Back in His Bed: Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks! / Unfinished Business with the Duke / How to Win the Dating War. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
the comb through one last tangle and stood up straight again, the blood-rush from her head making her wobble a bit as she did so. Jack crooked a finger at her and gave her a look that made her knees wobble for real. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and lose herself in him again.
What was she thinking? Less than twelve hours after becoming the majority owner of a winery—not to mention the fact she was the vintner as well—and she was already considering shirking her responsibilities because Jack had a magnetism that was near impossible to resist. And what would happen when Jack went back to the city? She’d be left with nothing but a batch of ruined wine.
Jack was temporary. He wasn’t for her—she’d learned that the hard way. The sharp stab of regret she felt at that thought only confirmed what she’d admitted yesterday. Jack did still have a piece of her heart. And she was setting herself up for another massive heartbreak.
She must have stood there too long, arguing with herself, because Jack tossed back the covers and crossed the room quickly to catch her hand. He gave a small tug, but she resisted. His eyebrows went up in question.
“What are you doing, Jack?”
That grin of his would be her undoing one day. “Isn’t it obvious? Bringing you back to bed.”
The fact he was gloriously naked wasn’t helping either. But she couldn’t let either his grin or his body distract her. “No. I mean what are we doing? You and me. Here. Like this.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Do we have to analyze it?”
“Yeah, I think we do.” She stepped back and sat on her vanity stool. “I have to admit, my head is still spinning.”
“Then why ruin that feeling?”
“Because…Because…” She couldn’t find the right words. “All things considered, I think we should quit while we’re ahead.”
“Meaning?”
Meaning this is a dangerous game I don’t want to play. Because I’ll lose. “Meaning, I’m glad we’ve managed to call a ceasefire of sorts, and that we’re not sniping at each other anymore. It will make things much easier in the future and last night was great…” She was rambling now, not making a lot of sense, and she knew it. The look Jack was giving her wasn’t helping any.
She was making a mess of this, and in another minute or two she’d end up making a fool of herself. She grabbed her clothes and put them on quickly. “Look, um, I really need to get to the winery.”
“Brenna…” Jack started.
She backed toward the door, hating the feeling of retreat. Lord, I’m such a wuss. But she desperately needed some distance to make sense of this situation and figure out what she was going to say to him. Without babbling next time. “We’ll talk later, okay? There’s, um, plenty of food and stuff in the fridge. Just make yourself at home. Bye.”
Jack called her name as she bolted, the exasperation in his voice very clear even from a distance.
But retreat—no matter how cowardly or graceless—really was the best option right now. Otherwise she was going to make a big fool of herself over him.
Again.
Jack was tempted to go after Brenna, but the scaredrabbit look in her eyes kept him standing still. No need to back her into a corner right now.
He’d been awake less than an hour and his day was already turning surreal. Brenna certainly had a way of spinning his world off its axis. He’d forgotten what it was like, but oddly enough he didn’t feel half as frustrated as he figured he should. Instead, dealing with Brenna seemed to have blown the cobwebs out of his brain, energizing him.
Her retreat this morning—whatever had triggered it—had left his body still burning for her. But now that he wasn’t thinking only with his libido, he realized Bren might have a point. The events of the past few days had his head spinning, too, and maybe he should decide what, exactly, his next plan would be.
Amante Verano wouldn’t be his problem much longer, but what about Bren?
He really hadn’t been awake long enough for his brain to be working properly. He needed coffee. And a shower and a shave.
Then he’d spend some time in Max’s office, as he’d originally planned.
That would give Bren time to calm down and give him time to decide what he was going to do about her.
She was going to ruin this entire batch of wine, and it would be all Jack’s fault. Brenna checked her numbers again, willing them to make sense. It would be nice if something made sense today.
In the safety of her office, she’d hoped to find the answers she needed. Three hours later she still didn’t have a clear idea of what she wanted, much less what she thought was the right thing to do. The last couple of days with Jack had awakened so many of her old feelings, but new ones were fighting for recognition as well. On the one hand, it seemed as if they were simply picking up where they’d left off, but at the same time it felt different. Like a new start.
But it probably wasn’t. This was just an interlude, a hiatus from real life, her mind kept telling her. The idea of starting again, starting over, was just wishful thinking on her part.
Of course none of this was helping her get any work done. For the umpteenth time the scribbles on the paper in front of her swam out of focus and Jack’s blue eyes filled her mind. “Damn it.” The curse bounced off the fermentation tanks and echoed around the room. This was ridiculous. She glanced over her shoulder, checking the door to the fermentation room was shut firmly, and gave in to her frustration.
Childishly, she flung the notebook to the floor and stomped on it. Then she jumped on it. It didn’t help anything, but she felt a tiny bit better after the outburst. She blew her breath out in a huff and picked up the crumpled notebook to smooth out the pages.
“Focus, Brenna, focus,” she muttered.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Jack’s amused voice spun her around, and she found him leaning against the door and biting back a smile. His hands were in the back pockets of his battered jeans, causing the gray T-shirt he wore to strain over his broad shoulders. From the scuffed work boots to the lock of black hair that fell over his forehead the entire effect was enough to make her heart skip a beat.
This was the Jack she remembered.
She cleared her throat and reached for the pencil stuck through her ponytail. “Just making some notes.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “With your feet?”
So he’d seen her little temper tantrum. Great. As if it wasn’t awkward enough right this second, she also got to add “caught acting like a three-year-old” to her list of cringe-worthy topics of conversation. “It’s traditional,” she bluffed. “Secret winemaking superstitions handed down through the generations. It’s essential to the wine mojo.”
Jack nodded sagely. “I see. You don’t stomp the grapes anymore, so you stomp the office supplies instead. Interesting.”
She straightened her spine. “I don’t question your business methods…”
His hands came up in appeasement. “Not questioning your methods at all.”
She held the notebook close to her chest like a shield, and wrapped her hands tightly around the edges to steady them. “Not to sound, um, rude, but what brings you down here?”
“A sudden interest in deceptively simple Chardonnays?”
There was that smile. The one that usually meant he was thinking about…Her knees wobbled a little, but she gripped the edges of her notebook tighter and forcefully steadied herself. “That isn’t Chardonnay.”
“Huh? Well, I’m not really—”