Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Melinda Curtis

Someone in the background told him to get off the phone.

  “…I think you’re cute,” he whispered right before he hung up on her.

  Jennifer carefully placed the receiver in its cradle. This was definitely weird. She needed to call Shelly and spill her guts about the whole episode. And somehow, she’d need to twist Blake’s arm to break out of this prison tomorrow.

  Or not. It would be safer to stay at home.

  Still…

  SALVATORE HOBBLED into his home office, completely drained. Sophia’s battle was nearing its end. Mentally, she’d returned to him, her mind tentatively back in the present with no recollection of the scare she’d given them all. Corinne sat with her now.

  With heavy heart and painful limbs, Salvatore focused on the one thing that could help him through this. Work.

  Outside, the rain continued to pelt the vineyards with moisture that would bring the vines out of their winter hibernation. The dark gray skies blocked the sun, making his downstairs office seem dark and depressing.

  Carefully, Salvatore lowered himself into his chair behind the massive cherry wood desk Sophia had given him for Christmas one year. With a minimum of movement, he booted up his computer and flicked on the desk lamp. Several minutes later, he surfed the Internet to catch up on the latest vineyard news.

  Salvatore was reading about the glassy-winged sharpshooter sightings when something bumped against his knee. The reflex sent tremors of pain up his spine.

  “That’s a cool hopper,” Michael said, leaning trustingly against Salvatore’s leg.

  Salvatore glanced up sharply, but Corinne wasn’t in the room. “Where’s your mother?” he asked the boy.

  “She’s upstairs with Grandma.” His big brown eyes were glued to the computer screen. “Do you like bugs? I do.”

  Salvatore looked at the screen and then back at his great-grandson, battling a reluctance to show even a hint of acceptance—since that would mean Corinne won—with a true curiosity and interest in the boy.

  “Not this one,” he said finally. “It’s a bad bug.”

  His little eyes blossomed and focused on Salvatore’s face. “Does it kill people?”

  “No.” Salvatore clamped his jaw together as Michael leaned more of his small frame against his leg. “It kills plants.” The boy was amazingly affectionate considering that Salvatore had been so cruel to him. Perhaps the boy had Corinne’s and Sophia’s ability to forgive and love people as unlovable as Salvatore.

  “Oh.” Disappointment dragged the word out. He looked back at the computer screen. “Then, can I have a turn?”

  Or perhaps the boy was as cunning as a true Messina. Salvatore laughed openly for the first time in months.

  Hope had returned to the Messina family.

  LUKE STEPPED into Mama’s dimly lit bedroom, vigorously tugging his tie loose.

  Sitting in the chair next to Mama’s bed with her feet propped up on the mattress and her eyes heavy with the need for sleep, Cori didn’t move more than to turn her head in his direction.

  “Rough night?” Cori asked in a whisper so as not to wake their mother.

  “Hundreds of wine critics in this world and I have to get the one who thinks he knows how to make my wines better.” Luke whipped his tie off and pitched his voice into cultured nasal tones. “You Messinas have been making the same style of wine for years. Isn’t it about time your wines came into the next century?”

  “Peter O’Bannon?” Cori guessed.

  Nodding miserably, Luke continued his lament. “He could tell Coca-Cola how to improve their formula. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’ve proposed style changes for years.” He sprawled onto the sofa, long limbs everywhere, eyes cast to the ceiling as if searching for relief. “You don’t know how bad I want out of here, to have the freedom to create wines my way.”

  Cori nodded sympathetically. Messina Vineyards was built on making a consistent style of wine that their grandfather had perfected years ago. Those familiar with their wines knew what they were getting with every bottle.

  “I’ve got to take him to breakfast tomorrow and then on a tour.” Luke groaned. “How do I defend what we do convincingly when I don’t agree with it? Humiliation with no recourse. There’s a fate worse than death.”

  Cori slumped deeper in the chair. “You tell him the truth, that Messina wines have been built on a consistent taste that consumers come back to. We’re not about to become a flavor-of-the-month winery.”

  “Oh man, I should have thought of that. Instead, my eyes glazed over. Can you think of some more comebacks for me?” Suddenly, he sat bolt upright. “Or better yet, go in my place.”

  Being active in the wine industry again. Not only that, but doing something for Messina Vineyards, for Mama, really, who used to handle interviews like this. The idea beckoned with unreasonable strength. It was what she longed for and what her grandfather had forbidden her to do. Rolling her eyes, Cori turned him down. “I’m sure Grandfather would freak out.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. Nobody charms the masses like you do. He knows only good can come of it. Between the two of you—”

  Reason returned. “Sorry, I signed a noncompete contract with Bell-Diva. I can’t work for any other alcohol beverage companies while I handle their public relations. And I canceled a meeting with them this weekend because of Mama, so I really shouldn’t even stretch their goodwill.” She’d called Sidney first thing Saturday morning to cancel her meeting with Bell-Diva.

  “We don’t compete with beer.” Luke looked at Cori as if she’d lost her mind. “Besides, who’s to know?”

  “What part of no don’t you understand?”

  Luke continued as if she hadn’t protested. “This is perfect. Peter won’t know what hit him. And we really need a good spin on his review.”

  “Not happening.” But Cori was smiling. It was a challenge and, therefore, tempting.

  “Maybe you can feed him that story about how we ended up growing Pinot Noir instead of Cabernet Sauvignon.”

  She tried again. “Who would sit with Mama in the morning?”

  “Details. Maria’s here. Jennifer’s always around.” He walked over to her chair and knelt beside her. “Tell me you don’t want to go even a little bit and I’ll let you off the hook.”

  “Uhhh,” she hedged.

  “You don’t really want to hear about me losing it in front of Peter O’Bannon, do you? Besides, Grandpa would be impressed to find you haven’t lost the magic touch.”

  Cori chuckled. “This is so not a good idea.”

  BLAKE NEEDED TO GET some sleep so he’d be sharp for his morning meeting with Peter O’Bannon. But he continued to sit in the cab of his old truck down by the river. Parked behind the blackberry bush, his view of the bend in the river, of his spot, was partially blocked by oak trees and wild vines. Stars glowed brightly against the dark sky. The storm had passed, leaving behind a robust and muddy river and the pungent smell of wet earth. A light breeze rustled the leaves above him. An open bag of M&M’s rested on the dash.

  Sophia had recognized Blake earlier that evening, but the episode was the longest she’d had yet—nearly twelve hours. That couldn’t be good. Earlier, Jennifer had listened to the news with nearly adult composure, then retreated to her room and her music.

  Footsteps approached.

  Cori. Blake knew it was her without looking, by the way his pulse raced.

  “Can I come in?” she asked through the open passenger window.

  “Why not?” She’d horned her way into every other part of his life.

  Her shadowy expression solemn, she opened the creaky door and climbed in, bringing her flowery scent with her. He looked out the windshield, silently containing his turmoil.

  A tree branch above the truck wavered and creaked, then settled into silence. From overhead, an owl filled the night air with his eternal question, echoing Blake’s frustration. Questions for Cori stuck to the roof of his mouth. If he asked Cori about Michael, he’d be letting his
interest in the boy override his wounded pride at being deceived. Blake wasn’t at a point where he could let what he knew was right guide his actions. The wound created by Cori’s betrayal was still too raw. For now, frustration, hurt and anger, tinged with the doubt of denial, were in control.

  “Would you baby-sit for me tomorrow morning around nine?”

  It was the last thing Blake had expected her to say. And it drew his eyes crashing into hers. Her gaze held his without hesitation. She was serious. Blake’s heart shifted into high gear at the chance to get to know his son.

  “It’ll give you some one-on-one time with Michael. If you want it.”

  Momentarily rendered speechless by her generosity, Blake finally managed to nod. They both turned back to the windshield. Blake knew he hadn’t been able to control his frustration around Cori. His life was spiraling out of control and Cori received the brunt of his resentment. Better her than Jennifer or Sophia. At least he knew Cori could take it.

  Cori shifted toward him suddenly as if sensing his thoughts. “I thought you needed the chance to lay into me.”

  “What?” He didn’t think he’d heard her right.

  “I’m letting you clear the air, under the condition that you stop belittling me in front of Michael. He’s bright and he’s already noticed the tension between us. If you want to be a part of his life…” She pushed her hair away from her forehead. “Well, I’d pick a different way to go about it.”

  Their eyes locked again while Blake wrestled with his harsher emotions. And lost. He’d love to spar a few verbal rounds with her.

  “You lied to me.” He slammed the hard plastic steering wheel with his palm. “You kept my son from me for four years. I don’t even know his birthday.” Blake was horrified to find himself choked up.

  Cori clasped her hands firmly in her lap, not letting her gaze waver. “January fourth.” She paused. “Nine o’clock in the morning. Seven pounds, four ounces.”

  Blake lost himself in the image of the delivery room. Never having been in one himself, he used what he’d seen on television. Was it an easy delivery? He couldn’t bring himself to ask, yet he longed to know how his child had greeted the world. Anger pushed past the curiosity once more. Blake could count on one hand the things he knew about Michael—a good sleeper, a thumb sucker, liked worms, and clung to his mom as if he had no one else in the world.

  And he had a dad waiting to love him.

  “When are you going to tell your grandfather?” Once the old man knew what he’d done, that would be the end of Blake’s time at Messina Vineyards. Salvatore Messina would probably assume he’d refused responsibility for his child. He’d believe Cori before he’d take Blake’s word, and he’d make it difficult for Blake to establish a relationship with his son.

  Her hands flexed, the only indication that her veneer of control wasn’t deep. “Not yet. I want to wait until…after.”

  She didn’t have to say after what. They both knew. He’d lose more than his job once the news got out. He’d lose his mentor, possibly his friendship with Luke, as well. Blake tilted his head from one side to the other in an effort to relieve the tension in his neck. “I want to be there when you tell him.” May as well stand up, face the music and fight for his job, Jen’s home. She’d be a bear to live with if they lost their place here with the Messinas. Blake wouldn’t be all that jolly, either. There was something about the sense of family permanence here that Blake loved, perhaps because he’d lost his parents too soon.

  “I don’t think you should,” Cori said in a small voice.

  Blake laughed harshly to let Cori know she couldn’t snow him that easily. Their versions of the truth might differ, but Blake stood a better chance if his version was told. “I want to make sure Mr. Messina hears my side.”

  In the tree above them, the owl nagged the night, the sound filling the truck.

  Frustration roared through Blake’s veins. “What’s his full name? You didn’t name him something lame like Francis, did you?” He was practically yelling now.

  “Michael Messina Sinclair.”

  She’d given him the Messina name. No Austin or Blake. That hurt so much that he had to lash out again. “He’s a spoiled brat.” There. He’d said what had been bothering him for days.

  Cori didn’t defend Michael, so Blake turned the tap on. “He talks back. He whines. He doesn’t obey any rules. He’s out of control. How could you let him turn out like that? Jennifer can’t stand him. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her and survive. She’s already giving me the silent treatment.”

  “Michael’s out of his comfort zone. Nothing is familiar to him here. The house isn’t childproof—”

  “Jennifer never had any problems.”

  “Jennifer was older when she came here and she didn’t live in the main house.”

  “Jennifer obeyed the rules.”

  “She probably won’t much longer.”

  Anger flamed, requiring a deep breath to contain. Blake spoke carefully, defining territories. “We’re not talking about Jennifer.” She was off-limits. “This is about you and your kid. I can’t believe you kept this from me for nearly five years. Why?”

  Cori didn’t answer, just stared down at her hands. How could she just shut off her emotions like that?

  “You got your thrills with me and paid the price.” Purposefully, he pushed. “What? I’m not even good enough for an explanation?”

  Her head shot up, eyes shadowed in the moonlight. “Good enough?”

  “Don’t pretend. I was just the field hand to you. A distraction you couldn’t tell your family about.” He struggled to slow down, but the words worked their way out, anyway. “Was it fun to slum around? Was it thrilling enough for you? Was it?” Blake grabbed Cori’s shoulders, needing her to admit she’d used him. “Are you ready for another dip on the wild side?”

  Instead of waiting for her answer, he crushed his mouth upon hers, wanting to punish Cori. Instead, his tongue plundered into familiar territory and short-circuited his brain. Everything about Blake’s life was unraveling, spiraling out of control. And so was Blake, until Cori’s lips parted beneath his.

  Not like this.

  His grip loosened. His hands glided up to cradle her face, encouraging her response. Comfort crept into his system, taking the edge off his anger, soothing the wounds to his pride. Until her startled breath mingled with his.

  Immediately, Blake jumped back to his side of the truck.

  What had he done?

  “Get out,” he commanded as he turned the key in the ignition and brought the engine thundering to life.

  The order was unnecessary. Cori had already fled, leaving the passenger door hanging open.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’M GOING OUT to a meeting. Can I get you anything before I go? Bathroom? Water? Food?” Cori looked down at her mother’s drawn face as she smoothed her gray sweater over the butterflies in her stomach. She was having second thoughts about meeting the wine critic, yet she wanted to do something positive for her family’s business.

  Sophia shook her head. “You run along. I’ll be fine.”

  The sun streamed through the bedroom window onto Michael, who was playing with an action figure at the foot of the bed, the swirling pattern on his crown a reminder of his father.

  Facing Blake today promised to be uncomfortable at best. Letting Blake blow off steam last night had seemed like a good idea at the time. Blake deserved a forum for his unsteady emotions. She’d held up well against his onslaught, until he’d gotten personal and insulted Michael. Repeatedly.

  She’d blown her stack, he’d blown his, and they’d somehow ended up lip-locked with her tongue in his mouth. The truth was that she’d been willing. After the initial shock of the moment had passed, she’d melted against him as his hands reacquainted themselves with her body. Once again, she looked the fool.

  “Blake should be here any minute to watch Michael.” Michael was a sweet handful. So far, Blake had only been e
xposed to the handful. The more time he spent with her son, the better. Cori was convinced that letting the two get to know each other gradually, without her around, was for the best.

  “We’re here.” Blake stepped into the room, avoiding Cori’s gaze. He was followed by a sour-faced Jennifer toting her backpack.

  Cori could sense the tension between the siblings just as solidly as the tension between Blake and herself.

  Recalling their kiss made her lips part. During the night, Cori had realized Blake meant to punish her with that kiss, for thinking poorly of him. Where Blake had gotten the idea that he wasn’t good enough for her, she had no idea. What had started out so angry and rough had shifted subtly into tenderness. That was the piece of the memory she couldn’t let go of. What she wouldn’t give to have Blake show her tenderness instead of contempt.

  “What a pleasant surprise.” Sophia smiled kindly at the pair, her fondness evident in her expression. “More homework, Jen? On a Sunday? They’re working you too hard at that school.”

  “In addition to my homework—” Jennifer tossed Michael a look of disgust “—I’m here to baby-sit.”

  This was not at all what Cori had asked for the night before. She gave Blake a sharp look. Was he crazy? Michael and Jennifer were as combustible as nitro and glycerin. He avoided her gaze.

  “Baby-sit me or Michael?” Sophia asked good-naturedly, ignoring Jen’s bad mood.

  “The little master destroyer.” Jen rolled her eyes. “And I’m not even getting paid. But if I do this, I get to go to the festival later today. Blake’s taking me and the kid.”

  Blocking the memory of Blake’s lips on hers, Cori lowered her voice as she stepped closer to him. “I thought you were staying with Michael.”

  “I forgot I have an appointment with a wine critic this morning.” He shrugged, his gaze sliding around the room, everywhere but over Michael and Cori, as if he’d never seen the rose drapes and Queen Anne furnishings before.

  “Peter O’Bannon?” She was going to kill Luke for not telling her Blake was meeting with him, as well. She might be suspicious of Luke’s motives if she didn’t know how absentminded he could be. “I suppose it’s too late for one of us to cancel? Especially if Luke told him we were both going to be there.”