Intoxicating (6 page)

Wyatt shoved a hand through the thick lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Mesmerized, Kiara followed his movements. Followed him like a puppy when he went back to the refrigeration room.

Wyatt assumed his spot on the cement floor once more.

Kiara paced, arms akimbo, and prayed Wyatt could fix it. Her gaze tracked to Wyatt's legs. “How's it going?”

“Could you give me some space to work?” Wyatt asked. “It's hard to concentrate with you breathing down my neck.”

“Okay, I'll just go stand over here.” Kiara walked to the opposite side of the room. “Go on.”

Wyatt shot her a go-away look, but went back to what he was doing. A couple of minutes later he let out a curse.

“What's wrong? What is it? Did you break something?”

“It's nothing. I curse a lot when I'm working. It's a guy thing.”

“Can I help? Do you want me to hold your flashlight?”

Grinning, Wyatt sat up, crossed his legs tailor-style.

It was only then that Kiara realized how that last comment sounded and felt her cheeks burn. Thankfully, he did not volley back with some suggestive retort.

“I was thinking outside might be a better place for you. I'm sure there's a hundred other things you need to check on,” he said.

“You mean go off and leave you alone in here?”

He nodded, widened his eyes comically. “Uh-huh, just like that.”

“But I don't even know you. What if you were sent here by my competition to sabotage my winery?”

“You do know how paranoid that sounds, right? It's not like I orchestrated the earthquake.”

He was right. She did sound paranoid. “Scratch that, I know you're not here to sabotage my winery. I'm just—”

“A bit of a control freak.”

“I wouldn't say
freak.
”

“Control Nazi?”

“All right, I get the picture. You want to be left alone to work in peace.”

“No offense.”

“None taken.”

Wyatt went back to banging his tools.

Feeling dismissed, Kiara wondered how she'd lost control of the situation. Wyatt was right. She felt in
secure when she wasn't on top of everything and she really didn't want to leave him alone. For all she knew he could cause more damage to the refrigeration unit.

But honestly, there were other things she should be doing. It wasn't easy for her, but she was simply going to have to trust him.

 

T
HE SECOND
K
IARA
left the room, Wyatt got to his feet, snagged the cell phone from his pocket and put in an emergency call to his brothers.

“'Lo,” Eric said, answering on the first ring.

“I'm here. At Bella Notte.”

“You feel the quake out there? News is saying it was 5.9.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt thought of Kiara's lips and her smoky-green eyes. “I felt the quake. It's why I'm calling.”

“Look at you, baby brother. All James Bond and stuff.”

“Hardly James Bond.”

“Problems?”

“Kiara Romano took an instant disliking to me.”

“You?” Eric hooted. “Unable to charm a woman? What? Doesn't she like men?”

“No.” Wyatt scratched his head. “I definitely don't get that vibe. I think I rub her the wrong way.”

“You better get rubbing her the right way. I got the new sales figures and we're down two percent in dessert reds, but guess whose sales are up?”

“Bella Notte.”

“You got it. I still can't believe Kiara's not drooling over your pretty bod. Will miracles never cease? I didn't know there was a straight woman on the planet who wouldn't fall at your feet.”

“Ha, ha. I've met my match. Yada, yada. Can we move on?”

“So are you going to be able to stay there if she dislikes you so much?”

“That's just it, she's already kicked me off the island.”

“C'mon, Wyatt.” Eric grunted. “Take her down. She's one woman running a tiny little winery.”

Making damn fine wine.
Wyatt heard the disappointment in his brother's voice vibrating through the airwaves, felt it twist his gut. Dammit, if he hadn't outgrown the need to impress his older siblings…

“I thought you wanted to prove to Scott and me that you'd grown up. So do it.”

“All is not lost, thanks to the earthquake.”

“How's that?”

“The quake caused some minor damage to their refrigeration unit. At least I hope it's minor.”

“No, no, damage is good. We need to crush Bella Notte before they ever have a chance to rise up off the mat. No holds barred, bro.” His brother was always ready with a wrestling metaphor. Eric had taken the Princeton wrestling team to the championship during his reign. Wyatt made it a point never to wrestle Eric. He always lost.

“Repairing the damage is a way of me keeping the job. Besides, if I don't do it, she'll just find someone else who will.”

“Let me get this straight.” Eric chortled. “
You're
going to repair a refrigerator unit?”

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.”

“Beyond unhooking a woman's bra in under ten seconds, you have no mechanical skills whatsoever.”

“I have
more
skills than you think. I own a yacht.”

“That a mechanic fixes when it's necessary.”

“I've done some repairs myself.”

“So what do you need me for? I can't fix a refrigeration unit.”

“Duly noted. Just connect me to the head of our maintenance department.”

“That I can do. Hang on.”

A few minutes later he was talking to the head of DeSalme's winery-maintenance department and the guy was talking him through repairing Kiara's refrigeration unit. Luckily, as Wyatt had suspected, it turned out to be nothing more than the condenser fan that had been warped by bumping up against the coils during the vibration of the earthquake. All he had to do was disassemble the condenser, hammer out the bent fan blade and put it back together.

He'd no sooner hung up with the refrigeration guru and tightened the last screw holding the fan in place when Kiara entered the room.

“How's it going?” she asked.

Wyatt got to his feet, holstered his screwdriver and dusted off his palms. The unit hummed quietly. “Finished.”

Kiara looked impressed and incredulous. “You pulled it off.”

His instinct was to gloat, but instead he shrugged. “All in a day's work.”

“I can't believe you did it.”

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“So does this mean I get my second chance?” He lowered his voice and his eyelids, studying her closely.

“I suppose I'm obligated.” She stuffed her hands into
the pockets of her apron, rotating her shoulders forward in a gesture that closed her in, shut him out.

Wyatt might not be an expert on condenser fans, but he knew women. “Something else is bothering you,” he murmured. “Can I help?”

She waved a hand, nodded. “No.”

“You're sending mixed messages.”

“What?”

“You nodded but said no. My experience has taught me that body language speaks louder than words.”

“Who are you exactly?”

“I'm just a guy who's interested in making wine.”

“What do you do for a living? Most of our interns are students. You're too old for that.”

“I do a little PR work now and again.”

“When you're not being a slacker or repairing condenser fans?”

“That's right.”

She cocked her head. “I can see that. Cut the hair, shave the beard, I'm sure you look very slick.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Truth.”

He stepped closer. “Why don't you like me?”

“You seem to like yourself well enough for the both of us. I wouldn't worry about whether I like you or not.”

“You make a good point.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “I'm being tacky, aren't I? I apologize. It's been an…unexpected day.”

“Honestly, if there's something else I can help with I'd be happy to jump in.”

Kiara gave him a look he couldn't identify. “Does that usually work well for you?”

“What?” He feigned innocence.

“That genuine insincerity.”

“I'm not insincere,” he protested.

“Just very PR.”

“I do have a way with women.” He couldn't help grinning.

“And modest too.” She snorted, folded her arms over her chest. “What a catch.”

“You really
don't
like me, do you?”

Kiara shrugged. “You're growing on me. Sort of like mold.”

He laughed. “Good mold, like penicillin?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“You are such a skeptic.”

“Scientist,” she corrected. “I'm a scientist. We're taught to dig deep, skim far below the surface.”

“And what do you see when you look at me?” He didn't know why he was inviting her critique. It was bound to be harsh. Wyatt had never been a glutton for punishment. Why now?

“As champion of living life on the surface.”

Bead: A poetic metaphor for the bubbles
in a sparkling wine.

F
OR THE REMAINDER
of that day, Wyatt and the other interns worked with the entire crew of Bella Notte, including Mia, Samual, Elliott and Juliet, to clean up after the earthquake. Kiara avoided Wyatt as much as she could, spending most of her time tallying the damage and talking to friends and neighbors in town. By and large, most everyone reported only minor injuries and minimal damage. The earthquake had been startlingly inconvenient, but no long-term problems for Idyll. By midnight, they squared away the majority of the mess and everyone fell into bed exhausted.

The following morning, Wyatt arrived at the lab at 7:00 a.m. on the dot, smirkless and ready to work. He was dressed in a pair of olive-green cargo shorts that hit him just above the knee and a white-and-maroon Bella Notte polo shirt. He'd combed his hair and shaved his beard stubble. He smelled of sandalwood soap and ocean breezes and he seemed to be taking his second
chance seriously. The fact that he was trying to reform went a long way to earning Kiara's forgiveness.

Unwise, unwise,
whispered her subconscious mind. Especially after the restless night she'd spent, tossing and turning, sleeping in fits and starts. Battling sizzling hot-sex dreams where a shirtless Wyatt was the star attraction. Remembering the heat of his fevered touch in the darkness of her fantasy pushed Kiara's thoughts to the edge.

It was daylight, she reminded herself. She was a grown-up. She could handle working with him.

“I'm ready,” Wyatt said mildly. “Tell me what you need done.”

“I'm putting your nose into service.”

“Sounds painful,” he teased.

“Do you know what
Brettanomyces
is?”

“It's a yeast that commonly causes spoilage in the production of red wine.”

Surprised by his knowledge, Kiara threw him a sidelong look. “That's correct.”

“What? You think I'm just a pretty face?” he joked.

“Most particularly Brett attacks sweet reds like Decadent Midnight,” she went on, doing her best to ignore his tease. “To help control it, I rigorously work the vineyards to achieve fruit maturity at lower levels of alcohol, but Brett is still an issue.”

“Where do I come in?”

“Brett smells like a sweaty saddle and if it gets in the wine, it makes it taste like that.”

“Not the flavor we're shooting for.”

“No, and the equipment for detecting and dealing with Brett is extremely expensive. We could saturate the wine with sulfur dioxide and then strongly filtrate
it, but that affects the taste. The key is to keep Brett out of the wine to begin with.”

“So, you want me to sniff your grapes?”

“In a word,” she said, “yes. But first we're going to the wine cellar and I'm going to let you sample a bottle of wine that I believe has gone Bretty.”

“Horse sweat, yum, can't wait.”

“It won't be that bad. If it's Bretty, it's only marginally so, which is why I'm having you taste it. Anyone can spot a heavily Bretty wine, but it takes a discerning tongue to pick it up in minute levels.”

“I'm game. Let's go.” He looked at her with shrewd eyes, as if he knew exactly how she'd spent her turbulent night.

Kiara gulped, felt her cheeks heat.

He moved toward the door and even through the chemical lab smells, his scent wafted her way, that fresh masculine scent that had haunted her dreams.

Kiara took off ahead of him, striding for the wine cellar via the exit at the side of the house, rather than going down the corridor inside the house with him.

In the 1970s her grandfather had put in the extra door so they could take tourists into the cellar without having to lead them through the family's main residence. She needed a dose of fresh air before getting into the confines of the cellar with him. Needed to clear her head of sticky, unwanted thoughts, like, how good he smelled and how cute he looked without the scraggly beard. Take away the glasses and he'd be a knockout.

Why had she suggested going to the cellar? She'd just made up some job for him because once she'd peered into those mesmerizing brown eyes, she couldn't remember what she had planned for that day. This was
crazy, the way he robbed her mind of all rational thought.

“Hey.” Wyatt sprinted after her. “Wait up.”

She forced herself to slow down and let him catch up. She didn't want to slow down but running off and leaving him felt as if she was losing control again.

You
are
losing control. Snap out of it. Do whatever you have to in order to fend off this…this…
This what?

“Do you always walk like you're on your way to put out a fire?” he asked.

“I'm not a leisurely person. I don't do anything slowly.”

“Nothing?” he drawled, his tone full of innuendo.

“Nothing.”

“That's a shame.”

“What's a shame?”

“That you don't know how to slow down.”

“Slow is for slackers,” she retorted.

“Touché,” he said, “but slacking can be fun.”

“I don't do fun,” she said. “Fun is a waste of time. Fun is what causes trouble.”

“Trouble? How does fun cause trouble?”

“Idle hands…” she began.

“Enjoy themselves,” he finished.

Kiara frowned. “Life isn't about enjoyment.”

“No?” He sounded as if he were trying not to laugh at her. “What's it about?”

What was so funny? “No. It's about hard work and sacrifice and doing the right thing.”

“Hmm, doesn't sound like my kind of life.”

“Well, it's the life of a winery owner and if you don't
want to work hard, then you don't belong in the wine-making business.”

“And yet, the product you make is all about relaxing and having fun. Isn't that contradictory?”

“Life is full of paradoxes.”

“I don't think that's it at all,” he said.

She paused with her hand on the combination lock of the door that led to the cellar and turned to glance at him. “You know what? It really doesn't matter what you think.”

“No?” He sounded as if he was struggling not to laugh.

“No.”

He grinned at her, sunlight dappling through the leaves of the cottonwood tree planted next to the house. “Chicken.”

Her pulse skittered at the challenge in his eyes. She dialed in the combination to the lock and yanked open the cellar door. She rushed down the steps only to stop at the bottom when she saw that Maurice was showing a group of tourists around.

Kiara backed away, hooked her hand around Wyatt's elbow and pulled him up the steps with her and into the sunlight. “It's too crowded down there. Let's wait for them to finish,” she said, feeling oddly breathless.

He nodded, and seemed breathless too. She wondered if he felt as overwhelmed and off-kilter as she did. Maybe giving him a second chance had been a big mistake.

She realized then that she was still holding on to his elbow. She inhaled sharply, the sound a harsh rasp in the clear morning air. Hand trembling, she let go of him and moved to one side. They stood there a long moment,
saying nothing to each other and then, in hesitant increments, her gaze shifted to meet his and time spun out endlessly between them.

Wyatt's gaze stabbed hers.

She saw it in his eyes, the same wanting that was eating her up inside.

The door opened and Maurice appeared, herding the group of tourists out with him. Relief spread through Kiara. Ducking her head, she plunged down the steps to the safety of the cellar, her favorite place in the winery besides the lab.

Except, the minute the door closed behind Wyatt it occurred to her that she was now trapped down here alone with him—alone in the wine cellar, alone with the sweet smell of wine and seductive lighting and the hungry taste of lust.

He sauntered toward her in the musky dimness. Romantic Romano relatives had placed strategic recessed lighting in the ceiling to produce a cozy, dreamy atmosphere. It worked too well.

Wyatt stood with the indolent, loose-limbed sprawl of a man fully comfortable in his own skin. He had one arm slung over the edge of shelving, the crook of his elbow caught around the aged wooden bracket as if he were about to edge the structure out onto a dance floor. He cut an intriguing figure—tall, dark-haired, mysterious. His dangerous, full-lipped smile said,
c'mon let's play.

Kiara was pragmatic, sober, not given to flights of fancy, but in that moment, in this lighting, her imagination overtook her sensible nature.

His eyes, as languid and warm as the summer sun, landed on hers.

Immediately, she lowered her eyelids, acutely aware of her sudden labored breathing and the heated awareness warming her skin. She felt a rush, a push, a thrust of energy that curled inside her, both heavy and light. She couldn't help glancing at him again.

His gaze roved over her in a mesmerized inspection, making her feel completely naked. She raised a hand to her throat. His gaze returned to her face, hung on her lips.

“Aren't you going to offer me a taste of that Bretty wine?” he murmured, his soft smile causing her body to spark with a jumble of sensations, all of them disturbingly good. “Isn't that what we came down here for?”

Was it? She couldn't even remember.

Enchanted, she stared into the dark center of his eyes and she was lost to the insanity that had taken hold of her since the moment Wyatt had arrived at Bella Notte. She hauled in a deep breath.

He did the same.

That's when she understood he was feeling as overcome and off-balance as she, and he was wielding that cocky grin as a shield to hide his vulnerability. They studied each other in dual wonder. It seemed neither of them knew what to make of this surging chemistry.

“Kiara?” he whispered.

She licked her lips. “Um…yes, yes, the wine.”

Turning, she moved deeper into the cellar where the older wines were kept, some from as far back as when her great-grandfather had started the winery after prohibition. She felt Wyatt coming behind her through the catacombs of shelving and gleaming wine bottles, his big body taking up too much space.

What was this? How could she be so befuddled over
a total stranger? She always kept her emotions carefully wrapped up, a defense against her family's romanticism, a way to preserve her common sense. It took her a long time to make friends, even longer to trust someone intimately. Keeping her feelings in check kept her safe and sensible. It was the one thing that differentiated her from all the other Romanos. She prized her self-control and here it was,
poof,
gone. This thing—whatever it was—pledged a big thrill, yet at the same time promised serious trouble.

She stopped at the very back of the cellar and plucked a bottle of a red dessert wine, a generational precursor to Decadent Midnight, from the rack, the familiar heft of it a comfort in her hand, and then tugged a corkscrew from her apron pocket.

“May I?” Wyatt asked, extending his hand.

She was cornered between his body and the back wall of the cellar. No way out.

Reluctantly, she passed him the bottle and the corkscrew. In the hand off, their fingers brushed.

Kiara inhaled audibly. Slowly, she raised her head and met his stare. Time stretched into infinity.

She'd never experienced anything quite like this before. Because her family depended on her, because she was so absorbed in the science of winemaking, she'd always avoided serious romantic entanglements.

But this feeling, which clearly promised to turn her world upside-down, not only scared her, it excited her. What was wrong with her? She should just fire him again and be done with it.

Wyatt opened the wine, set the corkscrew on the shelf. “Do you have a glass?”

“Just drink from the bottle,” she said. “It's not good wine. You won't want more than a swallow.”

His dark-eyed gaze landed on hers and he took a sip, studying her down the long, smooth length of the bottle. He held the wine in his mouth for a long moment before he swallowed it down.

“You're right,” he said, “it's very faint, but the undertones are dark, heavy.”

“It could just be a case of earthy terroir,” she said.

“It's Brett,” he confirmed, “but then some people might be willing to accept a dark taste in exchange for an organic wine.”

The complexity of his palate stunned her. “You can tell it's organic?”

“It goes with the territory. Brett is not dangerous yeast and it's quite common in organic vineyards. It simply becomes a matter of taste.”

“Being a die-hard romantic, my great-grandfather believed in organic cultivation, but he had a difficult time keeping his wine tasty because of all the bacteria and bugs in organic wine. Later, Grandfather tried to keep up the family tradition, but as Bella Notte struggled to make a superior wine, he reluctantly turned to using scientific methods of grape cultivation. It saved our winery.”

“But now,” Wyatt said, “the cultural climate is changing, organic products are big again and there's a backlash against science interfering with nature.”

“Yes. I want to supply my customer base with the products they want without eschewing science. It's a delicate balance. One I've yet to strike.”

He leaned closer. “In school, you learned a reductionist approach.”

“How do you know that?” She marveled at his understanding. He knew far more about wine than he'd initially let on.

“Because it's the nature of science. To reduce things down to their individual components and focus on each element separately, but there are limits to reductionism. This day and age it's smart to have a holistic approach to winemaking. But you're conflicted about that too. On the one hand, there's your logical, scientific mind that likes putting things into boxes. But on the other hand, there's your innate knowing—the instinctual part of you that you fight to deny that knows the truth. Face it, Kiara, there are some things in life that just can't be quantified or qualified.”