Grapes of Wrath (Billionaires' Secrets Book 2) (15 page)

Buzzing on Clara’s strong coffee, Susannah left the house with increased determination to find Ignacio and sort out this mess. She spotted him striding among some older rows of Cabernet, so she abandoned the car and struck out across the field.

Chapter Thirteen

“M
r. Alvarez!” She tried to sound friendly.

He turned and a scowl darkened his face at the sight of her. “Haven’t you done enough harm?”

“That’s why I want to talk to you. There’s no reason for you all to be at odds.”

“Why not? Our entire existence is based on a falsehood. One
I
initiated, as my ‘wife’ so acutely points out.” Bitterness darkened his voice.

“You did what you thought was right.”

“Bah. I did what my pride dictated. I didn’t want people to know that my daughter had a baby out of wedlock. She was right to be afraid to tell me she was pregnant. I would
not
have been understanding. So, see? I am largely responsible for her death, as well.” His silvery-gray brows lowered over steely eyes, challenging her to find the silver lining in
that.

Susannah hesitated. “Your wife loves you very much.” She spoke softly.

He peered at her. “My wife? The woman I married to preserve what was left of my family honor. If anything, I exploited her. Hired her for a new role, much as your boss
Mr. Tarrant Hardcastle
hired you for yours.” He spat the name like a sour pit.

He shook his head. “I promised my first wife—as she lay dying after giving birth to Marisa—that I’d never marry again. Yet I did, for purely practical purposes. To maintain my dignity. Clara has every right to hate me for stealing her life.”

Susannah dug her toe into the soft dirt. “But that marriage of convenience grew into love.” She looked down as she said it. Not wanting to embarrass Ignacio with the sentiment and drive him further away.

After the second cup of coffee, she’d asked Clara point blank if they were a husband and wife in every sense. Clara had colored and admitted that, yes, they did enjoy “intimacy.” That over the years she’d almost totally forgotten the businesslike arrangement she’d first agreed to.

“What do you know of love?” Ignacio stared her down. “You, a girl who wanders the world, flitting from one place to another at whim. What do you know of family? Of a legacy carefully nourished for over a century, now shattered?”

“But it doesn’t have to be shattered.” She couldn’t help stepping forward. How did he know so much about her? Had Amado spoken of her? “Amado is your son because you raised him. He’s also your grandson, and your biological heir through Marisa.”

Ignacio lifted his broad chin. “We all know exactly where we stand, thanks to you and your puppet master, Mr. Tarrant Hardcastle.” His eyes narrowed. “And Tierra de Oro would
never
consider doing business with the man who casually ruined my daughter and destroyed her life.”

Susannah flinched away from his fierce emotion. It hadn’t occurred to her that Ignacio would be dead set against doing business with Tarrant. Maybe she was too used to working for a company where profits trumped all other considerations.

“We’d be a lot better off if you’d leave Tierra de Oro and
never
return.”

He turned and walked away.

Susannah stood looking after him, heart pounding. She blew out a breath. It probably would have been better if she’d never come.

Who was she kidding? Of course it would have.

She intentionally left her car behind and stomped along the rows of vines back to the winery, pain streaking through her. Maybe it was time to show some spine and leave them alone. Let Tarrant fire her if he must.

Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. “Hello.”

“Meet me at the winery in half an hour.” Click.

Amado hung up immediately after issuing the brusque command. So different from the tender and thoughtful lover of last night.

Irritation at his high-handed attitude dissolved into sadness that trickled down her spine. Everything was so wonderful when it was just the two of them, alone in the dark when the world faded away into obscurity. In his arms, she transformed into a stronger, more daring and demanding person.

In the harsh light of day, however, she was left with an ache that wouldn’t go away. A hunger that couldn’t be satisfied by food. She’d never felt so alone.

She squinted in the midday sun. She was right outside the big winery building already, so she decided to go in and poke around.

Amado strode along the road from the house, steam pouring off him. His gallop in the hills had done nothing to ease the tension creeping through his limbs. He’d showered and scrubbed and changed, trying to wash off any emotion that still lingered from last night along with the sticky-sweet smell of sex.

But already he craved Susannah again. Not just her lithe, sensuous body and long silky hair, but her warm curiosity, her thoughtful insight, even that damn wrinkle between her slim, arched brows.

Part of him wanted to send her packing with nothing. No deal, no wine, no contracts and no further connection between Tierra de Oro and Hardcastle Enterprises and its big-shot owner.

But another part of him wanted to hold her tight in his arms, kiss her until her lips flushed dark, make love to her until she cried out with the force of her release.

The second part was winning.

He shoved open the ten-foot-high oak door and marched into the winery building. The tasting room, where he expected Susannah to wait for him, was empty.

So was the barrel room. Several wines were being transferred from vats to new barrels today, but there was no sign of activity.

He walked toward the crushing room. The busiest part of the winery at harvest time, when it welcomed box after box of fresh hand-picked grapes. Right now, however, the big crushing machines were silent, waiting for the grapes to mature.

A burst of laughter drew him through the empty room and out into the blinding sunshine.

A group huddled around the upturned barrels where his employees gathered for breaks. In their midst sat Susannah, incongruously dressed in a pair of white overalls liberally stained with fresh red grape juice.

She stopped laughing when she saw him. “Hi, Amado. Sofia and Joaquin are showing me how to drink
maté.”

Sofia passed Susannah the steaming gourd of brewed tea. Susannah lifted it to her mouth and took a sip through the
bombilla.

He ignored the heat that crept through him as he watched her lips close delicately around the familiar metal straw.

She glanced up at him with those dark, yearning eyes. “Would you like some?”

He strode forward and snatched the gourd. Sipped, his mind distracted by the innocent pout of her lips.

The
maté
tasted mild. They must have poured several cups of hot water over the leaves by now. Not that he needed a jolt of energy. If anything, he had far too much.

He passed the gourd to Joaquin and frowned at Susannah’s getup.

‘Tomas showed me how to clean the inside of a vat. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t slow them down too much.”

Big, friendly Tomas laughed. “Slow us down? You should hire her full-time. She’s a pro.”

Amado nodded. The sight of Susannah in those white workers’ overalls was having a very disturbing effect on him. He wondered what she wore underneath. The red wine stains matched her mobile lips, and the dark spots of color high on her cheeks.

“Susannah and I have work to do,” he muttered.

He turned and strode back into the building, gratified to hear the sound of Susannah’s rubber boots squeaking after him.

How did she have such power over him? A tide of exasperation rose in his blood along with the throb of desire. He’d woken this morning in a lather of lust and contentment, wrapped like a swaddled babe in Susannah’s arms.

He could have stayed there all day, listening to her heartfelt opinions and basking in the glow of curiosity and enthusiasm that lit her eyes.

It took a tremendous amount of self-control to extricate himself, and even then he hadn’t dared to wake her in case those big, dark eyes flickering open undermined his last ounce of will.

He flung open the door to his office.

“I should probably change. I might get wine on something.”

“This is a winery. It won’t be a problem.” He tried not to look at the way the white cotton pulled tight over her slim thighs as she sat.

“I really enjoyed seeing how they move the wine from a vat to the barrels. Your staff are experts. And they love their work. Where do you find them?”

He rustled through some papers. “I offer internships to students of winemaking from various schools around the world. Some of them have turned into my best employees. And of course, hard-working local people are the backbone of our business.”

He glanced up. Susannah sat in her chair, glowing. Was she not even angry that he’d left her alone in the barn?

She didn’t seem at all put out. She looked quite at home in
his
winery, laughing and drinking
maté
with his workers like she’d been here for years.

He found he wanted a reaction from her. Any reaction. “Do you interrupt the work at every winery you visit, or only when you’ve slept with the owner?”

Her mouth fell open. Then snapped shut. “I...they offered to let me help. If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. And they said they always drink
maté
in the afternoon. I’ve seen people drink it before, and always wanted to try it. There’s something about sharing the drink that makes it so different from the way we consume most things these days.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’d imagine an American would think it unhygienic.” She shrugged. “I think it’s beautiful.”

He ignored the sensation tightening his chest.
What a load of sentimental rubbish.
“You should advise Tarrant Hardcastle to open the world’s most exclusive
maté
cafe.”

She laughed. “That wouldn’t be the same at all.”

“Still, now that you’ve looked around, I imagine you have some ideas for how to improve our winery.”

He stared at her, challenging her to find fault with the business he’d nourished with his life’s blood.

She licked her lips, which sent an unfortunate flare of heat to his groin. “The operation itself is state of the art. Obviously, a lot of thought went into the layout and equipment, and the staff seem ideal.” She hesitated.

“But?” His voice emerged as a growl.

“I could make some suggestions to enhance your marketing. Improving the labeling and adding focus to the brand impression, if you’re interested.” She fiddled with a button on the front of her overalls—his overalls—looking nervous.

“Oh, I’m
very
interested.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Well, it’s just that the label doesn’t suggest a real identity for the vineyard, or for the wine.”

“It has our name on it.”

“Yes, but marketing wine today is a lot about image. One image says young, hip and fresh, and another says ancient and venerable.”

Amado drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “And what image springs to mind when you visualize Tierra de Oro?”

That wrinkle appeared between her brows. She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then, she lowered her head and leveled that steady brown gaze at him. “Simplicity.”

He scowled. “Simplicity? We may seem like simple nobodies to an office in New York, but I assure you that both our wines and our operations are highly complex.”

She leaned forward. “That’s not what I mean at all.” She picked up a bottle of 2015 Syrah that was sitting on the desk. “There’s magic here, in the light, in the mountains, in the fact that you’ve tended and cherished the same land for one hundred years. This rather busy label with a generic pattern of grape leaves doesn’t convey that.”

He tapped his fingernails together. Arched a brow. Tried to drag his focus from her closed mouth. “And what exactly do you suggest?”

“A lighter color, maybe unbleached paper, with a pale graphic image of the mountains, perhaps. Crisp writing.”

He could visualize it. Not bad.

“And your winery building is dramatic and beautiful.”

Amado crossed his arms over this chest, unable to resist a swell of pride. He’d designed the building himself, with the help of a close friend who’d studied architecture. “It was built using the ancient stonemasonry techniques of the Huarpe people.”

“So, it’s something unique and special to Tierra de Oro. It expresses the character of the vineyard and its wines. You could print an image of it along the bottom of the label.”

Amado frowned. “Hmm. I see your point.”

“And you could extend it to other items for guests at the vineyard. T-shirts, tote bags, perhaps even a simple wine rack and items of that nature.”