With a helpless gasp, Zoya surged into him, tapping out of reality and entering a place where only his skilled lips and the voluptuous glide of his tongue in her mouth mattered.
Ten seconds of his absolute mastery (not to mention the way his hands managed to tunnel through her hair, rub her breasts and cup her ass) left her hot, dazed and deliciously confused.
He abruptly turned her loose to find her own way on wobbly legs. All the kissing had depleted the foyer’s air supply, leaving them both open-mouthed and panting.
She put a shaky hand on the wall for support. “Daniel…”
“We’re not screwing this up again.” There was zero give in his voice, even less in his expression. “We’re going to work this out when I get back from Bordeaux. I promise you that. So we both need to use this time to get our shit together.”
“But—”
“Take good care of your father while I’m gone.”
“Daniel—”
He walked out, lobbing a final incinerating glance over his shoulder at her as he opened the door and left.
An absolute fool now, she stood there for a second, touching her tingling lips and trying to catch her breath. After several beats of this, she remembered that she had underage weekend guests and therefore needed to get her head in the game. Shaking it off and trying to look like a responsible adult, she marched briskly back into the living room.
Where she discovered Griffin lounging back against the sofa cushions like some Egyptian pharaoh, an amused grin making the corners of his lips twitch.
“Where’d the boys go?” she barked, figuring the best defense was a good offense.
“In the guest bedroom. I told them they needed to practice their cellos since they haven’t played all week. And may I congratulate you on your surprise engagement?”
“I’m not engaged, Lucifer.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, okay,” she said wearily, the last of her sensual glow dissipating. “Bring it on. Get it all out of your system.”
“I don’t think I will. Why not save some for later?”
“Well, as much fun as this conversation is, I’d hate to make you late for your flight—”
“Plenty of time,” he said, checking his watch before patting the cushion next to his. “Have a sit down. Tell Lucifer all about it.”
“No,” she said, trying not to laugh.
“You know you want to.”
“You keep your mouth shut,” she said, leaning over him and pointing her index finger in his face. “I’m going to confide in you this one time, because you’re the only available choice and Miranda’s not here. Then I will immediately regret it and we’ll never speak of it again. And I want to remind you that you owe me a solid because I’ve kept my mouth shut about your little trophy wife’s meltdown last night.”
“Deal,” he said, the glinting light in his eyes more wicked than ever.
“Oh, my God.” Zoya smacked her forehead as she paced, agitation making her a little manic. “I’m making a deal with the devil. What is my life coming to?”
“Let’s go. Tick-tock.”
“Daniel,” she said, waving a hand in the direction of the front door, “got his dream job offer at a vineyard in France last night, and he was acting like he wanted to take it—”
“That man is not moving to France.”
“—I mean, if you don’t want the job, why not tell the guy, ‘Hey, thanks but no thanks,’ when you’ve got him on the line? But no, Daniel tells the guy he’ll think about it—” she made air quotes—
“You don’t burn your bridges. You always give a job offer the respect it deserves.”
“— and then I get upset, okay, because are we building a relationship here, or not? And then he’s wondering why I don’t trust him. So it became a whole big thing just before you guys showed up, and the next thing I know—”
“He’s telling Jonah he wants to marry you.”
“—he’s telling Jonah he wants to marry me.” She stopped pacing and took a deep breath. “So what the hell am I supposed to make of that?”
He gave her a get with it, stupid look. “Daniel wants to marry you.”
Frowning, she stared down at Griffin’s implacable face.
“He really wants to marry me?” she squeaked.
“He. Really. Wants. To. Marry. You.”
More staring ensued.
“How do you know?” Zoya finally asked, both wildly excited and wildly afraid to get her hopes up.
Griffin shrugged. “Gut feeling.”
Zoya nearly choked on her frustration. “That is absolutely useless information to me!”
Griffin sighed and tilted his head thoughtfully. “It was what he said. The way he said it. How nervous he was—”
“Nervous? Daniel doesn’t get nervous. I don’t make him nervous. He makes me nervous.”
Griffin shot her a disbelieving look. “Have you two met? If you tell that man no, he’s going to find the nearest bridge and jump off it.”
Zoya gaped at him.
Much as she wanted to jeer and tell Griffin he was insane, she couldn’t quite do it. Griffin might be a cheater and therefore a terrible husband, but he was also a wildly successful businessman who, from all appearances, had a shrewd head on his shoulders.
And he was a man. Men could read each other, right?
She plopped down next to him, the wind effectively knocked out of her sails. “What else?” she asked grudgingly.
“His age. If he wants kids, he’s way too old to be playing games. His family. If he’s anything like his saintly brother who just married my ex-wife...” Griffin trailed off, shrugging again. “Why do you doubt him?”
Zoya hesitated, reluctant to go to such a dark place with a near stranger. “Because he walked out on me once before, right when we graduated from college. And he’s been gone this whole time.”
“Then he’s a sure thing, isn’t he?” Griffin asked. “Because if he screwed up and lost you before, he’s damn sure not going to do it again. Is he?”
Zoya couldn’t answer. A sudden swell of hope put her voice on complete lockdown.
Chapter 24
“What the hell are you doing here?” Daniel demanded early the following evening when he walked into his office. It was Saturday and the tasting room closed at five, which meant that all employees and customers should be long gone and he shouldn’t have to deal with any people or situations. Yet here was one big-ass situation. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough already. As if this was just the shit he needed to deal with right now, when his future with Zoya hung in the balance and his flight to Bordeaux was scheduled for tomorrow night.
Nigel, who’d been leaning over Daniel’s desk, evidently looking for a pen or some such, froze, looking startled.
The old man’s who, me? routine, all wide-eyed innocence when confronted with the sharp bark of Daniel’s voice, did nothing for Daniel’s mood. To be fair, said mood had been circling the drain ever since he left Zoya’s last night, so everything wasn’t Nigel’s fault.
But a lot of it was.
“Couldn’t stay away for a whole Saturday, could you?” Daniel continued, snatching off his baseball cap and tossing it on the desk. “Your timing’s great, though. I just finished up with the pathologist. We’ve got mildew. Just like I said.”
Nigel blinked. “Oh.”
Oh? That was it? Oh?
“Which would you like to know first?” Daniel continued. “How long it’s been there? How much it’s going to run us to get rid of it? Or maybe we should start with which bank we need to rob to pay for some of the things we need to take care of around here?”
Nigel had the decency—or maybe it was the nerve—to look chagrined. He ducked his head and ran a hand across the back of his neck, his mouth working without sound, while he cherry-picked his words.
“Well,” Nigel said gruffly, before taking a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re on top of it. The place is in good hands.”
Daniel’s jaw clanged to the floor at this unexpected display of parental confidence.
What mind-screwing witchery was this?
“‘In good hands,’” Daniel echoed stupidly.
“Yes, son.” Nigel dredged up the kind of supportive smile that would have meant the world to Daniel at, say, ages fourteen or twenty or, hell, even as recently as five years ago, but which only served to piss Daniel off now. “You set up the business meeting with your buddy in France. I have a good feeling about it.”
“A good feeling? You flipped out when I first told you about it.”
“Yes, but I’ve had a couple nights to sleep on it, and I discussed it with your mother. Maybe this is the answer to our prayers. I don’t know what will happen. I just know that I’m tired and you’re in charge now. I know you’ll handle it one way or the other.”
What an Oscar-worthy performance for an actor in a supporting role.
“How?” Daniel snorted, thinking of the coffers, which were low, and the sales, which were rounding poor and heading for dismal. Hell, he almost wanted to apologize to his father for demanding the financials. At least when the old man had kept Daniel in the dark about the vineyard’s fiscal situation, there’d been an outside chance that Daniel could get a good night’s sleep. “With my good looks and charm? You think we’re going to get some sort of great deal or angel investor when our numbers are down and we’ve got mildew? Who wants to buy into that? Baptiste is no fool, buddy of mine or not. You got a magic wand you’re not telling me about?”
Nigel frowned. Squinted more closely at Daniel’s face from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “What’s wrong, Danny-Boy?”
What’s. Wrong.
Wasn’t that just the million-dollar question?
And hadn’t central casting sent over the exact wrong dad to act like he cared?
“Are you serious right now?” Daniel asked.
“Dead serious.”
Nigel looked and sounded serious, too, which only threw Daniel further off center.
What sort of craziness was this, when the old man had thrown a tantrum the other day at the idea of Daniel meeting with a potential investor, and had suddenly turned into a wholehearted supporter of the plan? Were they playing mind games with each other now? Trying to see who blinked first? Or was it finally time for him and the old man to go toe to toe and clear the air about a few lingering issues and hard feelings?
If so, Daniel was more than happy to play.
Maybe it’d be an uneven matchup, considering the way the uncertainty of his situation with Zoya had Daniel’s guts tied up in razor wire knots. Just because he’d declared he still wanted to marry her didn’t mean she was on board with that plan. Hell, for all he knew, she’d turn him down flat again, a possibility he was certain would cause him to collapse and die. He was therefore spoiling for a fight. The fact that the other player on the field was his father didn’t matter a bit.
So what if the old man was showing his age, his face more heavily lined with exhaustion, his hair grayer and his shoulders more stooped than usual?
Daniel opened his mouth, but sudden indecision locked him down tight. You didn’t scorch the earth between you and your parents. There were cans of worms you didn’t want to approach with your electric opener. Rocks you didn’t need to peek under.
Daniel hesitated.
“Tell me, son.”
The gentle concern from this man was so jarring, so completely out of character, that it provided the exact kick in the ass that Daniel needed.
Good-bye, ambivalence.
Hello, anger.
With a derisive laugh, he slammed the door. It was late and all the employees should be gone by now, but just in case. No need for the whole world to hear how ugly things were about to get up in here.
“What’s wrong?” Daniel sneered. “What’s wrong is that I left a great vineyard in Napa to come back here. I just turned down the job of a lifetime in Bordeaux. At a great vineyard.”
Nigel eyed him warily. “I know.”
“And I spent most of today going over the financials and figuring out how bad the situation is with the mildew. Praying that something good can come out of my trip and I can somehow save this place.”
“And?”
“And this whole time, I’ve been wondering why you brought me back here to run the vineyard when you and I can’t stand to be in the same room for ten minutes and you clearly don’t want to hand over the reins. You did all this talk about slowing down after your heart attack and wanting to make changes, but when the time finally came, you didn’t want to make change the first, did you? And I kept wondering what was up with that. Do you want to keep driving yourself until you drop dead of a heart attack? Is that it?”
“Of course not! That’s why I’m letting you handle things.”
“Maybe you just wanted me back here out of spite,” Daniel mused. “Act like you want me to be in charge and then yank the rug out from under me to punish me for leaving town fourteen years ago. That could work, right?”
“I don’t want to punish you, son. You have to live your own life. I get that.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I discarded that theory. Today, I finally got it.”
“Got what, son?”
“You’re setting me up to fail.”
Nigel recoiled, but Daniel was just getting started.
“You and your years of micromanaging and perfectionism have run this vineyard right into the ground, but you can’t have the place go belly-up on your watch, right? How would it look if perfect Nigel Harper dropped one of his balls and lost one of the family businesses? We can’t have that. So why not bring me in and make me the fall guy? Let the winery die on my watch? It’s not like you ever believed in me anyway, is it?”
“Never believed—? Danny, of course I believe in you!”
“You don’t believe in me, though. That’s the thing,” Daniel roared. “I’m the son that lets you down, remember? You need a reminder? Did you forget which one I am because you have so many sons? Well, let’s see...”
“Danny.”
Daniel counted on his fingers. “You’ve got your precious firstborn James, right, the guy who never gave you a moment’s trouble. You’ve got Edward, the baby of the family who’s all sunshine and light—the son who’s a veterinarian. What dad wouldn’t want a son like Edward to brag about? And you’ve got Ethan the landscaper who loves to grow things just like you do. Mr. Noble who paid for his own college because he didn’t want to add to your financial burden. Maybe you should have brought him in to save the vineyard.”
“Daniel—”
“Now, I admit Isaiah’s a tough one. Pain in the ass with no social skills. But, hey, he’s a genius, isn’t he? Easy to overlook a few quirks when your son graduates at sixteen, goes to MIT and becomes a multimillionaire by the time he’s thirty. Who wouldn’t be proud of him?”
“I’m proud of you, Daniel—”
Ah, there they were. The words Daniel had lived his whole life for.
Far too little, and way too late.
I’m proud of you Daniel.
The sound of those words made Daniel want to flip his desk over.
“No, you’re not!” Daniel’s face seethed with heat, probably because the hypocrisy made him crazy. “When were you ever proud of me? When did you ever tell me that I did a good job on anything? Did you notice when I got straight As? Did you care when I started my lawn mowing business and made enough money to finance my own class trip to DC? When I spent summers working as a lifeguard so I could keep little kids safe? When I got into Cornell and studied fucking viticulture and enology so I could be just like you? When I got scholarships and internships? When did you ever remember you had a middle son named Daniel? When did you ever tell me you were proud of me?”
Nigel bowed his head. Wiped the corner of one eye.
“Oh, but you noticed when I nearly got kicked out of eighth grade for fighting, didn’t you? And when I nearly got kicked
out of senior year for smoking weed. That, you noticed. And you probably noticed when I ran off and joined the Air Force and disappeared for fourteen years. You damn sure noticed when I let Caroline—”
Daniel broke off before the words choked him.
Whoa. Where had that come from?
Nigel’s head snapped up, the better to stare at Daniel with open disbelief and horror.
They stared at each other, the words reverberating between them.
“You did not let your sister die,” Nigel said sharply, reaching out a hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know that.” Daniel pivoted away, all his muscles tightening up. The office was suddenly too small, the furniture too close, and he could barely suck in a breath. He wanted to leave. Needed fresh air because the little bit he was getting suddenly smelled like chlorine. But Zoya had accused him of walking out when things got tough, and he didn’t want to prove her point in absentia. “This isn’t about…her. This is about you telling me how I can’t do anything right every chance you get. You can’t do that, Daniel. That’s not right, Daniel. You need to try harder, Daniel. You can do better than that, Daniel. You know what I expect of you, Daniel. When did you ever give me a word of encouragement? You may have been fucking Mike Brady with all your other sons, but you never did jack shit for me.”
The old man’s stricken expression was really starting to do a number on his head. Daniel sneered at him, then swiped his running nose (why was his nose running?) with the back of his hand.
Nigel floundered, taking several beats to activate his hoarse voice. “I’m sorry, Danny. I’m sorry.”
“Sure you are,” Daniel said lightly. “And now you’re acting like you have faith in me to go make some magic deal to save the vineyard? When did you expect me to do anything good?”
“You did a good job trying to save your sister, Daniel,” Nigel said softly. “But she could not be saved.”
Daniel flinched. Something inside him cracked in two, the force of the destruction causing a tidal wave of emotion that made his face twist and crumple.
But he would not peek into this Pandora’s box.
He would not let this conversation be sidetracked.
Unforgettable Page 23