The Expectant Secretary (6 page)

“Why haven't you married, Brody?” She turned the tables on him.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Haven't found the right lady.”

“What about Gail?” She could have kicked herself for asking. But at the same time her hands clenched the steering wheel, her gaze sharpened on the road ahead as she waited for his answer.

“Gail?” His brow furrowed. “Gail Harken? You remember her?”

How could she forget? “She was awfully determined to get a gold band on your left hand.”

“Puppy love. Lost touch with her after college. Then I ran into her last year.”

Emotions she'd long ago forgotten clogged her
throat. Swallowing hard, she ventured, “You mean, you still see her?”

“Occasionally. She's an investment banker in Sydney. We've done a couple of deals together.” He scratched his temple. “She hasn't married yet. Which surprised me because she was so gung ho back in college to get married.”

Jillian had an urge to put her hands over her ears. She didn't want to know more. Jealousy pounded through her veins.
It doesn't matter. He's not the man for you, Jillian. Forget him.

But she knew she couldn't. She felt the attraction pulling her toward him like a powerful magnet. Squaring her shoulders, she focused on the humiliation he'd caused her juggling all his women. She remembered the heartache in her marriage. Hadn't she already made one foolish mistake in that arena? She wouldn't make another.

“You should get married,” she stated, her words firm, her voice with a slight quiver. “Maybe Gail is the one for you. Waiting back in Australia.”

Maybe then, if he was married and an ocean away again, she could forget him once and for all.

 

Brody felt nothing inside, only a deep well of emptiness. It was the same overwhelming, engulfing sensation he'd felt the day Jillian had left him all those years before. Now, when he looked toward the future, he saw only a vacuum, sucking him in, swallowing him whole.

Jillian wanted him to marry Gail. She wasn't interested in him anymore. Wasn't that clear? Why was it so hard for him to believe? After all, she'd left him,
returned to the States and married James. She
chose
James over him. Plain and simple.

Get that through your thick skull.

Why couldn't he walk away? End this torment? Because there was still something in the way she looked at him, some sparkle, a fissure of heat. He felt it. He knew it. But what could he do about it?

“So you recommend marriage, do you?” he asked, almost flippantly, then regretted his question, remembering her new status as a widow.
Very sensitive, Fortune.

Before he could take back his words, she answered, “For some. Not for others.”

Something in her tone set his nerves on end. “For you?”

“I'm the ‘marriage is forever' kind of woman.”

His gut clenched. Her marriage to James would never be over. Not even death could sever that bond. Venturing into dangerous territory, he asked, “For me?”

She shot him a glance, then looked back at the highway. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you love the woman you intend to marry and plan to be faithful.”

“I did once.” He wasn't speaking of Gail. She'd never been the one. Jillian was. Always had been.

But not anymore. She was a widow, married in her mind and heart to a man who was dead. How could he compete?

Years ago, Jillie had told him about her high school sweetheart. James. Just the name made Brody's hand fold into a fist. He'd thought the bloke sounded like
a jerk, always taking Jillie for granted, always late for their dates, always telling her what to do, what to wear, who to speak with. But Brody had swallowed his comments and tried to show her through his own actions how a man should treat a woman. How a man should love a woman. But she'd left before he'd finished.

She'd gone back to James.

Jealousy spiked inside him once more. “James must have changed or treated you better. Is that why you chose—married him?”

She snapped her head in his direction. Turbulent emotions swirled like a stormy ocean in the depths of her blue-green eyes. When she looked back toward the road, he realized what he'd done, how far he'd gone.

“Forget I asked that, Jillie.” He stared out the passenger window at the sea of green grass. The gentle waves in the contour of the land reminded him of home. Gulping his coffee, he let the scalding liquid punish his tongue and throat.

“I married James,” she said, her voice tight, “because I…”

He finished her answer in his own mind—love.

What the hell was love, anyway? The question had haunted him for so long. He'd always believed he'd loved Jillie. But had he? Was it love or obsession for something he couldn't obtain?

When it came to family, he understood the dynamics of love, of caring for others, of sacrificing for them. He'd given up lucrative job offers to help with the family business. His family needed him. And he loved them.

When it came to women, he was clueless. He thought he'd understood love. But when Jillie left suddenly, without a goodbye, without an explanation, she'd jumbled his beliefs into a confusing array of thoughts and questions. He figured if he could understand it, then he could move on with his life. Leave her behind.

Isn't that what he wanted?

“How did you know it was true love?” He held up a hand in defense. “I don't mean that to be rude. To question your love for your—” he couldn't say husband “—for James. But how did you know what you felt for him wasn't lust? Wasn't something besides love?”

For a long while she didn't speak. He watched the muscles in her throat work up and down as she fought some battle within. With a shaky hand, she smoothed her hair back, making fine, golden strands sparkle in the sunlight that slanted through the windshield.

“I really don't want to… I can't discuss this with you. It's too painful.”

Regret gripped him. In that moment he realized that his need, his longing had never gone away. It was buried inside him, smothered, but still alive, beating, striving for daylight. “Right. I understand.”

It had been impossible for him to discuss his own heartache over Jillian when she'd bailed out of Winslow. She'd loved James. Still did. And she'd never loved Brody. Never would.

Y
ou didn't lie, Jillian.

But she hadn't told the truth, either. Not exactly.

She closed her car door, already exhausted from the drive that had felt much longer than it actually took. The home and winery sat squarely on a prime piece of real estate that bordered the north side of the Fortunes' Double Crown Ranch. Taking a slow, calming breath, she absorbed the clean Indian-summer air, the warm breeze, the scent of gardenias.

Let Brody think you loved James. Then maybe he'll give you the space and peace you need.

“What d'you think?” Brody asked, meeting her at the hood of her Camry and facing the home in front of them.

It looked as perfect as a well-loved dollhouse. Hot-pink bougainvillea garnished the pristine white picket fence that skirted the sun-yellow clapboard house. Wedgwood-blue trim fringed the roof, windows and porch. Two wicker rockers welcomed guests at the front door. Ethereal blue flowers overflowed the window boxes like miniature waterfalls.

“It's not what I expected,” she said, falling into step with him on the gravel path and heading toward the house.

“And what was that?” he asked.

She kept her gaze on the path, away from Brody. But she couldn't miss the way the sunlight shone on his black hair, catching in the slight waves. “Oh, I don't know,” she said, trying to sound casual when her heart beat chaotically. “Something from the nineteenth century maybe. Not dilapidated, just patriarchal.” She altered her voice to sound arrogant. “Pretentious, if you know what I mean. You know, wine barrels, snifters and cigars. Musty.”

He laughed, the sound full of life, pulling her gaze back to him. His smile shot frissons of heat through her.

“You're in for a pleasant surprise, then,” he said. “Come on.” Putting his hand at the small of her back, he guided her up the steps, past the fragrant gardenia bushes.

Her nerve endings, electrified by his touch, reaffirmed her reasons for misleading him when she'd said it was too painful to discuss her marriage to James.

She'd suddenly realized that Brody's betrayal of her love was infinitely more painful and heartbreaking than all she'd endured with James. It didn't seem right, but it was true. Anger and frustration tormented her. She couldn't turn off her attraction to Brody. Nor could she deny the old fears and longings stirring inside her once more. Heaven help her!

 

“We have eighty acres under crop production.” Ellie Shelton spoke with short, clipped diction as she squinted against the setting sun at the rows of vines carefully fastened to wood and wire trellises that crisscrossed the land.

The brilliant hues of evening shone on her faded red hair, which held more gray strands than what had once been vivid auburn. Pride as well as age lined Ellie's face.

Together the Sheltons had built their dream. And they faced their future hand in hand. Strange, perplexing emotions welled in Jillian's chest. She could barely concentrate on the discussion to take notes for Brody. Envy saturated every fiber of her being. She wondered what it would be like to grow old with someone, to know their thoughts as well as her own.

She'd wanted a marriage built on mutual respect and formidable love. It was her own fault that her dreams had crumbled. She should never have married James Tanner. She should have waited for the right man.

For Brody.

No! He was not the man for her. He had betrayed her when she'd been most vulnerable—when she'd opened her heart and exposed her soul. Obviously he hadn't cared, hadn't treasured her or their relationship the way she had. It had been just another acquisition, another conquest to him. Just as his business deals were now. At least he hadn't won—they hadn't made love. And she'd learned a valuable lesson—she'd never put herself in that position again.

She wanted a man to cherish her. If she wanted one at all.

“Let's get on to the wine cellar, Ellie.” Deke Shelton tugged on his wife's hand. His smile lines creased his sun-tanned face. Despite his wavy silver hair that glinted in the waning sunlight, he looked like an eager little boy.

“In time.” Ellie held her ground. “If Mr. Fortune is considering our property, he needs to know how our operation works. We can sample our wines later.”

Jillian tensed. She'd thought they would only look over the property. She didn't think she'd be asked to sample wines. Being pregnant, she knew there was no way. But how would she explain her abstention? Her stomach lurched with sudden nerves.

Oblivious to her troubles, Brody studied the fields laid out in front of them. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. A tick in his jaw alerted Jillian to the tension mounting inside him. What had him so concerned?

“Ah, Ellie,” Deke pouted, “that's the best part.”

“Then we'll save the best for last.” Lovingly, she patted her husband's arm. “You'll survive until then.”

“I don't know,” he muttered.

“You've stuck to the traditional French vines, have you not?” Brody asked.

“We've got a tasty little Pinot Noir.” Deke rocked back and forth from heel to toe.

“The Pinot Noir and Chardonnay grow best in our limestone soil,” Ellie explained. “We have twenty-five acres of Chardonnay, thirty of the Pinot—”

“It's my favorite.” Deke grinned. “What's your preference, little lady?”

All eyes turned toward Jillian. Her spine stiffened. Her stomach flip-flopped. What could she say? “Uh, I'm really not sure, Mr. Shelton.”

“Call me Deke. No need for formalities.” He clapped Brody on the back. “Looks like we better
hurry to the tasting room. We've got to show your assistant here the glories of wine.”

Jillian felt Brody's gaze on her. Her nerves bristled. How could she refuse to taste the Sheltons's wine without insulting them? More importantly, without explaining she was pregnant?

Maybe she was being silly, not telling Brody. After having worked for him for two weeks she doubted he would send her back to the secretarial pool.

Like a flash of lightning she remembered his soul-shattering kiss he'd given her. Correction. She'd helped make it a thorough kiss. She'd participated. She was equally at fault. Definite interest had sparkled in his hot gazes since, and part of her had gloried in that knowledge. She wanted him to want her, as a man wants a woman. As she had wanted him so long ago…as she wanted him now.

Another part of her had tried to deny it, tried to put barriers between them. None of her reactions made sense. Brody simply made her feel off balance. Maybe she should use her pregnancy to put one more barrier between them, a final one. Surely he'd lose interest in her quickly if he knew she was carrying another man's baby.

But the part of her that encouraged, needed, wanted Brody's interest balked at the idea of telling him. Not yet. Not now.

“This way, Brody, Jillian.” Ellie gestured toward the back stairs that led down to a wooden deck and several footpaths arrowing toward the fields. “We'll show you the difference between a red grape and a white.”

“We'll need to wet our whistle after standing out
in this heat for too long, Ellie,” Deke complained, already wiping at beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

“Very well, then,” his wife said, linking her arm with his. “We'll visit the tasting room after this. I've made you wait long enough.”

Jillian swallowed hard. She didn't have long to figure out her strategy.

 

“Here, taste it.” Ellie offered Brody a plump grape right off the vine as they stood in the middle of a field, soft mounds of dirt beneath their feet. “It's all in the fruit.”

He hesitated, the grape rolling across his palm.

“Don't worry, Fortune. We don't use pesticides.” Deke popped one into his mouth and chewed. He rolled his eyes as if in ecstasy. “Organically grown wine.”

“No worries, then.” Testing it for himself, Brody tossed the grape into his mouth. A rich, vibrant flavor burst across his tongue. “Delicious.”

“You don't have a big vat where women stomp the grapes like in that ‘I Love Lucy' episode, do you?” Jillian asked.

“No, we don't,” Ellie answered, pursing her lips. “We have presses that accomplish that nowadays.”

Deke laughed. “But that's a damn good idea, young lady.”

Jillie's rosy complexion brightened to the hue of strawberry wine, intoxicating Brody like he was seventeen.

“This way,” Ellie stated, turning east and walking between rows of vines toward a limestone building with bold cedar beams, “to our tasting room. Some
times we rent it out for weddings or receptions. It's centered above the wine cellar. After we allow Deke a few indulgences, we'll go below and see how we take the grapes and make the wine. It's quite a fascinating endeavor…” Her voice drifted as the Sheltons walked hand in hand toward the large building along the edge of the field.

Brody fell further behind as he turned and waited for Jillian to catch up to him. She diverted her gaze, pretending to study a vine, her hand cupping a bunch of grapes, tenderly, carefully. He remembered her hands exploring his chest, clasping his back, stroking his jaw. Heat throbbed inside him.

He leaned close to her, breathing in her soft fragrance that reminded him of sailing in a sea of lilies. “I'd been wondering the same thing.”

She jumped at his voice. Her turquoise eyes met his, alarm making them wide. “What?”

“About how the grapes are pressed. You know, your comment about that ‘I Love Lucy' episode.”

“Oh.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I don't think Mrs. Shelton appreciated my question.”

“Or the humor.” He laughed. “No worries about her. Remember watching that show together in college?”

She nodded but said nothing.

Together, they'd shared a bottle of wine and nibbled on grapes, taking sips each time Lucy said, “Ricky!” Mostly, they'd laughed and kissed. Old memories brought a surge of emotions that he'd forgotten—or ignored—for a long while. He could feel the heat of the sun on his shoulders, across the back of his neck. But the warmth he was experiencing was
purely from Jillian's smile, the light in her blue-green eyes.

Bending, he plucked another Chardonnay variety from the vine and offered her a taste, pressing the plump fruit against her full bottom lip, as he had when they'd been almost lovers. “What do you think, Jillie?”

The shock in her eyes alerted him that this was a different time, a different place. And Jillie certainly wasn't the woman he'd once known and loved.
What the hell are you doing?

His temperature rose to match the late summer heat. Ever since she'd walked into the boardroom two weeks ago, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, those startling eyes, her warm, understanding smile, her intoxicating fragrance. That damn kiss. He hadn't been able to think straight since. He wasn't a teen anymore. This wasn't college. And he wasn't the same man he'd once been.

You fool!
It hadn't simply been the last few weeks. It had been a problem for him for the past ten years. He'd never successfully vanquished Jillie from his mind…or his heart.

Standing as awkwardly as if he'd been caught buck-naked, offering her a tender grape, he waited for her response. The standoff lasted only a few seconds, but seemed an eternity in his mind. What if she turned away? Would she once again reject him? But what if she took the grape into her mouth? His throat went dry at the prospect.

Finally, arching her neck away from him, she stepped back and grabbed the grape with her hand.
Disappointment that she hadn't touched her mouth to his fingers twisted inside him.

Then he noticed a droplet of juice glistening in the sunlight on her bottom lip. Without hesitation, he brushed his thumb along her lip. His gut contracted with raw need.

Jillian looked suddenly pale, shaken. He felt the tremors rock through him. Concern twisted around his spine. What had he done?

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I think we should go inside.” She stepped farther away from him, pacing herself to catch up to the Sheltons who had disappeared inside the building.

He strode behind her and put a hand on her elbow, halting her escape when they reached the door. Her eyes widened and she flinched. “What's wrong?”

She pulled away, limping. “There's a rock in my sandal.” Grabbing on to the door handle, she lifted her foot and slipped off her sandal. Before she could brush the bottom of her foot, he did it for her, smoothing his palm down the arch. A pebble fell to the ground. His throat cinched shut. When would he learn his lesson and avoid touching her?

“Are you all right now?”

She met his gaze squarely, but shuttered her emotions. “Y-yes. I'm fine.”

He felt her tremble like a fragile leaf in a rain shower. “You don't look so fine.”

“It's warm out here.”

Nodding, he opened the door to the tasting room. It was damn hot, but the weather had nothing to do with the heat generated inside him.

He had to blink several times for his eyes to adjust
to the darkness inside the room. Forest-green paint covered the walls, giving the room an intimate feeling, even though it was as spacious as a ballroom with ceilings two stories high. Half-ton French oak barrels lined the walls from floor to ceiling. At the far end of the room was an extraordinary stone fireplace. Ellie knelt in front of it, twisting the gas starter. In front of the hearth, oak tables and leather chairs provided wine drinkers a place to kick back and indulge. Brody urged Jillian toward one of the comfortable seats.

At the sound of their steps on the stone floor, Ellie turned from the fireplace. “It doesn't put out much heat,” she said, giving a nod to the gigantic ceiling fans spinning overhead. “It's mainly just for show. To give the room a cozier atmosphere.” As her gaze settled on Jillian, she frowned. “Are you all right?”