by Lori Wilde
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”
“You’re a dilettante.”
“I prefer the term renaissance man.” He winked, but that didn’t work any better for him than his grin.
“Of course you do.”
“Were you aware that you can be a tad dismissive?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I get that you’re too absorbed in winemaking for polite conversation, but you have a tendency to dismiss people out of hand if they don’t immediately fall in line with your plan or live up to your expectations.”
Dude, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be winning her over, not pissing her off. You’re here to spy on her, not call her on her less than positive traits.
Wyatt knew he should shut up, but he just kept rattling. “It’s inconsiderate.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know what I see.”
She shifted, but seemed to give his comment some thought. “You’re right. I have a tendency to get absorbed in my work and ignore everything else.”
“Some might even say rude.”
“Is that a criticism?”
“We’ve all got our flaws.” He shrugged.
“Some of us more than others.”
Did she mean herself or him?
Finally, she pulled out the chair beside him and sat down. “Why wine?” she quizzed. “What attracts you?”
He was about to say something glib, like, “Why not?” Or “What better way to spend the day than drinking wine?” But he got the distinct impression such a tongue-in-cheek response was not what she was looking for from a potential intern, and he needed to correct the bad impression he’d made. “I believe that to master something so complex and engrossing would be a life well spent.”
She folded her arms across her chest, eyed him speculatively as if gauging his response on her internal bullshit meter. Kiara Romano was a tough nut to crack.
“Besides,” he said, unable to resist his natural inclination to tease. “There’s nothing more romantic than the art of making wine.”
She held up her palm. She used the gesture liberally. “Let me stop you right there.”
“What?”
“Winemaking is not an art. That’s a dreamy, illogical, magical supposition and it has no place in my laboratory. Winemaking is a science that can be measured and controlled. It’s quantitative and qualitative. It’s the human perception of wine that’s faulty.”
“Okay.” Clearly, he’d punched one of her hot buttons.
“That silly legend you’ve heard floating around Idyll is pure poppycock and it’s only useful as a marketing tool for people who like to believe in romantic nonsense.”
“Poppycock.” He pantomimed writing it on a notepad. “Gotcha.”
“I’m a scientist. My focus is science. If my cousin Maurice can increase our customer base by capitalizing on a fable, well, more power to him. Me, I prefer to concentrate on using proven scientific techniques to produce the best wine possible.”
He held up an index finger and thumb, measuring off an inch. “You don’t think that there is at least a little bit of magic in the—”
“No,” she said sharply. “And if you want to work for me, you won’t bring that up again.”
All rightee then. Message received. Not a romantic bone in her body. “No more romantic poppycock.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I have to. You’re just too serious and I get the feeling you have most of the people around here buffaloed.”
“I have to be tough.” She notched up her chin.
“Only on the outside. I can tell that on the inside you melt like a Popsicle in the sun.”
“Seriously? Women go for stuff like this?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes but he could tell that underneath she wanted to smile, just somewhere along the way she’d come up with the notion that allowing herself to relax and enjoy herself meant she was weak or something.
“Now,” she said. “You can return to the group. Maurice will give you a tour of the winery and then show you to your accommodations. Get settled in and then be back in here tomorrow morning at seven o’clock on the dot and be prepared to work hard.”
“On the dot.” Wyatt tried his grin again, but she wasn’t going for it.
She made him feel…well…like the punch line of a big joke. It wasn’t often a woman sliced right through his easygoing demeanor. He was accustomed to women cutting him all kinds of slack, laughing at his jokes, letting him off the hook.
But not Kiara. She seemed as if she was severely disappointed in him, but determined to make the best of an unsatisfactory situation.
Kiara’s disdain made Wyatt yearn all the more to impress her and he marveled how such a tart-tongued woman had created a wine as sweet as Decadent Midnight.
He had a sudden urge to tell her who he was, why he was here, to beg her forgiveness and then ask her out on a date. He opened his mouth. Almost confessed.
He could imagine hearing his brother Scott saying, “We can never depend on Wyatt. When it comes to a choice between business or a woman, he’ll choose the woman every time.”
Right. Wyatt closed his mouth, swallowed the impulse. His brothers had given him a chance to prove himself and he wasn’t about to let a woman—no matter how intriguing—screw with his head.
3
Complex: A wine that has many
different flavors and facets.
KIARA STOOD ON the small patio outside her lab watching Maurice herd the interns back into the vans. Her gaze hung on Wyatt’s tall frame and an uneasy prickling sensation tickled the back of her neck. She let out a long sigh and poked both hands into the pockets of her apron.
Great. Just her luck. She’d finally found an intern with an acute sense of taste and smell, and a strong discernment for the complexity of quality wine, and he turned out to be a charming, smart-aleck slacker. Wyatt had an oozy grin that said he used it often to get out of trouble. The shaggy, unkempt hair and scraggly stubble told her he was too lazy for a proper haircut and daily shave. He was rumpled, slovenly and…and…
He’d boldly called her on her flaws. That was irritating and unexpected, but he was right. She did tend to dismiss people who didn’t do things her ways. It was a flaw she’d been working on correcting. Frequently, she had to remind herself that not everyone believed the way she believed or valued the things she valued—like family, hard work and holding on to one’s ideals.
But there was a part of her that wondered how different her life would have been if she’d followed a different path, hadn’t held herself to such high standards.
The man’s good for you. He challenges you. Keeps you on your toes. And he could teach you how not to take yourself so seriously.
Wyatt carried himself with supreme self-confidence. Cocky. In spite of the thick, dark-framed glasses, he was good-looking and he knew it. The guy was giving off mixed messages and as much as she hated to admit it, he intrigued her.
She gritted her teeth.
No. Just no.
She was not even going to go there. Never mind that her hand still tingled from where she’d grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the lab. Any kind of attraction to her intern was not only absurd but inappropriate as well.
Shaking her head to empty it of unwanted thoughts, she went back into the lab. She had work to do. No time for daydreaming over Wyatt Jordan. Before she could shut the door, a silky black cat that had shown up at the winery a few days earlier darted inside. She’d fed him and apparently she now belonged to him. If she was going to keep the cat, she needed to make an appointment with the vet. She had a soft spot for animals.
Kiara bent to scoop him into her arms. “You are the only charming male I’m letting into my life, Felix.”
The cat purred and snuggled up against her neck.
“Yes, okay, I’ll admit it. I’m a sucker for cute, hair
y guys. You’re in. But you can’t let word get out that I’m such a soft touch. I’ve worked hard on building this game face. You don’t get to be head of a winery by being a pushover, even if it is the family business. As for Wyatt Jordan, I’m definitely on the fence about him. He’s got tasting talent, but not much of a work ethic.”
Felix meowed.
“Oh, so you’re on his side? Guys stick together, is that it?” Kiara scratched the cat behind his ears. “The truth is, I need him. Yes, our wines are getting good press, but it costs a lot of money to make a run for the top against the big boys like DeSalme and Mondavi. Decadent Midnight is my ace in the hole. If we win the Sonoma Best of the Best Award…well…things will change around here. But for now, we’re pretty well flat broke.”
Felix meowed again.
“Don’t get distressed. We have enough to cover cat food, but honestly, if it weren’t for these interns, I couldn’t make ends meet. But you, my dear, do not belong in a lab.” Still cradling Felix, Kiara opened the side door and carried the cat into her apartment directly adjacent to the laboratory. She opened the cabinet, scooped kibble from the sack of cat food she’d bought last week.
“And then there’s the issue that any of them could go blabbing to our competition,” she continued her one-sided conversation. “Yes, the interns will sign a confidentiality agreement, but money talks and if someone like DeSalme woos them away, we’re in trouble.”
She poured the kibble into a blue plastic bowl and sat Felix down so he could have at his breakfast. The cat’s soft crunching was the only sound in the room.
“Yes,” Kiara said. “You’re right. We need to keep our interns happy.”
Especially an intern with Wyatt’s talent.
He made her feel things she shouldn’t feel. Emotion. That was the problem. It was always the problem. A good scientist did not allow emotions to sway her. A good scientist tucked her feelings away. A good scientist relied on her brain, not her heart.
But like it or not, she needed him if she wanted to continue to improve her wine and grow her market base. Producing complexly nuanced wines was the best way to do that and Wyatt could help her get there.
The trick? Keep him close while at the same time keeping the attraction she felt for him under tight control, because the last thing she needed right now was any kind of romantic entanglement.
DORMITORIES.
Wow. Wyatt had never lived in a dormitory, not even during his brief stint in college.
Maurice Romano had given the interns a five-hour tour of the winery, complete with a picnic lunch in the vineyards. Then they’d walked to the back of the property, a good fifteen-minute hike from the main house, to the intern accommodations.
The building was quaint—he’d give it that—an old stone farmhouse sitting at the edge of the vineyards.
“Two to a room,” Maurice called out. “The kitchen and bathrooms are communal and you’re expected to keep them clean. There’s a list of rotation duties posted on the corkboard in the hallway. Spend the rest of the day getting acclimated to your new surroundings. You’ll hit the ground running tomorrow morning.”
Great. He was going to have a roommate as well. This was not what he’d signed up for.
Quit your bitchin’, DeSalme. You’re in. You’re golden. You’re a supertaster. You’ve got free run of the lab. Your brothers will love you for it. Besides you get to hang out with Kiara. Life is good.
“Wanna room together?” asked a whippet-lean kid barely in his twenties, looking all surf-bum cool with long blond hair and a nutmeg tan.
“Yeah, sure.” Wyatt shrugged. Go with the flow. That motto had served him well over the years.
“Steve.” The kid stuck out his hand. “Steve Harmon.”
“Wyatt.” He shook the kid’s hand. “De…er…Jordan.”
Oops, almost flubbed. He had to be careful. This was his opportunity to prove once and for all that he was as capable as his older brothers. His family had always marginalized him and he’d allowed it to happen. Oh, that’s just Wyatt. Pretty-boy Wyatt. Little brother’s all charm and no substance.
Okay, yes. It had taken him some time to find himself. A year of backpacking through Europe with a group of buddies hadn’t done it, although his knack for fun and adventure had landed him a job in Italy as a Ferrari salesman. He’d made salesman of the year before a wealthy older woman coaxed him to come work for her advertising agency in Paris. That gig hadn’t lasted long because hey, he was no gigolo. But the ad agency gave him the cache he needed to do public relations for a company that built yachts. He stayed there three years. Then he became enchanted with a dark-eyed Greek girl, bought his own yacht at a deep discount and sailed to Greece to be with her. That love affair had last all of six weeks, but his love affair with Greece had blossomed. He’d been living in a condo in Athens for the past two years, working when it suited him, contracting on PR jobs, including doing some work for his brothers. And as soon as he was around them again, the teasing resumed. They called him Peter Pan. Said he would never grow up.
He acted as if he didn’t care, and for most of his life he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t bothered by their lack of respect, but lately—well, hell, it had been his thirty-first birthday, hadn’t it, that had made him start looking at things differently? That and his last girlfriend’s pregnancy scare the previous summer.
He’d liked Heather well enough, but not any more than any of his other girlfriends. She’d been a graduate student from the University of Iowa in Greece for the summer. They’d had a helluva good time, keeping things light, just as they both wanted it.
And then Heather had missed her period.
Heather had freaked out. Wyatt had thought he would freak. He’d always imagined he would freak out in any kind of situation that promised to tie him down, but instead, he’d actually been surprisingly excited about the prospect of becoming a dad. Now that had scared him.
The potential baby turned out to be a false alarm. He and Heather had both breathed a sigh of relief and had gone their separate ways, but in the back of his mind a seed of an idea had been planted. An idea he’d done his best to ignore for the past year until Scott had called him and asked him to go undercover at Bella Notte.
His brother had finally asked for his help. For the first time, he’d really felt like part of the business.
He liked the feeling. Another surprise.
Wyatt and his new roomie walked to the last room unclaimed by the other interns. Steve opened the door.
Bunk beds. Seriously?
“I get the top,” Steve declared and slung himself onto the top bunk.
“Be my guest,” Wyatt said.
“Dude, what happened when the scary-looking chick took you into the back room? We were all wondering if you’d gotten thrown out already.”
Scary-looking? For some reason the comment rankled. Just because a woman was strong and independent didn’t mean she was scary.
Ha, how many strong, independent women have you dated?
Okay, so he preferred his females on the fun-loving, compliant side. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate Kiara for who she was.
“Kiara Romano runs Bella Notte. Show a little respect.”
“Whoa.” Steve held up both palms. “I didn’t know you were into her. My bad.”
“I’m not into her.”
“Sure you’re not.”
Maybe he’d made a mistake in teaming up with surfer boy here. “What makes you say that?”
“I dunno.” Steve laced his fingers, cradled the back of his head in his palms. “You kept looking at her like she’s a puzzle you can’t wait to solve.”
Did he? “Funny,” Wyatt said. “You don’t look like the philosophical type.”
“It’s sumpthin’ my mom says,” he admitted.
“In other words, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“None whatsoever,” Steve said good-naturedly. “Me, I’m intrigued by the little blonde.”
“You mean Lauren?”
“Yeah.” Steve smiled dreamily. “Great tits.”
“She’s out of your league.”
“No doubt. Doesn’t stop a guy from dreamin’.”
No, no it didn’t. An odd edginess pushed Wyatt toward the curtainless window. From this vantage point, he could see the slope but not the top of Twin Hearts.
“So, since Kiara Romano didn’t vote you off the island, what was that secret meeting about?”
“She had me taste more wine.”
“Is she looking to hook up with you?” Steve swung down off the bunk and went to join Wyatt at the window.
“Huh?”
“You know. Summer intern fling. It’s done all the time.”
Was it? “No. She offered me a position working with her in the lab.”
Steve poked Wyatt with his elbow. “That’s it, dude. You’re not reading the signs. She’s picked you for her lover.”
Had she? That startled him and for one foolish moment he felt pleased. Then common sense prevailed. Kiara had not been impressed with him in the least. His one saving grace was his ability to distinguish multi layers of taste in wine and describe them vividly. The kid had a screw loose and Wyatt was dumb for giving any credence to anything he said.
“What are you talking about?” Wyatt asked. “We’re here to lean about grapes, not to hook up.”
He could hardly believe he was saying this. Not so long ago, his thoughts would have been traveling the same path as Steve’s. But now? Hell, he didn’t know. Jumbled. His mind was jumbled and it was all Kiara’s fault. She turned him upside down.
“You know. Like Susan Sarandon’s character in Bull Durham. She picked baseball players to have sex with during the season, then dumped them when the summer’s over. I heard it’s the same at wineries. Vineyard interns get all kinds of tail. That’s why I’m here.”
“What have you been smoking?”
Steve laughed. “I’m serious.”
“You’re just here to chase women?” Actually, from a young stud’s viewpoint it made sense—lots of young people, summer employment, beautiful setting with a romantic legend equaled hot, casual sex. Wyatt’s chest grew tight and warm just thinking about it. “You’re not interested in wine?”