So where was she weak? Probably not in her finances. She owned a now-working winery, a successful Jeep tour company, which she had built herself and which impressed him, and she owned a house in Uptown. He found himself intrigued.
Right this moment he had the best of two worlds; the enjoyment his business always brought him along with the excitement of the hunt.
Carly felt Quint’s intent in wave after wave of sensation, the way his blue eyes glittered, the way his gaze caressed her face, her neck, her shoulders, even her hands, the way he seemed to strain forward at times, leaning toward her, almost pressed into the table. Any of these gestures made her feel naked and reminded her of all the sex she’d had with him and how she wanted more.
He had to go back to Phoenix.
The sooner the better.
She concentrated on her meal instead of her desire for Quint. She cut a slice of
coq au vin
, dipping it in the wine sauce. The flavors melted on her tongue. She took a sip of wine. For this moment, paradise existed right now, on earth, at a table in a French restaurant. Yes, focusing on her chicken instead of Quint was an excellent strategy. She closed her eyes and savored.
“I’ve seen that look before,” he said.
She opened her eyes and gasped. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Of course he did.
She decided to ignore his suggestive comment. “The wine is so good and the chicken delicious.”
“
Same look
.”
He was choosing to be bad.
“You behave,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“You know why. We’re having dinner then you’re going back to Phoenix.”
“Tonight?” He cut a slice of filet mignon and piled on a wicked, cheese crusted slab of potato au gratin. “No, I wouldn’t think about leaving just yet. I want to see the property tomorrow.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, that won’t do at all.”
“Why?” he slid the filet and potato into his mouth.
Her gaze fell to his lips—those sensual, kissed-her-everywhere lips—and shook her head. A resigned sigh slipped from her throat. She lifted her chin. “Because there’s no reason for you to see my property. It’s not for sale. There would be no point.”
“Okay.” He sipped his cabernet.
“Okay? Just like that?” His sudden acquiescence set warning signs flashing in her head. What was he up to?
He settled his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. He looked at her, his gaze level but his eyes hooded. “I’ll offer five million.”
She nearly choked on a mouthful of carrots. She’d had the property appraised and because it existed outside of Sedona proper, halfway to the Verde Valley in fact, it wasn’t considered prime real estate. “That’s more than twice what it’s worth and you haven’t even been inside yet.”
“I drove by yesterday. Five million will do quite well.”
The chicken lost some of its savor. “Quint, this dinner has led you to a misapprehension. The vineyard isn’t for sale. You could offer six and I wouldn’t sell.”
He took another sip of wine and narrowed his gaze once more. He was assessing her now, weighing, analyzing and measuring. “Are you that attached to a property that you admit you had no connection to until a few months ago?”
“The truth is, I don’t know yet.”
“Well, think what you could do with the money. You could move to France for a year or more. Tell you what, let’s make it seven.” He narrowed his gaze once more and sipped his wine.
“Seven?”
Oh, God, seven.
When she’d inherited the winery as her cousin’s sole heir, she’d also inherited a tidy two million dollar nest egg. As it turned out, her cousin had been a miser and what should have been spent on the winery over the years had been put into CD’s and left there.
Aghast at the state of her family’s legacy when she first toured the winery, she’d spent a full million to refurbish the vineyard, the house and the winery proper. In addition, she’d hired a manager well-versed in viticulture to tend the grapes and make wine for Red Canyon Vineyards.
Quint’s offer astounded her. Seven million for a property she had refurbished for little more than a tenth of that figure? She didn’t know what to say.
He remained silent. He ate his steak in slow measured bites and sampled his cabernet in equal degrees of quiet observation.
She glanced out the window.
The restaurant fronted a courtyard emblazoned with colorful Mexican tiles. She could hear the splash of water from the large central fountain. The sycamore trees stood like proud guardians in the summer air, the leaves dancing in the breeze.
She settled her elbow on the table and let her chin rest in her hand but she still looked outside. “Seven,” she whispered. “That would be something.” She would be a fool to turn down seven.
“It could mean a different life,” he suggested, “or the one you have but better.”
She turned to him and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Quint. Even though I don’t yet have a meaningful connection to the winery, I just know this isn’t the time for me to sell. Red Canyon Vineyards is part of my family history. My ancestors were winemakers in Germany before they pioneered in this area. Besides, I haven’t even moved in and I’m looking forward to furnishing my new house.
“Maybe I’ll feel differently at some point down the road, but I don’t want to sell to you or anyone right now.”
“I may not be willing to offer seven million in the morning.”
She chuckled. “I can’t say that I care. Maybe I should but I don’t.”
He sipped his wine again. “Would you at least show me the property? Maybe I’ve got the wrong view of this.”
She searched his eyes. Did he believe what he said or did he use this kind of ploy to keep a deal in play? No doubt the latter.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She resumed eating her dinner. She didn’t want more memories of him, especially not at her winery. The taste of the chicken, however, distracted her from the stress of the conversation. The chef was a genius.
He cut another thick slice of filet. Silence fell for a few minutes until Quint whispered, “I’m seeing that face again.”
She gasped. “Would you stop?”
He chuckled. “You’re too pretty to be owning a winery I want to buy. It’s not fair of you.”
She tilted her head. “I feel so bad for you.”
He chuckled again. “This meal is perfect. Thank you for directing us here.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Carly, I know I don’t have the right to ask, but would you show me your winery anyway, as a favor?”
This also had to be a ploy, to ask a favor. Where did this place future obligation? Did a favor bind him to her, or the other way around?
She wanted to say no. The words rose to her lips, but he was so handsome sitting across from her that without warning, memories flooded her mind of all the ways he’d tended to her body.
Her stomach tightened into a knot of desire so powerful she struggled to breathe.
Tell him no.
Her gaze fell once more to his lips. She had loved the night she’d spent with him and though she had no intention of repeating the event, her entire being strained toward him. She wanted just a little more time with him before she packed him off to Phoenix.
Maybe it was a mistake,
surely
it was a
mistake. “All right. If that’s what you want. But I’m not selling.”
The minute she saw his self-satisfied smile, she knew she’d made another rookie mistake.
The next day, Carly met Quint at the winery. She wore her tour guide outfit, basic blue jeans, a long-sleeved light blue heavy cotton shirt, suede gloves tucked into her belt, and Timberline shoes. She left her hat in her Acura.
She introduced him to John Young, her winery manager. Quint surprised her by asking a host of questions, which John answered in simple terms…at first. But the more Quint exhibited his knowledge of the winemaking process, the more elaborate John’s responses became. Soon, John’s enthusiasm took over like a train gathering speed until he launched into a rhapsodic speech about the new grape crusher he’d installed.
Carly understood a little more about Quint’s abilities. She suspected he could get a scorpion to talk about the fascinating aspects of desert nightlife and which insects tasted best. She felt duly warned yet intrigued at the same time.
“Young’s a good man,” he stated as they left the winery and crossed to the house. “But I suspect you already know that.”
“Yeah, I do. When I interviewed him, with just a few pointed questions, he became the Superman of the grape world.” She opened the front door to the house, punched in the alarm code then led him inside the empty dwelling.
He whistled. “You’ve got some great bones here. I love all the arches. This is a terrific foyer and you’ve put a beautiful wood on the floor.”
“I had an excellent architect and an experienced builder. I also have a good friend who’s been working on the interior design for me as well. Grace Hartley. She’s such a sweetheart and boy does she have an eye. We’ll be going over the final details soon. It won’t be long before we start putting in orders for the furniture and drapes. Then I can move in.”
“You must be looking forward to that.”
“I am. It’ll be different. I’ve lived in the Uptown house for years. I know I’ll miss the location. I sort of like being in the middle of things.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I’ll bet you do. You’re the kind of man who’s never far from the action.”
Maybe she could have chosen her words better, but before she knew what happened, Quint pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Surprise held her immobile for a few seconds after which her traitorous senses became fixed on savoring his lips, his tongue, and that citrus-laced musky smell of his.
All those exciting memories raced through her. He groaned and pulled her closer so that she felt his erection pressed into her abdomen. So help her, she wanted more. Now.
Reality soon took charge, however. She recalled the danger he presented and drew away. When he closed the distance once more, she planted her hands on his chest. “Not gonna happen,
Mr. Barron
.”
His lids had gone half-mast.
“Are you always this ready to go?” she asked, amused.
He shook his head, his gaze dropping to her lips. He was so handsome. “You’ve got me worked up.”
“How is that possible?” she asked keeping a firm pressure on his chest.
“Just look at you,” he responded. He dipped his head toward her. His nostrils flared. “Beyond that, you know what you smell like? The way ancient seas would smell, like salty ocean air, pungent seaweed, mixed with a floral of some kind. Every time I get close to you, it’s like a five-alarm fire.”
“Ancient seas? Buildings consumed in flames?”
His voice roughened. “Every damn time.”
Now he was using his words to get
her
worked up.
He shifted his hands and what do you know her arms gave way a little. He leaned closer until his breath was on her cheek. His tongue streaked over her skin.
This wouldn’t have been significant if she hadn’t already slept with him. But she knew all too well what his tongue felt like on just about every part of her body. He’d been generous like that.
Very
generous.
The simple trip out to the winery started piling up monsoon clouds and threatening lightning and thunder. Her hands turned Benedict Arnold and slid north, up around his neck. She knew his neck really well. She’d sucked on it until he’d come. When had that been? Around three in the morning? Without thinking about what she was doing, she settled in on the citrusy column of his throat now. He groaned so loud that it echoed down the long empty hallway.
“I remember,” he whispered.
* * * * * * * * *
Quint slid his hands low and caressed her buttocks. He was so close to coming and all he’d done was lick her face and now she suckled his neck.
Who was in charge, anyway?
He struggled to gain control of himself but her mouth, so familiar, knew how to work him.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “We should throttle down.”
“You started it,” she said, but she drew back and blinked up at him.
He’d seen that look over and over the night they’d been together—passion-drenched. He closed his eyes trying not to remember. He shook his head then looked at her again. God she was beautiful. He released her waist and turned just a little to stare through the living room window into the central courtyard beyond.
His heart thumped and his mind swam with strange ideas that involved keeping her pinned to his side. But this was crazy, this sudden inexplicable longing. Why the hell did she affect him this way, making him think not just of today but of
many days, months even,
things he never thought about, never considered beyond a snort and a laugh.
He drew in a deep breath. He was a sensible man. He prided himself on his ability to reason. He reasoned now. He didn’t do long-term relationships. He kept his love-life simple—sex, done. Women were another species, which he enjoyed, but he’d learned to keep them in their proper place…bed and nowhere else.
The longing passed.
He felt better, more like himself, but he still wanted her…yeah, like now.
He met her gaze again, those glittering brown eyes full of desire.
Her lips worked at a smile. She cocked her head. “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Was she taunting him?
Was she taunting him?
His body responded to the challenge like the recoil of a whip. He took a step toward her. “You might want to be careful about the darts you pitch at me.” He took another step toward her, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders hunched.
She jumped back. “Okay. I get it.”
He turned away from her and took some more deep breaths. “How many square feet in this house?” He wondered if he’d ever feel normal again.
“A little under five thousand.”
“Planning on a big family?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“But no husband in sight?”