“But you can’t go without swimming in the sea. Or seeing Ravello! Or Capri! You can’t leave without seeing the Blue Grotto, remember? And it’s just a short boat ride away.” As they walked, she linked his arm and practically skipped during the litany of what they had to do in Positano.
“You’re determined to make me have fun, aren’t you?”
She grinned up at him, finally slowing down. “Yes, I am. I am the official arbiter of fun, and you are having it. Starting now.”
He stopped them completely in the middle of the promenade, turning her to face him. “Why?”
She inched back. “Why have fun? Oh, James. Who even asks a question like that?”
He added a little pressure to her warm, smooth shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Why is it so important to you that I have fun? Why not just let me do my business, stay holed up in my hotel, and go back to where I came from?”
He could have sworn she paled a little, almost as if she was hiding something, but just as quickly, her color returned as she bit her lip and declined to answer.
“Why, Kyra?”
“Because…”
He watched her throat move with a tight swallow and her smile falter. She was hiding something from him. Something about the winery? The family? The property he owned?
“I like you,” she whispered.
Oh. He tipped his head, the answer so unexpected. “I like you, too.”
A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth and formed those insanely cute dimples. “Because I remind you of your mother?”
“No,” he said. “Because you make me forget time and drink wine and sit on a wall eating Italian ice.”
The dimples deepened. “Don’t forget ride a motor scooter and the boat ride to Capri we’re going to take and oh, that double-decker rooftop bus ride up to Ravello will be one for the books. Just you wait and see how much fun is in store.”
So much time with her could only lead to… Well, that would be nice. Very nice.
“Is that it, then?” He eased her a centimeter closer. “Is that all the fun you have planned?”
“Ummm…” She slipped that pink lip under her front tooth and bit hard enough to make him wonder if it hurt. And what it tasted like. He really wanted to know.
“Or do you have anything else fun planned, lemondrop?”
She held his gaze for a good long moment, the sun blasting so hard he thought they’d both melt right into the promenade. And then she stood on her tiptoes and gave him the lightest, sweetest, airiest, fastest kiss that ever sparked on his lips.
“Just that,” she whispered.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay for a few days.”
That made her laugh. That precious musical laugh that he swore he’d hear in his sleep tonight. Or maybe just in his bed.
At least he hoped so.
Chapter Ten
“Cara, Cara!” Elena came rushing into the kitchen on Kyra’s heels the very first time they had a minute to be alone. “We must talk. Lorenzo? Dov’è Lorenzo?”
“I saw Lorenzo in the pantry with Nonna,” Kyra said, knowing they’d pounce on her now. The afternoon had slid into evening with very few opportunities for Kyra to talk to anyone privately. For one thing, James stayed close to her, using her translation capabilities as an excuse for being by her side, and the occasional brush of their hands or shoulders. Not a very good excuse, since many of the guests were Americans.
“Vieni, vieni!” Elena ordered her to come with her, pulling Kyra toward the walk-in storage area in the back of the kitchen. As soon as she did, Anamaria and Lorenzo stopped talking.
“What you learn from him?” Anamaria demanded.
She sighed, knowing she hadn’t done her job in terms of getting a drop of insight into his plans. Yes, she’d done exactly what the family had asked her to do—cozy up to their new owner to find out what his plans were. Well, she’d cozied, all right. Spent a dreamy day in town, lingered over another of Antonio’s spectacular tasting, enjoyed a luncheon al fresco with delicious food and now Anamaria’s tastiest desserts.
But the three eldest and most concerned in the family waited for her, huddled in the pantry, expecting news.
What could she tell them? That when James laughed and relaxed, she found him to be flat-out irresistible? So irresistible that she’d pecked him on the lips right in the middle of the beach? And that he’d agreed to stay…because of that very strong mutual attraction?
Yes, that’s what they needed to know. “He is staying a few days,” she said, entering the walk-in pantry where the familiar scents of herbs and flour mixed with their obvious sense of worry.
“Good, good,” Anamaria mumbled, her hand deep in her apron, fiddling with whatever she kept in those pockets today—peanuts, garlic cloves, or a rosary.
“But why is he here? What is his plan?” Lorenzo asked.
“What did you learn about his business?” Elena added.
That he used a closer when he shut down companies and ruined people’s lives, like her mother did. She shoved that thought away, not willing to scare them like that yet.
“I’m taking it slow,” she said. “If I push too hard, he won’t show his hand.”
Anamaria’s brows drew together. “Why would he hide a hand?”
Kyra shook her head, remembering how Anamaria struggled with idioms. “He won’t tell me everything. That’s not how businesses like his work.”
No, they swoop in, take over, hand out pink slips like candy. How many times had she heard her mother on the phone, reporting into the home office, detailing head count…heads chopped off count. Jane Summers was cold and calculating, in every imaginable way.
Kyra would slip into her mother’s bed late at night, desperate for her company and willing to settle for listening to half of a boring business discussion just to be with her, aching for someone who wasn’t a nanny or tutor or housekeeper or stranger.
She’d learned a lot during those one-sided calls. She didn’t know it when she was young, but as she got older and realized what her mother was talking about, she understood. And, slowly, she’d taken the other side and learned to despise people who had no soul, who didn’t think about the little guy, who wrecked lives and careers for the sake of the almighty bottom line.
Was that who James Brannigan was?
“He seems very calm,” Lorenzo said, crossing his arms to look from one woman to the next. “Better than yesterday.”
“Because of Kyra.” Elena put a hand on Kyra’s shoulder. “You are charming him.”
“That’s what you wanted me to do, right?”
“Not too much charming,” Anamaria warned. “If he’s like his father.” She tsked and shook her head. “All the time with the bedroom.”
“They were married,” Lorenzo said. “He is not…bedrooming with Kyra.”
She rolled her eyes at the word, but not the idea. Bedrooming with James wouldn’t be horrible. But it would be taking cozy to a new and tricky level. “I have to spend time with him for him to trust me enough to tell me what he’s planning to do. And Lorenzo, you have to supply the documents he asked for.”
Lorenzo let out a sigh and shared a look with Elena.
“He’s your boss,” Kyra reminded him.
But they were silent.
“What is it? Is there a problem getting him what he wants?” she asked.
“We can get it,” Elena said. “But not everything is quite right yet.”
Kyra felt her brows draw together, sensing there was something major they weren’t telling her. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Lorenzo assured her. “We simply must have all the, how do you say, chickens lined up.”
“Ducks in a row,” she said slowly, looking from one to the other. “Do you?”
“Most ducks,” Elena assured her. “Still this…this ‘asset depreciation schedule’ and distribution contracts. Why does he need to know which trucking companies we use, Kyra? Is it that importan
t?”
Kyra stifled a sigh, once more thinking of her mother and those calls. She’d heard of an asset depreciation schedule and knew exactly why third-party contracts mattered…to someone who was decimating a business. And a family.
“It’s important to him,” she said, refusing to let her optimism be cut in half. That couldn’t be what he was going to do. “I’ll buy some more time with him, but you need to get what you can, Lorenzo. I’ll tell him he’ll get it tomorrow. Can you do that?”
He gave a classic Lorenzo shrug.
“Tu lo farai!” Anamaria ordered with a light whack on his shoulder.
“Sì, Mamma. I will do it.”
“Go, Cara.” Anamaria gave her a much gentler nudge. “Go and cozy more and more.”
As if she needed to be ordered to get cozier. She was already fantasizing about another kiss—a real one. Kyra stepped out of the pantry, smack into Bruno, who had obviously been out there waiting for her.
“I do not like him, Kyra.”
She felt her shoulders sag. Why was everyone’s opinion of this man her problem? “You don’t have to, Bruno.”
His dark eyes narrowed, surprisingly clear, making Kyra realize she’d never seen him have so much as a sip of wine today. “I Google him.”
“We all did,” she assured him. “We know that he runs a billion-dollar hedge fund called Brannigan Capital Management Group, lives in New York City, is the oldest of seven, got his undergrad and business degrees from Stanford University, owns a private plane and, now, a vineyard.”
“And the women.”
Yes, she’d seen those pictures, too. James Brannigan with a South American model at a fundraiser. James Brannigan with the daughter of an Indonesian billionaire. James Brannigan with a woman who had no job but surely worked as an Angelina Jolie impersonator in her spare time. “What about them?” she asked, hearing the defiant edge in her voice.
“You are…different.”
She choked softly. “You mean I’m out of my league, in over my head, and not his type? Do you forget that this is just a way for one of us to get ‘cozy’ and find out what his plans are for the winery?”
“Did you?” he countered.
She wanted to scream with annoyance. “Not yet.”
“Be careful,” he said. “I no trust him.”
“In what way?”
He sighed with the same force and fear that Lorenzo had.
“Bruno,” she urged. “What do you mean you don’t trust him?”
He leaned closer. “He’s stealing from the winery.”
Her eyes popped. “That’s preposterous, Bruno. He owns it.”
“I know what I know.”
“Which means what?”
He heaved a breath at the sound of footsteps. “He’s stealing from the company and is going to put it on my shoulders, that’s what I think.”
“You’re crazy.” She glanced at the door, knowing someone had to be close. “He’s a rich man. Why would he—”
“Kyra, are you in here?” James called from just outside the kitchen.
Bruno lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix it,” he said angrily. “I’ll fix—”
“There you are.” James walked into the kitchen, holding a glass of red wine, wearing an expression that never failed to spark something in Kyra’s chest. Yes, he was a handsome man when he was chilling out with the family, forgetting business and drinking wine. “Antonio has sent me to the cellar to find the 2011 Rosso Riserva,” he said. “I think it’s a test, and I don’t like to fail. Will you help me?”
“Of course.” She turned to Bruno. “Unless you’d like to take him down to the cellars? You know your way around a bottle of Riserva.”
Bruno just closed his eyes and shook his head. Then, to James, “I can take you back to your hotel whenever you’re ready.”
Kyra shot him a look. “James is in no hurry to get home.”
“But when I do,” James said. “I intend to leave with the paperwork I’ve requested. Maybe your time is better spent helping your brother pull that together, Bruno.”
Bruno visibly bristled at the order, but held it together to nod, pivot, and leave the kitchen.
Just then, the pantry door opened and out poured Anamaria, Lorenzo, and Elena, still nattering in Italian.
James looked surprised, but Kyra gestured to the door. “Come to the cellars with me, James. I’ll show you the wine vault.”
“Sì, sì.” Anamaria beamed at them. “The cellars are…cozy.”
* * *
Cozy and cold.
But James relished the break from the heat of the outdoors and a chance to be alone with Kyra again. The same thing happened at this party that had plagued him in town. He tried to participate in the role of the current owner of the winery, and next thing he knew, he had a bocce ball in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Work became fun.
How did she do that?
Now, his hands were empty and itching to touch the woman who continued to weave a spell around him. He used the cold as an excuse to put an arm around her as she led him deeper into a maze of tunnel-like cellars lined with hundreds of oak barrels, all marked with wine names and dates.
“It’s always a little chilly down here,” she said, but didn’t make any move to step away from him. In fact, he could have sworn she tucked herself a little closer to him and shivered just a little. “But it has to be in order to age the wine properly.”
“The vineyards and pergolas are amazing,” James said, reaching out a hand to touch the rough limestone wall and marvel at the fact that the cellars were built right into the mountain. “But I have to say, I’ve never seen anything quite like this cellar.”
“You only saw part of it yesterday, where Antonio holds the preliminary tasting and as far as we let tourists in. But now, you’re in for a real treat.”
“This whole day has been a real treat,” he admitted as they turned a corner into another long barrel-lined corridor.
“Well, listen to Mr. James ‘I Have to Work’ Brannigan.”
“Don’t remind me. I don’t even want to read email or look at my missed calls when I get back to the hotel.”
“What exactly do you do, anyway? Or is that a rude question?”
“Not at all. I run a hedge fund.”
“Which could mean you plant bushes, for all I know.”
He laughed. “Not that kind of hedge. Although, that’s where the term came from—hedging your bets. It’s a tricky form of financial risk management, but to make it easy to understand, I carefully move money from one place to another and make more of it.”
“Is money important to you?”
He slowed his step a bit, not expecting a question quite that personal or deep. “I like having it,” he said. “And I like making it,” he added, not caring if that sounded shallow because he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of that. “Mostly, I enjoy the challenge of finding a good investment, the test of my nerves when I make a big one, and the happiness on my client’s face when they see their statement.”
“Hmm.” She nodded and gestured to a door built into the stone. “This is the secret stash.”
But her non-reaction bothered him. “What does that mean, hmm?”
“Nothing, just…” She stopped at the door and put her hand on the oversized knob. “I’m not generally a fan of the person who chases the almighty dollar. I watched what it did to my mother and didn’t like it.”
“What did it do to your mother?”
She gave a slight shrug. “I don’t think you can love money and people at the same time.”
“How can you say that? I know plenty of wealthy people who love their family and spouses.”
“Yeah, well, sure. But at some point, you have to make a choice.”
“My dad had money and he…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, because the truth would probably help make her point.
Her expression said she knew just that. “He what?” she urged.
“Well, it’s true he wasn’t home much, and when he was, he wasn’t exactly involved in our lives. I gave him reports. But before my mother died? He was all in. He loved her and loved that big brood of his. I don’t blame money on his distance. I blame grief.”
“I’m sure it was difficult.” She opened the door, and a long squeak echoed through the limestone corridor as she guided him into a darkened room. “But what about you? Do you…love anyone?”
“I have a big family, and I love them all.”
“Do you?”
The challenge irked a little. “I do. Not like this family, obviously. We don’t see each other much, but they mean a lot to me.”
“And what about someone in particular?” He heard her swallow like the question was hard to ask. Or she was scared of the answer.
Oh, so that’s where she was going.
He shot a slow smile at her, less aware of the hundreds of bottles in stacks around him, the dusty smell, or the heavy silence as she waited for the answer. “Why are you asking, Kyra?”
“Never mind. Not my business.” She gestured around. “Welcome to the vault. Family only, so consider yourself lucky. Take a sniff.”
He did, his nose filling again with a musky, earthy scent that reminded him of the red wine. The floor was dirt, not tile like outside, and it was as cold as a refrigerator in here.
“I love that smell,” she said, rubbing her bare arms for warmth, then reaching up to pull a string and shed a thin ray of light from a low-watt bulb.
“That’s it?” He looked up at the crude fixture.
“Light messes with the wines and the temperature, so it’s dark and cold. I’ll use my phone flashlight to find the 2011 Rosso Riserva.” She inhaled again and took a look around. “I think the first time I stepped in this room was when I fell in love with the wine. Like you say, the vineyards are spectacular and the views out there can’t be beat, but there’s something special about how it all goes from that to…” She ran a finger along a dusty row of bottle tops. “This.”
He glanced at the stacks, then back to her. “I didn’t answer your question about someone particular in my life.”
JAMES (7 Brides for 7 Brothers Book 6) Page 8