Книга - No Ordinary Fortune

No Ordinary Fortune
Judy Duarte


His new employee is too tempting!Winery vice president, Carlo Mendoza is suspicious when sultry Schuyler Fortunado saunters into his tasting room. Which doesn't stop him from hiring her – or desiring her! But his heart is off limits!







A Fortune by any other name...

Still means trouble!

As vice president of Mendoza Winery, Miami transplant Carlo Mendoza knows most of the famous Fortunes. So when sultry Schuyler Fortunado saunters into the tasting room, claiming a connection to the Texas family, naturally he’s suspicious. Which doesn’t stop him from hiring her—or desiring her! The divorced restaurateur has vowed to keep his heart off the menu, but this feisty (faux?) Fortune might just change his mind!


Since 2002, USA TODAY bestselling author JUDY DUARTE has written over forty books for Mills & Boon, earned two RITA® Award nominations, won two Maggie Awards and received a National Readers’ Choice Award. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she enjoys traveling with her husband and spending quality time with her grandchildren. You can learn more about Judy and her books on her website, www.judyduarte.com (http://www.judyduarte.com), or at Facebook.com/judyduartenovelist (http://www.Facebook.com/judyduartenovelist).


Also available by Judy Duarte

Roping in the Cowgirl

The Bronc Rider’s Baby

A Cowboy Family Christmas

From Fortune to Family Man

Wed by Fortune

The Cowboy’s Double Trouble

Having the Cowboy’s Baby

The Boss, the Bride & the Baby

The Soldier’s Holiday Homecoming

The Bachelor’s Brighton Valley Bride

The Daddy Secret

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No Ordinary Fortune

Judy Duarte






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07722-4

NO ORDINARY FORTUNE

© 2018 Judy Duarte

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To my personal hero, who always has my back, even when I’m spinning around like an ice-skater going for the gold. Sal, I love and appreciate you more than you will ever know.


Contents

Cover (#u77fff8f1-1771-5f38-a5dd-d1fa48a79cb1)

Back Cover Text (#ue5b9281c-7c88-54dc-a52e-af364c6fc7a8)

About the Author (#u7758893f-d581-5d59-9331-609aebb9c9e5)

Booklist (#u97d724a4-ac97-58ce-a75c-1ff95cc4f0ef)

Title Page (#u139bbf49-0ee8-55b0-bfd4-3525005ead53)

Copyright (#u3678e378-8ad6-5b2c-83a6-bc7afc2c0000)

Dedication (#u9225d841-606f-52fb-8e5e-fa30a7d68e5a)

Chapter One (#u89e4b6ab-c2db-58be-a7ca-dbaea4824b8b)

Chapter Two (#ub568dd77-8638-5a2f-9791-6316fa839fdd)

Chapter Three (#ufcbbcb17-cba0-569e-b31f-4dfa059f741c)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ue1861221-de40-5bf0-88dc-9198355241e0)

Schuyler Fortunado had always been a family rebel, and she felt more like one today, as she drove her sporty red BMW down the highway, the back seat loaded down as if she planned to live out of her car for the next several weeks.

Granted, she hadn’t actually packed the dry cleaning that hung from the rear passenger window or the bag of groceries she’d left on the back seat. She’d planned to drop them off at her condo back in Houston before starting out on her latest adventure earlier today. But she’d been so intent upon solving a family mystery that she’d hit the freeway and hadn’t looked back until she’d stopped in the Texas community of Columbus for gas. The clothing would stay in the back seat, but she’d tossed out the almond milk and smoked Gouda that would go bad without refrigeration. Then, armed with a Venti coffee, she’d taken off again.

She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was late afternoon, and the traffic had slowed to an annoying rate. When her cell phone rang, she again looked at the dash, where her father’s name was displayed on the screen. Kenneth Fortunado didn’t take time out of his busy day for small talk, so she assumed he’d gotten wind of her latest escapade and wanted to voice his disapproval.

She was tempted to turn up the volume on the radio and let the call roll over to voice mail, but she answered instead. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“I didn’t call to chat, Schuyler. What in the hell are you up to this time?”

“Not much. Just taking a little road trip and listening to some oldies.”

He paused for several beats, no doubt reminded that she favored the same music her grandmother used to listen to, along with everything else they’d had in common.

“Where are you?” he asked, and not very nicely.

“I’m on a Fortune hunt.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I told you to let that go.”

“Yes, I know. But I can’t ignore the fact that our family is related to the Fortunes.”

“That’s not a fact, Schuyler. You have no idea who my biological father was, and quite frankly, I could not care less.”

He’d already made that clear, but Schuyler was determined to uncover the truth. And, contrary to what her father might think, she was nearly 99 percent certain that his mother’s married lover had been Julius Fortune. It had been an easy conclusion to reach. The dear, eccentric woman Schuyler had called Glammy, thanks to a childhood speech impediment, had all but spelled it out during the many chats they’d had before her death.

“Daddy,” Schuyler said, “I can’t believe you’re not the least bit interested in meeting your birth father. Or at least getting to know some of your biological relatives.”

“Forget killing the damned cat, your curiosity is going to be the death of me—and before I get a chance to retire and enjoy life. Can’t you focus on something else? Like going back to that art school or taking another acting class? You could even write that style and fashion blog you told me about.”

“It’s a vlog, Daddy. Besides, I can hardly concentrate on any of that when I’m so close to solving the family mystery once and for all. And don’t blame this on mere curiosity. This isn’t a personal quest. I’m doing it as a tribute to Glammy.”

He blew out a ragged sigh that mimicked a grumble. “I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that one of my six children would turn out to be so much like my mother.”

He said that as if it was a bad thing, although Schuyler wouldn’t take offense. Glammy had been a little too flamboyant and over the top for the successful, straitlaced real estate mogul, but Kenneth had loved his mom. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Daddy.”

Out came yet another sigh over the line, this one softer and more controlled than the last. “I didn’t mean that badly, Schuyler. It’s just that I’m not a free spirit like my mother was. Or like you are. So I can’t relate.”

Both Glammy and Schuyler had embarrassed the poor man on several occasions, although never intentionally. But life wasn’t meant to be boring. Nor were people supposed to be left in the dark about their past. “I’d think you’d be interested in meeting your blood kin.”

“Even if your assumptions are correct, and I’m not saying they are, you do realize there was a confidentiality agreement in effect.”

“I didn’t sign anything.”

“Dammit, Schuyler. Your grandmother did, and that’s good enough for me. You need to let sleeping dogs lie—or you just might end up getting bit in the butt when you least expect it.”

“Aha,” she said triumphantly. “Sounds like an admission to me.”

“I’m not going to admit or confirm squat.”

“Maybe not, but I’d bet my trust fund that your father was Julius Fortune.”

“Speaking of that trust fund, you’re welcome to get a real job and join us at Fortunado Real Estate.”

Schuyler could almost see him wince while making that offer, although she knew it was sincere and that he’d do whatever it took to make room for her in the family business. But they both knew that she’d never be a good fit, so she would make it easy on him, as well as herself. “I’m really not into office or corporate jobs, so that would never work.”

Her father didn’t immediately respond, which was just as well. They’d gone round and round on just what it was that Schuyler might actually be “into.” As a result, he’d created a healthy trust account for her, just as he’d done for Glammy. He’d also threatened to cut Schuyler off on occasion, like the time she’d told him she wanted to move to Italy. He’d assumed she’d wanted to find herself, but it was more than that. She’d gravitated toward her college roommate’s parents, who’d owned a villa there.

There was good reason for that. Calista’s family not only welcomed her as a guest in their home, they accepted her and appreciated her uniqueness.

Schuyler wished she could say the same for her own parents. It grated on her to be the only Fortunado who was never taken seriously—and just because she danced to the beat of a different satellite radio network.

She might pretend as if it didn’t bother her, but at times, disappointment rose up and smacked her in the face, taunting her with the fact that she wasn’t like the others in her family. Yet how could she even try to compete with any of them? One of her brothers was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. And her older sister was so determined to move up the company ladder that she’d become a workaholic.

None of that mattered, though. Schuyler wanted more out of life than that. Only trouble was, she wasn’t quite sure just what “more” was. But she’d figure it out one of these days. It was just a matter of time.

A heavy silence strained the line. Finally, Daddy said, “Please don’t embarrass me or the family.”

Schuyler rolled her eyes. It seemed that her family shouldn’t be so quick to be embarrassed. “Believe it or not, I’ve never set out to do that on purpose. And I’ll be extra careful this time.”

“I know, Schuyler. But...”

Again with the silence. Then his intercom beeped in the background.

“Listen, honey. I’ve been waiting for this call, so I have to go.” As usual, Schuyler was saved by the corporate world in which her brilliant, business-minded father had made millions, all without the help of the Fortune family coffers he might have tapped into—had he been born on the right side of the blanket. “Just remember what I said.”

“Got it, Dad. Don’t embarrass myself or the family.”

The call ended without a goodbye.

Schuyler turned up the volume on the radio dial, just in time to catch the beginning of the Beatles song “Can’t Buy Me Love.” She belted out the lyrics she knew by heart and continued her drive, wishing there was some way she could convince her well-meaning father that he didn’t need to use money to keep her in step—or to buy her affection. He already had it free and clear.

She didn’t particularly like being so different from everyone else in the family. Deep inside she feared that she’d never live up to their expectations, so as a teenager, she learned to embrace her inner maverick.

And that’s what she was doing now. As she peered out the bug-splattered windshield, she hoped she didn’t hit any more traffic in Austin. If she continued at this pace, she’d reach the Mendoza Winery offices before they closed.

If truth be told, she was nearly as eager to meet the Mendozas as she was the Fortunes. There’d been quite a few marriages between the two clans. And from what she’d learned, Alejandro Mendoza, the owner of the winery, had a lot of handsome, single cousins. If Schuyler played her cards right, she’d be able to charm one of them into providing her with the info and the intros she needed.

Besides, it wasn’t a total fact-finding mission. She’d heard their business was expanding, and she’d like to get a closer look at the inner workings of their company. At least, that’s the excuse she’d give them for showing up today.

That wasn’t too big of a stretch. If what she’d heard was true, their stock was going to soar in value. So she might be interested in making a personal investment.

The Houston society papers had pegged her as a ditzy trust fund baby, no matter how many charities she spearheaded. But they were wrong. And she had an impressive financial portfolio to prove it.

Either way, she hadn’t set herself up for a difficult role. She was a people person, and she’d also taken several improv classes at the local junior college. So how hard could it be to win over the Mendozas and then move on to the Fortunes?

* * *

Despite the cool afternoon breeze, Carlo Mendoza had worked up a pretty good sweat as he unloaded the company truck and lugged cases of wine into the family’s distribution center at Austin Commons.

Six months ago, his cousin Alejandro had asked him if he’d be willing to relocate to Austin, become the Mendoza Winery vice president and take charge of refurbishing the small, on-site restaurant.

Most of Carlo’s friends had expected him to decline the offer and stay put. At thirty-five, he’d made a name for himself in Miami, working in the food-and-beverage industry. He’d managed several floundering restaurants and, in a short period, had turned them all around. He’d done the same thing with a run-down nightclub, which was now one of the most popular beachfront nightspots in Florida. But he’d jumped at the chance to become a part of the growing family organization in Texas.

Within hours of entering city limits, he’d gone right to work, planning the expansion and remodel of the eatery, overseeing the demolition and reconstruction, creating the perfect ambience and then hiring a talented chef who came up with an impressive menu.

Carlo usually preferred to stick close to the winery, as well as La Viña, the name they’d chosen for the new restaurant. But Alejandro was in the process of expanding the family business by opening a retail shop in Austin Commons. Plans were also under way for a new wine bar and a nightclub, both of which would be located on a popular downtown street. So that meant they all had to pull together.

Carlo had no more than stacked another case of wine on the cart he would wheel inside when Esteban, his father, stepped out of the distribution center. “Is that the last of it?”

“Not quite. I still need to unload the chardonnay.”

After that, he would head for The Gardens at the nearby Monarch Hotel, where he’d scheduled an important tasting this evening for a group of chefs and restaurant owners attending a big culinary conference. This was the Mendoza Winery’s chance to get its best vintages in the right hands, and Carlo had gone all out when setting it up. There’d be tiny white lights adorning the trees, exotic flowers on linen-draped tables and an impressive variety of gourmet cheese, crackers and hors d’oeuvres.

When Carlo had first come up with the idea of hosting carefully planned tastings, his cousin had given his hearty approval and said, “That’s your baby. Run with it.”

So Carlo had done just that. And up until an hour ago, things had gone exceptionally well. Then the model they’d hired to pour wine for the tasting called and said she was sick. As soon as the line disconnected, he’d immediately contacted the agency and asked them to send over a replacement. There was a lot riding on tonight’s event. If things went as planned, it would launch the winery into the big leagues.

Carlo could, of course, serve the wine himself, but he’d rather be free to schmooze with attendees and lock down the sales he expected.

He glanced at his wristwatch, a TAG Heuer Carrera he’d purchased last summer, and swore under his breath. It was getting late, and the agency had yet to call back or to send another hostess. They’d told him they’d try their best to find someone. Hopefully, they wouldn’t let him down.

When a car engine sounded, he glanced over his shoulder to see a red late-model BMW approaching. After parking in front of the office, next to the truck Carlo was unloading, the driver, a petite blonde, climbed out, shut the door and locked the car. When she spotted him watching her, she flashed a pretty smile.

The sight of her face alone was enough to set a bachelor’s blood on fire. Add that to a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged her feminine curves and a colorful, gypsy-style top that suggested she had a playful side, and it took all Carlo’s restraint not to let out a tacky wolf whistle.

She gave a little wave, as if they’d met before, then closed the distance between them with the grace and assurance of a woman who knew she had the power to knock a man off his feet. She also bore a remarkable resemblance to singer Carrie Underwood, which was merely an observation on Carlo’s part. He didn’t give a damn if she could carry a tune in a bucket. As long as she could pour wine, she’d work out just fine.

He’d run in the upper circles of Miami society long enough to recognize the black Chanel purse and the snazzy red Beamer, both of which announced that she lived the good life. Or that she hoped to one of these days and was trying her best to fake it until she did. He supposed that also meant she wouldn’t come cheap, but at this point, he didn’t care. He was desperate.

“Thank God you’re here,” he said. “I’m Carlo Mendoza, the one who placed the call to the temp agency. You’re just in time. Let me show you what we need you to do.”

She pulled up short, her expression sobered and her brow creased ever so slightly. Then her pretty smile returned and she reached out to shake his hand. “Schuyler Fortunado, at your service.”

* * *

Not much took Schuyler by surprise, but when the handsome Latin hottie set aside the box he’d been carrying and swept toward her, she didn’t much care what project he had in mind for her to do. She was up to the task, especially since he bore the correct last name—Mendoza.

He also had the perfect looks. He was tall, with dark hair that curled at the collar and expressive brown eyes. A killer smile revealed white teeth against a tanned complexion. He was definitely what she’d call eye candy. If she were a casting director, she’d sign him in a New York minute to star as the romantic lead in a major production.

She had only one question. How did he fit into the family hierarchy?

Black slacks and a white button-down shirt—crisply pressed, rolled up at the sleeves and open at the collar—announced that he was in upper management. Yet a light sheen of sweat from his labor suggested he wasn’t afraid of hard work.

He reached out to shake her hand. The moment his fingers touched hers, an electrical current shimmied up her arm, giving her heart a jolt that made her pulse go wacky. She wasn’t sure if he’d felt it, but she was having one heck of a time keeping her mind on the reason she was here and on the cover story she’d concocted.

“I’m glad the temp agency was able to get ahold of you,” he said. “And that you were available to help out this evening. You’re a lifesaver.”

Okay, so he clearly thought she was someone else. Did she dare correct him? Or should she let the mix-up play out?

“Have you ever poured wine at a tasting before?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t.” How hard could it be? “But don’t worry about my lack of experience. I’m a fast learner.”

“Consider this more of a cocktail party, only the drink options are various vintages from the Mendoza Winery. We have a lot of important and influential people attending, and your job will be to make our wines look good.”

Schuyler was no stranger to parties or the nightlife. Why not play along and assume the temporary gig? It would be a fun way to get her foot in the door with the Mendozas.

“This particular tasting will be held at the Monarch Hotel,” Carlo added. “It rained for the last several days, but the weather is on our side today, so we’re going to have it outdoors in the garden.”

“Sounds like a perfect venue.” Schuyler wasn’t the least bit familiar with Austin, so she didn’t have a clue where that might be or what to expect from the outdoor setting, but she pasted on a big no-worries, I’ve-got-this smile.

He scanned the length of her from the top of her head to her strappy black heels and back again. “You look great, but I’ll have to get you something else to wear.”

“What’d you have in mind?” She slapped her hands on her hips, shifted slightly to the right and taunted him with a playful grin. “A French maid’s costume?”

His brow furrowed, which only lent a serious but more gorgeous air about him. “No, I meant something classy. There’s a women’s clothing shop just down the street. I’m sure they’re still open, so we can stop there.”

A smile tugged at her lips. Who would have guessed that it might come in handy to have those clothes from the dry cleaners still hanging in the back seat of her car?

“Actually,” she said, “you’re in luck. I happen to have an outfit with me. That is, if a black cocktail dress will work.”

“That’s great. Now just one last question. Do you have any experience with wine?”

“Other than drinking my share of it?” She laughed.

When he frowned, clearly not finding any humor in her response, she added, “I’m no connoisseur, but I’m not a novice, either. I know the difference between a cabernet sauvignon and a merlot. And while I don’t have a wine cellar, I do keep several nice bottles at home. Also, my old college roommate’s family owns an Italian villa that’s surrounded by vineyards, and I spent a couple of summers there.”

Finally, his expression softened, and he smiled. “You’re going to work out perfectly.”

Schuyler thought so, too. That is, as long as the temp agency didn’t get in the way by sending someone else and blowing her chance to prove herself as the lifesaver he’d claimed she was.

Feeling a bit heroic, she strode to her BMW with a spring in her step. After unlocking the passenger door, she reached for the cocktail dress protected in plastic and hanging from the hook above the rear passenger window. She’d no more than clicked the lock button on the remote when she heard someone clear his throat.

She turned to see who it was, only to spot a silver fox and four dark-haired men, all handsome as heck and standing in an office doorway. She assumed they were related to Carlo, since they all clearly bore a family resemblance.

The older man standing front and center grinned and asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady, mijo?”

“Sorry,” Carlo said. “Dad, this is Schuyler Fortunado, the model the temp agency sent as a replacement. She’s going to be our hostess this evening.”

The dashing older man offered a flirtatious grin. “I’m Esteban Mendoza, Ms. Fortunado, the father of this tribe.” Then he introduced the younger men as Mark, Rodrigo, Chaz and Stefan.

Each of the Mendoza brothers was attractive in his own right. That is, if you liked the tall, dark and handsome type. Even Esteban had a debonair, heart-strumming appeal.

The DNA gods had been good to this family, and Schuyler was in her glory. Just look at the collection of hunks she’d stumbled upon. If she had to choose, she’d say that Carlo was the pick of the bunch. Either way, she’d never met a male—young or old—she couldn’t charm. She was definitely going to enjoy her investigative work.

“Now that you’ve met my family,” Carlo said, “let’s check out the setting for tonight’s event. It’s a short walk to the Monarch Hotel, where we’ve set up the tasting. Come with me.”

That wasn’t going to be a problem. Schuyler would gladly follow the Latin hottie anywhere.


Chapter Two (#ue1861221-de40-5bf0-88dc-9198355241e0)

Just twenty minutes ago, the sun had disappeared into a kaleidoscope of color on the western horizon. All the while, Carlo stood next to a magnolia tree adorned with white lights and watched this evening’s tasting unfold the way he’d planned it.

Several waiters, supplied by the hotel, carried trays of appetizers and moved about the garden, offering the smiling chefs and restaurant owners a variety of crackers, gourmet cheeses and hors d’oeuvres specially prepared to enhance the taste of the vintages being served. But it was the lovely blonde hostess pouring wine and entertaining the culinary experts with both her charm and wit who’d captured Carlo’s full attention.

He must have caught hers, too, because every now and again, Schuyler looked across the garden, her blue eyes sparkling, and offered him a confident smile. Then she returned to her work.

She was a born hostess, it seemed, and he thanked his lucky stars the other woman had had to cancel tonight.

Just look at her. She rocked that curve-hugging dress she’d had hanging in her car. It was sexy, but not overly revealing. Classy, but still within the right man’s reach.

But it was more than her outfit and pretty face that he found appealing. She had a natural effervescence, a confident demeanor, as well as an uptown style. And as a result, she’d done a good job of convincing the attendees that they should stock up on the best wines they’d ever tasted.

Schuyler flashed the label of a bottle of Mendoza zinfandel at the people gathered at her table, then poured them each a generous taste. Soft jazz played in the background, but it didn’t drown out the sound of approaching footsteps.

Carlo glanced over his shoulder and spotted his father moving toward him.

“Looks like another successful tasting,” the older man said.

“You’re right. We’ve had several significant orders already. And once this group goes back to their fine-dining establishments, word about our wines will spread.”

“And what about Schuyler? How’s our temporary hostess working out?”

“A lot better than the last woman the temp agency sent us.” She was prettier, too, which was why Carlo had been studying her with more than just business on his mind. He liked a woman with a playful side, especially since that usually meant she wouldn’t expect a long-term commitment.

Carlo had already experienced a failed marriage and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. He was too much like his father, he supposed.

“I’m proud of you, mijo. You put a lot of work into this evening, and it shows.”

“Thanks.” Carlo had never lacked confidence, at least not in the business world. Still, his father’s praise meant a lot. “I’ve always gone above and beyond to pull off a successful event, but it’s even sweeter when that success benefits the family.”

“Sounds like you’re settling in here.”

Carlo stole a quick glance at his father, but he didn’t see a need to respond.

“Are you happy you came to Austin?” Esteban asked.

“So far, so good. Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong, mijo. But you have to admit, in the past, you sometimes got bored with a job after a while and moved on to what you’d called bigger and better things.”

Carlo would like to object, to tell his father that he’d always had good reason to make a job change from one restaurant or nightclub to another, but some of what he said was true. Sometimes boredom had played a role. “Don’t worry, Dad. That’s not going to happen this time.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The two men continued to watch the tasting, as well as the pretty blonde hostess.

“You had a lot of friends in Miami,” his father said. “And a busy social life. I worried that you’d miss all of that.”

“Not really, although I’ll admit it’s been a bit of an adjustment.” It had been six months since Carlo had turned over the keys to his ocean-view apartment and drove to Austin. Yet his enthusiasm for both La Viña and Mendoza Winery was stronger than ever. “I’m still in contact with some of my friends and making new ones. Besides, this position is a good fit, especially since I’m working with family.”

“It’s been a good change for me, too. So was reuniting with my brother. That took a huge weight from my heart.”

“I know.” Carlo, as well as his brothers, had noticed the positive changes in their father ever since he and Orlando had buried the hatchet. After a decades-old riff, everyone had been shocked to learn that Esteban had actually fathered Orlando’s son, Joaquin Mendoza. The man Carlo thought was his cousin was actually his half brother. Recently, Orlando and Esteban had forgiven one another for the past, and Esteban was now getting to know Joaquin as his son.

“You’re watching Schuyler with a keen eye,” his father said. “Are you waiting to see if our temporary hostess makes a mistake? Or are you planning to follow up this tasting with a romantic evening?”

“She’s not going to screw up. Look at her. She’s in her element.”

Esteban chuckled and slapped a hand on Carlo’s shoulder. “Apparently, she’s caught your eye, mijo. And something tells me you don’t plan to thank her for a job well done and then send her on her way.”

“Let’s see how the rest of the night unfolds.” Carlo glanced at his watch. Things would be winding down soon. The chefs and restaurant owners would be heading to dinner, and that left him and Schuyler to debrief following the tasting.

He knew better than to mention that plan. Of all Esteban’s sons, Carlo was the most like their father, a dynamic, charismatic guy who had an eye for pretty women—and a bit of trouble with commitment. Yet none of that seemed to matter. Neither of them had ever had a shortage of dates.

“Schuyler keeps glancing this way,” his father said. “So I’d venture to say that she’s got her eye on you, too.”

It seemed that way. And she wasn’t looking at him like an insecure employee hoping to get her boss’s reassurance. No, Carlo could spot sexual interest in her eyes.

In a few minutes, he’d ask her to celebrate the successful tasting by joining him at dinner. And something about that playful gleam in her pretty blue eyes told him she wouldn’t turn him down.

* * *

Schuyler was having the time of her life. The garden setting was perfect, the evening festive. She’d never sold wine before, but she knew how to talk to people. And she’d soon found those in attendance, all men and women in the culinary industry, to be worldly and interesting. By the end of the tasting, she’d snagged several large-scale orders for the winery, and she’d had a fabulous time in the process.

As the chefs and restaurant owners filed out of the garden and the hotel cleanup crew moved in, Carlo made his way to the linen-draped table where she’d been stationed for the past hour or so.

“You were amazing,” he said. “I couldn’t have asked for a better hostess.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I never realized that work could be as fun as a cocktail party.”

“I suspect you’ve attended your share of those.”

She answered with a flirtatious grin, which he lobbed right back at her. From what she’d seen so far, all of the Mendoza brothers were gorgeous, but she had to admit that Carlo was by far the most attractive—and appealing. She couldn’t pinpoint one single reason for making that conclusion. Actually, there were several—his drop-dead good looks, the playful intensity in his gaze, his confident air. On top of that, she also respected the way he’d orchestrated tonight’s event then stood back and watched it all unfold the way he’d planned.

There was clearly more to him than met the eye. There was something under the surface that also sparked her interest, a sexy yet teasing style that gave her reason to believe he might be as interested in having fun as she was.

Some people shouldn’t expect a romance to last forever, Glammy had said, and I’m one of them. Why compromise my dreams and values just to be accepted? Doing that will only lead to failure, disappointment or heartbreak.

Schuyler had to agree with her grandmother’s philosophy. As the middle Fortunado daughter, she was used to coming up short in her parents’ eyes more often than not.

Admittedly, she wished her father would be proud of her—just the way she was. Not that she’d suffered any lack of confidence because of his disappointment over the years. After all, she’d honed an innate ability to change direction whenever she needed to, something she considered a valuable asset, especially when there were a lot of miserable people in this world who’d do better if they followed their hearts.

“I can’t begin to thank you for stepping up at a moment’s notice,” Carlo said. “You really knocked it out of the park tonight. Would you be interested in pouring wine at our future tastings?”

“Sure. Why not?” Talk about getting her foot in the door with the Mendoza family. Now she wouldn’t have to mention anything about a possible investment, although the idea intrigued her.

Carlo tossed her a heart-strumming smile. “That’s great. Let’s celebrate a job well done.”

“Good idea.” Schuyler didn’t always experience the joy of accomplishment, but she did tonight. Was this how her sister Maddie felt whenever she closed a big deal? She shook off the thought and asked, “Would it be okay if I tried some of the Red River merlot? I told everyone it was my favorite Mendoza wine, even though I’d never had your label. I wouldn’t want my nose to grow and sprout leaves.”

“Like Pinocchio, huh?” Carlo chuckled as he reached for two clean glasses and set them on the table.

“Exactly. I loved that story, especially the cartoon. Besides, I have a thing about being honest.” While that was basically true, a niggle of guilt rose up inside, reminding her that she’d neglected to admit that she wasn’t the woman he thought she was.

Had he been impressed enough with the job she’d done that she could tell him about the mix-up? Would he get angry? Or would he laugh and let her hang around him and his family for a while?

She’d called Nathan Fortune yesterday as a follow-up to a letter she’d sent him last week. But before making a five-hour drive to visit him in person, she wanted to get a better feel for the renowned Fortune family. Who knew what the Mendozas might reveal or what questions she might have after talking to them.

Carlo pulled the loosened cork from one of the half-full bottles and made a generous pour. Then he handed a glass to Schuyler.

She thanked him and took a sip, savoring the hint of black cherry. No wonder some of the chefs had raved about it. “This is very good.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He held up his glass to the outdoor light overhead, flicked his wrist ever so slightly and watched the wine swirl. Then he returned his attention to her. “So how’d you like working this event tonight?”

“I had more fun than any of the attendees.” And standing outside under a canopy of twinkly lights adorning tree branches with a handsome Latino made it all the better.

It was, however, getting a little chilly. She took another sip of merlot, hoping it would warm her from the inside out. Yet she still gave a little shiver.

“You’re cold,” he said.

“Just a little. It’s not bad enough to run back to my car for a sweater.”

“I’m not sure if I told you that’s a pretty dress. It was perfect for the tasting tonight.”

“I have plenty more like this one at home.”

“I’d be disappointed to learn that you didn’t. I assume that means you like to go out on the town.”

“Every chance I get.” She offered him another spunky grin, noting his playful expression. Apparently, he was enjoying her company as much as she enjoyed his.

“You’ve got to be hungry,” he said. “I certainly am. Why don’t you join me for dinner?”

“I’d like that. Just give me a chance to freshen up. I’ll use the hotel restroom.” Ten minutes later, after running a brush through her hair and reapplying her lipstick, Schuyler stopped by the registration desk in the front lobby. She needed a place to stay while she was in Austin, and the Monarch was certainly convenient.

After checking in for the night and getting a key, she returned to the garden, which was now empty—thanks to the efficiency of the hotel cleanup crew.

“Ready to go?” Carlo asked.

“Yes. Are we walking or driving?”

“If you’re okay with Italian food, we can walk. There’s a great little restaurant a few blocks from here.”

“I love all things Italian.” And Latin, it seemed.

“Then let’s go. It’s close to the office, so you can get a sweater or jacket from your car, if you want to. Either way, it’s a short walk.”

When he offered her his arm, she took it, hoping to absorb some of his body heat. “Lead the way.”

Carlo blessed her with a dazzling grin that could turn a girl’s knees to mush. Then he guided her along the sidewalk to the street.

Her heels and the soles of his loafers tapped a steady beat, and while she should probably remove her hand from his forearm, she enjoyed his warmth, as well as the taunting scent of a masculine soap that complemented his sea-breezy cologne.

“How long have you worked for the temp agency?” he asked.

Uh-oh. She hadn’t minded playing along with the identity mix-up at first, but she wasn’t ready to reveal her hand quite yet. What if he had some kind of commitment with the agency that he thought had sent Schuyler as a substitute hostess this evening? What if he reneged on the job offer to hostess future tastings?

She’d have to face that possibility, but maybe it would be best to tell him over dinner—or even dessert.

“Would you believe this was my first time on the job?” she asked.

Okay, while that wasn’t an out-and-out lie, it wasn’t completely honest. But still, it was somewhat truthful. She’d never been a hostess for a wine tasting before.

“Well, you’d never know it from my vantage point. You were a champ.”

Moments later, they approached Rossi’s, a small brick building with a black wrought iron railing that provided an enclosure for curbside dining. Several portable heaters supplied warmth for a few couples who’d taken a seat outdoors.

“Inside or out?” Carlo asked.

“It doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Then let’s take the first available table.” He opened the green door for her, just like a gallant Latin lover, and she entered the small restaurant that boasted white plastered walls and dark wood beams.

The place had an old-world charm, right down to a colorful mural on the east wall and a rustic fountain in the back. And if the aroma of tomatoes, basil and garlic was any clue, the food had to be good.

“Two for dinner,” Carlo told the hostess.

“This way.” The hostess reached for two leather-bound menus, then led them to a linen-draped table, which was adorned with a red rose in a budvase and several flickering votives.

Carlo pulled out Schuyler’s chair, and she took a seat. Then he sat across from her.

The hostess handed them the menus. “Your waiter is Alfonso. He’ll be with you in a moment.”

Moments later, a short balding gentleman in his fifties stopped by their table, introduced himself and took their drink order.

“We’ll have a bottle of Mendoza merlot,” Carlo told Alfonso.

“Nice choice, sir.”

Schuyler couldn’t help but smile. “Did you choose this place because of the food they serve—or because of their wine selection?”

He leaned forward and said, “The food is excellent. And for that reason, we offered a tasting here a couple weeks ago. The customer reaction was so positive that the owner placed an order. So I’d also like to be supportive.”

Schuyler set her menu aside. “So tell me. What’s it like working for a family business?”

“It’s pretty cool. We all get along—and we have a common goal. We want to see the winery be the best it can be.”

“That’s nice.” Schuyler supposed Maddie felt the same way about Fortunado Real Estate.

Carlo studied her for a moment, and a slow smile stretched across his gorgeous face. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“So do you,” she said. “Some women would trade just about anything for long, thick lashes like yours. I hadn’t noticed until I saw them from this angle—and in the candlelight.”

“Thank you. As a kid, my brothers used to tease me about them.”

Siblings could sometimes be cruel without meaning to. “I’ll bet that made you feel bad.”

“No, it made me double up my fists and let them have it.”

She laughed. “I’ll bet it did. So did you guys fight a lot growing up? I’d imagine, with all that testosterone flowing, there’d be some pretty big power struggles.”

“Sometimes, but it was usually just in fun.”

When Alfonso returned with their wine, they grew silent, waiting for him to uncork the bottle and pour them each a glass. Then, after telling them he’d be back with water and to take their order, he left them alone.

They’d hardly taken two sips when Carlo’s phone rang. He glanced at the display, then said, “I don’t normally take calls at the dinner table, but this one might be for you.”

Schuyler arched a brow. What made him say that? Who knew she was here—other than his father and brothers?

“Yes,” Carlo said. “Speaking.”

His brow furrowed as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Oh, yeah? No, that’s not a problem. At least, not yet. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” After a moment, he nodded. “Thanks.”

Schuyler leaned forward, wondering if he’d tell her who’d called—and why he thought they’d want to speak to her. She’d never been especially patient.

“That was the temp agency we’ve been working with,” he said. “They were apologizing because they couldn’t find a fill-in for the hostess who canceled out on us.”

Uh-oh. Schuyler bit down on her bottom lip. Too bad she hadn’t been up-front with him when she’d first arrived. Or given him her cover story about wanting to make an investment. He probably would have accepted her help anyway. And she would have saved herself from an awkward moment.

His eyes narrowed as he speared her with an assessing look. “So who are you?”

* * *

Schuyler’s eyes widened, and her lips parted. Apparently, Carlo wasn’t the only one who’d been thrown off stride by that phone call from the temp agency.

He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, and waited for her answer, which she seemed to be pondering. That wasn’t a good sign.

Several beats later, she brightened. “You know...” She lifted her index finger and gave it a little twirl in the air between them. “It’s funny you should ask.”

“I don’t find it funny. Why did you lie to me?”

“Whoa, now just wait one minute. The only thing that was the least bit dishonest was the fact that I never set you straight when you assumed I was the woman sent by the agency. But other than that, I was up-front with you. My name is Schuyler Fortunado, I know a little about wine and I spent two summers at a friend’s Italian villa.”

At this point, he questioned everything about her.

“All right,” he said. “Then assuming that’s true, why’d you let me believe the temp agency had sent you?”

“I can be a little impulsive at times, and I like to have a good time. Serving wine at a classy event sounded like fun. Besides, it was pretty obvious that you needed my help.”

He didn’t doubt any of that, especially the part about his needing her help. And while he was still suspicious, he had to admit that she fascinated him. Why not enjoy his time with her this evening, even if only to discredit her?

“Okay, I can buy the fact that you had fun tonight. You’re also a natural at serving wine and schmoozing. What kind of work do you do?” Modeling immediately came to his mind. Acting, too. And if that were the case, she had to be pretty successful at it. That car she drove and the purse she carried weren’t cheap.

“Actually, I’m currently unemployed.”

He wondered why. She’d admitted to being impulsive. Had she walked off her last job? Had she been fired? Temporarily laid off? And what position had she held up until that time?

Rather than pepper her with those questions, he asked, “How do you pay the bills?”

At that, her smile faded. “You’re about to learn that I’m honest, even if it’s not something I care to admit.”

Oh, wow. Was she a high-end call girl? If so, he hadn’t seen that coming.

“My father set up a trust fund for me,” she said, “so I really don’t have to work. But that doesn’t mean I’m not looking for the right job.”

A trust fund baby, huh? Daddy’s little girl, too.

“Are you an only child?” he asked.

She laughed. “Sometimes I wish that I were, even though we’re all fairly close. I have three brothers and two sisters.”

“And they’re all supported by trust funds?”

“No, just me.”

Carlo lifted his glass and took a slow, steady sip. The woman was as interesting as she was gorgeous. He was usually pretty good at pegging people, but he wasn’t having much luck with her tonight.

“My brother Everett is a doctor,” she added, “and my sister Maddie works for my father’s real estate company. But I’m more of a free spirit who dabbles in the arts, so my dad feels compelled to take care of me, like he did my grandmother.”

Carlo wasn’t used to women being that open and up-front—assuming that Schuyler was being forthright now.

She fingered the stem of her wineglass, then looked up and caught his eyes. Her beauty alone was staggering, but the sincerity in her gaze nearly stole his breath away. “Just so you know, I’m not always going to be on the family dole. I’ve gone to college and traveled abroad. I just haven’t quite figured out what I want to do with my life, and at twenty-five, I don’t think that’s too unusual.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is. I went through a time in my life when I was unsure about what I wanted to do.” At twenty-five, after his divorce, he’d been forced to reevaluate his future, and that had left him a little out of step for a while.

“Apparently,” she said, her blue eyes glimmering, “you’ve got your life all sorted out now.”

“In time, it all came together.” He studied her in the candlelight, the lush blond locks, the heart-shaped face. Some men could lose their heads over a woman like her. That is, if they didn’t drown in those sparkling blue eyes first.

But Carlo wasn’t about to let his hormones run away with him. “I’m glad you came along when you did, but that doesn’t explain why you happened to be at the distribution center in the first place.”

She lifted her wineglass and took a sip. “I’d heard some interesting things about the winery and wanted to check it out for myself. I might even want to purchase some stock.”

He supposed that was possible, and while he wanted to believe her, he was still a bit skeptical.

“So tell me,” Schuyler said, “have you lived in Austin all your life?”

“No, I’m originally from Miami. I moved here six months ago.”

“And you’re working for your cousin now.” It wasn’t a question. The lady must have done her homework. But he supposed that wasn’t so hard to figure out.

“Your family must be pretty close,” she added.

They hadn’t always been, but things were looking up between his brothers and his cousins. “I guess you could say that.”

“Is your side of the family as close to the Fortunes as some of the other Mendozas are?”

Now there was a question that didn’t sit right. Something about it was...off.

“Okay,” he said. “What are you really up to?”

“Nothing,” she said.

Yeah, right. “You can’t play a player, Schuyler. Whatever scheme you’re cooking up, I’ve probably already attempted it myself.”

She blinked, and her lips parted. For a moment, he found himself softening. But he didn’t dare let down his guard. “Listen, I can’t be bought, sold or conned. But there’s one thing that might persuade me to open up and answer your questions.”

“What’s that?” she asked as if she seriously wanted to know what might tempt him.

“The truth.”


Chapter Three (#ue1861221-de40-5bf0-88dc-9198355241e0)

Schuyler hadn’t meant to be deceitful. Nor had she tried to “con a con man.” So it really ought to bother her to have Carlo assume that she was playing him. But in reality, she was a bit turned on by the fact that he wasn’t like other men—and that she couldn’t charm him into submission, like she was often able to do.

As Carlo continued to stare at her as if reading her innermost thoughts, as if he understood her better than anyone else in the world, she realized, for some inexplicable reason, that she actually wanted him to.

“Who are you?” he asked again, his demeanor cool and unaffected.

Admiration and attraction went up another notch. “I told you before. My name is Schuyler Fortunado, but you can also call me Schuyler Fortune.”

He furrowed his brow, clearly confused—and unconvinced.

She’d better explain. “Gerald Robinson’s father is my grandfather—which makes Gerald my uncle. But my father was illegitimate and kept secret from the family.”

“But why’d you show up here, at the Mendoza Distribution Center?”

“Because I want to get to know the Fortunes. Rather than pop in on them unannounced, I decided it would be best to take a slow-and-easy approach in meeting them. And since the Mendozas have strong family ties with them, I thought I’d start with you.”

“I’m not going to be very helpful.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you have to admit that today turned out to be a win-win for both of us. You needed my help. And I needed to meet someone who knows the Fortunes, even if it’s by six degrees of separation.”

“You also need a job.” Carlo sat back in his seat, no doubt stretching out his legs under the table. “Money, too, I suspect.”

So he didn’t believe what she’d told him about the trust fund and thought she was in it for a payday. That’s where he was wrong.

Schuyler lifted her wineglass and took another sip. “Contrary to what you might think, the Fortunes’ wealth has nothing to do with this. You see, just like my uncle, Jerome Fortune, aka Gerald Robinson, my father is a self-made man.”

“So you say.” The intensity of his gaze nearly bored into the very heart of her, but he was way off.

“Why are you so skeptical of me?” she asked.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I suppose it’s only natural.” She blew a little sigh out the side of her mouth. He wasn’t going to be an easy man to win over. And oddly enough, that made him all the more appealing.

“Just to be clear,” he said, “the Fortunes are experts at recognizing impostors and gold diggers.”

“No doubt they are, but I can assure you, some people don’t need a famous name to be successful. If you’re smart and the cards are in your favor, you can make it to the top. And my father is as smart as they come. He’s lucky, too. A real King Midas. He parlayed a winning lottery ticket into real estate, and his investments paid off. He now lives in the most exclusive area of Houston and owns an agency in a downtown high-rise, with branches in Austin and San Antonio.”

“Fortunado Real Estate?”

“That’s us. So, you see, we don’t need the Fortunes’ money.”

Before Carlo could answer, Alfonso stopped by the table with a basket of bread, olive oil and balsamic. Then he took their orders.

When they were alone again, Carlo picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “If your family has plenty of money, why the interest in the Fortunes?”

“Actually, my father and most of my siblings aren’t interested in forging a connection. At least, that’s what they told me.” She reached into the basket, removed a warm slice of bread and tore off one side of the crust. “I suspect they’re curious, but they’re not sure about making any changes to our family dynamics.”

“And you’re not concerned about that?”

Schuyler wouldn’t mind seeing a slight shift in the Fortunado family dynamics. For one thing, she’d like to see artistic expression valued as much as an advanced degree or a head for business.

“I’m more open-minded than the other Fortunados,” she said. “So I decided to check out the Fortunes for myself.”

Carlo studied her once again, as if he still couldn’t buy her story. She lifted her wineglass and took a drink. Dang, it was good. No wonder those chefs had been impressed.

“Believe it or not,” Schuyler said, “I’m as honest as the day is long.”

“Except when you hold back information.”

“Well, that’s true.” She popped the crust into her mouth. Mmm. Homemade and fresh from the oven.

“It seems to me,” Carlo said, “that you’d be better off talking to Ariana Lamonte, who wrote those articles and blogs for Weird Life magazine about the Fortunes.”

“I already did.” Apparently, he didn’t realize she’d done her homework. “Her articles actually convinced me that my suspicion was right and triggered my quest. And by the way, in case you didn’t know, her last name is Fortune now. She married Jayden Fortune from Paseo, Texas.”

“So your visit to the Mendoza Winery Distribution Center was plan B?”

“I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

At that, he laughed. “I’m just on the periphery of the Fortune family, but I can get you an introduction if you’d like one.”

“That’s great. And I promise that I’ll watch from the outside. I don’t mean them any harm. Think of me as an investigative reporter.”

“And a damn pretty one at that.”

Now, that was an interesting way to toss out a compliment. But then again, with the way he looked and his sexy style, it was easy to see Carlo had plenty of practice—no doubt from a string of sexual conquests over the years.

“Ariana can probably provide you with a better introduction to the Fortune family than I can,” Carlo said.

“You’re right. And once she and her hubby get back home in a few weeks, I plan to talk to her about doing that.”

He scrunched his brow, creating a crease in his forehead, but it didn’t mar his gorgeous face in the least. “Where are they?”

“They’re out of town while she researches a new book about people who embody the Texas spirit.”

Before Carlo could respond, his cell phone rang again. He glanced at the screen. “Believe it or not, I’m not usually a rude dinner companion, but I need to take this call. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll step outside and answer it. But I’ll make it quick.”

She nodded. Like Daddy had taught her since she was old enough to join the family at the dining room table, business always came first.

Once, when Schuyler was in high school, a friend called her while they were having dinner. Her father threatened to take away her cell phone if she answered. Yet two minutes later, he got a call and took it. When he finished talking, she pointed out the inconsistency, which made him angry. He lifted his finger and shook it at her. Here’s the rule in this family, Schuyler. When a phone call earns money, you answer it.

Moments later, Carlo returned to the table. He’d no more than taken a seat when he leaned forward and zeroed in on her like a con man who’d found his mark. “I have a proposition for you. I need your help again, and I’ll do whatever you want if you agree.”

Schuyler raised her eyebrows. “Whatever I want? Just what would this job entail?”

“Now who’s being skeptical?” Carlo laughed. “There isn’t anything unsavory about it. I need someone to represent the Mendoza brand at another special tasting. You just have to do the same thing you did this evening. Pour wine and get people to drink it—and hopefully buy it. I’ll pay you well for your time.”

“I told you before. This isn’t about the money. I don’t have to work a day in my life unless I want to.”

And if truth be told, she wanted to hostess again for Carlo.

“So what do you say?” he asked.

She was always up for an adventure. So she reached across the table to shake his hand and seal the deal. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

* * *

In spite of his better judgment, Carlo had been listening to Schuyler half in amusement, half in curiosity. But things got serious the moment he took her hand and felt the unexpected strength of her small grip, the softness of her skin and the heat of her touch. Desire slammed into him, nearly taking him out at the knees.

He tried to play it cool, to hide his sexual attraction, but he’d never met a woman like her before. And he probably never would again.

Granted, he’d been skeptical of her the moment he’d learned the temp agency hadn’t sent her and she’d let him believe that they had. In some ways, he supposed he was still a bit leery, but she seemed sincere.

She was also gorgeous and as intriguing as hell. Besides, she was the best hostess they’d had yet. And she was damn good for business. Bottom line? He was going to take a gamble and believe her story.

“The next tasting is on Thursday evening,” he said. “Are you available to work that night?”

“Three days from now?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a good-size diamond stud. “Sure. I’ll be in town for a while.”

She didn’t say how long she intended to stay, and even though he was growing more and more curious about her plans, he didn’t ask. “Thanks for being flexible,” he said.

“Hey. That’s practically my middle name.” She flashed him a dazzling smile, then leaned forward. “So tell me about this ‘special’ tasting.”

“There’s going to be another convention in town. This one is for a group of software execs. So I called the people in charge and set up a special preconference event. We negotiated a discounted price, and they liked the idea.”

“Is it going to be in the Monarch Hotel gardens?”

“No, this one will be held at the winery. We’re sending a bus to provide them with transportation to and from the hotel. Then, after they have a tasting of our best vintages, we’ll serve them dinner.”

“Sounds like an exciting evening for a group I’d expect to be a little dull and boring in real life.”

Carlo laughed. “Leave it to a party girl to make that assumption.”

She gave a little shrug, followed by a playful wink.

“Actually,” he said, “a lot of thought goes behind my invitation for a special tasting. Those executives all live in various parts of the country, so I figure they’ll order several cases each and share it with their friends when they get home. It’s a good way to get the wine into the hands of consumers outside Texas.”

“I like the way you think.”

“Hey, when you have a good product or business, the best promotion is word of mouth.”

“Looks like you’ve thought of everything.”

“I try to.” He leaned back in his chair and lifted his glass. Yet he found his dinner companion more tempting than his favorite Mendoza wine.

Damn, she was pretty. Carlo prided himself on his strength and character, but God help a weak man who found himself attracted to her.

“Is your tasting room open daily—or just by special request?”

“We’re open in the afternoons, and we have a host who handles the regular tastings for us. He also works at La Viña in the evenings, so I’d prefer to use someone else during our special events.”

“So that’s where I come in.”

“Exactly. And as part of your pay, I’ll do whatever I can to help you be that fly on the wall with the Fortunes.”

“I’d really appreciate that.” Her eyes were an interesting and unusual shade of blue. They also were assessing him just as carefully as he’d studied her moments ago.

“I’m not blowing smoke,” he said. “There’s going to be a Valentine’s Day party at the Mendoza Winery on the fourteenth, and a lot of the Fortunes will be there. You can be the hostess that night and ‘work’ the room.”

Her smile practically lit the entire restaurant, extinguishing the need for the votives on the table. “That would be great, Carlo. You won’t be sorry. I’ll be professional and discreet.”

He hoped she was right, and that his belief in her hadn’t been unfounded. After reaching into the pocket of his sports jacket, he pulled out his business card and handed it to her. “In the meantime, why don’t you stop by the winery tomorrow morning. I’ll give you a personal tour.”

“I’d like that.”

Interestingly enough, Carlo would, too.

* * *

Bright and early the next day, while Schuyler was sound asleep in her suite at the Monarch Hotel, the alarm went off.

Normally, she hated wake-up calls or sticking to a schedule. But not this morning. Without a grumble or even a yawn, she threw off the covers, rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

She stopped long enough to glance in the mirror, expecting to see her hair a sleep-tousled mess, but it didn’t look all that bad. That in itself was a surprise, but even more so was the smile that stretched across her face. She’d always had a natural effervescence, but it didn’t usually begin to surface until after her first cup of coffee. But then again, today was different. Her wish was about to come true. In less than two weeks, she was going to be face-to-face with some of the Fortunes.

How cool was that?

Yet there was something else giving her reason to celebrate. She was going to see Carlo again.

Dinner last night had not only been delicious and filling, it had been...well, interesting—to say the least. It had also bordered on romantic.

As a rule, she steered clear of men who might want a serious relationship with her. She didn’t need any more people trying to pressure her into conforming to their expectations. But she suspected that Carlo was different.

For that reason, before turning in last night, she’d set the alarm on her smartphone to give her plenty of time to get ready.

An hour later she was driving out to the winery and following the directions Carlo had given her. After turning into the driveway, she couldn’t help easing her foot from the accelerator and slowing down to take in the acres of grapevines growing in the Hill Country.

Another storm had passed through during the night, drenching the area in rain. But after watering the plants and flora, as well as cleansing the air and leaves, it had passed through and the sky was now clear and blue.

It was certainly pretty here in the country. Schuyler had always been a city girl, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy breathing in fresh air and watching the sun set over rolling hills and greenery. Not that she’d be invited to stay at the winery that long, although she’d be up for extending her visit.

She’d no more than parked and shut off the ignition when Carlo came out to meet her. If she’d thought he looked handsome last night, he was even more striking today in khaki slacks and a white cotton shirt—button-down, crisply pressed. Definitely not a Texas cowboy. More like a tall, dark Miami Beach hottie.

“Welcome to the Mendoza Winery,” he said.

She left her purse, a big black Chanel she’d filled to the brim with various items she might need at any given moment, and locked the doors. Then she placed the keys in the front pocket of her jeans and greeted him with a handshake. The formality wasn’t necessary, but she wanted to touch him again, and a hug didn’t seem appropriate. Maybe she’d offer him one when she left.

“What do you think of the place so far?” he asked.

“It’s impressive. You’d never know that your cousin bought it recently. It’s been so well cared for that you’d think your family has owned it for years.”

“It was in the Daily family for generations, and Alejandro purchased it from them.”

“Either way, the grounds are beautiful.”

“Thanks. It’s been a team effort. Actually, it still is. We’re going to expand more so we can offer it as a venue for parties and weddings. Come on. I’ll give you that tour, starting with the sculpture garden around the back.”

Schuyler fell into step beside Carlo. In addition to taking in the lovely grounds, she couldn’t help breathing in his alluring, ocean-fresh scent and losing focus. As they turned the corner and she spotted the sculpture garden, she realized why he thought the setting would be perfect for weddings or special events.

“This is amazing.” She scanned the rose garden, and the manicured lawn that had been adorned with several large sculptures.

“We’re going to plant more flowers,” he said. “And we’ve ordered a Spanish-tiled fountain, which a local artisan is going to create. The stone sculptures were already here—and permanent. But we’re going to bring in other outdoor art pieces and rotate them.”

“That ought to be a nice touch.” She stopped to admire the statue of a cavalry officer mounted on a horse. “This is pretty cool.”

“I think so, too.”

She circled to the front of the horse and placed her hand on its nose, stroking it as if the animal was real. Then she looked at Carlo and grinned.

“Come on. I’ll show you the tasting room next.” He placed his hand on the small of her back. Her spine tingled at his touch, an electrifying flash that shot through her like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Her legs wobbled, and she nearly stumbled before making a quick recovery.

If Carlo noticed, he didn’t comment. Instead, they crossed the garden, returned to the back of the main building and entered. Just down the hall, a sign on a large, rough-hewn wooden door announced the tasting room hours. He gripped the brass handle and opened it for her, then he followed her inside.

She scanned the open reception area, which boasted high, vaulted ceilings and dark beams, as he led her to a marble-topped bar. Shelves of corked wine bottles awaited the next batch of wine enthusiasts who would come to taste the best vintages the winery had to offer.

“Has your family always been in the wine business?” she asked.

“No. When Alejandro was in college, he got a part-time job working at a South Beach wine bar to put himself through school. And that’s where it all started. He changed his major to agricultural operations and went on to get a master’s degree in viticulture and enology. He also spent a summer in France interning at a vineyard and another summer in one located in Napa Valley.”

“I can see where his interest took off from there. I told you about my friend Calista, whose family owned that villa in Italy. It wasn’t quite the same for me, but her enthusiasm was almost contagious, and I learned a lot during my visits. For a while, I thought about moving there, but my dad had a fit and threatened to cut me off for good.” She turned and studied Carlo. “But what about you? What made you leave Miami to work at a winery?”

“I come from a long line of restaurant and nightclub owners, so I’ve got a solid handle on the food industry, as well as wine. One of my jobs with Mendoza Winery is to run La Viña.”

“Are you the manager?” she asked.

“I suppose you could say that. Alejandro let me have free rein in remodeling the restaurant and hiring a chef and waitstaff.”

“I’d love to see what you’ve done.”

“We’ll end the tour there, then have lunch. In the meantime, I’ll show you the vineyard and the cellar, where we make the wine.”

Carlo led her outside and to a barn, where a red electric car awaited them.

“Oh my gosh,” Schuyler said. “How cute is this? It looks like a cross between a golf cart and a limousine.”





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