True, but as the proprietor of Amante Verano you should be there. You are the winery now. It’s part of the gig.”

She rolled back to face him again, giving him a delicious view. “Ugh. Really?” She looked genuinely displeased at the thought.

“Really.” Stroking her stomach lightly, he added, “But you could come with me.”

Brenna’s eyes widened, and he had to bite back laughter at her horrified yet confused look. “With you?”

“Yes, with me. Do you have a dress?”

“Of course I have a dress.” She paused, face crinkling in thought. “Or Di does, at least. But it’s still…”

“Come on, Bren. It won’t be fun, but it won’t suck either.”

She flopped back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, that’s the way to convince me. I’m not exactly a big symphony fan, you know.”

“Then it’s a good thing it’s not a performance. Simply a meet-and-greet.”

Brenna opened her mouth, then closed it and bit her lip. After what looked like an interesting internal conversation, she lifted her head to look at him again. “Are you asking me out? Like on a date?”

He nearly choked, but caught himself and cleared his throat while Brenna stared at him in mild shock. “Well, I am planning to ply you with alcohol and chocolate in an attempt to get you to come back to my place for the evening.”

She nodded. “I see. And then?”

The question was casual, but he didn’t want any misunderstandings between them. “What are you asking, Bren?”

“I spent years trying to forget about you. And then all the stuff with the winery happens and you’re back.” She pushed herself to a sitting position. “I find out that not only haven’t I forgotten you, I also don’t hate you as well. Now we’re back here—” she indicated the bed “—and I’m not sure which way to turn.”

She wanted an answer, but he didn’t have one to give her. “And I don’t know what to tell you, Bren. Can’t this be enough for now?”

She laughed. “Hell, I’m not sure it’s not too much already. Maybe we should just quit while we’re ahead. Before things go bad again.”

Brenna wasn’t wrong about that, but it didn’t mean he wanted to take her up on it. “That’s the second time today you’ve played that card.”

“Maybe it’s worth thinking about.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

Her half-smile gave him his answer. “This place is still half yours, you know. For the moment.”

He ran a hand down the smooth skin of her arm. “Then I think I’ll stay tonight.”

“About the symphony thing…”

He lifted a hand to stop her. “I’ll send a car. You don’t have to get in if you decide you don’t want to.”

“That sounds fair.”

“In the meantime…” He reached for her, and Brenna slid neatly into his arms, molding her body to his. He let her push him onto his back, and the curtain of her hair fell around them, seeming to block out everything else.

This wasn’t his average Saturday night. Jack leaned back in his chair at Dianne and Ted’s kitchen table and reached for his beer.

With his and Brenna’s new truce secure, he’d fully planned to spend the evening in bed, making up for lost time. Around six, though, Brenna had informed him she was due at Dianne’s for dinner, and that he was welcome to come along.

He tried to remember what had been on his calendar for tonight—before he’d cleared it to come to Amante Verano. A business dinner? Another charity event? Probably something black-tie.

Instead, he sat at an only partially refinished antique table after a simple family meal, nibbling on cashews and getting soundly beaten in Scrabble.

And, surprisingly, he was enjoying himself.

Brenna held Chloe in her lap, unsuccessfully attempting to keep the tiles out of the baby’s reach. “Where’s my E?” Brenna asked. “I know I have one. Aha!” She pried the tile out of Chloe’s chubby fist and placed it on the board.

Jack looked at what she played. “Olpe? That’s not a word.”

Brenna counted her points. “Yes, it is. An olpe is a wine pitcher or flask. Ted?”

Ted nodded. “She’s right. It’s a word.”

Brenna shot him a triumphant look. He countered the look with, “Is it English?”

Dianne returned from the kitchen at that point and leaned against the arm of Ted’s chair. “I told you not to play with them. They cheat.”

Ted pulled his wife into his lap. “We do not cheat. We just have bigger vocabularies.”

Dianne and Ted had been surprised when he’d arrived with Brenna earlier tonight, but after a few interesting looks he didn’t quite understand had passed between them and Brenna, they’d set another place at the table for dinner. The conversation had been stilted at first, but they’d warmed up and now treated him like a long-lost family member.

Which, in a way, he guessed he kind of was.

Brenna rescued another tile from Chloe’s mouth and handed her a soft toy to play with instead. “There’s no need to be a poor loser, Jack.”

He looked at the board and at his tiles. Nothing he could play now that Brenna had used the L for her non-existent word. He shook his head and passed. “I’m wondering why Dianne doesn’t get a dictionary and shut you both down.”

Her cheeky grin snared him. “Because then it wouldn’t be any fun. Would it, Chloe?” she asked the baby, burying her face in Chloe’s neck and making them both giggle.

It was a nice picture. Brenna laughing, relaxed and glowing. Not something he could say he’d seen in a very long time. She was obviously happy, and he was glad he hadn’t listened to either his attorneys or his accountants when they’d expressed shock over his plans to give control of the vineyard to Brenna.

“Brenna, I got a call from Charlie today. He says his Chardonnays are almost ready.”

That perked Brenna’s interest, and she leaned toward Ted. “Wow, that’s sooner than expected.”

“I’m going to go over tomorrow and test myself, but we could be getting grapes from him early next week.”

“Charlie often wants to jump the gun,” Brenna cautioned.

“I know, and I’d planned to get ours in first, but…”

Ted and Brenna were just starting to get excited about their conversation when Dianne interrupted. “Stop it, both of you.” Dianne rolled her eyes and moved out of Ted’s lap. “Can we talk about something else for one night?”

Jack rushed to back her up. “I’m with you, Dianne.”

“Thank you, Jack. For once I’m not outnumbered by grape geeks at the table, and I’d like to take advantage of that.”

Ted mumbled something under his breath and toyed with his glass. Bren flushed a shade of pink that clashed with her hair. They both looked like children who’d been caught playing with a favorite but off-limits toy. Ted looked so disappointed Jack almost relented to the conversation.

But it was all he could do not to laugh out loud at them both.

Ted cleared his throat. “Rumor has it a new winery is opening in Napa…”

“Ted!” Dianne chastised.

“What?” Ted spread his hands in innocence. “It’s not about our wine…”