by Beth Andrews
“You left, too. If Dad hadn’t got sick, you wouldn’t have come back.”
“But I did,” he said, unable to keep the anger, the resentment from his tone. “It was the right thing to do.”
No one had to force him to take care of his responsibilities.
“You’re right. I didn’t come back willingly. If Mom hadn’t threatened to sell the winery and the property if I didn’t agree to the partnership, I probably wouldn’t have.” He cut off an old spur that no longer produced wood. “I can’t change the past. None of us can. All we can do is live for today.”
Aidan continued working, his movements quick and efficient. “Where’d you come up with that? One of those self-help books?”
“Fortune cookie.” Lily trotted back to them and Matt crouched and played tug-of-war with her over the stick. “I might be the last guy you want advice from—”
“There’s no might be about it. You’re the last.”
“But you can’t hold on to all that anger,” Matt continued, as if Aidan hadn’t spoken. He’d always been good at ignoring his older brothers. “It’ll color every decision you make.” He stood and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans before returning to his pruning. “It can even make you act like a complete ass.”
“And here I thought that was just your personality.”
But Matt didn’t give Aidan the fight he was itching for. As usual, his brother never did what he wanted.
“I’m not the one who tried to humiliate a woman in front of our entire family,” Matt pointed out.
Aidan snipped at the vine in frustration and almost took a finger off. “I wasn’t trying to humiliate any one.”
“That’s crap,” Matt said cheerily. “But for a minute, we’ll pretend it’s not. We’ll say that you weren’t just showering us with the dirt you dug up on her. Why don’t you tell me why you did do it then? What are you worried about?”
“I wasn’t worried. More like…concerned…about how her reputation would affect the Diamond Dust.” He switched the pruners to his other hand, flexed and straightened his fingers. “But I had the facts wrong,” he admitted, then quickly filled his brother in on what Yvonne had told him.
“Hell, I can’t believe you thought it was true in the first place. I mean, can you honestly picture her having some sleazy affair with a guy who’s already spoken for? Or, even more unbelievable, messing around with him at the church on the day of his wedding? All you have to do is look at her, be in her company a few minutes, to see she’s not like that.”
Damn it, Aidan knew that.
“You’re blowing this thing out of proportion and giving Mom the upper hand,” Matt commented as he worked. “She’s screwing with your life and you’re frustrated. Angry. I get that. But it’s two months. And the more you fight Yvonne being here, the harder you make it on everyone—including yourself.”
Aidan’s chest burned. “So I should give in? Reconcile with Yvonne because she’s here and Mom wants us back together?”
Staring at him balefully, Matt crossed his arms. “You should stop being an idiot and let Yvonne work. It may not have been the main reason she hired her, and even though you and Connie may hate it, Mom wouldn’t have brought Yvonne on board if she didn’t think she was the best person for the job.”
Aidan stabbed a hand through his hair. “You’re right.”
Matt shook his head, then tipped it to the side and hit his temple with the heel of his hand. “Sorry. I don’t think I caught that. Could you repeat it?”
“No.” But he had been right. Their mother was controlling and bossy and wanted to run their lives, but she’d never do anything that would hurt the winery.
“It might help you get through those two months,” Matt said, “if you knew exactly what you wanted from Yvonne.”
“I want her gone.”
“Besides that. Do you want her to suffer? Do you want the next two months to be pure torture for her?”
Did he? And if he did, what the hell kind of person did that make him? “No.”
Matt nodded. “Do you want her back in your bed?”
A vision of Yvonne underneath him filled Aidan’s mind. Her skin flushed, her eyes glazed with passion as he moved over her, in her. In their bed, the one he still slept on every night, her hair a tangled blond mess, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her mouth parted as she cried out his name.
Shit.
He wiped his hand over his mouth. “Why don’t you let me worry about who I do and don’t want in my bed?”
“Gladly, as I’m sure any in depth discussion about your sex life would put me to sleep.” Matt’s grin faded. “No matter what you decide you want from your ex, it’s clear there’s unfinished business between you two. If you’re not careful, you might fall right into Mom’s trap.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
FRIDAY NIGHT, WHEN Aidan answered the knock at his door only to find Yvonne on his doorstep, he raised an eyebrow. “Now this is a surprise,” he murmured. And not a good one. Then again, in his experience, most surprises weren’t.
“Aidan. Hello.” Yvonne smiled. That was her, all graciousness and Southern charm. Even after he’d told her if she walked out their front door, not to ever bother coming back. And here she was. “I’m so sorry to bother you at home—”
“And yet you’re doing it anyway.”
Her smile faltered. Damn it, he’d decided not to let her bother him. To treat her as he would anyone else. But the sight of her standing there, looking like some goddess, undid his best intentions.
She played with the strap of her leather bag, her fingers plucking at it. “I…I do apologize. If you’re busy…”
“I have a few minutes,” he said. “Although I am curious what you need to discuss that can’t wait until Monday when I’m back in the office.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a small, gold hoop earring. When his fingers twitched to copy the movement, he curled them into his palm.
“I had a meeting with Samantha Johnson of J & J Floral Design and thought I’d drop off this list of topics you asked for,” she said, holding out a manila envelope.
When he made no move to take it, she slowly lowered her arm. “You could’ve brought it to my office,” he pointed out.
“I did,” she said, her voice soft in the quiet of the cold evening. “You weren’t there this afternoon. And for some reason, every time I call your cell, it goes directly to voice mail.”
“Does it?” He leaned against the door frame, making it clear the last thing he wanted was to invite her inside. “Why didn’t you just leave the list on my desk?”
“I wanted to make sure you got it.” This time she held it out, her hand rock steady, until he took it from her. “I didn’t want to arrive for our meeting Monday only to have you claim you never saw it. Unless, of course, you plan on conveniently forgetting about that, as well. Or maybe you’ll find yourself called away to prune a vine or watch the wine age or…oh, I don’t know…count how many corkscrews you have left in the gift shop.”
He didn’t even blink. “Are you trying to say something?”
“As usual, you’re very astute. What I’m saying is you’re avoiding me.”
“Now who’s astute?”
She shifted from her left leg to her right. “It’s certainly your prerogative to ignore one of your employees, although I’m confused how you expect me to do my job when I get no support and have no resources at my disposal.”
“You have Connie. Didn’t she give you more than her initial allotted hour yesterday?”
“Only because it didn’t interrupt her work to answer all my questions with single word responses.”
He shrugged. “I was under the impression you were the expert when it came to events hosting, and would be guiding us.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she said, though it sounded as if she was speaking through gritted teeth. “And if you could possibly spare ten more minutes, I would love to discuss a few thin
gs with you now.”
Ever since he’d taken over after his father’s death, his mom had been more than happy to step aside and let Aidan be in control. For the first time, he wished she hadn’t.
“Then I guess you should come in,” he said.
Yvonne hesitated. Then she stepped inside, that damn smile on her face—the one that made him suspect he’d never seen beneath her surface. He backed up far enough to make sure she had plenty of room to enter without so much as brushing against him. She unzipped her jacket, revealing a white, button-down top tucked into the high waist of a narrow black skirt that ended just above the knee.
The outfit should’ve been sedate. Would have been if not for her spiked-heel ankle boots, or the flash of creamy skin revealed by the top two buttons of her shirt being left undone. A gold chain disappeared into the V of her breasts.
He shut the door, resisting the urge to hit his forehead against it a few times.
He wished he’d repainted the walls, changed them from the deep slate-gray with white trim she’d chosen all those years ago. He still had the same furniture, pictures and light fixtures. Beneath the window sat the side table they’d bought one weekend at an antique sale. They’d sanded it, then painted it black and when they were done, they’d made love in the shower.
He curled the folder in his hand. He should’ve changed…something about the house. Anything. Should’ve hired an interior decorator to come in and wipe away any sign that Yvonne had ever been here.
He made a mental note to do so Monday morning.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner,” she said. “You’re not.”
“Good. Well,” she said brightly, “whatever you’re having smells delicious.”
“It’s chicken cacciatore.”
The only dinner he made with any amount of success. And what used to be her favorite meal.
She cleared her throat. “I asked Connie about a time line for the carriage house renovations, but she didn’t seem to know anything about it.”
“That’s probably because there is no time line.”
“But you do have a contractor lined up to do the work.”
She looked so hopeful, he almost hated to disappoint her. “Afraid not.”
“How can that be? Your mother’s wedding is in twenty-nine days.”
“Not that you’re counting, though,” he said as he laid the folder on the side table.
“It’s my job to count the days,” she snapped, then pressed her lips together. He watched as she fought for control. “How am I to plan a wedding when you don’t even have a place to hold those events? Or maybe you weren’t planning on renovating? Maybe you thought people would want to hold their weddings in a building with no heat, broken windows and no bathrooms.”
“Up until a few days ago,” he said, crossing his arms, “the whole events thing was just an idea we were kicking around, and my mother’s wedding was still four months away, which was why I had planned on hiring someone to handle the renovations within the next month or two. But as soon as the pruning is done—which will by the end of next week—I’ll find someone.”
“What if you can’t? I admit I don’t know much about small-town construction businesses, but it seems to me asking a contractor to take on a job that needs to be completed in a month might be out of the realm of possibility.”
Aidan shoved up his sleeves. “Your faith in my abilities is heartening.”
She blushed, and damn if it didn’t make her even more appealing. “Sorry.” But then she went right back into professional mode. “Until you do find someone, I was hoping a few workers could help me clean out the carriage house. That way, it’ll be ready to move forward when the contractors start.”
“I can’t spare anyone right now. We’re still pruning, and after that we’re planting two acres of vines.”
“What about hiring someone new, then? Surely you’ve used part-time workers before.”
“We’ll be taking on more employees in a few weeks. I’ll be sure when that happens, someone can clean out the carriage house.”
“Do you want me to fail?”
“Why would I want that? It’s my mom’s wedding.”
Her mouth flattened. “Revenge.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“I don’t see what’s so amusing.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. This isn’t some scheme to get even with you, Yvonne. It’s not personal at all. It’s business. I have a winery to run—”
“Tell me, Aidan, if your mother’s wedding is horrible, will that make you feel better? Will that help you forgive me?”
Do you want her to suffer? Do you want the next two months to be pure torture for her?
“Is that why you accepted the job? You’re looking for forgiveness?”
He held his breath, not sure what he wanted her answer to be. Not sure if he was capable of forgiveness.
“I…I don’t know.” She looked confused. “I did know. A few days ago I would’ve been able to tell you honestly that the only reason I came back was for my career. But now…”
His heart hammered against his chest. He wanted to step closer to her, to slide a finger down her soft cheek. To remind her of how good it’d been between them.
He didn’t move. “But now what?”
She studied him, her dark eyes somber, her mouth serious. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to accept your mother’s offer in the first place?” she asked quietly. “To come back here knowing I’d have to face your family. Knowing I’d have to face you again. Can you even imagine what it’s like going to work knowing everyone you work with hates you?”
He let out the breath he’d been holding. She didn’t want his forgiveness. She didn’t regret leaving him. “Poor little princess,” he murmured. “Should I feel sorry for you?”
YVONNE REALIZED SHE was fidgeting, and forced herself to remain still. But it wasn’t easy. Aidan was looking at her as if she’d asked the impossible. Plus she was hot. Uncomfortable in her heels and heavy jacket. Out of place.
Her toes hurt. Her heart ached. She wanted to take off her coat, slip off her shoes and feel the coolness of the tile beneath her feet. To stroll through the house, refamiliarizing herself with the rooms.
“When Mom contacted you about taking the job, did she happen to mention my views on the winery going into event hosting?” Aidan asked, his tone giving none of his thoughts away.
Years before, she would’ve been desperate to know what he was thinking. What he was feeling. But she’d never known how to ask him to share his thoughts.
“Your mother and I just discussed my position and my responsibilities.”
“Then I’ll explain. The only reason I went along with this whole special events venue was so Connie would stay on at the winery.”
“I hadn’t realized she’d been considering leaving.”
Not that Yvonne could imagine anyone else hiring someone so irritable and hard to get along with.
“It’s a long story.” And one she obviously wasn’t going to get to hear. “Suffice it to say, I believe the main focus of the winery should be making the best high quality wines possible. Anything and everything else is just window dressing.”
It all clicked into place. His indifference toward her job wasn’t personal. Or perhaps not completely personal. “Maybe if we could sit down,” she said, involuntarily stepping closer to him. “I could go over how I envision this. You’ll see that one aspect of the business doesn’t have to take away from the other.”
“I’m not interested in learning anything about throwing parties or planning weddings,” he said, his tone making it clear those things were on par with such trivial pursuits as perfecting your golf swing or finding the right shade of lipstick. “And we have plenty of business already. Which means I’m not going to take employees away from jobs that need to be done for something that’s not important.”
“Like your mother’s wedding?” she asked, shocked.
He glanced at his watch. “Excuse me. I need to check my dinner.”
He walked past her, cutting through the room they’d used as a dining room to get to the kitchen.
Her hands shaking, her vision taking on a red haze, she followed him—despite pointedly not being invited. He was filling a large pot at the sink. Lily walked over to her, nudged her hand. Yvonne curled her fingers but forced herself not to shrink back.
“So what you’re saying,” she said, proud of her steady tone, “is that the career I’ve spent the past five years building isn’t important.”
That what she wanted wasn’t important or good enough. That she wasn’t.
Instead of answering, he finished filling the pot. She had a brief—but clear and quite enjoyable—vision of shoving his head under the water and holding it there.
After setting the pot on the stove and lighting the burner, he said, “It’s not the Diamond Dust’s main focus.”
It was even warmer in the kitchen than it had been in the foyer, the air thick with the smell of tomato sauce and cooked chicken, basil and onions. She shrugged off her jacket and folded it neatly over her arm.
“When do you suppose my unimportant job will get some or your attention?” she asked tightly as she went to the other side of the small center island. “How long until you’ll have a worker free to clean out the carriage house?”
Shrugging, he leaned against the counter. “A few weeks. Maybe sooner.”
“Your mother’s wedding is in five weeks and so far the only decisions that have been made are the date and the invitations.”
Yvonne glanced around the room. It was so familiar, as if the past eight years had never happened. As if she’d never left. The walls were still a dark cranberry with white trim, the floor a deep walnut, the cabinets oak. Black, high-backed stools matched the glossy black of the counters. At the opposite end of the room a small, square table with high legs sat in front of the large window.