by Lisa Jackson
“I said that we were business partners and that I didn’t think your father brought you up here for a counseling session. I should have added that your father and I are friends,” Sheila explained calmly.
“Yeah. Good friends.”
“Sean, that’s enough!” Noah shouted, rising to his full height. Sean’s defiance wavered under his father’s barely controlled rage. “You apologize to Sheila!”
“Why?” Sean asked, managing to pull together one last attempt at asserting his pride.
“You tell me,” Noah suggested.
Sean shifted from one foot to the other as he measured his father’s anger. Noah didn’t take his eyes off of his son. Realizing he had no other choice, Sean mumbled a hasty apology before entering the house.
“I’ll show him his room,” Sheila offered. “There’s a Hide-A-Bed in my father’s office. I just put clean sheets on it yesterday.”
Noah objected. “I’ll take him to the room. He and I have a few things to get straight. I’m not putting up with his cocky attitude any longer.” He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck and followed his son into the house.
Pieces of the argument filtered through the thick walls of the château. Sheila began to clear the dishes off the patio and tried not to overhear the heated discussion. Noah’s voice, angry and accusatory, didn’t drown out Sean’s argumentative tones.
The night was sultry and still. The tension from the argument lingered in the air, and Sheila felt beads of moisture beginning to accumulate on the back of her neck. She wound her hair into a loose chignon and clipped it to the top of her head before she carried the dishes into the house.
Noah and Sean were still arguing, but the hot words had become softer. In order to give them more privacy, Sheila turned on the water in the kitchen and rattled the dishes in the sink. It wasn’t enough to drown out all of the anger, so she switched on the radio. Familiar strains of a popular tune filtered through the kitchen and Sheila forced herself to hum, hoping to take her mind off the uncomfortable relationship between Noah and his son. Just as Noah couldn’t get along with Ben, Sean shunned his father. Why? Her loose thoughts rambled as she began to wash the dishes. She didn’t hear the argument subside, didn’t notice when Noah entered the room.
He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her as she worked. Her hair was piled loosely on her head, and soft tendrils framed her delicate face. A thin trickle of perspiration ran down her chin and settled below the open neck of her blouse. He could almost visualize it resting between her breasts. Her sleeves were rolled over her elbows, and her forearms were submerged in water so hot it steamed. A vibrant rosy flush from the hot night and the even hotter water colored her skin. She was softly humming to the strains of music from the radio, and though the sound was slightly off-key, it caused Noah to smile. She had to be the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Don’t you have a dishwasher?” he asked, not moving from the doorway. He enjoyed his vantage point, where he could watch all of her movements.
She laughed. “Oh, I’ve got one all right, but it doesn’t work.”
“Can’t it be repaired?”
Sheila turned to face Noah, while still wiping her hands with the dish towel. “I suppose it can.”
“But you haven’t called a repairman?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I enjoy washing dishes,” she snapped sarcastically.
Noah finally understood. “You’re waiting for the insurance money, right?”
“Right.” Sheila’s expression softened. “A dishwasher is the last thing we need right now. Emily and I use very few dishes, so it’s not exactly a hardship.”
“That kind of thinking will send you back to the nineteenth century,” he teased.
“That kind of thinking will keep me out of debt…at least for a little while.” Sheila’s eyes clouded with worry for an instant, but she bravely ignored her problems. The best way to solve them was to apprise Noah of the hopeless condition of the winery. She tossed the dish towel over the back of a chair and boldly reached for Noah’s hand. “I promised you a tour of the grounds.”
“I can think of better things to do,” he suggested huskily.
“Not on your life.” She pulled on his hand and attempted to ignore the laconic gleam in his eyes. “Now that I’ve got you on my territory, you’re going to see exactly what I’ve been talking about.” She led him to the front of the house. “Let’s start with public relations.”
“Public relations? For a winery?”
“Not just any winery, Noah. This is Cascade Valley, the Northwest’s finest. My father always ran the winery with the opinion that the public comes first. Anyone who was even the slightest bit interested in Cascade Valley has always been treated as if he were an important dignitary.” She led him down an asphalt path that led from the château toward the park grounds of the vast estate. Though the grass was overgrown, Noah could tell that in the past the grounds had been immaculately groomed. Stands of dark pine trees surrounded the long grass and the untrimmed shrubbery. The air was fragrant with the scent of pines and lilacs. A hazy moon gave an iridescent glow to the shadowy night.
“Sounds as if your father spent a lot of time and money humoring tourists.”
Sheila refused to be baited. “It paid off, too. Word of mouth was our first form of advertising.” Sheila glanced at Noah to interpret his reaction. Though it was dark, she could read the hardening of his gaze, feel the tensing of his hand over hers, sense the clenching of his teeth as his jaw tightened.
“What kind of tours did your father give?” Noah asked, pressing the issue.
“At first they were nothing out of the ordinary. One of the staff would just show the tourists around. But, as public interest grew, Dad had to hire a woman to pass out literature about the winery and give tours of the buildings every afternoon in the summer.” Sheila motioned her hand toward a small lake shimmering in the moonlight. “Dad had the duck pond built about six years ago. Then he added the gravel paths through the woods. Later he installed the picnic tables and the benches.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t give away bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon, too,” Noah muttered caustically.
“You didn’t approve of my father, did you?” Sheila accused.
“I didn’t know him.”
“But you’re passing judgment.”
“Not on the man,” Noah pointed out. He took his hand away from Sheila’s and rubbed his chin. How could he explain to her that her father was an arsonist who had only wanted to get money from the insurance company to pay his debts? If Oliver Lindstrom had been a little more daring and a little less clumsy, it might have worked. “I’m only questioning some of his business practices. Public relations is usually sound, but not when it devours all of a company’s profits. What’s the point? If your father had paid less attention to putting on a show for anyone who happened to wander by and had more concern for his profits, maybe he never would have had to borrow money from Wilder Investments in the first place!”
Sheila felt the hairs on her neck prickle with anger. “The reason he borrowed the money had nothing to do with the tourists or the duck pond, Noah. That nearly paid for itself in the gift shop alone,” she argued. Indignation flashed in her eyes as she came to the defense of her father. “Dad took a survey of all the people who came here one summer and it proved him right; nearly seventy percent of the tourists bought more than one bottle of Cascade Valley a month.”
“What about the other thirty percent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think those people, those who bought your product, were swayed because of a duck pond, or picnic tables?”
“No…but…”
“Of course not! Those people would probably have bought the wine without all of this…grandstanding. The money would have been better spent in production or research, even advertising. Sure, these grounds look impressive, but it’s the quality of the p
roduct that counts! Wouldn’t it be wiser to use this acreage for cultivation?”
“I don’t know if the soil is right…” she hedged.
“So check it out.”
Her simmering anger began to boil. “I guess you don’t understand, Noah. We’re not only selling the best wine on the West Coast, we’re creating an image for the consuming public. We’re not competing with cheap muscatel. Our opposition is the finest European wine on the market. Every summer we provide samples of our product at a wine-tasting celebration and the public is invited. We introduce the newest varieties, invite a few celebrities and generally promote the image of Cascade Valley wines as sophisticated, yet reasonably priced.
“Sounds expensive.”
“It is,” she admitted reluctantly. “But, most often, we get national media attention. That kind of advertising we can’t afford to lose.”
“But you didn’t get any national attention for the last few years, did you?”
She shook her heard as if she had expected this question and seemed resigned to a fate she couldn’t avoid. “No.”
“Why not?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.
Sheila bit her lower lip nervously. Her words rang with honesty and despair. “Dad was afraid. With all of the news coverage on the tampered bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon found in Montana and the problems with the crop because of the early snowfall, Dad thought it would be best for Cascade Valley to keep a low profile.” She paused for a moment to study the ribbon of silver moon glow on the pond. “This was the year he had hoped would change all of that.”
“How?”
“Because we planned to introduce our reserve bottling of Cabernet Sauvignon.”
“Reserve bottling?” Noah repeated. “Something new?”
“For Cascade Valley, yes.” She turned to face him, her expression sincere. “It could be the biggest breakthrough we’ve had.”
“Tell me about it.” Noah was interested. This was the first hint of good news at the winery.
Sheila shook her head. “Not now. On Monday Dave Jansen will come by. He can tell you all about it…” She stopped midsentence, as if she’d assumed far too much about him. “You can stay until Monday, can’t you?” Why was it so imperative that he remain for more than just one night? Now that he was here, she desperately wanted him to stay.
“Is it that important?” he asked, his voice as low as the soft breeze that had begun to whisper through the pines.
“Yes, it’s important,” she admitted, but lied about the reason. “I think you should see for yourself….”
His fingers lightly touched her shoulders, and through the light cotton fabric they warmed her skin. “What I meant was, is it important that I stay with you?”
Her lips felt desert dry. She had to lick them in order to find the courage for her truthful reply. “I’m glad you came here, Noah.” She admitted with only a trace of reluctance. “And I’d like you to stay, not just to witness the damage from the fire, nor just to evaluate the winery. I want you to stay here with me, for me.” Her honesty filtered softly through the warm night air. The words of confession surprised her. After Jeff, she thought she had lost the need of a man’s embrace. She had never expected to admit how much she wanted a man, because she thought that part of her had died. She had assumed that Jeff had ruined her for a relationship with any man, that the cynical feelings he had created in her would remain forever.
But she had been wrong, hopelessly mistaken. The strong man touching her lightly on the shoulders had changed her mind about many things, one of which was love. Though she couldn’t yet admit it to him, Sheila knew that she loved Noah as she had never loved before.
“Then I’ll stay,” he whispered. His thumbs smoothed the fabric over her collarbones. “I want to stay with you, sweet lady.”
Sheila sighed through trembling lips as Noah reached up and unclasped her hair. It billowed down in a chestnut tumble to frame her face in copper-tinged curls. Noah gently kissed her eyelids, and Sheila felt her knees begin to give way. His arms came protectively around her waist and pulled her achingly against the length of him. Her thighs touched his, her breasts were crushed against his chest, her heartbeat echoed with his in the still night.
His lips caressed her eyelids before moving slowly downward, leaving a moist trail of midnight dew on her cheekbones and the soft skin below her chin. A warm passion uncurling within her made a shudder pass through her body, and her skin quivered under the touch of his hands. His lips moved gently against her throat, and his tongue stroked the white skin, leaving a heated, wet impression. Sheila sighed dreamily into the night, unconsciously asking for more from him.
Her lips quivered when met by his and her gentle moan of pleasure blended warmly with his answering sigh. Their breath mingled and caught, heated by the fires dancing in their bloodstreams. When his tongue touched hers, the tempo of her heartbeat quickened and she opened her mouth in a gasp, wanting all of him, craving more of his bittersweet love.
He felt her surrender, knew the moment when the passion began to thunder in her ears and her bones began to melt. Her tongue stroked his, teasing and flirting with him until he could stand no more of the painless agony. Gently he pushed against her until the weight of his body forced her to fall on the soft bed of grass beneath the towering Ponderosa pines. He let his weight fall against her, imprisoning her with the power of his body and the strength of his desire.
The ground felt cool against her back, a welcome relief to a sultry night. Noah’s kisses inflamed her blood and awakened a savage beast of passion slumbering quietly within her. She felt hot blood pumping through her racing heart until she thought she would explode from the powerful surge of desire sweeping through her. She wanted him—all of him. There was a desperation to her need, an untamed craving that knew no bounds.
“Make love to me,” she pleaded through fevered lips. He lifted his head and slowly extracted himself from her embrace.
After opening one of the buttons of her blouse, he kissed the warm skin between her breasts, tasting the salt of her perspiration on his tongue. His hand shook as he smoothed the hair away from her face. “I thought I’d go crazy,” he confessed, watching the play of moonlight on her red-brown hair. “I wanted to follow you back here that first night I met you.” His face was grave, his eyes earnest. “It was hell staying away.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked, trying to keep her mind on the conversation. With his free hand he was toying with the collar of her blouse, letting his fingers dip deliciously below the lapels. Her skin still burned where he had planted the wet kiss between her breasts. Heat waves washed over her skin, which flushed a rosy hue.
“You were the one who needed time,” he reminded her. “I didn’t want to push you into anything you might regret later.”
“I could never regret spending time with you,” she confessed.
His forefinger circled the hollow of her throat, creating a whirlpool of sensitive longing deep within her. “Is…is that why you decided to come now, because you thought I might have come to some decision…about our relationship?” Why couldn’t she keep her wandering mind on the subject? It was important that she learn more about this man, and yet all of her thoughts were centered on his slow, seductive touch at the base of her throat.
“No…I came because I couldn’t wait any longer,” he admitted. It wasn’t a lie; he had felt an urgency to be with her again, but there was that sordid little business about Anthony Simmons’s report and her father’s implication in the arson. Dear God, how would he be able to tell her? He promised himself that he would find a way to break the news—when the timing was right. Just now, beneath a dusty sprinkling of midnight stars, he could only think of how hopelessly he wanted her.
She grabbed his finger, stopping its wandering journey on her neck. “I can’t think when you touch me like that.”
“Don’t think,” he persuaded, but she ignored the husky invitation in his voice.
“Why couldn’t you wait?”
“I had to see you again.”
She released his finger, and a smile crept slowly across the smooth contours of her face. Shadowy moonlight lingered in her gaze as she looked up at him. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, kissing his hand. “The only important thing is that you’re here, now.” Her fingers curved around the back of his neck, ruffling his coffee-colored hair and pulling his head down to meet hers in a kiss of naked longing. She willingly parted her lips, inviting him to touch her most intimate reaches.
“Oh, Sheila,” he groaned, damning himself inwardly for his deception. How could he make love to her without telling her everything he knew about her, her father, the fire? A bothersome guilt nagged at him like a broken vow, and yet he pushed it savagely aside. “Some other time,” he promised himself.
“What?” Her hand stopped caressing his head. “What are you talking about?”
His grip on her tightened. “Nothing, my darling…nothing that can’t wait.”
His lips came to hers in a kiss that dismissed her fears. She was conscious of the hot breeze singing through the trees as it carried the sweet scent of pine and honeysuckle to her. She could taste the salty masculinity that passed from his lips to hers and she felt the protective strength of his hands as they quickly unbuttoned the remaining buttons of her blouse. The fabric parted, letting her breasts caress the night air. Noah pushed the blouse off her shoulders and never took his eyes from hers as he unclasped the filmy bra and tossed it recklessly to the ground.
Sheila’s breasts, unbound by clothing, glistening with a dewy film of sweat, were swollen from the flames of passion Noah had aroused within her. They stood out in the darkness as two white globes, small and firm, perfectly proportioned to her petite body. Noah held first one and then the other in his caressing hands. At his softly insistent touch, the dark nipples hardened.
Sheila sighed when he took one of the moonlit mounds of feminine flesh into his mouth. His fingers gripped the soft skin of her back, drawing her closer to him, letting him devour more of her. She felt the tip of his tongue and the ridges of his teeth against her sensitive skin, and she had the sensation of melting deep within her being. His fingers kneaded her back, persuading her muscles to respond to his intimate touch.