Chapter Seven
“In one hundred meters, turn right into Butcherbird Road.”
Sarah followed the directions issued by the disembodied voice of her car’s navigation system, her heart pounding as the distance between her and her destination closed. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and asked herself again what she was doing. Why couldn’t she have left well enough alone? If David Genero wanted to refuse her company’s offer to stock his Shiraz in Harry’s Nook, that was his choice. There was no reason it should cause Sarah such vexation.
Yet his turning down their offer—and second offer—had vexed the hell out of Sarah. Who did that? What kind of businessman cut off his own nose to spite the face of the person he ought to be selling to? Last night had been the third sleepless one in a row and the final straw as far as Sarah was concerned. If double-shot macchiatos weren’t helping, it was time to get to the bottom of what was keeping her awake.
“In one hundred meters turn left.”
Sarah didn’t need the instruction. She saw the sign advertising Windy Valley Winery for herself. It marked the entrance to a dirt road flanked on either side by rows and rows of green vines growing on wooden trellises, studded by plump purple grapes. Sarah lowered her window and inhaled the heady fragrance of warm earth and ripening fruit. The afternoon sun slanted across the plants, turning the leaves all different shades of green. She stopped the car and took a moment to appreciate the stillness of the landscape, so different from the bustling cities she’d always lived in. The quiet throbbed in her ears.
“You have reached your destination.”
“Good information, duly noted,” Sarah groused, muting the voice option on the device. “Unless you’ve got some advice on how to face your most embarrassing mistake in the flesh, keep quiet.”
She’d driven the hour from the city in a fit of pique that had made the idea of seeing David again seem so reasonable. People didn’t refuse offers made by Harrington Enterprises, and Sarah had to know why David was being so obstinate. If the attitude he’d shown her wine buyer on the phone had anything to do with what he thought of Sarah, then she had to set him straight. Personal opinions had no place in business. Whatever ill-will he had toward her was irrelevant.
Right, Sarah. That’s why your heart’s performing like it would in an intense personal training session. She hated to think the real reason she’d driven out here was to find out exactly how David did feel about her, but the closer she got to the estate proper, the more tenuous her grip on the steering wheel became. Her palms were sweating at the possibility he might be hostile.
Which she may well deserve.
The more she’d thought about it over the past week, the more she’d started to consider the possibility she’d misjudged David. The shock he’d displayed in the face of each and every one of her accusations appeared genuine in hindsight, not the slick act she’d assumed at the time. David hadn’t faked his name, he’d never told her he was someone other than who he was. He assumed she knew his identity when she called him David, a common enough name that it was shared by him and her escort. A coincidence, but not outrageously improbable. And if he’d been using her to get exposure for his product, he would have accepted the company’s offer, surely?
Unless he’s holding out for something bigger. Was his ploy all along to get you out here, Sarah?
The façade of the small retail facility appeared to her left and Sarah pulled in beside it. There was one other car parked in the section marked “visitors” but Sarah had learned from her research the cellar door wasn’t open to the public until the weekend. The wood-framed glass doors were closed, the name Windy Valley etched across the panes, the small logo of purple circles and swirling blue lines an artistic representation of wind-tossed grapes. There was a small picnic area to the right of it, timber tables and bench seats dotting the ground beneath two massive elm trees. Beyond that was a small cottage painted yellow with a wraparound porch of stark white drooping with vines that would no doubt flower in spring.
It was a small outfit, with a rustic style that immediately charmed. As Sarah opened her car door, two black-and-white working dogs came pelting from behind the shop, barking in greeting. At home, her family had always kept Afghan hounds, so Sarah wasn’t intimidated by the energetic leaping of the border collies. She held out a hand in a friendly gesture and they both sniffed her curiously. Then Sarah picked up the slobbery stick one of the dogs proffered and tossed it a good distance.
“Buster! Keaton! Get back here.”
The owner of the voice accompanied the call with a few sharp whistles, which caused the dogs to stop in their tracks. Ears pricking up, they peered behind them and awaited their master’s approach.
In the next instant David rounded the side of the building. His attention was momentarily fixed on controlling the dogs so Sarah took the opportunity to drink in the sight of him. He wore dusty work boots, grimy faded jeans that fit the shape of his long muscular legs and a red-and-black flannel shirt. His face was obscured by an Akubra hat that was bent out of shape around the brim and a pair of dark wraparound sunglasses.
He appeared every inch the country dweller, a man who spent his time outdoors tending to his vines. He couldn’t have looked more different than the person she’d originally met in Melbourne, yet his presence was as spellbinding now as it had been then.
“Sarah.”
Other than a hint of surprise, there was no telling inflection in his tone. Was he happy to see her? Angry? Afraid she was turning out to be a maniacal stalker?
When Sarah stood by her car, hesitating over what to say—so unlike a Harrington to do that!—David sauntered toward her, Buster and Keaton trailing excitedly behind. “Sorry about the dogs. I usually lock them out back when I’m expecting visitors.”
“That’s fine,” Sarah finally managed to speak. “I wasn’t expected. And I like dogs.”
Thrilled with this information, one of the canines leapt up and planted his big dirty paws on Sarah’s dove-gray Prada pantsuit.
“Keaton—down!” David scolded the animal.
The dog pinned its ears back in a show of remorse and once again dropped to the ground. Unperturbed by his mate’s strife, Buster deposited the saliva-coated stick onto one of her patent leather Jimmy Choo pumps.
“So you really like dogs, huh?” David’s rueful humor alleviated some of Sarah’s discomfiture.
She laughed as she bent to pick up Buster’s prize and throw it to him. Both animals chased after it with a series of yelps. “They’re only clothes. I’m fine.”
He remained silent as he studied her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind those concealing sunglasses but she sensed his perusal taking her in from head to foot. Did he think her ridiculous for wearing such an expensive, professional outfit to a rural vineyard? Sarah had decided against changing into something more casual before she’d left the office. This was a business meeting, after all. She didn’t want David to get the idea she had hunted him down for personal reasons.
So stop staring at him like he’s Beluga caviar on toast, why don’t you?
“I came to make you an offer.”
The edges of his sensuous mouth kicked up at her blurted statement. First hesitating and now blurting. Why was she so darned nervous? “Someone from your company already contacted me. Didn’t you get a report or something?”
“I was told you aren’t interested in selling any product to Harry’s Nook.”
David lifted one of those wide shoulders. Sarah heard the fabric shifting against his skin. “Then you got the message.”
Sarah forced her mind away from the thought of David’s taut flesh beneath the shirt. That tantalizing sprinkle of chest hair was visible at the wide-open V of the flannel. She cleared her throat. “I think you should reconsider.”
“Do you?” He slipped off his sunglasses and regarded her with those steady brown eyes. His scrutiny made Sarah’s pulse beat faster. “There are plenty of good vintages for sale in this region. Why would the CEO of such a successful chain of wine bars come all the way out here to procure my little-known Shiraz?”
Why indeed? Professional suit or no, it was impossible to obfuscate the truth. No way would Sarah herself be here if this was a simple business transaction. “I wanted to make sure your reluctance has nothing to do with what happened between us.”
“It has everything to do with that.”
His blunt response startled Sarah. “So you are being spiteful.”
“Spiteful?” His laugh was full of irony. “How do you figure?”
“You’re angry about the way I treated you—perhaps rightfully so.” His head cocked to the side at that, his gaze losing its rancor. That attentive expression melted her insides and she pushed on while she still could. “I behaved badly so I understand why you wouldn’t want to do business with my company. But you have a quality product and I’m willing to buy it. I hate to see anyone make a poor business decision due to some personal vendetta.”
“Vendetta?” He chuckled. “Oh, Sarah, this isn’t mob country, you know. I don’t have any kind of grudge against you.”
“You don’t?” When he shook his head, his lips curving, Sarah pressed, “Then why would you refuse to sell to me? It’s bad for business.”
“And I can see that offends your sense of professional ethics,” he noted, clearly amused. “Is that what you drove an hour out of your way to tell me? Or was there some other reason for your visit?”
Despite the way her face burned at the teasing suggestion in his tone, Sarah drew herself up to her full height and treated him to a scathing glare. “Are you insinuating I came especially to see you?”
He took a step toward her. Placing a hand on the roof of the car, he inclined his body toward hers. His nearness shaded her from the slanting afternoon sun but replaced its heat with that emanating from his body. “Not insinuating. Hoping.”
Tingles, both delicious and frightening, chased themselves all over Sarah’s skin. Her breath grew shallow. Damn him for being so straightforward and compelling her to face the truth—she had come here to see him. An employee could have been relied upon to handle the situation with diplomacy but she’d traveled the distance herself, alone. Because she’d needed to see if the unique spark that had struck alight between them three weeks ago was still there.
Now, for better or worse, Sarah had her answer. The passion that had flared between them on their previous encounter was no fluke. Merely standing this close to David had her breasts humming, their tips growing rigid. Her belly was laden with hot moisture, her pussy lips engorged, intuitively recalling the sensation of David’s tongue working them open and delving inside her most private spaces.
Sarah swallowed past the ball of lust that had formed in her throat. “I owe you an apology.”
“For mistaking me for a gigolo or for accusing me of intent to blackmail?”
He apparently found his own question entertaining, which didn’t make it any easier for Sarah to take. “For the latter, definitely. As for the former… I may be embarrassed to have you know that but I won’t apologize for it. I have every right to have my needs…attended to.”
Oh, could she be any more mortified? David studied her face, then took in the long column of her throat and the open buttons at the top of her silk blouse. “And were they attended to…satisfactorily?”
Sarah’s heart thundered and the needs they were discussing regenerated with vigor. “I can’t forget about it,” she admitted breathlessly.
A sigh fell out of him. His voice lowered, rumbled, as his attention focused on her mouth. “Neither can I.”
“You gave me so much and I did the wrong thing by you. I want to make amends.”
His smile was lethal, brimming with wicked possibilities. “How so?”
“Let me help the winery. Let Harry’s Nook stock your product.”
Abruptly, David pulled back, making Sarah lean forward, reflexively chasing the kiss she’d thought he was about to bestow. He stared at her, his expression incredulous. “You’re on about the wine again?”
Of course she was on about the wine. Wine was his business and hers. “You don’t sound pleased.”
He took two steps backward, his work boots stirring up the dirt beneath his feet. Resting his hands on his narrow hips, David assessed her as though she were a touch insane. “I don’t get you, Sarah.”
“What’s to get? You produce something that I sell. If there’s no acrimony here, there’s no reason we can’t come to some kind of arrange—”
“I stocked that cheese in the back fridge, Dave.” A young woman with a smooth chestnut ponytail emerged from the cellar door, interrupting them. She wore jeans that appeared almost as dusty as David’s and a flannel—hers in blue and black. She also carried a baby on her left side. “I gave everything a good wipe down and stocked the change till… Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
The woman glanced between David and Sarah with open curiosity. Sarah stared at her and the child she carried. He wore a pair of denim overalls and a floppy Thomas the Tank Engine hat. He stared at Sarah with huge brown eyes and smiled, displaying two solitary teeth.
“Kerri, this is Sarah.” David introduced them with obvious reluctance. Sarah’s attention returned to him with a snap at his disgruntled tone.
“Oh, hi, Sarah.”
Turning back to the woman, Sarah tried for a smile but it was shaky on her lips. Her stomach had taken a nosedive and she didn’t like where her thoughts where headed, especially when Kerri handed the baby over to David as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Would you mind holding Jaxon for a sec? I’ll be right back. Nice to meet you, Sarah.”
The other woman returned to the interior of the shop, casting one last curious glance back at them. Sarah stared at David, at the man she’d invited to her bed three weeks ago. He held the baby capably in his arms. Her stomach roiled as the suspicion formed in her mind, insidious and sickening. Tell me no. Tell me it’s nothing that repugnant.
But Kerri of the matching flannel shirt had obviously been setting up the shop for weekend trading, and she’d handed the baby over readily, trusting David completely to care for him. And David was obviously unhappy about Kerri and Sarah coming face-to-face.
Because no man wanted the fling he’d had in the city to meet his wife and child.
Dear God, Sarah. When are you going to stop being so naïve when it comes to men?