Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

And that assessment had been validated by what he’d observed earlier today. He figured she meant to make Valencia Vineyards her life.

Apparently, her mother hadn’t wanted to accept that decision.

“Can I get anyone seconds?” Donna asked.

“Not me.” Sullivan leaned away from the table. “I haven’t eaten this well in ages.”

Again, he looked at Lissa, who seemed to be studying her plate. Unless she’d gotten a full heaping of seconds when he wasn’t looking, she hadn’t eaten much at all. He had a feeling the mother-hen inquisition had annoyed her, too.

And why shouldn’t it bother her? She had a business relationship with Sullivan to think about. And they had a lot of work ahead of them. Romantic thoughts would only get in the way, distract them from their focus.

As soon as he could get her alone, he’d have to let her know that this stuff happened to him all the time, and that she shouldn’t be the least bit embarrassed, not on his account.

“Decaffeinated coffee anyone?” Donna asked, obviously in her element as a gracious hostess.

“I’ll have a cup,” Ken said.

The attractive older woman tossed Sullivan a pleasant smile. “How about you?”

“No thank you.” Sullivan was ready for the evening to end, especially since he wasn’t about to lay himself open for any more questions. And he didn’t particularly like seeing Lissa look as if she were sitting in a dental chair, waiting for a root canal.

The dark-haired young woman gathered her nearly full plate and silverware, along with those of her father and Sullivan, then went into the kitchen, followed by her mother.

Minutes later, when they returned with coffee and slices of cheesecake with a raspberry sauce, Donna wore a solemn expression.

Had she been chastised by her daughter? Probably so, because Lissa looked a bit more comfortable than when she’d been seated at the table.

No telling what—if anything—had gone on in the kitchen, but Sullivan had a feeling Lissa had asked her mother to back off. He hoped the older woman’s curiosity had been sated. For everyone’s sake.

Actually, Donna Cartwright was a nice lady. Just determined to marry off her last daughter, he supposed.

But Sullivan wasn’t in the market for a wife. Not now. Not ever. And the sooner the Cartwrights understood that, the better.

Lissa couldn’t wait for the horrible evening to end. What must Sullivan think of her—or her mother?

She knew her mom didn’t mean any harm, but if Lissa ever decided to go on a manhunt, she didn’t want her mother to pave the way.

At least after their little chat in the kitchen, Mom had gotten the message that Lissa wasn’t looking for a husband.

Of course, if she’d been more like Eileen, Sullivan Grayson would have made a great catch. But she wasn’t anything like Eileen. And besides, he’d made himself clear. He was happy being a bachelor.

“The cheesecake was delicious,” Sullivan said. “In fact, the entire meal was out of this world. I’m going to put on weight while I work here.”

Donna beamed like a Girl Scout with a new merit badge. “Well, I’m glad you decided to join us.”

Relieved to see the stressful dinner conversation winding down, Lissa pushed her seat away from the table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll slip into the kitchen and wash the dishes.”

Sullivan stood and reached for his desert plate and fork. “Let me help you.”

Lissa nearly dropped the cup and saucer she’d picked up, but for the life of her, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t object. Of course, knowing her mother, she wouldn’t have to.

“How thoughtful,” Donna told Sullivan, even though it was her habit to shoo off any guest who volunteered to help in the kitchen. “Ken and I will just go on to bed.”

At seven-thirty?

Ken glanced at his watch, furrowed his brow, then cocked his head. “It’s pretty early for bed, don’t you think?”

Lissa didn’t take time to listen to her mother’s explanation. Instead, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Sullivan followed her.

She wanted to tell him that she needed some time alone, to regroup after her mother’s lame attempt to find her a husband. But she kept her mouth shut for a while, until she could figure out what to say.

“I noticed how uncomfortable you were in there,” he said.

Lissa stood at the sink, her hand frozen on the faucet, warm water flowing from the spigot.

“But don’t let it get to you,” he said. “I’m used to that kind of thing.”

What kind of thing was that? Mothers who tried to find husbands for their spinster daughters?

For goodness’ sake. Even if Lissa had been willing to accept her mother’s help, the least her mom could do was find a man who actually wanted to settle down.

She turned around to face him, catching a whiff of his taunting highland scent and falling into his hazel gaze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried desperately to hide her feelings, her insecurities, all of those things that had worked against her since meeting Sullivan.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I have no plans to get married. Ever.”

Okay, so she lied. Sort of. She had dreams, of course, enhanced by the stack of romances on her nightstand. But no plans. She knew better than to believe a frog could turn into a princess.

“I had a feeling you felt the same way I do,” Sullivan said. “Don’t you hate it when people try to screw up our contentment?”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t all that contented. But at least she didn’t have to deal with embarrassment.

Sullivan slid her a crooked smile that made her knees go weak. What an interesting mouth he had.

A mouth that undoubtedly knew how to kiss a woman.

Milt Preston had kissed her once, after their date to the Christmas formal. Lissa had actually been looking forward to it, since Eileen had told her about making out with Jason Crowley in the back seat of his Mustang.

But her first kiss hadn’t been anything like her sister’s romantic experience. In fact, it had been just plain awful.

Instead of taking it slow and easy, Milt had opened his mouth and zeroed in on her, slapping a wet tongue across her lips, trying to poke and prod his way inside her mouth. She’d pushed him away, but the kiss had left her feeling dirty, sticky and wet.

Disgusted and disappointed, she’d left him standing on the porch and escaped inside the house, where she dashed upstairs to brush her teeth and rid herself of his taste.

Her efforts hadn’t worked, so she’d tried a shower. But not even hot, sudsy water could wash away the yucky memory.

As Sullivan squeezed a squirt of dish soap into the sink, his presence closed in on her. The side of his arm brushed against her shoulder, leaving a warm tingle after he moved away. “Would you like to wash or dry?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to focus on the mundane household task. “Which would you rather do?”

“Since I don’t know where anything goes, I’ll wash.”

As the soap formed a frothy foam, Lissa’s thoughts drifted from the kitchen sink to a bubble bath in a candlelit bathroom. She’d read a book once where the hero and heroine had showered together, lathering each other until their passion blazed.

Oh, for Pete’s sake. She was letting her imagination and her hormones get the best of her.

Sullivan handed her a rinsed plate, and she quickly wiped it dry. They didn’t talk much, and before long, the kitchen was back in order.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, before leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Or rather with her adolescent hormones raging.

What would she have done if the guy had actually come on to her?

She would have skedaddled like a scaredy cat, no doubt.

But Lissa couldn’t help wondering what Sullivan’s kiss would be like. She had a feeling she might like to let his tongue inside her mouth, but she shrugged off the possibility. A woman like her knew better than to dwell on an impossible dream.

Or to dwell on a handsome bachelor with a playful smile and more than his fair share of pheromones.

Chapter Three

At nine the next morning, Sullivan met Lissa at the vineyard office, a small, wood-paneled room that held file cabinets, a computer and an expansive antique desk. It looked like the usual workplace, but a mauve, overstuffed sofa against the far wall and a kitchenette in the corner suggested Lissa spent a lot of time here.

And so did the little puppy that lay curled up on a doggie bed by the potbellied stove.

Sullivan watched as Lissa made a pot of coffee from beans she’d ground only a moment ago.

As she had yesterday, she wore a plain, loose-fitting blouse and the same style of baggy trousers—this time a drab brown.

Why did she choose such dull colors when green or blue would highlight those expressive eyes?

Her mother and sister dressed stylishly, so he had to assume that Lissa preferred to be nondescript. Was that so she would be taken more seriously in the business world? Maybe. It made sense.

As she worked, he watched her from behind. She’d woven her hair into a long, single braid that hung down her back. He figured the strands might reach her waist, if she let it free.

Lissa turned, facing him. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Sugar,” he said. “No cream.”

He’d expected her to turn around and return to her work, but she didn’t move. She just stood there like a deer in the meadow, head raised, eyes focused on a potential foe.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He hadn’t meant to be gawking. But long hair on women had always fascinated him.

If he and Lissa were dating, and his opinion meant something to her, he’d suggest she wear it loose, over her shoulders and down her back. But they weren’t dating, so he kept his opinion to himself.

Still, he had half a notion to tease her a bit, to see if she would loosen up. He was flirtatious by nature, and the playful banter between a man and a woman came easily to him. But he’d better back off. His relationship with Lissa was strictly business. And he’d be wise to keep it that way.

The coffee began to gurgle and sputter as it dribbled into the pot, and soon, the aroma of a robust brew permeated the room.

Lissa withdrew a crystal sugar bowl and two mugs from the small overhead cupboard, and he watched the braid swish along the curve of her back. Yesterday she’d worn her hair twisted in a knot. Did she prefer it trussed up and out of the way?

Maybe she disliked it long, but was too busy to go to the salon for a cut and style. It didn’t matter, he supposed. But the woman intrigued him for some reason.

Her shyness maybe? Her focus on business and finances? Or maybe because he suspected there was a lot more going on behind those vibrant green eyes than most people knew.

As she handed him a cup of coffee, their fingers brushed, and something passed between them. A soft and gentle awareness, a lingering connection of some kind.

Had that initial little spark of attraction he’d felt for her grown?

If so, he wouldn’t act upon it. Lissa Cartwright was too complex, too real. Too rooted in family and responsibility. When he’d been younger and more naive, she would have been the kind of woman he could have cared for—before he’d learned not to believe in romantic dreams.

She snagged his gaze. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most interesting eyes?”

He had interesting eyes? Hell, she was the one with eyes that would stop a man dead in his tracks. But he didn’t want to go there.

“My eyes aren’t anything special,” he said. “They’re just brown—or hazel, I guess.”

“The sunlight is coming through that window.” She nodded to the pane of glass on the east wall. “And it highlights little gold flecks. The color is really unusual.”

Sullivan stiffened. He wasn’t comfortable with her looking at him like that, as if he had something she’d never seen before, as if she thought he was someone special. But he quickly scoffed it off.

She’d only noticed his eye color because of the way the morning sun poured through the window. And she’d merely made a comment, which for some goofy reason, he continued to ponder.

Did his eyes really have gold flecks? If he had a mirror handy, he’d take a peek, just to see what she saw.

“The color is beautiful,” she said, her voice going kind of soft.

“Just in the sunlight.” He cast off her compliment and tried to shift the focus away from himself. “You’re the one with a stunning pair of peepers.”

She cocked her head slightly, as though trying to decipher his words. “Me?”

“What’s the matter? Surely, you’ve had tons of compliments over the years.”

“Mostly from my mom,” she said, cheeks starting to flush. “Although maybe some lady in a grocery store said something once or twice.”

Well, now. See? That’s what happened when a person tried to downplay their looks so no one would notice them. Sometimes it worked.

“You do have pretty eyes,” he told her. “Whether you believe it or not. They’re the color of new leaves.”

Great. Now he was talking like a friggin’ poet.

She thanked him, yet still appeared skeptical.

“By the way,” he added, reneging on his earlier decision to keep his opinion to himself. “You ought to wear green or blue. To bring out the color of your eyes, you know.”

She glanced down at a pair of brown, rubber-soled loafers—shoes that looked a lot like the ones his great-aunt Clara wore. Then she looked up at him with a doe-eyed gaze that reached deep into his chest.

Whoa. That was a little too close for comfort.

He took his mug, then turned and strode toward the sofa—but only because it was on the far side of the room. Away from her, away from the weird stuff he felt whenever she looked at him that way.

Lissa Cartwright was not the kind of woman he pursued. And she was certainly off-limits until his business with the vineyard was over.

From across the room, and from a much safer distance, he turned, took a sip of coffee then asked, “How about a tour of the vineyard?”

“Sure. After we go over the guest list for the dinner party tomorrow night. I’d like you to know who’ll be there ahead of time.” Lissa reached into the top desk drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper and set it upon the oak desktop.

“What’s the purpose of the gathering?” he asked.

“We want to start a buzz about the new blend. So we’ve invited several local vintners and a reporter from Through the Grapevine, a local magazine that has expanded its circulation and should bring in more tourists and interest in the wine region.”

While Lissa described each guest and gave Sullivan a rundown of their holdings and achievements in the industry, they finished their coffee. Then, leaving the puppy to snooze on its bed, they set out to see every nook and cranny of the vineyard.

The air was fresh and clean from a rain they’d had a couple days before, and as they strolled through the parklike grounds, Sullivan was amazed at the beauty of the place. Besides row upon row of grapes that grew on the rolling hillsides, the lush property displayed a stone-lined fishpond that hosted several mallards and two black swans.

The manicured lawns nearly begged for people to sit and relish the peaceful sight.

“Why haven’t you opened up Valencia Vineyards for visitors and tastings?” he asked. “The grounds are beautiful, and I think you could really draw in a fair number of tourists each month.”

“We’ve thought about it,” Lissa said. “But we’ve always preferred our privacy.”

“You called me in for advice,” he reminded her.

“And my father and I intend to consider everything you suggest.” She led him into the new winery that had replaced the older facility they’d used in the past.

“The construction of this building was a major expense,” she explained. “And some hidden costs depleted our funds more than we’re comfortable with. That’s the primary reason we brought you in as a marketing consultant.”

“Then you’re in luck. I’m always glad to offer my services.”

She bit her bottom lip and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She wore an interesting expression.

One that seemed to ask how far he’d go to offer his services.

After they’d explored the new winery, Sullivan said, “You’ve done a wonderful job creating a modern and efficient operation.”

Lissa thought so, too. “Thank you.”

“And if you decide to open the vineyard and winery for tours, word will quickly spread.”

“You’re probably right.” She’d have to discuss it with her father. After all, he was the one who valued his privacy.

“So, where’s that killer new blend I’ve been hearing about?” Sullivan asked. “Do I have to wait for that dinner party tomorrow night?”

“No. I can let you have a taste now.”

“Great.” He flashed her a smile that made her heart skip a beat, which was surprising, since she’d grown a lot more comfortable with the man over the past few hours.

Lissa led him to the tasting room, then took two glasses from the stash they kept in a solid oak cabinet. The walls were lined with wine bottles tucked into crisscrossed shelves. But her special blend remained in an oak barrel that appeared to be only a decoration. She pulled the tap, filled both glasses and offered one to Sullivan.

Before taking a drink, he clinked his goblet against hers and offered a toast. “To the special lady who made this wine.”

Lissa appreciated his thoughtful gesture, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, she watched for Sullivan’s reaction, studying the good-looking man over the rim of her glass.

She guessed he was a bit of a playboy. But how could he not be, with those sexy eyes and that flirty smile?

Sullivan Grayson was too darn attractive for his own good. Or rather, for her own good.

Yet he also had a wealth of sexual experience and could make a woman’s first time special. At least, she suspected he would.

If Lissa had any courage at all, she’d suggest a brief affair. After all, who would get hurt? Not her. She had no illusions about falling in love.

And he certainly wouldn’t get hurt, since he’d probably never given a thought to settling down. Besides, once his job with Valencia Vineyards was finished, he’d be on his way. And that reason, on top of her fierce attraction, made him a perfect first-time lover—if she were inclined to act out the silly fantasy.

For Pete’s sake. What if he wasn’t the least bit interested in being her one-time lover? And if he were, her attempts to please him would be clumsy at best. Either way, she’d be embarrassed. Humiliated.

Mortified.

Fortunately, she was too shy to even suggest it.

Sullivan closed his eyes and appeared to be savoring the taste of the wine.

She held her breath, waiting for him to comment.

When his gaze locked on hers, his expression grew serious. “Lissa, this is incredible. I’m no expert, by any means, but I know what I like.”

She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Really?”

“It’s great.” His eyes verified his sincerity. “With the fresh, unique taste we’ll need a name, something that will reflect the newness, as well as the appeal.”

“I agree.” Both she and her dad hoped that the wine would increase sales—with the right marketing strategy. “Any ideas?”

He thought for a while, then broke into a lazy grin. “There’s one word we need to use in the name.”

“What’s that?” She took a sip from her glass.

“Virgin.”

Virgin? Lissa choked, sputtered and coughed.

“Are you okay?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. I guess it just went down the wrong pipe.”

The explanation seemed to appease him, although she really hadn’t swallowed wrong. His comment had surprised her. Heck, the way Sullivan said virgin made it seem as though he thought virginity held some kind of merit, some value.

If that were the case, maybe her inexperience wouldn’t scare him away.

The idea of losing her innocence to Sullivan made her imagination soar. Of course, he’d probably be shocked if she suggested it—assuming she had the nerve to broach the subject. After all, she’d never been suggestive or forward—sexually speaking.

Besides, Sullivan had his share of beautiful women. What would make him settle for a nobody like her?

She could, of course, dream. Couldn’t she?

Lissa had become good at fantasizing. Which certainly helped, because the thought of going to her deathbed as a virgin was downright depressing, if she dwelled upon it.

“Virgin Mist,” he said. “Now, that’s a name that would appeal to the masses. It promises something new and fresh. What do you think?”

Before she could tell him it worked for her, the big, oval-topped door opened, and her father walked into the tasting room.

“How’d you like the tour?” he asked Sullivan.

“It was great. Enlightening. And the tour director really knows her stuff.” Sullivan shot Lissa a smile that nearly wobbled her knees.

“Well, she ought to. Lissa loves the vineyard.” Ken slid an arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “In fact, she’s the daughter who takes after me.”

Sullivan chuckled, and Lissa smiled.

It was nice when her father said things like that, when he seemed to forget that she was adopted.

But they both knew there was another man out there—somewhere. A faceless man who could actually lay claim to her genetic makeup.

In his Portland law office, Jared studied a legal brief, yet his mind wasn’t on his work.

He was still reeling over the fact that the clock was ticking. That he still didn’t know anything about Olivia Maddison or her child. That the PI he’d hired had been due to check in ten minutes ago.

Just as he glanced at his gold wristwatch, a beep sounded over the intercom system.

“Mr. Cambry?” his secretary asked.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Hastings with Investigative Specialties is here to see you.”

“Send him in.” Jared was eager to know what the investigator had learned, whether he’d found Olivia yet.

Moments later, Sam Hastings entered. He was a big man with a full head of blond hair and prominent brows that shaded pensive eyes.

Jared stood and reached across the table to shake hands. “Any news?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so.” Sam blew out a sigh. “Olivia is dead.”

Dead? Jared slowly dropped to his seat. “What happened?”

“Car accident. Twenty-seven years ago.”

“And the baby?” Jared asked, heart pounding. Had the child died, too?

“It was made a ward of the state and put up for adoption.”

“Now what?” Jared asked.

“Well, let me tell you what I’ve learned, what we’ve got to work with.” Sam took the seat in front of the desk, as though the revelation might take a while. “Olivia and her mother were involved in a traffic accident. Mrs. Maddison was killed instantly, and Olivia was critically injured. Paramedics took her to Portland General Hospital, where she remained in a coma until she died a few weeks later.”

“So, what do the hospital records show?” Jared asked.

“That’s the problem.” Sam took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “A few months after Olivia’s death, a severe storm caused a power surge throughout the county. The hospital’s backup generator kicked on a few seconds later, and the patients were okay. But because the computers are old and the hospital birth clinic lacked funding until the new owners, the Logans, came on board, the computer files were either lost or are nearly impossible to retrieve.”

“But surely there are paper files, not just the computer entries,” Jared said, hoping his efforts to find his firstborn hadn’t struck out completely.

“I’m afraid not. When the power surged, it caused a circuit breaker in the clinic to spark. Some of the sparks landed on a cutesy wall hanging they used as a nursery decoration. A fire started, eliminating a number of paper files regarding adoptions, foster care situations, fertility information and other things.”