Intoxicating (10 page)

Except all that had changed since Wyatt's arrival.

Oh, her insomnia was still there, but the cause, that had changed.

Equations and formulas and experiments no longer danced in her head, keeping her awake. Now Wyatt prowled her nights. Images of him flashed through her head almost constantly and there was little defense against them—the way his dark hair fell rakishly over his forehead, the sound of his rich laughter bubbling up from his chest like a free-flowing spring, the feel of his five-o'clock shadow against the tips of her fingers, the extravagant taste of his lips.

He was always in her mind and she couldn't escape. Not even in sleep. For when she slept, she dreamed. And her dreams were even more vivid than her daytime fantasies.

In the lab, her new intern Lauren turned out to be a bubbly asset, eager to do whatever needed done, oftentimes anticipating Kiara's needs and doing it before she could even tell her.

Two weeks went by. Kiara stayed longer hours in
the lab. Burning the candle at both ends, working on new, organic methods of keeping the grapes healthy, dreaming up marketing campaigns for wider distribution after Decadent Midnight won the Best of the Best Award. She arose before dawn, got into bed long after midnight. Sometimes she didn't go to bed at all, just took catnaps at her desk.

Felix came through his neutering with flying colors and he became the exemplary pet, often lying curled at her feet, taking catnaps with her. He was the perfect male companion. She tried to convince herself that he was the
only
male companion she needed, but her body wasn't buying it.

Her body craved Wyatt.

Because of that, she did her best to stay out of the vineyards, sending Lauren whenever she could, and when business forced Kiara there, she would tell herself she was not going to look around for Wyatt. But then, damn, if she didn't lift her head and search among the interns tending the vines until she spied his form toiling in the hot sun.

Then her stupid pulse would kick up a notch and she'd duck her head and rush back to the lab, forgetting why she'd come to the vineyard in the first place.

It was an uncomfortable way to live and she did it for two weeks. Pushing, pushing, pushing, working, working, working herself to exhaustion, anything to keep from dwelling on Wyatt.

On the twenty-first of June, she woke with a summer cold. Headachey, miserable congestion, sneezing. She tried to push herself from the bed, but dizziness assailed when her feet hit the floor, sending her falling back among the covers. She called Lauren, and
told her to spend the day in the vineyard with Maurice instead of coming to the lab, and then, feeling resentful of the illness in particular and Wyatt in general, went back to sleep.

She woke sometime later to the sound of a gentle knocking on her door. Groggily, she sat up. It was probably her mother or Grandmamma. Lauren must have spread the word that she was ailing. Kiara sighed. She hated to be fussed over.

“Come in,” she called and drooped against the pillow.

The door opened, but it was neither her mother nor her grandmother.

Wyatt stood there, backlit by sunshine so that she couldn't see his face, only his hard-muscled form. “I heard you were under the weather.”

“Just a cold,” she said, but with her stopped-up airways it came out sounding like, “Jussa cole.”

“You've been working too hard.”

She couldn't argue.

“And not sleeping,” he said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

Now she could see his face and a familiar shivery thrill rushed over her. Probably just running a fever. “How do you know that?”

“I've seen the light on in the lab at all hours for the last week.”

“What have you been doing up wandering the grounds at all hours for the last week?”

He shrugged. “Stretching my legs.”

So he hadn't been sleeping either. She canted her head, studying him. He carried a brown paper bag.

“I brought you something.” He pulled out a long flat
box wrapped up in white foil paper and tied with a red velvet ribbon.

“You got me a gift.” Touched, Kiara placed a hand over her heart.

“Just a little something.” He perched on the bed beside her and handed it to her. “A get-well present. Go ahead. Open it.”

Here he went with the mixed messages again. You didn't give a gift to someone you were avoiding having a relationship with.

Don't read anything more into this than what's there. It's a mere token.

“Kiara,” he chided softly. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing's wrong.” She drooped, struggled to deal with the feelings churning inside her.

He hooked an index finger under her chin and raised her face up to look at him. “You can talk to me. Does gift-giving make you uncomfortable?”

“No. Yes. I don't know what you expect of me.”

“You're overthinking again. Don't you ever rest that poor tired noggin?” He leaned closer and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

The touch of his lips heated her up inside.

“I didn't get you a gift.”

“Why would you? Just open it up. Then you can make up your mind whether the gift is inappropriate or not.”

Her fingers skimmed over the bow. Her heart stumbled, unsteady.

“Listen, clearly I've made you uncomfortable. That was not my intention. I saw this in a store window in the village and immediately thought of you. It was an impulse buy. No big thing.”

Kiara opened the box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper,
lay a wristwatch. Nice white leather band, but not too expensive. She let out a pent-up breath. It was an attractive, but fairly ordinary watch, until she looked at the face.

Every number on the white-faced dial was a bold red five. Her eyes met Wyatt's.

A playful grin tilted his lips. “It's a reminder that somewhere in the world it's after five o'clock. Whenever you look at the watch I want you to remember the workday should end at five. After five, it's time to relax, take care of yourself and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

It was a perfect gift. Her throat clotted with emotion.

“Do you like it?” He sounded anxious.

“I love it.”

“No more burning the midnight oil. No more making yourself sick.”

“All right.”

“I mean it.”

“I'll try,” she amended. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good,” he said. “I brought you some else.”

“What is it?” She leaned over and tried to get a look inside the paper bag.

“Chicken noodle soup.”

“You didn't have to go to all that trouble.”

“I didn't. Your grandmother did.” He pulled the container of soup from the bag. “C'mon. Let me fluff your covers so you can sit up straight to eat this.”

Kiara set up, while Wyatt arranged her pillows. She sank back against them. “I had other opportunites you know.”

“What? You had other guys bringing you soup and watches?” he teased.

“I mean professionally.”

“I never said you didn't.”

“No, but I see it on your face. You're wondering why I'm here at this struggling vineyard when I could be working for a big corporation where I could have sick leave and a pension.”

“It might have crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“I've had all kinds of opportunites.”

“Oh?”

Why was she telling him this? It had to be the fever.
Shut up, Kiara.
“I got a fellowship to study in one of the premium wineries in France.”

“Uh-huh.”

“When I matriculated college, one winery even offered me a six-figure salary to come work for them in Napa. I could have had a pension, paid health insurance, vacation and sick time.”

“Why did you turn them down?”

Emotion bubbled up in her. Tears misted her eyes. “Because I love my family and Bella Notte with all my heart and soul. This place is in my blood and bones. It's where I belong. This is what I was put on earth to do. I've always known it.”

“No doubts, ever?”

“None.”

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“I've never loved anything with that kind of passion. Never felt that kind of loyalty toward anyone.”

“That's sad,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. A sorrowful expression flick
ered across his face and it tugged on her heartstrings. Quickly, he turned away, opened the soup container, took a spoon from the bag and ladled up a mouthful. When he turned back around, his charming smile was firmly affixed. “Open up.”

“You're not going to feed me.”

“I am.”

“This is silly.”

“If you won't take care of yourself, someone has to do it.”

“Wyatt, I can feed myself.”

“Ah, but wouldn't it be a lot more romantic if you let me feed you?” he cajoled.

“There's nothing remotely romantic about this. I'm sick with a summer cold, my nose is red, my hair is a mess and—”

“You look gorgeous.”

“You are such a liar.”

“Now you're denigrating my taste in convalescing invalids?”

She had to smile. The man was completely irresistible.

“Open up.” He held out the soup-spoon loaded with chicken, carrots, celery, onion and egg noodles.

Feeling dorky, she reluctantly opened her mouth.

He gently slipped the spoon past her teeth, as if he'd spent a lifetime spoon-feeding her.

Their gazes locked. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, turned toward her, his butt against her thigh. Yes, sure the covers were between them and so was the material of his shorts, but it felt so intimate, so cozy.

Dammit.

He was right. It
was
romantic, the fact that he was willing to brave the chance of catching her cold. The truth that he was looking at her as if he did indeed think she was gorgeous, mussed hair, running nose and all. The notion that he was the kind of guy you could trust to take care of you when you were sick, well, it was dangerous stuff.

Especially when she thought he would be the kind of guy to turn tail and run at the sight of anything unpleasant. But that wasn't the case. He was here and he didn't seem the least bit repulsed by seeing her at her worst.

“What are you thinking about so fiercely?” Wyatt asked.

“I'm wondering how I can increase the yield from the current crop of muscat grapes,” she lied, not wanting to tell him that she was thinking about how grateful she was that he was here.

“No, no,” he scolded. “No thinking about work.”

“That's like telling me not to breathe,'” Kiara said.

“You can control what you think about.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy.”

“Ha!”

“You push yourself too hard,” he said. “No wonder you're sick. When was the last time you took the day off?”

Kiara frowned. “I do better if I don't take off.”

“You're not a superwoman. Everyone needs a break.”

She waved in the direction of the lab. “I have too much to do—”

“If you burn out, you'll be no good to anyone. I want you to promise me something else.”

“What's that?”

“As soon as you're feeling better you'll take a day off to recharge your batteries.”

“That's not going to happen. If I miss several days because of this cold I can't afford to take another one off.”

“If you don't take a day off, you're not going to heal properly. When was the last time you did something just for yourself?”

“It's been a while.”

“You give your interns two days a week off, why don't you feel entitled to do the same for yourself?”

“There's too much to be done.”

“One day,” he said. “I'm talking twenty-four little hours that are all about you.”

The thought of taking a day off, of letting her mind run free, of relaxing and enjoying herself was so tempting. Too tempting. She hadn't done that since her father had been diagnosed with stage-three lymphoma and he'd stepped down as head of Bella Notte and she'd assumed his role as head of the business.

She'd known what she was getting into. But doing her job of creating the best wine, and his job of providing for an extended family of this size was a lot for anyone. Especially when she was only thirty. She should be out dating, mating, maybe even building a family of her own.

There's plenty of time for that,
argued her sensible side.

But the side of her that she kept tamped down tight, whimpered.
Don't I ever get to have any fun?
It was that part of her that did not resist when Wyatt said, “Next Saturday you're coming with me.”

“Oh, I am, am I?”

“Yes.”

“What if I say no?”

“I'll get your whole family on my side.”

She had no doubt that he'd do it too. “Where are we going?” she asked, charmed in spite of herself. “What are we going to do?”

“You leave the fun up to me. That's my strong suit.”

To her surprise, Kiara nodded. “Okay, I'll do it, but only under one condition.”

“What's that?”

“You give me that spoon and let me feed myself.”

Balance: When no part of a wine's
flavor stands out too much.

K
IARA CHEATED
. S
HE
didn't stay in bed for the duration of her cold, on the third day she was feeling much better and spent a few hours in the lab, and to compensate, loaded up on vitamins. Later in the day, she lay propped up in her bed to pay the bills. It was a bit concerning to see that she was barely staying in the black, but still, they weren't in the red.

“All that's going to change,” she told Felix, who was stretched out across her legs playing with a piece of balled-up paper she'd tossed aside while working on the figures. “When we win the Best of the Best. Are you prepared for success?”

Felix meowed and burrowed underneath the covers.

“I take that as a yes.”

She wasn't even going to let herself consider what would happen if they didn't win the award. She was so secure in the excellence of Decadent Midnight, she'd put all her eggs in a single basket. If for some bizarre reason
they didn't win, well, she'd be seriously scrambling to make ends meet. She'd only made it this far buoyed by the promise of the exceptional wine. It sold well here at Bella Notte and they had a respectable mail-order business, but they had to reach a wider market soon or the long-term viability of the family winery was in serious jeopardy.

By Friday, she was almost one-hundred-percent her old self and she had to admit she was excited about taking a day off, and was wondering what Wyatt had planned.

Just before dawn on Saturday morning, a knock sounded on her bedroom door. “Kiara?” her mother called from the other side of the door.

Kiara yawned, stretched. “I'm awake.”

“Wyatt is here to pick you up for your date.”

Date! What had he told her mother? They weren't going on a date. It was merely an outing that they were going on together, but she hadn't expected him to show up this early.

Kiara sprang from the bed, ran a hand through her messy hair and then flung open the bedroom door. “Mom, it's not a date. I just need a day off and he's taking me…” It sure sounded like a date when she put it like that.

“Okay, dear,” her mother soothed, stepping into her room. “It's not a date.”

Why had she agreed to this? What had she been thinking? She'd been indulging her lazy side. That's what she'd been doing. She squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to tell her mother to tell Wyatt that she was calling off the excursion. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn't mean to bite your head off.”

Her mother smiled. “I'm just so happy you're taking the day off, Kiara. I've been so worried about you.”

“Mom, you don't need to worry about me.”

“You've been sick.”

Kiara waved hand. “With a summer cold. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“You must start taking care of yourself. I fear your father's struggle to keep Bella Notte going is the very thing that contributed to his cancer. He never took a day off either. Never rested. Now he's been forced to reevaluate the life he was living. I didn't begrudge him his ambitions, but he never stopped to smell the roses. We live in one of the most beautiful places on earth and it wasn't until he had to face his own mortality that he's come to realize there's a benefit to slowing down. I don't want you to wait until you're in your fifties and your health is damaged before you understand that you have to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Her mother studied her for a moment. “Wyatt is good for you. Do you know that you smile a lot more often since he's come to stay with us?”

“Do I?”

Her mother reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Kiara's ear. “I like him.”

I like him too.

“He just might be a keeper.”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay, I know it's none of my business, but you know you have a tendency to run guys off.”

“I don't run guys off.”

“When you're dating a guy, you don't pay him much attention.”

“I'm not a lapdog, Mother.”

“Men like it when you pay them attention.”

“I don't want a man that needs to be petted and preened.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I'm messing this up. Wyatt's a nice guy. I like him. You could do a whole lot worse. That's all I'm saying.”

“Duly noted.”

“Grandmamma likes him too. She's making him French toast.”

Kiara groaned. “You're feeding him breakfast?”

“Well, honey, you are leaving him waiting.”

“Because he didn't tell me he was going to be here at the butt crack of dawn.”

“Kiara, language.”

“Sorry. I'll be there in just a minute. Try not to tell him too much about my childhood and whatever you do, don't let Grandmamma get out the photo album.”

“Um, we might already be too late on that one.”

“Tell him he brought this on himself for not telling me when he was going to be here.”

Beth chuckled and disappeared.

Kiara hurried through her morning routine, and then dressed in white denim shorts and a red scoop-neck T-shirt. She was going to wear sandals, and then realized it had been months since she'd bothered with a pedicure and instead jammed her feet into sneakers. Maybe she should start taking time out for a little more pampering. She put on a dab of mascara and lipstick. Once finished, she appraised herself in the mirror.

Her hair. She had to do something with her hair. It
stuck out at all angles. She didn't have time to wash and blow-dry it. Wyatt was downstairs alone with her family. No telling what tales they were regaling him with. Quickly, she pinned her hair up in a French twist. It looked nice. Jewelry. Maybe she should wear some jewelry.

Oh, God, it
was
a date.

This is not a date. When was the last time she'd been on a date?

Stop it. Calm down. If you can run a winery, you can go on a simple date. So what if it's a date? You're entitled. You're young and single and hardworking.

Yes, but Wyatt worked for her. He was her intern. The balance of power tipped toward her.

What's wrong with that? It's one day. It's not like you're going to sleep with him or anything.

She thought of that day in the cellar and a sudden thrill sent goose bumps spreading over her arms.
Are you?

What was so bad about a summer fling? Fraternizing with an intern might not be the smartest thing in the world, but, honestly, it wasn't like they had long-term potential as a couple. He was a good-looking gad-about, a fun-loving slacker. There was no future there. He was leaving at the end of the season. But fun? She had a feeling that Wyatt could provide that in spades.

She stepped to the bedside table, picked up the whimsical five-o'clock watch he'd given her, and strapped it on her wrist. Then she reached far into the back of the drawer, pulled out a condom and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts.

Just in case.

Taking a deep breath to bolster herself, she went
downstairs and found Wyatt at the breakfast table eating French toast with maple syrup, drinking a cup of espresso and chatting with Grandmamma Romano. A family photo album lay open on the table between them.

“And here's Kiara when she was seven helping her father cut back the grapevines. Look at that face, so determined and headstrong even then. She wasn't going to let that grapevine get the best of her.”

“She wore glasses at seven?”

“She had to get glasses when she was just three. Poor little thing. She was so tiny and yet so fierce, those big glasses perched on her baby face. It broke my heart to see her strapped with a disadvantage at such a young age.”

“Near-sightedness is not a disadvantage, Grandmamma.” Kiara rushed across the room, to Wyatt she said, “I'm ready to go if you are.”

“She's embarrassed,” Grandmamma said. “Our Kiara is full of pride.”

“Wyatt doesn't want to hear about my childhood.”

“Oh,” Wyatt drawled, his long legs stretched out in front of his chair. “That's where you're wrong. I love imagining what you were like as a kid.”

“The same as what she is now,” her mother called from the stove. “She was such a little mother to her younger sister and cousins. She liked being in charge from the very first. We've butted a few heads over the years. Haven't we sweetheart?”

This was turning into a fiasco. She didn't want Wyatt knowing all the gory details of her childhood.

“Wyatt.” She pointed at her watch.

“Slow down,” he said. “That's the point of this day. Take a breather.”

“Then why didn't you let me sleep in?”

Her mother slid a plate of French toast in front of her, along with a cup of espresso.

“Eat,” Wyatt said before her mother had a chance to say it. Then he turned back to Grandmamma. “Tell me more.”

Grandmamma held up another photograph. “Here's where she took first prize in the fifth-grade science fair. She was interviewed in the local paper. You should have seen her. Chest puffed out, eyes shining with happiness. We were so proud of her.”

Kiara didn't miss Wyatt's lazy gaze zeroing in on her chest. She frowned at him, wrinkled her nose and took a long gulp of coffee. She needed an IV infusion of caffeine to get through this day.

She ate her breakfast as fast as she could while Grandmamma kept turning the pictures.

“Here's her prom.”

“She went to the prom?” He sounded surprised. Granted, she wasn't the prom-going type, but did he have to sound so surprised?

“Oh, my, yes. Didn't she look so pretty in that purple dress?”

“Who's her date?” Wyatt asked, leaning over Grandmamma's shoulder for a closer look at the photograph. “Was that her first boyfriend?”

“No.” Grandmamma sighed. “In high school, like now, Kiara didn't date much.”

Kiara rolled her eyes to the heavens.

“That's her cousin Jerome,” Grandmamma went on. “They were the same age.”

“Jerome didn't go into the family business?” Wyatt asked.

“Jerome was killed,” Kiara rushed to explain so Grandmamma wouldn't have to talk about her cousin. “In a scuba-diving accident.”

“I'm sorry,” Wyatt murmured.

Grandmamma's smile brightened as it always did when she was trying to ward off sad memories. “It was ten years ago….” she said as if time had healed all wounds. But the she added, “It still hurts.”

“Sorry to hear that. Well, I'm ready to go if you are,” Wyatt said to Kiara, clearly out of his league on the topic of tragic death. Hey, he'd started this. She ought to let him suffer. But she was suffering too.

“Done.” Kiara finished her last bite of French toast, went to rinse her plate and put it in the dishwasher. She turned back to Wyatt and for the first time spied a picnic basket on the floor behind his chair.

“We're going on a picnic?”

“Among other things.”

“What other things?”

“You don't have to know all the secrets of the universe,” Grandmamma said. “This young man has prepared a nice day for you. Go, enjoy.”

Kiara glanced at Wyatt skeptically.

“The day is all planned,” he said. “Your only job is to relax and enjoy it. Can you handle that?”

“I don't know,” she admitted.

When was the last time she'd let down her hair and stopped thinking about work for ten seconds? It had been so long, she couldn't remember. Long before her father got sick. Probably back in college, although she'd been pretty studious then too.

“C'mon.” Wyatt put his hand to the small of her back and guided her outside into the dewy morning.

The sun was bumping over the horizon, casting the vineyards on the gently sloping hill behind the house in a soft Dreamsicle glow.

“Look at that.” Beside her, Wyatt breathed deeply.

“At what?'

“Those beautiful grapes.”

He was right. They were beautiful. She was usually so focused on the details that went into making a good wine that she rarely took the time to marvel over the vineyards the way tourists did. The way Wyatt was doing. As if this moment were somehow magical. He was right. She didn't appreciate the wonder of where she was privileged to live, of her unique heritage.

“Good,” he said.

“Good what?”

“You're relaxing. I can see the tension draining from your face.”

She raised a hand to her cheek. Was the stress that obvious on her? “Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

He took her elbow—and to Kiara's surprise, she let him—and he led her down the path to the Bella Notte Welcome Center. Parked outside the small stone building was a rack filled with bicycles built for two. They were rented out to tourists who wanted to tour the winding paths of Idyll Island. The bicycles had been Maurice's idea and to Kiara's chagrin they had been wildly popular. More romantic poppycock.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Not the bicycles built for two. I don't do bicycles built for two.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's corny.”

Wyatt gave her that knee-melting, hundred-watt grin. “C'mon, corny can be fun.”

“It's not my thing.”

“So indulge me.”

Kiara shook her head. She didn't know why she was resisting so hard. “Look, I don't know how to ride these things.”

“Really? You've never ridden a two-seater?”

“That's what I mean by I don't do bicycles built for two.”

Wyatt made a tisking noise. “You've been missing out.”

“I suppose you've ridden one before.”

“Hundreds of times.”

“Hundreds?”

He shrugged. “Okay, maybe I exaggerate. Dozens.”