Love in the Vineyard (The Tavonesi Series Book 7)

by Pamela Aares

  “Dario uses neutral French oak barrels, he doesn’t just bleed the vats.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes.” She was still learning the lingo of the winemaking industry. Bleeding the vats sounded like a horrible practice.

  “I’ll chill it. If I don’t burn our pasta sauce, it will be a perfect accompaniment to our meal.”

  Natasha wasn’t sure she was going to make it through an entire meal. She took a gulp of her wine, sat down on a stool near the counter and cleared her throat.

  “I need to talk to you.” The firm and resolved tone she’d gone for had come out more like a plea.

  “Then it’s my very lucky night.”

  “No. I mean yes, I need to talk with you.”

  He came around the edge of the counter.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Everything’s wrong.”

  He took a step closer, and she held out her hand in a stopping gesture.

  “No, don’t. I can’t think when you’re close to me.”

  “Then that makes two of us.” He pulled out the other stool and sat, bringing him closer to her eye level.

  “Tell me what’s troubling you. And if it’s Inspire you’re concerned about, I already know.”

  “It’s not that, it’s everything. It’s—” His words sank in. “You knew?”

  “My sister Coco told me yesterday. But she swore me to secrecy. She’s on the board at Inspire. Maybe you knew that?”

  Natasha shook her head. And the speech she’d been so confident in being able to give scrambled under the intensity of his gaze.

  “Adrian, you’ve been nothing but kind. But our lives, they don’t match up. The fact that Tyler and I landed in a homeless shelter should be evidence enough. Although we are moving out this weekend. Into a place of our own,” she added, wishing her tone didn’t sound so defensive. But she was feeling defensive, there was no denying it. “We’re getting out thanks to you and Casa del Sole. Thanks to my job.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she’d come to love. His biceps bulged under the sleeve of his T-shirt. No, she shouldn’t be thinking about his body at a time like this. She snapped her gaze to his. And wished she hadn’t. The muscles around his eyes tightened with his frown.

  “Natasha, there’s no rhyme or reason why someone is born here or there, why one person is born with privilege and another isn’t. But I’ve learned that no matter what life may have dished out, if we meet challenges without letting them dim our dreams, then there’ll be a better outcome.”

  She wouldn’t let his seductive words feed oxygen to the stubborn embers of hope that she was fighting to keep safely under control.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then make me.”

  Was it challenge she heard in his voice? Maybe if he understood, it would make what she was about to do easier. Maybe he’d help. She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds and hauled in a breath.

  “I’m afraid of my past,” she said, exhaling and looking into his eyes. That was a mistake. She looked away, her eyes seeing but not focusing on the massive stoves against the wall facing her. “I’m afraid that no matter how well I pull things together, it will always follow me, drag at my world, like a big black bag tailing me that I can never escape. I know it’s maybe crazy, but I keep thinking that if I can cordon it off and send the worst of my memories to a nice private asylum-like island in my imagination—an island with a very, very high fence—that I someday won’t feel so bothered, so trapped. That I can start fresh. Like I’d hoped to do with you. Until I found out who you are. What you are.”

  “I don’t believe the past determines the future. If I believed that, then I’d have no hope, not for my life or what’s possible for creating a better world. I think our dreams determine the future far more than the past ever can if we only let them.”

  She could feel his eyes on her, like a beacon. She drew her eyes back to his. “I wish I could believe that.”

  But it was a dream that had inspired her foolish bet. Following a dream had upended her world in a flash. Tears welled, and she couldn’t fight them back. They’d been threatening for weeks and now rolled out of her eyes and onto her white cotton shirt. Horrified, she rubbed at her face with the back of her palm.

  Adrian slid his stool closer and handed her a linen handkerchief. The darned handkerchief was just one more symbol of the gulf between them and made her cry harder. Her sobs had her gasping for air. He tugged her into his arms, and her cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest. Held, circled by his arms, she allowed all the tears she’d dammed up for so many years to flood out. Tears for the innocent girl she’d had to leave behind when her mother died. Tears for all the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of greedy, self-serving foster parents. And tears for all the things she wished she could provide for Tyler but hadn’t yet found a way to afford. She even let loose tears for her deep regret at not being able to reciprocate the kindness and generosity of the people who had been helpful to her while she’d had to focus so hard on survival and safety. But the most painful tears that escaped were for the future that would never be, a future with a man she’d finally found to love.

  He rocked her, murmuring against the top of her head. And until her sobs subsided, he never let go.

  A smoke alarm wailed, high-pitched and screaming.

  Adrian didn’t move. But Natasha pressed away from him.

  “There’s smoke,” she said, wiping her eyes with the monogrammed linen cloth. “Smoke,” she repeated.

  He slid off the stool and crossed to the stove, yanked a pan from the burner and dumped it in the sink. The alarm screamed its ongoing message above their heads.

  “At least I know it works,” he said as he waved a towel at the device. The alarm went silent, and he turned to her. “I seem to have a bad habit of making you uncomfortable.”

  She sniffled. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “Well, right now, it’s us. And we are going to have to pull something out of my freezer if we want any supper tonight.” He tossed off the denim apron and threw open the door to his freezer. “I could use some suggestions.”

  Her legs were rubbery under her as she stepped over to the freezer. He seemed to know that she didn’t want to—couldn’t—talk any more about her feelings right then. About her outburst. The unspoken understanding between them scared her almost as much as the emotions that had escaped her guard. The feelings they’d shared with each other were spinning the bridge she’d feared. And damned if she hadn’t been right—she might have kept a lid on her desires for many years, but she’d never been faced with a man like him before. Worse, being in his kitchen, doing tasks that any couple might do, had her seeing him in a new light, seeing the man behind the mask that the world thrust on him as a result of his birth. Wasn’t that the same thing she wanted for herself? To be seen for who she was, who she’d fought to become rather than for the aspects of her life she’d fought to overcome and leave behind?

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to his side.

  Her heart did a double thump, and not even the chilled air escaping the freezer cooled the want firing in her.

  “Anything appeal?”

  The labels weren’t written in English.

  “I don’t read Italian,” she said, glad that she didn’t have to admit she couldn’t read English very well either.

  “Our former nanny, now housekeeper down at the Casa, is sure that I’ll starve on my own.” He tilted his head down to hers. “Don’t tell her about this fiasco or she’ll be sure it’s true.”

  Natasha laughed.

  He rummaged through the freezer shelf. “There’s a lasagna, an eggplant Parmesan, and four containers of something Leonora makes especially for me and calls health rice.” He touched his head to hers and quirked a smile. “It sounds better in Italian and is more delicious than it sounds.”

  Crying had made her ravenous. She’d missed l
unch, and Cara’s snack of lemonade and cookies had burned up in the fury of her tears. But now, with Adrian next to her, a different sort of hunger ached, and its lancing, impossible-to-ignore message had her losing interest in food. “Let’s try the rice,” she said, knowing that no meal would satisfy the silent wish rising in her and twining with the desire shuddering in her belly.

  He released her and she let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Her heart skittered with longing, with a yearning that refused to be tamped down as she watched him microwave the containers and then scoop the rice and vegetables onto plates.

  At his suggestion they skipped the dining room and took their plates into his living room. Sitting at his formal table and trying to make small talk through a meal would’ve been the worst sort of torture. Maybe he’d felt it too. She almost wanted to ask him.

  They settled onto the couch in front of the wall of glass, looking out over the valley. He seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about what had made her bawl in his arms. Thank God for favors. Or sisters. Or for whatever made him sensitive to her distress. She’d said less than she’d planned to about what she wanted to tell him and way more than she’d planned about what she didn’t. And through it all she’d never been more aware of wanting him.

  She’d better eat, give her speech and scram.

  But then he cast a smile that reached into her soul. Whispers rose and her lips trembled as she smiled back. Taste, feel. Even if it can’t last. She fought back the powerful messages threatening to dissolve her willpower, threatening to brush aside her fear of consequences and erode her good sense.

  Chapter Fourteen

  NATASHA’S GENTLE SMILE AS SHE SAT cross-legged on the floor of his living room nearly undid Adrian. Her skin glowed, almost translucent in the evening light pouring through the wall of windows. Her beauty stunned him. But more amazing was the hungry eagerness, the pull toward joy he felt whenever he was with her. And she was the stimulus that sent the top spinning in directions he’d never explored. In the moments when her gaze was unguarded, he felt invited into a realm he hadn’t known he yearned to enter. She set off anticipation for something he hadn’t even been aware of wanting. He’d never before been cut loose from his bearings, so unbalanced and then forced into uncharted territory. There was no way that he was going to let the circumstances of his birth get in the way of exploring the feelings he had for her. His circumstances already caused him grief and disquiet—he wasn’t about to let them dictate his relationship with Natasha.

  Still, the little he’d heard of her life fueled the anger that burned in him whenever he thought about injustice, about the capriciousness of life and fortune.

  He knew he couldn’t just spread money around, although sometimes it could help, but he didn’t have enough to make a difference to the big picture. What he could do was provide opportunities. “Don’t give people fish,” his grandmother had told him. “Teach people to fish. And then teach them to take care of the river while they’re at it.” His nana would have known what to do to help Natasha. She might even have known the secret to unlocking her skittish heart.

  Maybe Natasha had never had the opportunity to pursue a dream, a passion. Hell, until he’d let the work at the Casa get under his skin, neither had he. In a flash of insight, he saw a path forward. One that might even make it possible to scale the inner walls Natasha kept strong and fortified, walls that he knew she’d once needed, maybe still did. And it could be a path that might allow him to be with her on the other side of those walls.

  “It’s too bad Amber left today,” Adrian said, following the burst of insight that remembering his grandmother’s words had kindled. “She loved what you’re doing with the pollinator garden and she’s dying to talk plants with you.”

  Natasha scooped up a forkful of Leonora’s rice. “You have room for far more native plants in the side gardens.” As she spoke, her face lit with the enthusiasm he loved. “In fact, given the size of your greenhouse, you could grow starts and sell them in the gift shop.” She waved her fork in a circle in the air and smiled. “Maybe even develop a wholesale native-plant business for the county.”

  Her passion provided an opening for him to introduce his plan. But he had to go slowly. Let the vision take hold.

  “I like it.” He spoke calmly in spite of the excitement firing in him.

  Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “Pardon?”

  “I like your idea.”

  “It’s a simple one, really.”

  “Sometimes simple is best. Would you be interested in developing a project like that?” Already his mind was ticking off the steps needed to set her up to manage the new endeavor. But instead of pleasure and the spark of anticipation, he saw fear in her eyes.

  She put her fork down and pushed her plate a few inches away on the low table.

  “No. I like what I’m doing now.”

  Maybe she was being humble. Though he hadn’t known her long, he felt a kindred spirit with her; they both navigated their lives with a driven intent. But he knew the signs; she was holding herself back. He just didn’t know why. Maybe he simply had to nudge the process along from behind the scenes. And though the idea took hold in his mind, her stiffened posture and guarded gaze told him it would be best to drop the subject of her work for now. Clearly it wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss. He would wait for the right time. Such a time would come, he was sure of it.

  He pointed to where the sun was setting on the horizon.

  “See that plain that spreads from here along the north edge of town and then stretches out of sight?”

  She shaded her eyes and peered out.

  “That’s a coastal plain. Locals call it the Petaluma Gap. There’s no hill between here and the ocean, so the fog and wind roll in, and we get the vast temperature swings that make it possible to grow great Pinots here.”

  He saw her shoulders soften. She began eating as she listened.

  “I’m helping the local growers apply for their own appellation. I think the wines of this region deserve the distinction.”

  She took in a breath. He was mesmerized by the rise and fall of her shoulders and the way she turned her face into the dimming light.

  “The lack of a mountain barrier must be why the light here has the feel of coastal light. I noticed it as soon as I moved here.”

  “Where were you living before?”

  As fast as lightning, she closed up like a sea anemone retracting at the slightest touch. Evidently he’d hit on another unwelcome subject. Talking with Natasha was like navigating a field pocked with land mines. But he was up for the challenge.

  Although she hadn’t finished her meal, she stood and gathered her plate and fork. “I’ll help you with the dishes.”

  “I accept.”

  He’d do anything to keep her with him longer. Including curbing his rampant curiosity and forgetting about the food on his plate.

  Once back in the kitchen, he dragged the burned pan out of the sink. “This can’t be salvaged.”

  “If you soak it, it can be. Look, the bottom hasn’t warped. It’ll be fine.”

  He put the burned pan aside and then ran water into the small tub he kept in the other side of the sink.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Rome suffered many droughts. It’s an old habit.”

  “It’s a thoughtful habit.” The lines around her eyes softened with her smile.

  The simple acts of domesticity didn’t dim the desire building in him. And if he was reading Natasha’s body correctly, from the way she tried not to touch him, not even brushing up against him, there was a tinder in her primed to ignite. A tinder he’d have to ignore for now. And for who knew how long before he could win her confidence.

  He soaped up a sponge and scrubbed her plate. As he handed it to her to rinse, the plate slipped. By some miracle they both caught it, his hand under hers.

  Adrenaline zinged in him, but not from his quick reaction. She’d kept her
fingers twined with his as she’d taken the plate from him with her other hand. His pulse fired, pounded, when she set the plate in the sink. She closed her fingers in his more tightly and drew him to her. Her other hand went to his neck. He felt the soapy hot water drip down the back of his shirt when she pulled his head down, drawing his lips to meet hers.

  He tried to hold back, to kiss her gently, to avoid sending her into recoil. But he’d wanted her too deeply, too much, and his rock-hard erection had robbed all the blood from his brain.

  He slipped his hand from hers and scooped her into his arms, fully expecting her to protest. If she had, he would’ve released her. But instead her tongue drove deeper, shocking the truth home. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Keeping the contact of their kiss, he navigated the stairs and then kicked open the door to his bedroom. And though he didn’t want to break their kiss, he set Natasha on her feet.

  His normally well-ordered room looked like a disaster area. His riding clothes were strewn across the floor along with the work clothes he’d doffed before he’d jumped into the shower.

  “I apologize for the state of my room; it’s not always such a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  He couldn’t have said anything more perfect. That he hadn’t planned for her to end up in his bedroom made the moment more precious. And less scary. He hadn’t plotted to seduce her. The edge of apprehension she’d had to swallow down in order to make her bold move at the sink and kiss him eased.

  But an awkward silence fell between them.

  He took her hands in his. “Natasha, I want to make love to you. With every cell in my body and every breath, I want to make love to you. But I need to hear for certain that’s what you want too.”

  She pulled one hand away and buried her fingers in the dark curls at the base of his neck.

  “Adrian, stop talking and kiss me.”

  He whispered her name as he pressed his hand to the small of her back and drew her to him. Their lips met, and some of her chattering thoughts stilled as she surrendered to the strange and wonderful ecstasy of his kiss. As his tongue teased hers, it was as though he was freeing her from the cords of shame that had bound her for as long as she could remember—cords that had imprisoned her and kept her from feeling anything hopeful. She’d heard the word grace all her life but hadn’t known its true meaning until now. Suddenly she craved to feel his skin against hers, to feel his heart beat against her breasts. To hold him. And never forget the feeling. She broke off their kiss and with fumbling, shaking fingers began to unbutton her shirt.