Volatile Chemistry (Billionaires' Secrets Book 1) (23 page)

“Susannah Clarke.” Susannah took a deep breath. “I…I have a private matter to discuss with you.”

His elegant brow crinkled slightly. “How intriguing. Do come in.” He indicated the wide stone steps in front of the open door.

He stood to one side as she climbed past him, her elbow still smarting from where his dog had smashed her against the car.

Of course, the news she brought might leave Amado Alvarez with far more than a bruised elbow.

He ushered her into a large living room with comfortable sofas arranged around a grand fireplace. The patter of massive dog feet followed them over the tiled floors.

“A private matter, you say?” He indicated for her to sit on one of the leather sofas. He sat next to her, but with enough distance to be polite. The dogs sprawled on a patterned rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

“Yes.” She knitted her fingers together. “Have you ever heard of Tarrant Hardcastle?”

Blood pounded in Susannah’s brain as he contemplated the question.

He shrugged. “No, should I have?”

“Well—” She twisted her fingers. If she blew this she could lose her job. “I’m not really sure how to say this, but he believes he’s your father and he’d like very much to meet with you.”

Amado’s eyes narrowed and his mouth widened into that crooked smile. “Is this some kind of joke? Who put you up to this? Tomas?”

She inhaled. “I’m afraid it’s not a joke. Tarrant believes he had an affair with your mother in Manhattan thirty years ago, and that you are the result of that union.”

Amado’s face creased with amusement. “Manhattan? In New York?”

“Yes. She was there studying art. At least, that’s how Tarrant remembers it.”

Amado looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a third eye. “My mother...was studying art in New York City?” He let out a guffaw.

He turned his head. “Mama!” His voice rang across the room. Susannah cringed as he called for his mother. A woman probably now in her fifties and living a respectable life, about to be confronted with a single indiscretion from many years ago that could upturn all of their lives.

She shrank into the sofa.

“What is it, sweetheart?” called a soft voice. Susannah rose to her feet as his mother entered the room. A short, rotund woman with fluffy gray hair, thick-framed glasses and navy orthopedic shoes.

Susannah blinked. Mrs. Alvarez was a stark contrast to Tarrant’s ex-beauty-queen, third wife.

Amado rose and kissed her. “Mama, you’re going to love this. First, let me introduce you. Susannah Clarke, this is my mother, Clara Alvarez.”

“Delighted to meet you.” Clara shook Susannah’s hand gently. Her skin was soft, like her voice. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with warmth. “Have you traveled far?”

Susannah swallowed hard. “From New York.”

“Mama, have you ever been to New York?”

Susannah could swear the older woman—and she looked to be close to seventy—suddenly changed. Her bearing stiffened, and her expression hardened. “Never.”

“Susannah seems to think you were studying art there at one time.”

Clara Alvarez laughed. Not a natural laugh, though. A sharp, forced one. “What nonsense. I’ve never been farther than Buenos Aires. Why would she think such a crazy thing?”

Her eyes gleamed with suspicion—and reproof—as she glared at Susannah over the rims of her glasses.

Susannah hesitated. It was impossible to imagine Tarrant having an affair with this...little old lady. Even thirty years ago she’d have been middle-aged. Tarrant’s current wife was half his age, if that.

“Excuse me, I have a pot on the stove.” Clara excused herself and bustled away.

“See what I mean?” Amado raised an eyebrow. “It pains me to say this, but I think you have the wrong Amado Alvarez.”

Susannah frowned. Alvarez was a common name. Could the researcher have made a mistake?

Tierra de Oro was the right place, though. And she’d been ordered not to return to Hardcastle Enterprises without a sample of
this
Amado Alvarez’s DNA.

Time was of the essence. Tarrant Hardcastle had already outlived his doctor’s projections, and if he was to meet his missing son before it was too late—

“The matter could be cleared up with a simple test. If you’d be so kind as to give me a DNA sample, I could get it processed immediately and we’d know the truth one way or the other.”

Amado’s eyes widened. “DNA? You want my blood?”

“It doesn’t have to be blood. In fact, a scraping from inside your mouth would be ideal.”

He clapped a large hand against one side of his face as if someone might attempt to gouge into it. “No.”

Clara reappeared, tugging a silver-haired man who stared at Susannah. Clara whispered so rapidly that Susannah couldn’t make out the words.

The dogs rose to their feet, sniffing tension in the air.

The older man strode up to Susannah and nodded a brusque greeting. “Young lady, I am Ignacio Alvarez and Amado is my son. Your business here is concluded. Allow me to escort you to your car.”

This man had brown eyes, like Amado, whereas Tarrant had blue. If Tarrant and Clara had an affair, surely Amado would have blue eyes?

“I…I,” Susannah groped for the right thing to say. If she went home without the DNA, Tarrant would be furious.

He’d probably fire her.

Or send her right back here.

Or both.

“Papa, I’m shocked at you.” Amado frowned and stepped between his father and Susannah. “This young woman may be mistaken in her quest, but she’s traveled all the way from New York and we’ve not even offered her refreshments.”

Susannah glanced from one man to the other. Amado was tall, over six foot—like Tarrant—whereas Ignacio was probably only five-eight or so. Still...

“Son, I really think that—■”

Amado held up his hand. “Allow me to offer you a snack and some coffee. Or would you prefer wine?”

Susannah drew in a breath. “I’m a wine buyer for Hardcastle Enterprises.” Perhaps she could try to turn this into a business trip and come back to the more personal part later. “I’d love to sample your wines with a view to purchasing them for our restaurants.”

“Excellent. Mama, please ask Rosa to prepare a bite for our guest. And a glass of the 2014 Malbec, to start.”

Susannah turned to find Ignacio staring at her, brows lowered. She jerked her gaze away. No surprise he was upset that she’d suggested his son wasn’t his.

Clara had vanished, possibly to slip poison into a glass of 2014 Malbec.

“Which varietals do you grow here at Tierra de Oro?” She put on a brave professional smile.

“Mostly Cabernet Sauvignon and Malbec, but we’re fortunate to have a variety of elevations and microclimates, so we experiment constantly with new vines.” Amado’s expression had smoothed. He looked comfortable again. “Why don’t we go outside and I’ll show you?”

He led her across the living room, past the glaring Ignacio, and out onto a stone patio with a view over the southern portion of the estate. Row upon row of leafy vines traced the gentle contours of the land, rising into the foothills of the majestic Andes. The lush growth gave no hint of the effort needed to tease productive plants from the relatively arid soil of the area.

“It’s a special place.”

The words drifted out of Susannah’s mouth without her really meaning to say them. The light had a strange quality that rather dazzled her. Bright but somehow soft.

Harsh, yet...loving.

Maybe all those hours of travel had addled her brain. Amado stared across the rolling terrain. “Yes. It is a special place.” A frown gathered on his proud brow. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

Susannah froze. It occurred to her that if this was an old family vineyard and Amado was not Ignacio’s son, he might lose his right to run the estate. Suddenly the afternoon sunlight seemed blinding. “How long has your family been here?”

“Forever.” He smiled. “Well, that’s how it feels. The first Alvarez came here in 1868 from Cadiz and married a local girl. We’ve been here ever since.”

“I can see why. It’s beautiful.”

The sun glinted off the snowcapped mountains. Vast and solid, they stretched almost to the end of the earth.

Susannah had never lived in one place for more than three years. She couldn’t even blame her missionary parents anymore. She’d moved about on her own as an adult.

“It’s changed a lot since then, of course, but we do our best to protect and care for the land.”

“Have you always grown grapes here?” She was careful to imply he was part of the Alvarez family.

“There’ve always been a few hundred vines, mostly for family consumption. Most of these—” he swept his arm across the acres and acres of rows “—have been planted in the last ten to fifteen years since I convinced my father to switch from beef to viniculture.”

The door behind them opened and a tiny, ancient woman, who made Clara look positively youthful by comparison, emerged carrying a tray with two glasses of wine and a plate of pastries.

“Thank you, Rosa.” Amado took the tray and placed it on the stone wall that ringed the patio. Susannah smiled at Rosa—who returned her gesture with a flinty stare.

Gulp.

“The 2014 Malbec is one of our bestsellers. It’s won several awards and brought us international attention. See what you think.” He held out the glass. His dark eyes shone with anticipation that revealed his pride in his wine.

Susannah took it and admired the dark ruby color of the liquid against the white peaks and pale blue of the sky. She sniffed the bouquet—young, fruity—perhaps too much so for her taste. Then she sipped. A tiny taste, just enough to test the mouth-feel and waken her taste buds to the experience.

Amado hovered over her in silent expectation.

“Delicious.” No lie. It was bold and wonderful.

His lopsided grin revealed those even, white teeth as he raised his glass and sipped. “I agree. It’s okay to be proud of one’s own child, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” She couldn’t help smiling. And sipping again. Enjoying the rich warm flavor of the sunbaked soil and the well-irrigated grapes grown in this stunning landscape. “How many cases do you have available for purchase?”

He threw back his head and laughed, giving her a lingering vision of his bronzed neck, muscles flexed, under the creamy-white collar of his shirt. “Getting down to business so soon? I’ve heard that you Americans don’t like to waste time. They weren’t kidding.”

Susannah blinked. Was her professional interest in the wine somehow inappropriate under the circumstances?

She was sure Tarrant would want this for Moon, the five-star restaurant atop his Manhattan retail palace. It would be excellent with the chef’s famous osso buco, and with the boeuf en croute. “Are you not interested in selling?”

“Of course I’m interested. Selling wine is my business.” His expression suggested he found the whole subject vastly amusing.

“Then, why are you laughing at me?” She hated how defensive she sounded.

“You’re so serious.” He lifted the plate. “Try some of Rosa’s
alfajores.”

She picked up one of the pastries. It was somewhere between a cookie and a sandwich. Two layers of pastry glued together with...

She bit in. Caramel. Or, more accurately,
dulce de leche.

Yum.

She flicked her tongue out to catch stray crumbs of pastry.

Amado’s dark gaze rested on her mouth. “Rosa is the finest cook in all of Mendoza.”

“I won’t argue with you. How many cases of these can I buy?”

He laughed, and she was relieved that at least now she had him laughing with her and not at her. But it was time to get back to her real business here. “Your parents seemed upset.”

He frowned. “Yes.”

Susannah took a deep breath. “As if they know something.” She hesitated, waiting for him to draw his own conclusions.

He looked out at the bright mountain peaks silhouetted against the clear blue sky. And didn’t say a word.

“They wanted to get rid of me because they don’t want you to hear what I have to say.” She stared right at him. “You know that, don’t you?”

He blinked. “I agree that their behavior was odd.”

Susannah sensed that confusion was a rare and difficult emotion for Amado Alvarez. He didn’t know quite how to deal with it. He wanted to say
No, you ’re wrong.

But he couldn’t.

Grapes of Wrath 2

A
mado watched the summer breeze play in her long, dark hair and pull at the loose skirt of her dress. Slender and nervous, the lovely Susannah seemed embarrassed by her invasion of his privacy.

As well she might be.

What kind of mad story was this? Of course, he should dismiss it out of hand. He had in his office a birth certificate naming Clara and Ignacio as his parents. Ignacio had made a point of presenting it to him and telling him to keep it safe.

But why had his mother and father reacted so strangely to her arrival? They’d had some obnoxious visitors in the past, folks who’d enjoyed the wine too much, but he’d never seen his parents be less than civil.