by Susan Meier
He took a long breath, reminding himself that that was why he was going to Uncle Santiago’s office. To convince his uncle and father that bringing Morgan to Ochoa Vineyards was the right thing to do, and that he could handle Colonel Monroe.
If he couldn’t convince them, he’d never convince Mitch.
He opened the door and Santiago rose from behind the big mahogany desk. A tall, trim man with black hair and serious dark eyes, the CEO of Ochoa Vineyards could be intimidating.
“Uncle Santiago.”
“Riccardo. Good to see you.”
Seated on a chair in front of the desk, Riccardo’s dad—Carlos, a younger version of Santiago—also rose.
“Riccardo!” He hugged his son. “Welcome home!”
Motioning for Riccardo to sit, his Uncle Santiago cut right to the chase. “We heard you brought a guest.”
Riccardo sat on the chair beside his dad’s. “Yes. Morgan Monroe. I think she could benefit from some time with Nanna.”
Santiago frowned. “With Nanna?”
“Morgan ran from her wedding. It’s a long, complicated story, but when she really opened up about her dad, I knew I was in over my head. I figured Nanna could help sort this out.”
Riccardo’s dad said, “Ah.”
Santiago sat back in his chair. “Nanna’s good with people.”
“Exactly.”
The room got weirdly quiet. The conversation wasn’t over by a long shot, but nobody said anything.
Finally, Santiago drew a slow breath. “You know that we’re on the cusp of harvest?”
“Yes, and I’m glad to be here. Happy to help.”
Carlos glanced at Santiago, then at his son. “We understand what happened with Morgan. She’s got a powerful father. And we all know how difficult powerful men can be to live with.”
Because his father was one of those men, Riccardo had to hold back a smile. “But?”
“We’re at the most critical time of our year. This is Alonzo’s first year of being in charge of the harvest. He’ll choose the time we pick the grapes.”
“And I think he’s earned the right,” Riccardo said.
“We do, too, or we wouldn’t have given him such an important responsibility.” Santiago sat back in his chair. “Our problem is that your guest comes with trouble at a time when we don’t need trouble.”
“She’s fine.”
“When her dad figures out where she is, he will most likely send someone after her.”
“He already sent somebody after her. Me.”
His father held his gaze. “And you failed him. Now he will send somebody else.”
He looked from his dad to Santiago. “Are you saying that you want us to leave?”
“No. We want you to watch her. Every second of every day.”
Riccardo’s dad agreed. “Nanna is a wonderful person for her to talk to, but she’s nobody’s bodyguard.”
Riccardo looked from his dad to his uncle. “First, I don’t think Morgan’s dad is going to figure out where we are. We ditched our phones. Got rid of the rental car in an obscure city. Flew here on a private plane.”
Santiago frowned. “You don’t think he’ll figure out that you’d bring her to your family for protection?”
“He might. But this is a guy who worries what people think. He doesn’t want any more bad publicity. The canceled wedding was disaster enough. Sending a contingent to Spain or even flying here himself would cause a stir. He’s not going to give the press a chance at another story. He’ll keep a lid on this. Which works in Morgan’s favor. He won’t do anything to make any waves. And that gives her the time she needs to decide what to say when she does go home.”
Santiago rose, dismissing him. “Okay. We’ll trust you on this. If it’s peace and quiet she wants, we have it in abundance. If it’s something fun and interesting to do, she can help harvest grapes. But I warn you. If she’s using us to insult a former diplomat or make some sort of public spectacle, we will not be pleased.”
He rose. “Morgan’s not like that.” He’d been with her in a silent car for days, listening to her story in bits and pieces the few times she’d talked. At no point had she ever behaved like someone who wanted to hurt her dad—
But what if all that good behavior had been a ploy?
No. He didn’t for one second believe it. She would not hurt her dad. She loved him.
“I saw genuine emotion in her eyes when she spoke of her dad cutting her out of his life. She does not want to lose him. She does want to be in the right frame of mind when she talks to him so that she can effectively argue her case.”
That he’d seen in her eyes every time he looked at her. He’d heard it in her voice every time he’d talked to her.
His father sighed. “Yes, Riccardo, but if you’re wrong, you won’t be the only one to suffer. The family could be drawn into something that could end up an international scandal.”
He hadn’t thought of that. Or the impact on his family. He’d only seen his attraction, his fear of getting involved and Morgan’s need for somewhere to stay until her dad left for Stockholm.
“I’ll handle it.”
“When she’s not with Nanna, you must be with her.”
“If that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll do.”
He walked out of the office. When the door closed behind him, he blew his breath out on a long sigh. For as much as he didn’t want to tempt fate, he was going to have to stick to his runaway bride like glue.
CHAPTER SIX
DINNER WAS AT seven with cocktails at six thirty. Riccardo stopped at Morgan’s condo at twenty past six. He knocked twice and she opened the door.
“Ready?” His gaze involuntarily rippled from her blond hair, which she’d pulled into a curly ponytail with a sunny yellow flower, to her blue strapless sundress, down her bare legs to white sandals. “Wow. You look amazing.”
She fastened a slim bracelet on her wrist, calling attention to the porcelain skin of her bare arms, but also reminding him of how beautiful she was. She’d been cute, sweet, pretty, in blue jeans and T-shirts. But dressed up? With makeup? And all that gorgeous hair? She was a knockout.
“Once Nanna filled me in on how many family dinners we’d be having, my shopping list doubled.”
He laughed, but the collar of his white shirt suddenly felt tight. The air-conditioned condo heated. He was back to being an up-close-and-personal bodyguard, and back to being face-to-face with his attraction.
“I couldn’t very well wear that shiny black minidress to any of your nanna’s dinners.”
The heat in the room intensified. That little black dress had molded to her curves like a second skin—
He sucked in a breath and told himself to remember the conversation with his dad and Santiago. Morgan Monroe was potential trouble to his family. But more than that, she was vulnerable, like Cicely. Any feelings Morgan got for him could be nothing more than appreciation. He’d never again get involved with a woman who needed him. That was part of how he stayed happily single. No entanglements. No messes.
“And by the way, I intend to pay you back for every cent I charged to your card.”
“That won’t be necessary. I told you. We can expense it.”
She caught his gaze. Her eyes held a tinge of something he couldn’t quite interpret. “I want to pay you back.”
That was so unexpected that for a second he almost lost himself in her beautiful blue eyes. But he caught himself. No entanglements. No messes. That was how a smart man stayed out of trouble.
She led him to her condo door and headed to the elevator as if she’d been in this building a million times. It wasn’t until they were outside, on the cobblestone walkway, that he realized the last thing either one of them had said was about her insistence on paying him back.
He might not be allo
wed to be attracted to her, but he also wouldn’t be rude. He forced himself to think of something neutral to say. “So, you’re comfortable?”
“Yes. You have a beautiful estate.”
“Technically, all this property belongs to the main house. My home, the house I grew up in—” he turned and pointed behind them “—is back there.”
“I know.” She smiled, her blue eyes lighting up when she caught his gaze, and everything inside him shimmied. When she was happy, there was no one prettier. “On the way back from shopping, Nanna had the limo stop so I could see the second vineyard. I met your mom. We had tea in the lovely backyard that fronts all those rows of grapes.”
His spine stiffened. “You met my mother?”
“It would have been impolite to take the tour of the second vineyard and not go to the house to say hello.”
Yes. It would have. The insulted feeling rumbling through him was ridiculous. Why should he care that Morgan had met his mother, that he didn’t get to introduce them? It had been kind of Nanna to show her around, have her meet some of the people she’d be dining with tonight.
Everything was fine.
They walked up to the front entry of the mansion, then through the echoing foyer, past the gift shop and corridor that led to the vineyard offices and up the wide, circular stairway.
“This house is fabulous. It’s hard to believe it’s centuries old.”
“Good maintenance.”
“To be able to keep it this nice, I’m guessing your family never went through hard times.”
At the top of the stairs, he motioned for her to walk down the hall. “Every family goes through hard times. Every business goes through hard times.”
She stopped walking. “You just separated family and business.”
“So? Though Ochoa Vineyards is the main client of Ochoa Online, they are two different companies. And I work for Ochoa Online. Not the vineyard. I’m more involved with my family than their vineyard.”
“That’s not how Nanna sees it. Everything’s one big tangled vine to her. She never separates family and business.”
He thought about that for a second, about why it would be significant to Morgan. “Your father doesn’t separate family and business, does he?”
“No.” She smiled at him. “And that’s why I think Nanna was the perfect person for me to talk to. Our situations are the same. Technically, we both live at our jobs. She gave me a wonderful new perspective and a few inventive ways to approach my dad. Especially now that I have a plan for how to talk to him and Charles separately.”
Relief rippled through him. His nanna had done exactly what he wanted. Morgan looked and spoke stronger than ever.
The sense that this was the real Morgan struck him again. She’d grown up a bit after running from her wedding. She’d also faced her demons—or at least had a plan to face them. She’d definitely changed some, but she was balancing out now, and this was her new normal. Stronger than she had been. Wiser than she had been. But her real self.
He looked over at her.
She smiled.
And the oddest sensation fluttered through him. He almost wasn’t sure how to relate to the real her.
Calling himself all kinds of crazy, he pushed the buzzer that announced them and opened the door before he led Morgan through a small foyer and into the sitting room. Everyone in his family except Mitch and Lila sat on one of the tufted chairs or milled near the bar.
Spotting Morgan, Nanna broke away from a conversation with Santiago and his wife, Marguerite.
She caught Morgan’s hands. “Darling. Thank you for the lovely day.” She kissed both her cheeks. “And if you don’t take that sun hat with you when you leave Spain, it’s mine.”
“It’s yours. There aren’t many functions where I’d wear it,” Morgan said with a sigh. Then she laughed. “Unless I go to the Kentucky Derby in the spring.”
Nanna slid her hand beneath Morgan’s arm and directed her away. “Have you ever been?”
“No. My father’s not a horseman. I think he’s crazy, though. We have acres and acres of land that aren’t planted. We could easily put in a stable.”
“So, you ride?”
“I love to ride!”
Her voice drifted off and Riccardo realized he was standing in the doorway like an idiot, watching her as if transfixed. He’d think it crazy, except she did look really pretty and it was fun to see that the confused woman he’d found in Vegas wasn’t so confused anymore.
He walked to the bar.
Mixing drinks behind the polished wood, Alonzo said, “What can I get you?”
“A beer.”
“Coming right up.” Riccardo’s tall, dark-haired cousin pulled a bottle from a small refrigerator, opened the lid and handed it to him with a glass.
Alonzo’s wife, Julia, sauntered over. Looking stunning in a pink dress, with her yellow hair pinned above her ears, Julia was the picture of a wealthy man’s wife.
She caught Riccardo by the shoulders, stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I feel like I just saw you.”
He laughed. “Mitch’s wedding was only a few weeks ago.”
“It’s nice to have you around for more than holidays.”
He said, “It’s nice to be here.” But Morgan’s laugh floated to him. He automatically glanced around until he saw her, sitting on a sofa, Nanna on one side, laughing. Lila’s mom, Francine, on the other.
He angled his thumb toward them. “I should go over.”
Julia frowned. “Why? Nanna’s entertaining her. Besides Francine seems happy to have another American around. We should let them chat.”
Not wanting to make a scene, he smiled graciously. “Of course.”
“Plus, you haven’t said hello to your mother yet.” Julia took his arm and turned him in the direction of his parents. “Go.”
He walked to the corner where his parents and Mitch’s parents chatted. His mother caught him in a huge hug. “Riccardo!”
“I heard you met Morgan today.”
His mother’s dark eyes lit up. Like Marguerite, she had a pinch of gray in her black hair, but only enough to add interest. Her simple dress was the color of a summer sky.
“Such a lovely girl. And such an odd story about her wedding. Her dad sounds like a tyrant.” Then she frowned. “Why did you agree to help him?”
“I thought I was doing a good deed. Plus, he’s a client.”
His mother sighed. “Always a client.”
His dad chuckled. “The boys are making an honest living, Paloma. Never discourage a child who knows how to make his own money.”
Even though his dad’s words were positive, when he caught his gaze Riccardo saw the warning in his father’s eyes. Neither his dad nor Santiago would say anything to embarrass Morgan, but they didn’t want any problems. It was his job to make sure there were none.
He said, “Right,” as his gaze involuntarily drifted to the woman in his charge. Helping Morgan could ruin a big chunk of Ochoa Online or bring trouble to Ochoa Vineyards in the middle of harvest. But it wasn’t because of Morgan. It was because of her dad. She was innocently beautiful, laughing with his grandmother. Her dad was the tyrant.
By the time he glanced back, his parents’ conversation had changed from Riccardo to a possible trip to Greece in the winter. His mom was a yes. She loved Greece. Marguerite was intrigued. His dad wanted to see China and Santiago thought it was time they went to America. Miami Beach or maybe Vegas.
Alonzo took his arm and pulled him aside. “Come over here,” he said. “Talk to the people who aren’t semiretired and always planning their next trip.”
Riccardo laughed, but Francine’s louder laugh burst through the room, along with Nanna’s and Morgan’s. Whatever they were talking about, Morgan was having fun.
He’d loved the times she’d laughed
with him. Loved the sound. Loved the way her eyes lit up. If she were anybody else, he would be wooing her with flowers and wine, late dinners, long nights in bed—
He cleared his throat to bring himself back to the present. Not only were thoughts like that wrong—he’d vowed he wouldn’t romance another woman on the rebound—but they would also drive him crazy.
Alonzo began a discussion of this year’s grape crop and Riccardo was grateful for the easy topic. Soon the staff announced dinner and they all walked to the dining room, where Nanna sat at the head of her table. His parents sat to Nanna’s left and Mitch’s parents sat to the right. Francine sat next to Mitch’s parents, with Alonzo and Julia filling in beside them. Riccardo pulled out the chair beside his mother for Morgan and sat beside her.
As salads were served, Nanna directed the conversation to Alonzo and the new responsibilities he’d been assigned this year. Proud, he began sharing his plans, including the desire to buy the neighboring vineyard.
Everyone expressed approval.
Riccardo glanced at Morgan, who was staring at the dish in front of her.
“I see you finally got a proper salad.”
She turned to him with a smile, her eyes bright and filled with laughter. “Yes. Thank goodness. It’s lucky I tossed my wedding gown in the trash can of an airport bathroom. That turkey will never fit again.”
He loved her American way of looking at things. Loved that she’d called her gown a big bird. Loved that she hadn’t lost the odd sense of humor that had developed when she realized she’d never again fully be the old Morgan Monroe.
But telling her that would be too intimate, so he said, “American women want to be too thin.”
She laughed. “Do you think you’d like a chubby version of me?”
He didn’t think she was flirting, fishing for a compliment. She only said what was on her mind. He wanted to tell her he would probably like her no matter what size she was, but though he might have said that in the car, trying to help her get her thoughts straight, he couldn’t have that kind of conversation with her now. Their discussions for the next few days would have to be surface, superficial.