Книга - A Taste Of Desire

A Taste Of Desire
Chloe Blake


Savour the seductionThe lush mountains of Brazil provide a stunning location for a business trip—or a wild, unexpected romance. International real estate agent Nicole Parks isn’t expecting the latter, but she’s quickly falling under the spell of incredibly handsome French vintner Destin Dechamps. The man is as delicious as the fine blends he creates. Yet he’s out to sabotage the deal that will guarantee her a promotion and the adoption she’s been longing for.Destin lost both his wife and his career when his family winery burned down. Gradually he’s found meaning in a new plan—defy his father, keep the land and rebuild. He can’t afford to fantasize about a gorgeous Realtor who’s been hired to interrupt his scheme—even unknowingly. When a rainstorm traps them together, attraction spills over into intoxicating pleasure. With both their dreams in the balance, is there room for a sweet, intense fling to deepen into love?







Savor the seduction

The lush mountains of Brazil provide a stunning location for a business trip—or a wild, unexpected romance. International real estate agent Nicole Parks isn’t expecting the latter, but she’s quickly falling under the spell of incredibly handsome French vintner Destin Dechamps. The man is as delicious as the fine blends he creates. Yet he’s out to sabotage the deal that will guarantee her a promotion and the adoption she’s been longing for.

Destin lost both his wife and his career when his family winery burned down. Gradually he’s found meaning in a new plan—defy his father, keep the land and rebuild. He can’t afford to fantasize about a gorgeous Realtor who’s been hired to interrupt his scheme—even unknowingly. When a rainstorm traps them together, attraction spills over into intoxicating pleasure. With both their dreams in the balance, is there room for a sweet, intense fling to deepen into love?


CHLOE BLAKE can be found dreaming up stories while she is traveling the world or just sitting on her couch in Brooklyn, NY. When she is not writing sexy novels, she is at the newest wine bar, taking random online classes, binge-watching Netflix or searching for her next adventure. Readers can find out more about Chloe and her books from her website at www.chloeblakebooks.com (http://www.chloeblakebooks.com).


Also By Chloe Blake (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

A Taste of Desire

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A Taste of Desire

Chloe Blake






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-08075-0

A TASTE OF DESIRE

© 2018 Tamara Lynch

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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“How did you know I was American?”

“Your accent. I’ve done some business there, in California.”

“California is beautiful.”

“But you’re not from there.”

She met his gaze, and a tiny grin touched the corners of her mouth. “No.” He watched her lips as she sipped her wine.

Destin waited for her to say more after she put down her glass, but he waited in vain. My, she was reserved. Maybe she’s married, he immediately thought, but her pink-tipped fingers were bare of jewelry. Could she be traveling alone? He’d heard of American women coming to Brazil for plastic surgery, but he couldn’t possibly see where she would need any.

“Maybe I should guess?” She only glanced at him. “You’re from New York, it’s your first time in Brazil, and you’re here on a spa vacation.”

She smirked and turned to him. “Yes. Yes. And no.”

“No vacation? You’re here on business? That’s too bad,” he said after she gave a brief nod. “Brazil is the perfect place for pleasure.”

Her brows rose. “Is that why you’re here? Pleasure?”

He wished, wondering briefly if her skin was as soft as it looked.


Dear Reader (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029),

Have you ever wanted someone in spite of your better judgment? Felt the intense rush of desire for someone you shouldn’t? Yeah, me, too. And that’s what happened to Nicole Parks when she met Destin Dechamps. Both are after the same vineyard in the lush region of Brazil’s Rio Grande do Sul, and neither is giving it up.

Still holding on to past tragedy, Destin isn’t looking for love, yet he can’t deny his attraction to the beautiful stranger who flew across the world and landed on his doorstep. These two didn’t expect to be each other’s obstacle and they certainly didn’t expect to fall for each other. Things get spicy when they come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. It just goes to show that sometimes love finds you when and where you least expect it.

So tell me, who was your unexpected desire? Drop by chloeblakebooks.com (http://www.chloeblakebooks.com) and let me know.

Happy reading,

Chloe Blake


For the strong women in my life. Because every time you fall, you get right back up.


Acknowledgments (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

I am so grateful...to my readers. Seeing your comments and supportive messages always gives me joy.

To my agent, Christine Whitthohn, for your constant support and guidance.

To Shannon Criss and the editorial team for making my dream of being a Harlequin Kimani author come true.

A huge shout-out to Jane Austen, with whom I share a birthday, and had I not visited an astrologer who told me that tidbit, I may not have become a writer.

I’m lucky to have friends from all walks of life that are like family. There is no way I could ever repay the unwavering support of my writing group: Ami, Nadia, Anna and Saga, you are my soul sisters, my coven and the loves of my life. Let’s never stop creating, never stop drinking wine, never stop exploring the world and never stop dreaming bigger.

And to Amy, my sister, soul mate and fellow motherless daughter, you know me better than anyone, and yet you still stick around. I love you. Thank you for always being there for me.


Contents

Cover (#udab9e73f-cb7f-55d8-a7bf-348405f02013)

Back Cover Text (#uc116608b-10a2-567d-bb56-b7db98e813bf)

About the Author (#u2e55049c-0b98-5903-aae9-2f659a6e6cf1)

Booklist (#ub6f9760b-1269-57d8-b1e4-1fb215400be2)

Title Page (#uc1cc405f-1e40-5d21-991f-8f394ba1e2a0)

Copyright (#ub1952940-25fb-5cd7-866a-ee7aa57f0cf3)

Introduction (#ucd0cd766-5268-56a0-965a-2b4b180558bc)

Dear Reader (#u2144633a-57cd-560d-b8c8-9620a3fa3090)

Dedication (#uc1824d0c-a3d4-57b8-9150-0967149a844f)

Acknowledgments (#ud9c0cc30-b18f-5e02-996d-777de1a11f40)

Chapter 1 (#u6d68eab6-edd4-51ac-b3f0-fa014403393d)

Chapter 2 (#u282b887f-378e-5dc4-95b3-62a232be093b)

Chapter 3 (#u411b3acd-c9cc-5c9a-9bb2-3c8c527f1b99)

Chapter 4 (#u1598bf93-b274-5874-8666-4a659be83593)

Chapter 5 (#u24ec0088-ca2d-5bf2-ab00-70e02b3475a6)

Chapter 6 (#u3314c290-6b86-5e14-901e-08fa7d302d21)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

Nicole Parks burst from the bathroom of her hotel suite and rummaged through her suitcase. Bras, panties, a flat iron and a jam-packed makeup bag landed on the king-size bed. She sat up and aggressively squirted Visine into her eyes then gulped the fresh coffee she’d made from the in-room coffeemaker. Then she dove for her other suitcase.

Her fifteen-hour flight to the Rio Grande do Sul region of Brazil had come with a pounding post-flight headache. The blazing hot thirty-minute car ride to Porto Alegre, the capital, hadn’t helped. She’d virtually passed out after checking into her hotel that afternoon, but now that nap, although refreshing, was screwing with her inner clock. Good thing her client chose the restaurant in her hotel for their business dinner. She had twenty minutes to be downstairs.

Ten minutes went by, and Nicole turned to check her appearance in the floor-length mirror: black, sleeveless, form-fitting dress, mascara and nude lipstick in place, sleek black shoulder-length hair—frizzing slightly, but so far, so good—and mahogany arms and legs shimmering with lotion.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gesturing to her reflection. I have a head for business and a bod for sin. Anything wrong with that? It was her favorite quote from the movie Working Girl. And she definitely was a working girl, since she was the only female international real estate broker and attorney at the New York City branch of Kingsley’s.

You got this. Smooth sailing. She whispered positive mantras to herself. She loved this business: selling gorgeous properties, seeing the world, making the money. Not too shabby for a little girl from Brooklyn. Closing a deal fed her soul. It was better than sex, not that she was having any.

Dressed to impress, she reached for her phone and sighed. After locating the passcode on the corner desk, she connected to the Wi-Fi and was instantly bombarded with texts, emails and voice mail messages. She itched to go through them, noting several from her boss, but they had to wait.

Clutch and phone in hand, she rushed toward the elevator in her six-inch heels. Just as she jammed the button, a call came through. Her best friend Liz’s name popped up and Nicole bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t answer.

“Liz, I can’t talk right now. I’m meeting a client.” Nicole punched the elevator button again.

“Nicole, where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying you for hours.” Uh-oh. Liz was clearly irritated. As a psychologist with a weekly radio show, Dr. Elizabeth Hines had heard it all, and usually nothing got through that calm exterior.

“Brazil. I got here hours ago, and I’m off to meet a client.”

“South America Brazil? I thought you were in Paris?”

“Um, that was yesterday.”

“This is why you don’t have a man.”

Nicole jerked her neck back. “Oh, really, Dr. Love? When was the last time you got roses on Valentine’s Day? And if traveling is a direct correlation to being single, then what’s your excuse? You haven’t left the country—no wait, you haven’t left New York—since you got your PhD which was...let me think... Y2K.” Nicole smiled when Liz let out a loud breath.

“I didn’t call you to throw shade around. Dani needs us.”

Nicole sobered. “Why? What happened?”

“Remember that Tinder date she had the other night?”

“Yeah. The guy with the four cats?” Nicole rolled her eyes. She commended Dani for continuing to put herself out there on those dating apps, but she had to stop meeting up with every guy who threw her a wink.

“He sent her a two-page email saying she’s everything he’s looking for in a woman, except for her weight, and wondered if she was interested in transforming herself. He sent her some basic workout tips and offered to pay for a trainer.”

“Oh, my God,” Nicole sneered. “Who does this cat-hoarding awful man think he is? Dani is beautiful and voluptuous. What is wrong with people?”

“I don’t know, but I am so over men.”

“Ditto.” Nicole exhaled. “No one has ever offered to pay for my trainer.”

There had been a few significant men in Nicole’s life, but none had stuck it out for the long haul. Her last relationship ended when her ex suggested that no man wanted a woman who worked as much as she did. Yet he hadn’t been spouting that nonsense when she had treated him to a couples spa weekend in Indonesia for his birthday. Jerk.

Sure, she used to want the fairy tale—man, dog, kids—but the more she unsuccessfully dated and the older she got, the farther away that dream started to float. It was time for a new plan.

“Liz, please tell me she isn’t devastated.”

“No, just feeling hopeless. I called because I wanted us to take her out, get her mind off of it. What are you doing in Brazil?”

“Getting ready to sell a burnt-down winery to the highest American bidder. The owner is only in his thirties, but we’re talking serious old money.”

“Mmm. Is he single?”

“He’s French, so it probably doesn’t matter. Regardless, I don’t date clients. From his dossier he sounds like a trust-fund baby who is no doubt bristling at the fact that I’m a woman.”

“Wait till he sees you negotiate.”

“Damn right.” Nicole watched her floor number light up. “Okay, I gotta go.”

“Wait! What happened at the adoption agency?”

Nicole groaned. “They denied me.”

“I was afraid of that, Nicole.”

“I know, Liz. You’ve made your position clear. Could you slip out of shrink mode for one second and be the supportive friend that I’ve known for eight years?”

The elevator doors opened, and Nicole was relieved that it was empty. She held it for a brief second as Liz continued.

“Look, you know I think you deserve to have a child, but your lifestyle is not attractive to adoption agencies or parents choosing adoptive parents.”

“Well, that’s what they said.”

“What else did they say?”

“That a nanny was not a full-time parent.”

Liz chuckled. “Did you give them the au pair speech?”

“Don’t laugh. They were not impressed. But, honestly, what better way for a kid to learn a second language?”

“Nicole, if you’ve really decided to go this route, maybe you should think about insemination.”

“Oh, God, I cannot get pregnant.”

“Why? You’re only thirty-five. Women are having babies in their fifties these days.”

“I travel too much.”

“See—you don’t know what you want.”

“Yes, I do!” Afraid they’d get cut off if she stepped in, Nicole slapped her hand against the closing elevator door, pushing it open. “I want a kid and I’m done waiting around for Prince Charming, because he doesn’t exist!”

Liz sucked her teeth. “I might agree with you on that last statement, but I think you’re being hasty.”

“Well, I’m not. When this deal is done, I’ll get my promotion and I won’t be on the road as much. Plus, I’ll be able to afford a nanny and a rent-a-husband. We’ll discuss later. Kiss Dani for me, and tell her I’ll give her a call.”

Nicole hung up and stepped into the elevator, pulling up the email she’d gotten from the Live to Love adoption agency a few days ago.

Dear Miss Parks,

We are thrilled that you are interested in adopting a child, and thank you for taking the steps to ensure your eligibility. The Greens want you to know that they so enjoyed meeting you and feel that you are a strong candidate as an adoptive parent. Unfortunately, the couple had some concerns about your work schedule, and although you can afford excellent childcare, they have decided to wait for a two-parent home.

Please don’t get discouraged. Your child is out there.

As if being single wasn’t stigma enough, now young parents were rejecting her. She had a stable job and a killer résumé. What more could she do to make herself a desirable single parent? The agency had suggested that Nicole look into family homes located close to good schools—apparently parents liked that. The three-bedroom Brooklyn house she had been eyeing was still on the market, but she needed some more time to get the down payment together.

But that was before Brazil landed in her lap. She guessed that she could have that deal closed in a few weeks. Then that home and her mini-me, with their live-in French au pair, would be a reality.

Her fairy tale could come true.

The bell dinged, and Nicole strutted out of the elevator.

“Good evening Miss Parks, we are so glad you’ll be joining us for dinner.”

“Thank you, Anton,” she said, recognizing the tall, slim general manager who’d facilitated her hotel check-in hours earlier. Next to him, a hostess smiled. “So am I.”

“Monsieur Dechamps hasn’t arrived yet, but we’ll be happy to seat you, or would you join us at the bar for a complimentary glass of wine while you wait?”

“Say no more, Anton. The bar it is.”

“Please follow me.”

She heard the dull roar of a packed house and smelled sweet cigars before she even stepped inside the restaurant. The dining room was elegant, with dark wood accents, bistro tables and an oversized bar. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed patrons to enjoy the busy streets and the boisterous Brazilian nightlife.

Anton helped Nicole onto an empty bar stool near others waiting for their tables, then signaled for the bartender. He half bowed. “I hope your suite is satisfactory?”

“It’s very comfortable. And the champagne basket is lovely. Thank you.”

“Our pleasure.” He gestured toward the barkeep. “Rafe will take care of you. I’ll be back to seat you when Monsieur Dechamps arrives.”

After perusing the wine list she chose a glass of Beaujolais. The dark ruby liquid poured like silk, and after giving it a good swish in her glass to let the oxygen in, she took a deep inhale, then put it to her lips. It tasted like heaven. Rose, wood, mint and truffle—bursts of flavor danced on her tongue and she mentally logged each one, a habit she’d learned at a summer work–study during college in Bordeaux.

Although she was eager to meet her client, she could feel the tension of her day leaving her body, and she took the opportunity to text her boss—she’d call him tomorrow—and sent several work emails from her phone. She was mid-email when a high-pitched giggling came from the other side of the room.

A young blonde woman in a low-cut minidress walked through a side entrance, but she stopped and turned with an annoyed stance, clearly waiting for someone. Nicole hoped it wasn’t more giggling girls.

Just as she was about to turn away, in strolled a tall, dark-haired, starkly handsome man. His square jaw was covered in a trim beard, but it was his eyes that held the most allure. Heavy lidded and thickly lashed, their blue color seemed to resemble translucent cobalt glass. She bet eyes like that glittered when he smiled, but right now he looked bored. And slightly sloshed.

Nicole didn’t usually go for the bearded, mountain-man type, but this one, even in a disheveled white button-down shirt, was fine.

And taken. The young woman grabbed his hand and practically pulled him toward the bar.

Turning back to her phone, Nicole noted that Elliot Dechamps was ten minutes late, but she didn’t stress. Not all cultures took punctuality as seriously as Americans, and sometimes it was nice to let go of those expectations.

She was in a country she’d never explored before, drinking a beautiful red wine. It didn’t get much better—

An elbow jostled Nicole’s forearm. The couple from across the room was right next to her, sipping champagne and speaking loudly in swift Portuguese. The tipsy woman was having trouble getting onto the stool in her spandex dress. After a few tries, with the help of her boyfriend’s outstretched arm, she finally made it.

In celebration, the young woman laughed and shot her elbows out again, knocking over her champagne...and Nicole’s wine.

Instantly Nicole’s Beaujolais became a pool of dark liquid and broken glass. Heads turned and the bartender sprang into action, gathering white cloths and swiping at the mess, which had begun to travel over the lip of the bar onto Nicole’s leg. She jumped from her barstool and stepped away, almost bumping into the blonde, who was no doubt hurrying toward the ladies’ room.

Nicole patted down her dress. Thank God she was wearing black, but some wine had gotten on her bare leg.

Suddenly a towel was being dabbed lightly at her thigh.

New York reflexes always on, she grabbed the wrist then tried to hide her shock as she eyed its owner. He was strong, she thought when she felt his arm stiffen and pull back. Dark brows slashed the blue of his eyes when he looked up.

He was even hotter up close.


Chapter 2 (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

“Desculpa,” Destin apologized quickly, noting the vice grip the woman had on his wrist. Her wary gaze told him she might not have appreciated his cleaning skills. “Eu não deveria ter...”

The woman let go of him and held up her palm. “Não entendo. I don’t speak Portuguese.”

English? Interesting. Just as he was about to explain himself, a birthday procession of sparklers and dessert trays came marching past the bar. Quickly he shot an arm out, pulling the woman closer to shield her from their path.

When the fanfare was across the room, he tried again. “As I was saying, my apologies. I was handing you a towel when I saw an errant drop of wine heading for your knee.”

Now in a half circle within his arms, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed her before. She was strikingly beautiful, with high cheekbones and full lips accentuated by the rich brown of her skin, which was flawless.

Touches of fire still flashed in her eyes, and her body language told him that she was ready to fend him off if he crossed a line. With a slight bow, he offered her the white cloth and was pleased when he saw the suspicion leave her eyes.

He inspected her sophisticated dress. “I don’t believe there are any stains.”

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you for the towel.”

She backed away, her gaze raking over him this time, and he swore he felt the heat of it. He fought an urge to pull her back into his arms. “Allow me to buy you another drink.”

“It’s fine, really.”

She turned, and he watched as she glided back to her open stool. He couldn’t tear his attention away from the gentle sway of her hips, those long silky brown legs or her shining black heels.

He was about to insist, but saw that the barkeep had already replenished her glass. Destin took an involuntary step to follow her and then stopped, surprised at his reaction to this mysterious woman. He itched to engage her again. Was he drunk? Of course he was; he’d been drinking all night.

Speaking of which, his drink sat idle on the bar. Taking the seat one stool away from her, Destin propped both of his arms on the bar and took a burning sip of his drink, letting the amber liquid rip down his throat like fire. Relaxing a bit, he opened the top two buttons on his tailored white shirt, hoping his date took her time. She was a handful.

When Thereza’s brother had called Destin in a panic, begging him to escort his little sister to the art gala because he could no longer make it, Destin’s first answer had been no. He’d already thrown out his invitation. Every year the envelope arrived, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Destin Dechamps, and every year he stared at the names then tossed it into the trash bin.

He still donated, however. Nina would have wanted that, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to the fundraiser since her death. Until this favor. He blamed his father, too, for his lapse in judgment. Destin was supposed to be on a flight to Paris that night, but with their strained relationship, he hadn’t been looking forward to it. The gala had seemed like the perfect excuse to cancel.

Now he wished he’d stuck to his first answer. Being at the art gala that afternoon without his wife and seeing their old acquaintances had been jarring. Women who had known Nina for years aggressively invited him to their homes for “dinner.” And the men took one look at his date and said they envied his “bachelor lifestyle.” Little did they know he’d spent most of his time in his wine cellar, the only place that gave him peace.

And his friend should have told him that little Thereza wasn’t so little anymore. The young blonde had spent most of her time at the gala’s open bar, and the more she drank, the flirtier she got. She’d tried to climb on top of him in the car ride to the restaurant. He needed to get some food into her. But that wasn’t the only reason they were there.

His brother, Elliot, had conveniently forgotten to mention that he was meeting with the real estate lawyer tonight. Destin had found out by accident through their father, of all people—the man who was selling the property out from under them. The thought of Elliot and his father talking behind his back made him want to smash something.

Destin recalled the last conversation he’d had with his father, pleading with him to let him rebuild the winery. They could make the land profitable again. His father refused to listen, saying only that it was in the Dechamps’ best interest to sell and infuse the money into the French production. It had turned into a shouting match, with Destin walking out and vowing to do whatever he could to keep the acreage.

That meant keeping the buyers away from the property, and keeping the brokers from doing their jobs...by any means necessary. With the help of some friends, he’d been able to do just that. And this new American real estate lawyer was not going to be an exception. He almost felt bad for the poor bastard. Almost.

Lawyers, he hated them. The yearlong legal battle his father had initiated against Destin, his own son, for sole rights to the signature wine that he’d created still felt like a noose around his throat. Armand Dechamps didn’t have just one lawyer; he had a team. And they were vultures. Destin didn’t trust lawyers. Not one.

He drew deeply from his whiskey, hoping the meeting hadn’t been canceled. His brother was late, not that that was unusual, but he didn’t see any lone men who could pass for a smarmy lawyer.

His angry thoughts were interrupted when a silver cone of frites that he had ordered for Thereza arrived. Destin scanned the hallway and saw no sign of her. He hoped she was all right. He popped one into his mouth, then slid them across the bar, offering one to his new friend. “I know Americans love french fries.”

She glanced at the fries and then at him, bemused.

With a guilty smile, she took one. “How did you know I was American?”

“Your accent. I’ve done some business there, in California.”

“California is beautiful.”

“But you’re not from there.”

She met his gaze, and a tiny grin touched the corners of her mouth. “No.” He watched her lips as she sipped her wine.

Destin waited for her to say more after she put down her glass, but he waited in vain. My, she was reserved. Maybe she’s married, he immediately thought, but her pink-tipped fingers were bare of jewelry. Could she be traveling alone? He’d heard of American women coming to Brazil for plastic surgery, but couldn’t possibly see where she would need any.

“Maybe I should guess?” She only glanced at him. “You’re from New York, it’s your first time in Brazil, and you’re here on a spa vacation.”

She smirked and turned to him. “Yes. Yes. And no.”

“No vacation? You’re here on business? That’s too bad,” he said after she gave a brief nod. “Brazil is the perfect place for pleasure.”

Her brows rose. “Is that why you’re here? Pleasure?”

He wished, wondering briefly if her skin was as soft as it looked. “No, I have business, too.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey when he thought of how his brother had tried to hide this meeting from him. Destin couldn’t wait to see the look on Elliot’s face. “I’m meeting with a lawyer.”

“Uh-oh, are you in trouble?”

He smiled. “Nothing like that. I don’t like lawyers.”

She turned her body toward him, which pleased him. “Really? Why?”

“I’ve found them to be unfeeling, soulless and greedy. Every last one of them.” Her eyes flashed, and he mentally patted himself on the back for holding her attention.

“I know a lot of nice lawyers who would take offense to that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your friends, but I have yet to meet a lawyer who isn’t out to get rich while destroying someone else’s life.”

Her gaze lowered, and she turned her body back toward the bar. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunately true.” He signaled for another whiskey. “What is it you said you do?”

“Umm... I’m a...yoga instructor.”

That made sense. She looked fit.

“Did you just look at my legs?”

Merde. He had. And not just a quick peek; he’d stared a little. “For business purposes only. If I were going to do yoga, I would hire you. You look flexible.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened, but she laughed a little, which he liked the sound of.

Mon Dieu, he really was out of practice with women. Where was his whiskey? “I meant, if I were a woman looking for an instructor.” He paused. “I think Thereza does yoga,” he added quickly, gesturing toward the empty seat. He had no idea if the young blonde did yoga.

“Is your girlfriend okay? She’s been in the restroom a while.”

“She’s probably on the phone. And she’s not my girlfriend,” he murmured distractedly. The woman turned her head to him slowly and tipped her face toward his. There were sparks in her dark eyes again—exquisite.

“Really? Does she know that?” Her icy tone was palpable.

Destin never rose to the touchiness in a woman’s voice. In a former life, he had kissed hands, opened doors and led women by the smalls of their backs. His mother had raised him and his brother to be gentlemen. He’d been married to a sweet, stunning lady.

The pain of the memory pulled him back into the present. He was no longer that young man.

And this woman and her commanding tone were stirring something dark in him. Leaning in, he swiveled his amused gaze to her annoyed one. “She knows.”

As if on cue, Thereza slid in between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her giggles mingled with his audible sigh as he peeled her off him and wrestled her onto her stool, enticing her with the fries.

He peered over Thereza’s head at his beautiful new acquaintance, who was now acting like she didn’t know him. She sipped her wine, ignoring them, yet he caught the tiniest clench in her jaw. He berated himself for not finding out her name.

Destin saw her head turn toward the entrance and pause. She clutched her small bag and popped off the stool. He watched as she walked toward the crowd of people at the door, curious to see whom she was meeting. Then his thoughts shifted when he spotted Elliot. Finally!

Destin stood and signaled to his brother. The surprise on Elliot’s slim face was priceless but short-lived as his attention was diverted by...the yoga instructor?


Chapter 3 (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

Elliot Dechamps strolled into the restaurant, handed his coat to a server and assaulted both of Nicole’s cheeks with kisses. His blond hair was slightly longer than in his picture, but he was just as handsome and stylish in a black button-down open at the neck and slim-cut trousers.

“Enchanté, Ms. Parks. I hope Anton has taken excellent care of you.” He didn’t apologize for being late. Instead, his head swiveled toward the bar, and he frowned and nodded at someone. Then he called Anton over and requested that he change their table.

Elliot turned to her. “It looks my brother, Destin, is unexpectedly joining us. And he seems to have brought a friend. I assure you, this is not how we usually do business. My brother can be—” He searched for a word. “Impetuous.” With a tight smile, Elliot waved toward the bar.

Nicole’s mind ran over the details of the dossier that she had read about the Dechamps brothers. Just a few years out of Oxford, they’d successfully opened a branch of their family’s winery. At the time, winemaking in Brazil was still experimental, but they quickly rose to mainstream success. Destin was the eldest and the driving force behind the creation of the wines and the agricultural operation. Elliot was the business mind, and took on the finances and sales.

A fire had taken the winery almost four years ago, along with Destin’s wife.

So sad, she thought, as she turned toward the bar and—

No.

Oh, no...

Whiskey in hand, drunk girlfriend struggling to keep up, her lawyer-hating barfly was patting Elliot on the back. Elliot turned to her.

“Miss Parks, my brother, Destin. Destin, Miss Nicole Parks, the attorney from Kingsley’s.”

Destin slid a glance at his brother, and Nicole was sure he was going to say something smart. Instead, he stretched out his hand, his expression unreadable. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Parks.”

“Lovely to meet you, as well, Monsieur Dechamps.” She slipped her palm into the warmth of his hand. Her pulse jumped. She chalked it up to being flustered.

They released each other, and Destin stepped to the side. “And this is Thereza.”

Nicole introduced herself to the blonde, who didn’t seem to recognize her from the bar at all.

“I thought you were going to Paris tonight,” Elliot hissed, pulling Destin off to the side. Nicole eavesdropped as she pretended to look out the bay window, but she could see the brothers from the corner of her eye.

Destin shrugged. “I had another engagement.”

Elliot eyed Destin’s companion then pursed his lips at Destin. “Mon Dieu, Destin, is it really that hard for you to face our father?”

Destin seethed. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Good. You need to talk this out.”

Destin ignored him.

Evidently satisfied that everyone had met, Elliot took Thereza by the hand and led her toward the table. Destin frowned, his blue gaze boring into Nicole’s. Then he offered her his arm for the short walk.

“You’re the attorney?” he murmured. “No yoga?”

She placed her hand inside his biceps. It felt like steel. “I do yoga. I find that it helps me to keep my soul.”

He raised a brow at her. “Touché.” He led her through the tables. “I supposed my statement was harsh. It just never occurred to me that you were an attorney.”

“Well, we come in all shapes and sizes.”

“And genders.”

“Don’t tell me you have a problem with me being a woman.”

“Of course not. It’s just that you came with such high recommendations that I was expecting a man.”

Ooooh, another zinger. It was difficult, but she held her temper. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But I think you’ll find that I can be as unfeeling and greedy as any man, especially when it serves my clients.”

Destin’s lips twitched. “Oh, I’m not disappointed.”

At the table, Elliott moved Thereza’s chair back and helped her get seated. Which left Destin to assist Nicole. He smoothly slid her chair forward when she sat, and Nicole glanced at him over her shoulder. No mockery or amusement seemed present in his face.

“Merci,” she murmured.

“À tout moment.” Anytime.

Elliot requested a bottle of wine, and sent for a flurry of hors d’oeuvres. Their drinks were on the table in seconds, and the small plates of bite-sized appetizers followed promptly.

Surprise must have registered across her face because Elliot leaned over to her with a grin and said, “They know us here. Saúde.” They all clinked glasses, looking into each other’s eyes—no one wanted seven years of bad sex, even if it was an urban legend.

Destin’s look was intense when he touched his glass to hers. She took a deep breath, thinking there was probably no such thing as bad sex with him.

Where had that thought come from?

Nicole wrenched her gaze from his. She gave her wine a swirl then inhaled before tasting.

“Wow,” Nicole said after her first sip. “That’s exceptional.”

“It is,” Elliott said, his attention shifting to his brother. Destin lowered his whiskey and his eyes.

“A Cab Franc. It’s yours, isn’t it? A Dechamps?” she asked Elliot.

“It’s our father’s, yes,” Destin answered.

Nicole caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe? But after another sip of his drink, whatever sadness she’d seen disappeared.

“Hmm. Chili pepper, strawberry, tobacco, licorice.” She tapped her tongue on the top of her mouth and sucked in a slow breath. “Leather?” Elliot’s eyes widened. “Basil and dark oak from extremely aged barrels. Very earthy.”

“Is she right?” Elliot asked his brother excitedly.

Destin was half grinning and studying her as if he’d seen an alien. He glanced at Elliot and slowly nodded.

“How did you do that?” Destin asked Nicole.

“I have a really sensitive palate.”

“A supertaster?” Destin asked, astonishment in his tone.

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded shyly.

“Very interesting,” Elliot chimed in.

“Not really. It’s a nice party trick, but mostly it makes me a picky eater. Things smell so good and don’t always carry through on the taste. It annoys my friends.” The brothers laughed, which was the intention, but her mutant taste buds had caused more harm than good when she was a child, especially when her father took over the cooking after her mother passed. If it hadn’t been for Cheerios, she wasn’t sure she would have survived middle school.

“And your boyfriend? What does he think?” asked Destin.

Was he mocking her again? If he hadn’t noticed, his girlfriend had been texting ever since the drinks arrived. Nicole might be single, but at least she had standards.

“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. So I have all the time in the world to dedicate to the both of you.”

“Cheers to that,” Destin said. He drained his whiskey and poured himself a glass of the Cab Franc.

Elliot narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at his brother, then turned to her. “I must say, I had no idea you’d be so beautiful in person.”

Warning bells chimed in Nicole’s head at the offhand comment. Even Destin frowned. Ever the professional, Nicole gave him a practiced smile, still unsure if he was flirting or just being very French.

“Merci. For the compliment and the opportunity to let me facilitate your sale. I understand the land has been untouched for quite some time. Are you certain it can’t be salvaged?” she asked softly. Elliot froze, and he gazed across the table. She turned to Destin, who was fingering the stem of his glass, and spoke carefully. “I hope you don’t think I’m being insensitive to your family tragedy. I’m so sorry for your loss and want you to know that our company has many resources that could help you rebuild. I would be remiss if I didn’t present all of the options.”

Destin seemed far away for a moment. Then he held his glass up to the lit candle in the middle of their table and studied the dark burgundy liquid. His gaze flicked to her over the rim.

“Wine making is an art, and in France it’s about timing. The seasons determine when the grapes ripen and when to harvest. But in Brazil, there are three hundred days of sunshine. The vines never stop producing, and harvesting can happen at any time. That’s why Elliot and I came here to make our mark.” More food arrived and Destin paused, pushing a few of the plates toward Nicole. “Please, eat. Let’s see what your palate can handle.” His smile was genuine, and she couldn’t help but grin back. She started in on the spiced churrasco and the smoked octopus.

Destin watched her take a bite, then raised one brow in a silent question. How is it? She licked her lips and grinned in answer. Her smile slowly fell when he turned to Thereza, who began to eat one of the pork ribs with her fingers. Nicole almost felt bad for her. Her minimal English meant she couldn’t follow the conversation. In between texts, the blonde had flipped her hair and flashed her eyes, anything to get Destin to look her way.

He’d been polite, offering her wine and food, making sure she was comfortable, but Nicole could tell this was a one-sided love match. Destin wasn’t into Thereza, which provided Nicole with some inexplicable inner satisfaction.

She had to ask herself why she cared.

“Brazil is an exciting country,” Elliot said, interrupting her thoughts. “But it can be a savage and lawless place. Young boys can get into a lot of trouble here.” Elliot smirked, as if he indulged in trouble frequently. “Our winery was successful for a time, maybe too successful. Someone broke in and knocked a lit oil lamp over. The fire took everything.”

“That’s awful,” she said cautiously, her gaze going back and forth between the men.

Destin didn’t look up; instead, he ran his hand back and forth over the white tablecloth. “The irrigation pipes were ruined, and the soil is no longer suitable. And, of course, our production facilities were destroyed. Rebuilding would be a waste of time and money,” he said, trailing off into a whisper.

Nicole swallowed back her own memories of losing close family members. Her mother had been the first to go, her degenerative heart condition taking her when Nicole was only ten. Then her father’s constant drinking and liver cirrhosis took him not long after. By the time Nicole was twelve, the only relative she had left was her grandmother.

Nicole recognized that this man was still in pain. She pushed the octopus plate his way, but he shook his head and smiled at her in gratitude.

He had a nice mouth, she thought. And his eyes seemed to glitter.

“Well, I’ve brought inquiries from several prospective buyers with me that we can discuss. They seem to agree that there is a lot of opportunity in Brazil. There is an oil tycoon who...”

Destin rose suddenly. “I think I should take Thereza home. Please, continue without us.”

Elliot rose. “You’re sure you can’t stay?” His gaze flicked to Nicole, then back to his brother.

“No. Unfortunately,” Destin murmured.

“You’re still off to Paris in the morning?” Elliot asked, grasping his brother’s outstretched hand.

Destin nodded as they shook goodbye, then he turned to Nicole. “It was lovely to meet you Miss Parks. I’m sure you’ll take good care of us.” He stared into her eyes as he took her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers.

She grinned and studied his face. “Safe travels.”

Thereza smiled and waved goodbye before turning for the exit.

Nicole turned back to Elliot, but Destin’s departing broad shoulders monopolized her peripheral vision until he strode out of the restaurant. She told herself that the sinking feeling she was experiencing wasn’t disappointment. Surely she didn’t care that he was taking his girlfriend home. She wasn’t attracted to him; it was more like a misplaced sympathy. She felt sorry for him. That was all. Anyway, he was off to Paris. She’d probably never see him again.

“Please excuse Destin, it took him a while to accept the idea of selling. This was his dream, and it’s hard for him to let it go. Even after what happened.”

Nicole understood letting go of dreams. Her thoughts turned toward the adoption, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to let that go.

One more bottle of wine, two desserts and one espresso later, Nicole and Elliot had hashed out the expectations for the sale.

“So, do you have any more questions for me? Anything else you want to know?” Nicole asked, taking the last bite of her acai sorbet.

Elliot thought for a moment. “Whatever we missed tonight, I’m sure we’ll think of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Bien sûr. I’ll be giving you a tour of the land. I can’t wait to show you Dechamps and Rio Grande.”


Chapter 4 (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

Brazil’s blinding afternoon sun rose high above a vast, unkempt field and beat down on Destin’s back as he squatted inside the remnants of a burned and crumbling building. Though he kept his dark head bent, his thin T-shirt did little to shield him from the sun’s hot rays, and he shifted himself into the triangle of shade provided by the partial wall blackened by fire patterns. He swiped at the sweat beaded on his neck and shooed away Magnus, his German shepherd, as he cleared rocks and sticks from the piles of ash, brick and stone that peppered the dirt floor.

He’d found things in the rubble before: a hairbrush, broken crystal decanters, a melted tobacco pipe. But he never found what he was truly looking for—answers. What had happened to his life? Each artifact he found felt like a piece of a puzzle that still eluded him. His wife and everything they’d worked for had disappeared in one night.

He tossed a rock at the charred wall, wishing he could as easily toss the guilt. It had been his idea to start a branch of Dechamps in Brazil, and he and Nina had taken such pride in their new home. They’d had high hopes to build something here, the way his father had done in France. But she was gone now, and it was all his fault.

Yet the thought of letting it go made his stomach turn.

Nicole Parks. Her dark eyes had been haunting him since he left the restaurant the night before. Even after he’d dropped Thereza off at her apartment, refusing to have a nightcap—despite her offer and the suggestive way she’d kissed him goodbye.

His mind replayed his interaction with the feisty attorney over and over. She had a sharp wit and self-assurance. Her poise and direct way of speaking were unnerving, he decided, as if weighing the pros and cons. He’d bet she was stubborn, too. An inner voice told him that those qualities probably made her a good lawyer. A second inner voice reminded him that Nina had been just as bold.

When Nicole had mentioned potential buyers the night before, Destin found he couldn’t listen to the possibility that his failed aspirations might become a success story for someone else. Jumping out of his seat was a reflex, one he had instantly regretted. Once he’d stood, he found that, as much as he wanted to leave the conversation, he hadn’t wanted to leave Nicole’s presence.

The attorney held a certain fascination for him that he couldn’t deny. She was clearly intelligent, and at times had been rather charming. A classic beauty, she’d worn little makeup at dinner, which was a refreshing change from the heavily made-up women at the restaurant. She was tall, about five foot seven, he guessed, and curvy. He had a sneaking suspicion that she might fit against his tall frame quite nicely.

And she was a supertaster. What were the odds of that? He imagined taking her to his workspace in the cellar, letting her taste the wines that had been aging in their barrels since before the fire. Feeding her the foods and desserts he’d paired them with.

Bouncing another rock against the wall, he rebuked himself for those thoughts. Nicole Parks was working for his father. No matter how intriguing she was, he had to make sure that she didn’t succeed.

His soot-covered fingertips swiped at a rock, uncovering a glint of silver. He dug out the small rectangular shape, rubbed it, popped off the top then closed it shut. A lighter. He weighed it in his hand and flipped it around, using his thumbs to clear the dirt. An engraved D became visible. Clutching the lighter hard in his palm, he pulled his fist to his lips and closed his eyes as if in prayer.

He slipped it into his pocket, slapped his hands on his cargo pants, grabbed his shotgun and left the forsaken structure. His four-legged companion loped ahead of him as his boots trod hard through the brush of the surrounding forest, his shotgun in one hand and a small bouquet of wildflowers in the other. The dog waited for him at their destination, a small gravesite with two markers.

He placed the flowers on the graves, and they mingled with the dead petals of the previous bouquet.

Thunder cracked overhead. Clouds had darkened and gathered, suggesting a storm, the quick and fierce kind that Rio Grande was famous for.

They turned back, moving quickly, he and the dog noticing the mass evacuation of the forest inhabitants. Raising his gun, he shot and missed a large brown rabbit when it bounced high in the air. Even the dog couldn’t catch it. Clearing the trees, the pair moved swiftly toward the wine cellar, a high stone structure with a wide wooden door. Just before they entered, the dog barked and turned toward the vastness of the untended plantation. Destin cocked his gun, listening. He heard a car approach in the distance.

* * *

Spectacular. The word resonated over and over in Nicole Parks’s mind as she looked out over the countryside of Rio Grande and navigated the winding mountain road in her rental SUV. Elliot had offered to hire her a driver, but she enjoyed the freedom that renting a car gave her. According to her GPS, she was just twenty minutes outside of Porto Alegre and about ten minutes from the Dechamps winery.

Miles and miles of exuberant nature grew out from the knolls and stretched far into the distance. She eased up on the gas pedal so she could take longer glimpses at waterfalls, rushing streams and small canyons—areas completely undisturbed by human intervention.

In contrast, each cliff-side wind of the road allowed a peek into the valley at the multicolored box homes of the favelas. They sat one on top of the other, climbing up the bottom of the mountain like steps and sprawling around the city like a horseshoe. From what she’d read, the favelas were riddled with crime. From her vantage point, they seemed calm and beautiful.

On the map, the digital dot of her car looked like it was marching up and over a cliff. She had to be close. Yet there were no road markers, and the farther she got up the mountain, the denser the overgrowth of vegetation became, so much so that the sun had to fight to get through. She wondered if anyone would find her if she mysteriously disappeared; she hadn’t passed a car or seen a soul for miles.

Minutes later her GPS spoke in a soothing, robotic tone over the radio and air conditioner, telling her to turn right in a quarter mile. She crept farther and farther forward, trying to spot a gate or a gap in the greenery. There was nothing—but then she saw it, a spike with a tarnished brass top wound by dirt and vines. A driveway marker, perhaps? She nosed her SUV through the brush, and sure enough, it gave way. A jagged road became visible, and she followed it until the overgrowth became like a wall. She rolled to a stop, excited to explore before Elliot arrived.

She checked her appearance in the rearview: makeup still intact, ponytail smooth, white button-down shirt tucked into a burgundy pencil skirt. She let out a nervous yelp when her phone rang on the seat next to her. Surprised that she still had reception in the middle of nowhere, she placed a hand over her racing heart and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“You made it?” She pictured Senior Global Real Estate Advisor Gustavo Escarra swiveling around in his giant leather desk chair overlooking Central Park.

“Hey, boss. Yeah, I’m at the winery now. Elliot Dechamps is meeting me here in a few minutes.”

Nicole filled Gus in on her dinner the night before. “They seem eager to get rid of the place.” Silence. “Hello? Gus?” She sighed, wondering if the call had dropped.

“Nicole?”

“I’m here. You cut out for a second.”

“I said, how does the place look?” Gus asked.

“I haven’t gone in yet, but it’s already an overgrown mess. We may have to persuade the client to spend some money landscaping. I’m talking bulldozers, the works.”

“Well, this might be worth it. We’re going to have to get appraisals on everything from the irrigation pipes to the number of dead vines. And quickly. We have a lot of interested buyers who want to see this place immediately.”

“I’m on it.”

“And I don’t have to tell you that your promotion will be waiting here when you close this deal.”

“Consider it done,” Nicole said nonchalantly. But she began to feel that rush of a potential sale, and her new life with a big office and a kid in her lap dangled in front of her. “Oh, and say hi to Don for me. What’s he working on, by the way?”

Gustavo chuckled, always finding the rivalry between Nicole and Don amusing. Don was a smooth-talking Chi-town native who liked to pitch himself against Nicole’s New York street swag. “Don is taking care of a celebrity home sale. I’ll tell him you said hello.”

Nicole’s eyes lit up. Celebrities were the worst clients! “Just so you know, I am going to rub this in his face.”

“Have at it,” Gustavo said. She could hear him smile, and her skin pricked with more than just excitement. She’d learned much from Gustavo and she admired him, probably a little more than she should.

Okay, she had a crush on her boss.

He was about ten years older and stood over six feet tall with a nice body. And he looked great in a suit. Well groomed, handsome, and of course, wealthy—with a few homes around the globe.

He was perfect. Everything she wanted in a man.

And married to some former Miss Universe pageant winner who was also the mother of his three beautiful children.

Whatever. My Gustavo is out there. Somewhere. Right?

The question brought up images of Destin. She couldn’t tell if he was a player or a perfect gentleman. Was he a chauvinist or a boyish joker? One thing was certain: he was damaged goods. And as much as he tried to mask it, those moments when his eyes had darkened during their discussion about the land spoke volumes.

Again she told herself that her interest in him was derived from pity. She’d lost family too. Except she’d gone back to her hotel room after dinner and found herself thinking of Destin’s intense blue gaze and his mischievous smile. She liked his size and saw herself in the crook of his arm. What would his beard feel like against her cheek when he kissed her?

Get a grip! No. She refused to be attracted to him. Broken men couldn’t be fixed. She’d tried and failed too many times. She was thankful he wasn’t interested in the sale of the land. She doubted she’d see him again.

But still, she wondered if he’d made love to Thereza that night, and felt the smallest twinge of jealousy at the thought.

Grabbing her keys and the old black-and-white picture of the Dechamps winery, Nicole jumped out of the SUV to search for an entrance. The formidable vegetation gave no hint of a door. For all she knew, she was at the wall of Jurassic Park. Her small heels sank into the dirt and she worked to pull them out, her skirt hindering her movements, only to have them sink back in.

Exasperated, she opened the back of the car and rummaged through her tote bag for her flip-flops, but found only her blazer and wallet. She’d really misjudged this little adventure. Shoving her keys and phone in her bag, she slung it over her shoulder, stepped carefully around the other side of the car and squeezed herself through an opening between two large palm trees.

Nicole definitely wasn’t in New York anymore. Dead leaves rustled, something chirped overhead and the trees seemed to bend toward her. She freaked, moving forward as fast as she could, following a natural path, dodging twigs coming at her head and swatting at leaves that scraped her arms. She stumbled forward into a clearing, caught herself and then squinted up at her surroundings. She recognized the skeletal remnants of the winery instantly.

She held up the black-and-white picture, locating the main house, and studied the photo before dropping her arm. The fire had taken half of the front building. Rooms were roofless and exposed. She noticed the other vine-covered buildings that were spread out farther back—burned, crumbling and neglected. Behind them in the far distance were rows upon rows of gnarled and broken grapevines. The massive trees in the picture, now decayed chunks in the ground, must have been how the flames traveled from one building to the next.

During her summer in France, she’d enjoyed waking early to help with the harvest, walking between the vines, breaking for a four-course lunch feast with her host family. Love and laughter were served with the pinot noir. This place hadn’t seen that in a long time. It was desolate, scarily so.

She snapped some pictures on her phone, noticing in one the dark sky in the corner. Tipping her head back, she saw clouds race by—some dark and thick, others white as cotton balls—but the sun seemed to scare them away. The surrounding trees swayed hard, then stopped. The air smelled like fall leaves. It was a bluebird day, hot as hell, though. She swore the humidity was getting thicker.

She took in the seclusion of the plantation—a great selling point. Again, the trees rustled and a loud thud startled her, as if something heavy had fallen, and it occurred to her that she was in a foreign country, in the wilderness, alone. She listened carefully for people or, God forbid, animals. Being a city kid, she was tough, but wild things were not her forte.

She turned to go back to the car, suddenly aware of a large shadow rising overhead. Thunder cracked, and the darkened sky flashed with lightning. A droplet, followed by a few more, fell on Nicole’s head and shoulders. She lunged forward to find her path back to the car, catching her heel in the already-soft ground. The sky became darker still, and the clouds unleashed. Her ears filled with the rush of the water within the surrounding trees, and rain pelted her eyes. She again tried to move forward, but her exit path had disappeared in the downpour.

A dog barked from not too far away. Through the rain, she could see its black-and-caramel form standing alert inside the open doorway of a small shack. A shack with a roof!

She wanted to run there, but what if the dog wasn’t friendly? Or had rabies? The dog barked again and took off into the rain. She rushed forward toward the open door, her heels sliding all over the place, but she pushed on. Breathless and soaked, she felt the cool air on her skin as she made it inside the shadowed doorway. She swiped at her eyes, blinking rapidly, and ran straight into a body.

The scream she let out could only be described as bloodcurdling. She shoved her back against the wall and focused on a dark silhouette across from her. The figure moved into a shaft of light.

Her breath caught when she recognized Destin’s concerned blue eyes.

“Destin! Oh, my God, you scared me.”

“Nicole! What the...are you all right? That fallen branch didn’t get a piece of you, did it?” His voice sounded melodic over the pounding of the rain, and it took her a second to register that he had asked her a question.

“I—I don’t think so.” She didn’t even know one had fallen near her.

“May I?” Without hesitating, he stepped closer, his head bent toward hers, and ran light fingers from her neck over her shoulder, carefully scanning for nicks and scrapes. She shivered, but it wasn’t from cold.

She watched his every movement, silently noting his perfectly straight nose and full lips. Michelangelo himself could have carved his cheekbones. His gaze stopped at the V of her soaked white shirt. He looked up and quickly stepped back.

“I don’t think you’re injured!” he shouted as the rain increased.

She slumped against the wall and tried to steady her breathing. Her lungs felt heavy with moist air. “What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to France.”

The thunder crack was deafening, and lightning streaked the sky. Destin shook his head. “Not in this weather. I came to make sure the drains were open—if not, the cellar could flood. What are you doing here?”

“I’m meeting Elliot.”

Destin shook his head rapidly. “I spoke to my brother this morning. He was going to call you to cancel.”

Nicole lifted her phone. Sure enough, a voicemail symbol popped up.

“I’ll leave. Just let me catch my breath. My heart is racing. It’s so humid,” she said, pulling at her shirt, wincing when she saw one of her buttons pop off and hit the ground. Quickly she pinched her shirt over her cleavage. When she looked up, Destin’s gaze darted away. He cleared his throat.

“You can’t drive in this, Nicole. You don’t know these roads.”

Just then, a streak of wet fur came bursting into the doorway, and the dog shook water all over them both. Nicole jumped and let a loud shriek. On shaky legs, she stepped away and heard an audible snap. Just as her heel gave way and her body lurched toward the floor, she was suddenly airborne and hoisted into strong arms.

“Whoa,” Destin said, his lips inches from hers. “I got you.”


Chapter 5 (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

“Welcome to the wine cellar,” he gritted out, quickly descending the stairs with her cradled in his arms. “Let’s take a look at that ankle.” Destin gently set her down on a bench next to a long sturdy table, slipped off her shoe and bent over her already swollen ankle. Her gaze darted around the disorganized room, then landed on her savior—in a black long-sleeved Henley with the top three buttons undone, a light smattering of dark chest hair peeking out, cargo pants and hard-worn boots. His damp hair curled and spiked around his ears. She itched to smooth it down.

He pushed up his sleeves, and she watched his forearm muscles flex. She wondered if he worked out, then mentally shook her head. Those weren’t gym-honed muscles. He was a vintner. A farmer. Working shirtless in the sun. Doing manly stuff like lifting barrels and digging ditches. At least, he used to.

She got a little overwhelmed at how very male he looked squatting in front of her. Then he touched her, his large hands gentle as he ran his thumb around the swelling, testing and pushing at the tender skin.

Any pain was overshadowed by the rush of heat that suddenly strained between her legs. The unexpected sensations had her lifting her foot away slightly. He raised his head but kept hold and lifted his other palm to her calf for support.

“Does this hurt?” His brows were high with worry.

What could she say? No, but could you please run your hands all over my body?

“No, but—” She hissed. “Oww,” she said when Destin bent her ankle inward. She wiggled her toes, testing that it wasn’t broken. And became more and more embarrassed that he was staring at her foot so intently. Thank God her pedicure was still intact.

“Just a sprain, I think,” he said, lowering her foot to the floor. Carefully, he placed her shoe back on and she winced, but not from pain—the heel of her shoe had completely broken off.

“Uh! My Jimmy Choos,” Nicole whined, then instantly regretted sounding like a Kardashian. But those were expensive. Calm down, she told herself. She could get them fixed on 57th Street. Ira wasn’t just a cobbler; he was a magician. She’d need the broken heel, though.

The wet mongrel that had started this mess chose that moment to walk by, and he was chewing on something small and cone shaped. The scruffy mutt lowered himself onto the concrete floor and chomped down, right into her heel. Nicole’s eyes widened, and she began snapping her fingers.

“No! Drop it! Come here. Come here!”

He lifted and cocked his head, then ignored her and proceeded to tear at the leather.

Still crouched, Destin twisted around. “Looks like Magnus likes Jimmy Choos, too.” He chuckled, and the sensual sound brought Nicole out of her haze. But before she knew what was happening, Destin slipped off her other shoe, tore off the heel with his bare hand and tossed it right between Magnus’s paws.

“Now your shoes will be even heights. We’ll get you another pair,” he said with a smirk as her jaw fell open. Suddenly everything was just too much. She should put this guy in his place. She should put Elliot in his place! She should bill this little visit by the hour. She should—

Destin stood abruptly, his hand on his hips and his pelvis right in her line of sight. She blinked. What was she thinking?

“I don’t have any ice,” he murmured as he looked around the room. “You’ll just have to keep it elevated.” Sliding another bench close to her, he propped up her leg. She focused on keeping her skirt down as it bunched up to midthigh, the rip in the fabric straining wide. “How does that feel?”

“It’s fine. Really...” As in really attractive, maybe even more so in his casual clothes than he’d been in a jacket last night. His face was all angular planes and strong jaw. That perfect brow remained in a frown, unsatisfied. He stepped around her and disappeared through a door she hadn’t noticed.

She took a moment to scan her surroundings. Empty light sockets dominated the walls, but a few strategically placed bulbs illuminated the room with a soft warmth. Stone walls and high ceilings were accented by long archways and dusty cherrywood beams.

The wine cellar was in her files, but there was no mention of it being in working order. She assumed it had been above ground and destroyed. Across the room, white sheets were draped over other furniture. The ghostly round outlines suggested bar tables that probably once sat in a lounge area. Glass display cabinets were empty. Oil lamps sat unused on the shelves, and wires poked from the ceiling, suggesting a chandelier had hung over the table at one time.

Sitting and dining rooms in a wine cellar weren’t uncommon, especially in new wineries. They could have had tastings there, or offered tours and events. The winery in Bordeaux hosted weddings in their cask room.

She leaned against the lip of the dining table and ran a hand over the smooth wood. Could the furnished cellar be a selling point? Maybe, depending on who the client was. It could be a storage room, a novelty playroom of some sort, even a fun office space. She could come up with a ton of ideas.

She made a mental note to ask Destin if he was planning on keeping the furniture.

Scrapes and shuffles behind her echoed from the open doorway to her left. Bracing herself on her arms, she leaned over and peered over the threshold. The large chamber accommodated stacked oak barrels and a wall lined with black corked bottles. Nicole felt a shiver of excitement. The cask room—where the wines matured in oak barrels before bottling.

She twisted farther, trying to see the expanse, only to be met with a wall of chilled air. Goosebumps tightened her skin, and she started to pull back but stopped when she noticed one barrel was standing upright and away from the rest. A spigot was tapped into the top, a small empty wine glass off to the side. PH strips were strewn on the spigot lid.

During her time in France, Nicole had participated in many batch tests where acidity levels were checked before fermentation and again at bottling time. Titration kits were preferred, but PH strips were good for a quick read. Could there be wine in there still? Since the fire had happened four years ago, she supposed there could be several batches about to reach maturity.

Nicole’s brain began running through the property file she’d read over several times. Nowhere did the asset sheet mention viable wines. She was sure of it. Everything on the property should have been calculated into the property value. She made a mental note to check again.

She heard Destin’s boots before she saw him. Unaware he was being watched, he walked to a corner of the room and then tapped a few buttons on a wall panel. A fine mist—so fine you could barely see it—lifted from three or four tiny sprinklers placed strategically around the casks.

No way. She’d heard of the innovative cooling system designed to control humidity, but had never seen it in action.

Oh, yeah. There was wine in there. Lots and lots of wine.

With his back still to her, Destin bent over and placed his hand in the mist, waving his fingers to catch the temperature. Her thoughts jumbled a bit. She was unable to do anything but stare. Her gaze ran over his back.

She whipped herself to a proper sitting position. What was happening—had it been that long since she’d been with a man? Her last boyfriend had been eight months ago. And now she was laid up underground in another country with a French wine lover.

Why was she thinking about this? Was this the beginning of Stockholm syndrome?

Destin shut the door behind her. He presented several wool blankets, and with those gentle hands, he tucked a folded mound under her ankle. Then he unfolded another and, shaking it out high into the air, let it float down over her body.

“There, you’re still a bit damp. These will keep you warm,” Destin said, tucking the fabric around her legs, making a cocoon from her upper body down and around her feet. Subtle scents of laundered wool filled her nose, again giving her the feeling that those blankets hadn’t remained there untouched for four years. The cellar was a valid asset.

But all thoughts were erased when he stroked her thigh with his palm.

She found herself slightly lifted onto one side as he wrapped her in the blanket like a burrito. He made painstaking efforts to tuck her in, leaning over her body, bunching the blanket under her legs and behind her back. His soft hair brushed her nose, and the clean scent had her insides dancing.

She was achingly aware of the man in front of her. She didn’t move on account of his handiwork, but the most intimate part of her was screaming to get out.

It was unlike her, this physical reaction to someone she barely knew, and yet here she was, lusting after his body like a teenager who’d just hit puberty. Honestly, she’d seen plenty of hot men. Had slept with...well, who was counting, but she was in her late thirties and dated maybe one or two guys a year, which equated to...oh, God. Well, she’d seen a man before, anyway, and this one was average.

He lowered himself onto another bench across from her, glancing at the dog before bring his blue eyes up to hers.

Okay. He wasn’t average.

“Thank you. Again. I, uh... I’m a little embarrassed,” Nicole said, searching for conversation, hoping to distract herself from his allure.

“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re all right. You could have gotten stuck on the roads. Are you warm enough?”

“Yes. These are bulletproof,” she joked, pulling her arms out and tucking the blanket under her armpits. “I’m already getting hot.”

“Good. The temperature stays pretty cool down here, so being wet isn’t a good idea. Trust me. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten stuck in here.” Destin looked around, as if trying to think of things to say.

After a long moment, Nicole spoke on autopilot. “So, this is the wine cellar.”

His nod was slow, and he had a sad look in his eyes. “This was the wine cellar.”

Her heart twisted. “You have a lot of furniture down here. Did you do tours?”

“We had plans for tours and tastings, as well as a sustainable dining experience in the future. Everything was to be farm to table, from the wine to the produce—we had just started a garden. My neighbor, Bruno, has a free-range animal farm. He would have provided the meat.”

“Free range?”

“Meaning they have shelter but no cages. He has acres, and the animals roam freely within his land borders.” He chuckled. “They’ve been known to get spooked and break out on days like this. After a particularly bad storm, we found a herd of his cows grazing on our lawn.”

Nicole thought of New York during a storm. The subways slowed, cabs were impossible to find and umbrellas were instruments of death to pedestrians who couldn’t bob and weave. Maybe being in a wine cellar with a handsome man wasn’t so bad, especially when he laughed like that.

“How often do these storms happen?”

“Four to six times a year, I’d say—mostly when the seasons change. Nina, my wife, was good at planning for disasters. Hence the blankets.” His gaze stayed on the table for a minute. Then he jumped up and grabbed a leather backpack from the floor. He took out a wrapped sandwich. “How about some food? It’s a Bauru—roast beef, tomato, mozzarella and pickles on French bread. A classic Brazilian sandwich. We can share.”

She hadn’t realized she was hungry until he mentioned food. “Sounds delicious. Do you always carry lunch in your bag?”

“Only if I know I’ll be busy. I’ll warm it for us. There’s a lightly stocked kitchenette with a hot plate through that archway.”

“Nice. It’s like a combination wine cellar and bomb shelter. Our buyers will definitely be into this.”

Destin lowered his gaze and swallowed whatever he was going to say. He just smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something important,” she said quickly.

He glanced at the cask room, then to her. “No, just cleaning it out.” There was a strain in his voice that said otherwise.

He wasn’t ready for this sale, her instincts told her. It wasn’t the first time she had come up against reluctant sellers. But something was different. She couldn’t put her finger on it; maybe it was because of the tension between him and Elliot at dinner the night before, but something was off.

He placed the sandwich on the table and fished in his bag again. He gripped a bottle of water and a Red Bull in one hand. “And I have these.”

“You really are a lifesaver.” She reached for the water and he slid it across the table. She twisted off the cap and drank deeply.

“You need to save some of that.”

She stopped and pulled the bottle from her lips. “Why?”

“We may be here a while.”

“How long is a while?”

He strode to the stairway door and pulled it open. Magnus, thinking his master was leaving, sauntered to his side. The rain was a roar, and the humidity was palpable. Destin closed the door and turned toward Nicole.

“I can hear it,” she said. “It’s bad. I hope I have damage insurance on that car.”

“I hope you do, too.” He grimaced. “We may be here overnight.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you joking?” She looked around. “Where would we sleep? And I have clients tomorrow afternoon.”

His eyes changed. “That quickly?”

“Yes. That’s why I needed a tour today.” He looked shocked, or rather, devastated. “You don’t look happy.”

He blinked, then turned his back to her. His voice came out in a half whisper. “I am. Of course I am.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Destin, you can voice your concerns. The transition is always difficult for the seller.”

Destin turned and fixed a cold blue gaze on her. “I look forward to the sale, Miss Parks. The faster the better.”


Chapter 6 (#uc45316d4-c185-533d-a9f8-11b16cad4029)

Destin strode to the kitchenette and fired up the hot plate, his mind racing. She wasn’t supposed to get this far. The previous agents had never seen the inside of the cellar—he’d seen to that.

Destin replayed the words his father had said to him at the beginning of the year. Armand Dechamps had stood at the head of the board of directors table, his hair graying, leaning on a gold-tipped cane, but still formidable. His business advisors surrounded him.

“Between your start-up costs, the insurance company refusing to process our claim and the property taxes on idle land, Brazil is financially draining us. We have to sell now, unless you have another idea to make revenue.” Armand had narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure there is no more wine in that cellar, Destin?”

Stunned and speechless at the turn of the discussion, he’d looked at the man who’d taught him how to tell time by the sun’s placement in the sky and simply said no. He’d lied; there was wine, and remembering how his father tried to take it from him, he didn’t feel bad about lying.

Destin knew his father’s techniques like the back of his hand, and he’d applied everything he knew to make the awarding-winning Cab Franc for Dechamps France. But he’d experimented in Brazil, making his own signature Cab Franc—lighter bodied, ruby red, tart berry flavors with ethereal hints of earth, rose and violet.

Dechamps Brazil ended up in Wine Spectator magazine, was featured in blogs across the world and began to win awards of its own. Local businesses were supplied with Dechamps wines at a discount and every week they were sold out at the Saturday market.

Wine was for the people, and they implemented a direct-to-consumer subscription plan. After three years up and running, Dechamps Brazil surpassed expectations.

And that’s when their father tried to shut them down.

His father’s jealousy was a blow Destin hadn’t seen coming. Suddenly he’d found himself in a legal battle with his father over the rights to his own wines. The French team had taken over production of Destin’s signature Cab Franc, and distribution was to be solely commercial—no more direct to consumer.

Destin and Elliot had fought to split from Dechamps France, but under their contract, anything produced under the Dechamps umbrella belonged to their father. Even if they split, they couldn’t take the wine with them. Even Elliot, the one who was so much like their deceased mother, hadn’t been able to reason with Armand.

Destin had been prepared to go to court. He’d never gotten the chance. The fire took everything he’d loved, except the cellar.

For months after Nina’s funeral, he’d eaten little, said little and seen no one. The château where he lived now had originally been a place for their father to stay when visiting. Destin had spent six months on that couch, grieving. Food would magically appear in the kitchen—Elliot’s doing, although they never spoke about it.

One morning he’d walked the three miles to the winery and seen the damage—scorched earth, melted metal and crumbling stone. The air had still smelled charred and ash had still been blowing in the wind. But he’d noted that the outer, more dense foliage had begun to regrow. Shining green leaves were poking out of the wreckage and quivering on shaky new stems. The terroir had lost water and nutrients, but the land still lived.

With renewed hope, he’d run through the thousand vines. Once vibrant, all were broken, wilted and black. As far as he could see, no grape had survived. He’d worked his fingernails into the branches, looking for life on one after another. And found nothing.

Tears had blinded him when his gaze dropped to a dead vine in the very last row. Gnarled and bent, at first glance it seemed to have nothing left, and the vine had somehow twisted itself half out of its planting hole. Destin had run his fingertips down the rough stem, then stopped when they met a yellow, half-gone leaf. Under the leaf had been one small, rotting grape. Again, with his fingertips, he’d picked at the gray bark on the curved underside of the vine and peeled it back. It was green. A healthy, bright green.

He’d checked every vine, marking those with potential to live and immediately replanting them in the untouched soil behind the cellar. There was no man-made irrigation there, and the place had had to be cleared in order to let in the sun. And sixty of the eighty-six vines he’d replanted had survived.

Now, everything was done by hand, from the de-stemming to the bottling. He didn’t even have a label. Only two batches were about to reach maturity. With the help of a few of their old farm hands, they were on track to produce about two thousand bottles this year.

And it was on the strength of those batches that he’d planned to rebuild. But he had to do it alone, since Elliot had moved on to other business ventures, and was afraid of their father’s wrath. His bother had promised to keep Destin’s plans a secret.

It had taken almost a year, but Destin had amassed a small team of investors—friends from school and business contacts who were ready to help—and with a relatively small upfront investment of his own, he could replace the production equipment. He just needed to secure the land from his father.

It was his one shot to keep what was rightfully his. And he wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way.

He had been checking the vines when the sky opened up, and then Nicole had come crashing through the doorway.

The sight of her, drenched and out of breath, had burned itself into his brain. She had been light as a feather in his arms, her skin hot and slippery from the rain. He’d breathed in the subtle scent of coconut from her hair. Her shirt had gaped from a popped button, and he’d glimpsed her full cleavage, which was barely restrained by a brown satin bra. He wondered if she wore panties to match, then pictured her nude, before deciding that line of thinking wasn’t helping.

She was too capable, too unpredictable...too beautiful.

Deep in his thoughts, Destin placed the sandwich on the hot plate and accidentally burned his knuckle. He hissed and popped the singed flesh into his mouth.

“Do you need help back there?” Nicole called out.

Destin realized he had been hiding for several minutes. “No, I just...” Was thinking of making love to you and almost burned off my fingers. Destin spied a lone mason jar of stew he’d left there a few weeks ago. “I found some stew for us.” He grabbed a small pot, emptied the mason jar into it and placed it on the hot plate alongside the Bauru.

Quietly, he peered around the corner into the main room. Nicole was checking her ankle, the blanket shoved aside and her lower leg visible. She swatted at Magnus, who was inspecting her every movement with his wet nose. The dog planted his butt on the floor, and she praised him with cute noises as she lightly stroked his head.

She had no gloss on her full lips, and her eye makeup had washed off, leaving small black smudges under her eyes. Her hair was still damp and was transforming into tousled waves. And those legs...even the night before, they’d had him mesmerized. Recalling the softness of her calf and the rip in her skirt, he cursed under his breath. Those legs were going to be the end of him.

Dammit—he had no time for sexual attraction, especially under the circumstances, but there was something about this woman. She was smart, ambitious and knowledgeable about wine, which almost made her a threat.

He just wanted her gone. For the sake of his wine and—he rubbed at his knuckle—his sanity.

* * *

Being trapped in a small space with a handsome man would have been great if that small space had been a hot tub, but the stone walls and the damp, cold air of the wine cellar, although possibly romantic at one time, felt more like a dungeon. Nicole was wrapped in blankets, her bare leg awkwardly stretched out onto the bench. Her tote bag was wet and crumpled in the middle of the table. She’d lost a button on her shirt, and she refused to think about what her hair was doing.

She blew out an annoyed breath. Why was she thinking about her appearance? Destin was her client, not a prospective boyfriend. And he had a girlfriend. She recalled watching Destin and Thereza leave the restaurant, sure they were going to continue the rest of their night naked. But, still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were not together. He’d said as much at the bar, and for a split second, she had believed him. What do you care? she chided herself. Guys like him don’t have girlfriends. They had side pieces, probably all models.

Nicole was huddled under her wool blanket when Destin came out of the alcove, three steaming bowls balanced in his arms. Delicious smells accompanied him. Her stomach howled when he placed a bowl and spoon in front of her. Magnus shot from the floor and dug in the second Destin placed the second bowl by his paws. Then Destin set his bowl down, went back to the kitchen and brought out two more plates, each holding half of a sandwich.

He placed one by her bowl, then slid into a chair across from her and gestured at the food with his spoon. “Bon appétit.”

She shifted on the bench and dipped her spoon into the stew. She let out a small sound of pleasure and allowed the tastes to linger in her mouth before scooping up another bite. Her lips pursed to blow a cooling breath across the hot stew, and shifting her gaze, she caught him staring.

“This is good,” she said after several spoonfuls.

“Yes, Lapin à la Cocotte. My grandmother’s recipe.”

She stiffened. “Um, this is rabbit?”

He tipped his head in answer, and she blanched. He snickered.

“I forgot. Americans only eat chicken,” he said with a smirk.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re hilarious. I’ve had rabbit before. In Paris,” she said defensively, leaving out that she hadn’t finished the dish and ordered chicken. She continued eating, around the rabbit.

She raised her spoon and stared at the little square of carrot submerged in brown broth, then let the liquid sit on her tongue again for a moment before swallowing.

“Tell me,” he said.

“What?”

“The flavors.”

She grinned, then closed her eyes in concentration. “Onion, butter, garlic, thyme, parsley, bay leaves, along with the carrot and potato, of course, bacon—although I don’t see any chunks—and a hint of red wine.”

“You missed one.”

Her eyes widened, and she dipped her spoon again. Then again. She stared into space, took a drink of water and sipped the broth again.

“I can’t believe this, but I taste nothing else.”

A smile played on his lips, and a wicked gleam jumped into his eyes.

“Oh, you’re screwing with me. Cute. Was that to get me to eat more rabbit?”

“I couldn’t resist. You really don’t like it?”

“I do like it. It’s the thought of the cute fuzzy bunny that bothers me.”

“The bunnies around here are not cute. They are wild vermin. And there is no bacon, only drippings used for flavor. Try the Bauru.”

She took a big bite of the sandwich and let out a muffled happy squeal. Then finished it in about five seconds flat.

Destin finished his half quickly, too, except for a small bite he threw to the dog.

“Where in Paris did you have lapin?”

“Café Janou.”

“In Le Marais.”

“Yes.” She smiled, surprised that he knew it.

“The chocolate pudding...” His eyebrows raised in appreciation.

“Oh, my God, yes. It’s so decadent. I feel gluttonous every time I eat it. You don’t happen to have any back there in your magic kitchen, do you?”

“If only,” he said with longing. “Tonight would be the perfect night to be decadent.”

She searched his face, wondering if he was purposely trying to be suggestive. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Intense and interested.

He leaned in. “Do the sweets bother you?”

She looked away. Oh, he was interested...in her super palate.

“Only if too sweet.” She pushed her plate away and adjusted her foot on the bench. “Thank you for lunch. I suppose I was lucky you were here. I’d probably be soaking wet and still looking for my car.”

Destin took a sip of water and looked at her for a long moment. “Tell me more about what you do, Nicole.” She liked his accent and how he said her name. Neecole.

“I help sell dreams.” She smiled at his confused look. “Business and investment properties are my specialty. Developers, corporations and celebrities all want a property that will increase in value quickly, or won’t lose value in a down market. This property, for instance, needs work, but the acreage, seclusion and ocean proximity make it very attractive. Property like this doesn’t lose value.”





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