“I thought the Pacific Northwest was supposed to be so green,” Duane was looking down out of the Bell JetRanger helicopter she’d rented in Yakima. After days of complete immersion in Venezuelan intelligence gathering, Sofia had needed a break. And, gathering her courage, she’d invited Duane along to the family home.

At first it had been for support, something she hadn’t realized until after she’d asked, otherwise she never would have. She wanted to go see Nana, but really needed someone to bolster her courage to face the rest of her family. Sofia had never needed anyone, but this time she did.

But she’d also wanted him to see her home…except she hadn’t warned him. And still hadn’t as they flew west-southwest toward Dundee, Oregon.

“Yakima is in eastern Washington,” she explained. “There are big mountains up ahead, and the rain stays on the other side.” The low morning sunlight made everything look so fresh and alive. The higher hills were already dusted with reds and golds on the trees of early fall. The valleys were still lush with the end of summer. She loved watching the turn of the seasons.

Duane grunted an acknowledgement and continued to stare down at the landscape. And Sofia was now third-guessing her invitation.

She was so looking forward to some time off. The Venezuela team, buried in the heart of three hundred thousand acres of achingly dry scrublands that made up the Yakima Training Center, had been so excited by the team’s arrival. For once, instead of simply collecting and feeding data to some far off facility at Fort Meade, they had a real-life Delta team onsite. The team had been inundated by the enthusiastic researchers. They’d delivered briefings on everything from police vehicles to SEBIN’s dreaded La Tumba. The Tomb. A place political prisoners disappeared into and were rarely ever seen again.

There had been no chance to talk with Duane. They were all quartered together, trained together, and fed meals together. It was amazing they weren’t all showering and going to the bathroom in unison.

Sofia’s thoughts were awash in too much information and too many grim images.

Duane looked as tired as she felt.

But he wasn’t avoiding her. At first she’d thought that’s what it might be—morning after such an incredible kiss, as if they’d really had that one-night stand that she was sure she wouldn’t have regretted. But, more often than not, they sat next to each other for meals. He laughed at her jokes, though he rarely spoke above a one-line banter.

And when they’d been given time off, she’d decided to go home. Four hours by car without traffic—but it was only a ninety-minute flight.

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her when she’d asked Duane if he wanted to join her. Sofia had suggested it quietly, when they had a brief moment apart from the others so that she wouldn’t be too embarrassed when he turned her down.

He’d searched her eyes for a long moment, then simply nodded. “That would be great.”

Now that they were finally alone and flying around the mass of the Mount Hood, a mostly dormant volcanic peak, she didn’t know what to say.

Maybe she should change the plans. Timberline Lodge stood on the southern slope of the mountain. It was a grand, Depression-era timber lodge know for its skiing and hiking trails. But she’d wanted to go home. It had been too long since she’d seen her grandmother.

How could she be taking Duane there? He didn’t know about her family. He didn’t know about…so much. Like how she felt every time she came near to him.

“Duane—”

“Sofia—”

“You first.”

“No, you.”

She used her I’m-busy-being-the-pilot prerogative to wait him out.

“Why am I here?” He finally asked over the intercom that connected them.

“Don’t you want to be?”

“No. Yes. I do want to be with you. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. But I—”

“That’s fine then,” and they stumbled back into silence. It had never struck her as a strange disconnect before, but it was. In a five-seat helicopter, the two pilot seats placed them shoulder-close. Yet they spoke over the intercom headsets as if they were using cellphones across the country.

She concentrated on passing between Mt. Hood’s eleven thousand-foot peak and the four thousand feet of controlled airspace around Portland International Airport. Not hard really, there was thirty miles between the two.

“So you live near here?”

“Uh, yes, Oregon. Outside of a small town called Dundee.”

“Where they teach beautiful intel analysts to fly helicopters?”

“I have a nana who believes very definite things about a woman’s capabilities.”

“I’ve seen you shoot. That doesn’t just come from military training. Was that her, too?”

“Yes.” Monosyllabic responses. Next she’d be down to male grunts if she didn’t do something about it. “My family owns some vineyards on the other side of Portland.”

“Oregon grows wine?”

Sofia actually had to turn to look at him and see if he was joking. He didn’t appear to be. “Number Two region in the country after Napa Valley.”

“I’m more of a beer guy. Isn’t Oregon the place they thought up microbreweries?”

“I thought you were more of a Coca-Cola guy.”

He barked out a laugh, “Doesn’t my dad wish. He was so damned angry when I joined up, I’m surprised he didn’t disinherit me.”

“My grandmother named me the heir the day I joined.”

“The heir to what?”

Sofia wished she had flown more slowly or reached this point in the conversation sooner. But I-5 flashed by below them. She followed the Willamette River as it wound its way through some of the country’s lushest farmland. Leaving the valley at Dundee, she climbed them up over the deeply rolling, vine-covered hills. The autumn golds of the vines, border by the dark green conifers that carpeted so much of Oregon was like a soothing balm on her nerves and eyes. The brilliant blue sky was glorious and always an additionally cheering sight for any Oregonian, far to used to the fall, winter, and spring rains.

“This,” she nodded downward, “is the Dundee Hills AVA. That’s American Viticultural Area—a very prestigious designation. There are several internationally recognized, award-winning vineyards here. My family owns the top-rated Colina Soleada Wines as well as seven others. Though we don’t advertise that relationship to avoid any perception of diluting our brand.”

And now was when the change happened. When men found out who she was and their entire attitude about her changed. It was too late to unsay the words. Too late to turn back to the Yakima desert and pretend that—

“Colina Soleada? Spanish for Sunny Hill?”

“Not long after the war, when they were newly married, my nana and abuelito came over from Penedès wine region near Barcelona. It is one of the oldest and best grape regions of Europe and has been making wine for over twenty-seven hundred years. They settled here.”

“You grew up in a place called Sunny Hill?”

“Sí. Colina Soleada.”

“Huh,” Duane grunted thoughtfully as she flew one more lap above the golden vineyards she had grown up in.

They spread in every direction. There were two hundred wineries in the rolling Dundee hills, ranging from tiny, twenty-acre dreams to major operations like their own. Beyond lay the wide flats of the Willamette River Valley stretching from the nearby pine-green Coast Range over to the snow-capped Cascade Mountains some forty-miles to the east. The sunset-colored vines. The blooms of rose bushes planted at the end of so many rows. Small patches of orchards thick with apples, pears, and hazelnuts. It was still the most beautiful place she’d ever been.

He remained silent as she circled down to the helipad behind the grand Spanish villa close by the vintner’s buildings. They were barely twenty feet up when he broke his silence.

“Sounds nice,” as if he’d never heard of their wine. “Hope you’re not upset, but I’m more of a beer man.”

Sofia almost bobbled the landing, but managed to get the helicopter’s skids settled onto the grassy helipad without looking too awkward. She didn’t know whether to be shocked or ecstatic. The vineyard was such a part of her life it was impossible to imagine someone not knowing it. It’s revelation had reshaped or destroyed every relationship she’d ever had.

But on the other hand, Duane would make no assumptions about who she was or who her family was. And coming from money himself, actually, having walked away from money to join the Army, meant that maybe her family’s wealth wouldn’t twist him either. That was a gift beyond imagining.

Colina Soleada? The heir? Then what the hell was she doing in the military?

Shit! It was one of Mama’s favorites at parties—“This darling little Oregon winery I discovered. They send me a case of their private reserve whenever I need one.” She didn’t entertain often, but when she did, it was one of her pat lines. But she meant it. Their Pinot Noir and Chardonnay had frequently graced the family’s dinner table as well.

But it didn’t take a genius to read Sofia’s body language. He’d felt it right through the helo as she spoke. She’d flown so smoothly until they began discussing her family, then she’d tightened up, almost as jerky as a beginner pilot. It screamed her unease with what she’d been telling him—a feeling he completely understood. He’d regretted telling her about his family, wishing he could take it back. The least he could do was not let her own revelation change anything for him.

Wouldn’t Mama just shit a hissy brick if she knew who he was sleeping with.

Except he wasn’t sleeping with her.

Except he wanted to.

Badly.

“Sofia?” He asked her softly while she was shutting down the helo.

She didn’t respond.

The intercom sounded flat, dead in the headset’s earmuffs. She’d already shut off the power. He peeled his off.

Then waited for her to finish shutting down and do the same before he tried again.

“Sofia?”

“Yes?” She placed her headset on the console before turning to him.

He tried to find the right thing to say.

It eluded him.

Rather than hunting it down, he kissed her. For the first time in days, he kissed her.

And, thank god, she kissed him back. No hesitation. Faster than a bullet to a fifty-meter target they went from first contact to full ignition. The lower radios on the console and the collective control lever between their seats was all that stopped them from crawling into each other’s laps.

Sofia wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss as if she was trying to drive him out the far side of the helicopter.

To hang on, he got one hand around her back. Because they could only turn toward each other but not manage a full-body clench, he managed to slide the other hand up and over her breast. Its shape had hinted at wonderful in her full field gear. It had looked incredible across the table masked by civilian attire and felt plenty amazing when pressed against his own chest during a full-body kiss. But in his hand, full and shapely without tipping over into either generous or lush, it was goddamn perfect.

The outline of her bra through her light blouse gave him lines to tease as she groaned against him.

“Now!” She broke the kiss just enough to gasp out the word.

“Here?” If she was willing, so was he. He’d never done it in a helicopter before, didn’t know if it was possible. But taking the time to get her out into the grass was too damn long. She leaned in to press her breast more fully into his palm.

“Yes. Sure. Whatever. Just…now!”

Buttons. She had buttons. Take too much time. He’d buy her another damned blouse. He slipped his fingers inside the collar of it to tear it out of his way. He had to see if she looked as good as she felt.

His fist clenched as one of her hands slid up the inside of his leg and grabbed him through his jeans. Grabbed him hard enough that he had to gasp for an instant before he could rend.

Had him opening his eyes in surprise, just enough…to see the two horses looking in at them through the front windshield. A windshield that exposed them from their knees to above their heads.

Then he managed to focus on the faces of their two riders. One was a handsome young man who looked amused. The other could have been Sofia’s twin—an older, very well-tended, furious twin.