The designs for the labels lay where Grandpa Lorenzo had tossed them. Apparently her disagreements with him over the labels were the least of her problems. Things had gotten so difficult that she and her grandfather couldn’t go a day without arguing about something. Half the time she expected him to fire her. Except she was family and he couldn’t.

But he didn’t have to keep her in charge. If he hated everything she was trying to do, why not hire someone who would hang on his every word and do things exactly as he wanted? He could also change his will, if he hadn’t already.

“Just a reminder of why starting my own label was the right thing to do,” she told herself as she scrambled to her feet. “It doesn’t matter what he does. I’ll have my own winery to worry about.”

But the words didn’t offer as much comfort as she would have liked. Nothing in her world was the way she thought it would be. Not her past and certainly not her future.

“Final figures,” Nic said when he entered Maggie’s office and slapped the folder on her desk. “Read them in awe.”

She raised her eyebrows, then flipped through the pages. “As long as you’re not letting success go to your head.”

“Would I do that?”

“Answering that the way I want to would be unprofessional.” She closed the folder. “I’ll work up a projection based on these numbers. You’ll have it in the morning.”

“Great.” He sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “What about the numbers for Marcelli Wines?”

She flipped through a stack of papers by her computer and handed him several sheets. He read the estimations for gross sales, broken down by region.

“That’s as good as we can do without looking at their books,” Maggie told him. “I had the sales guys nosing around, but they can only find out so much.”

“This is good,” he said.

The sales projections were even better than he’d thought. There was plenty of profit to be had. Once he’d modernized everything and streamlined operations he would-

He glanced up and saw Maggie watching him. “What?”

She shrugged.

“You still disapprove of what I’m doing,” he said.

“That’s too strong a word. I don’t like it, but liking it isn’t part of my job. I keep thinking about that loan to Brenna Marcelli. What are you going to do with her? Destroy her?”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Maggie shook her head. “Gee, Nic, you’ve loaned her a million dollars and given her the chance to start her own winery. She’s moving ahead with the belief that all her dreams are about to come true. Yet at any moment you could call the loan and pull the rug out from under her. I’m guessing when that happens she’s going to be a little broken up. What would you call it, if not destroyed?”

“Interesting question.”

“Do you have an answer?”

“Not yet.”

The callable note gave him options. Now that he’d seen Brenna in action, he knew that given time, she could make a go of Four Sisters Winery. Maybe he would sit back and collect interest like one of the good guys. Maybe not. The only thing he knew for sure was that seducing her hadn’t been part of his plan, but since that damn kiss he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Maybe it was time for a different plan.

“You’re looking very predatory,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to know what you’re thinking.”

He grinned. “You’re right.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Maybe I’ll go meet Brenna Marcelli and see for myself what she’s like. If I hate her, I won’t feel so guilty about being a part of all this.”

“You haven’t done anything but your job. You have no guilt in this.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He knew he couldn’t talk Maggie out of her feelings. She’d always been a soft touch. “Suit yourself.”

“Aren’t you going to warn me not to say anything about the secret plot to purchase her family’s winery?”

Nic stood. “No. You work for me. You’d never be indiscreet. That would mean breaking the rules. Something you don’t do.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I know. That’s why I always win.”

“In the past you’ve won without breaking the rules. Something tells me that this time is different. Be careful, Nic.”

“Always,” he promised as they walked to the door.

They both knew he was lying, but Maggie wouldn’t say anything. Had Brenna been privy to the conversation, she would have called him on it in a heartbeat. Of course if she knew about his plans for Marcelli Wines, she would have his head mounted on the fence dividing their property.

Not something he wanted to think about. He would be fine just as long as Brenna didn’t find out the truth until it was too late to stop him.

It had been a good night’s work, Brenna thought sometime after midnight as she watched the last of the grapes move from the crusher to the presser. Her second load of Chardonnay grapes had arrived on time. The quality had been everything she’d hoped for-each bunch had been ripe and bursting with flavor and juice. She’d managed to put her latest fight with her grandfather behind her. She refused to think about him or her brother showing up and claiming everything. Even better, she was only thinking of Nic every forty-eight seconds, a marked improvement from earlier in the week. In a day or two she might work up to ten whole Nic-free minutes at a time.

It was that damn kiss, she acknowledged. He was too sexy by half. If that hadn’t happened, she might have been able to convince herself that whatever she remembered from the past was simply time rewriting history. She could have convinced herself that no one was that good. Unfortunately reality had been better than her memories. She’d gone from zero to take-me-now in less than five seconds. Just her luck-she was hotter than a Ferrari.

“So I’ll get over it,” she told herself, stepping back from the presser.

She would have to. She and Nic were all about the past and that was a place neither of them was likely to want to go. Her life was here in the present.

She crossed to the open doors and breathed in the cool air. She could hear crickets and other night creatures. The sky was clear and it seemed as if she could almost reach up and grab a star or two. Would it grant her a wish if she promised to set it free? What would she wish for?

Brenna returned to her equipment. Not success, that was too easy. Not love. She might be alone right now, but she wasn’t lonely. Peace, she thought. Or maybe contentment.

Before she could decide, she heard a fast, clicking sound, followed by a yip and a slide. She glanced at the open door and saw Max slipping around the corner before loping into the big room. He looked around, saw her, and barked with delight.

Brenna barely had time to brace herself for the fact that where Max was, Nic was soon to follow, when the puppy plowed into her. She laughed and bent down to gather him into her arms. He wiggled and licked at her face, his whole body vibrating as his tail wagged so hard it went in circles.

“Hey, good-looking,” she said, holding the puppy close.

“How are you?”

“Not bad.”

She had to swallow before looking up to watch Nic enter. She hadn’t seen him in a few days, and she hated that she’d actually missed him. He wore his usual uniform of jeans and T-shirt, which managed to emphasize his broad shoulders and long legs. Every cell in her body went on alert, while a small biplane flew through her brain, dragging a banner behind that read “I want some more of that.”

Honest to Pete, she really had to get a grip.

“Actually I wasn’t talking to you,” she said. “Max and I were having a moment.”

“That dog has quite the life.”

She set the puppy on the ground. When Max went off to investigate exciting smells, Brenna tried to keep her attention off of Nic’s mouth. Was it her imagination or could she actually see the sparks arcing between them?

“So how’s it going?” he asked, moving closer to the presser.

“Good.” She couldn’t help grinning. “Okay, it’s going great.”

“Modest as ever.”

She nodded.

“This is the fourth night you’ve worked late. Have you been getting any sleep at all?”

He’d noticed how many nights she’d been here? She told herself not to read anything into the comment. Nor would she allow herself to think about how he’d circled around the equipment to stand fairly close to her. The sparks continued to arc, but she was determined to ignore them, too. If Nic was going to pretend nothing had happened, she could pretend five times better.

“I’m getting by on an hour or two. This is my last batch of Chardonnay. Then I get a break until the Pinot comes in, then the Cabernet.”

Max trotted by, heading for a dark and puppy-appealing corner. “He’s up late,” she said.

“I was doing some paperwork. I like to walk him before I head up to bed.”

Ah, the b word. It took her a second to clear her brain of the erotic images that had instantly popped up. She and Nic had mostly made love in nontraditional places, but they’d done it in bed just enough for her memory to provide the appropriate erotic slide show.

“You thought I’d be a lousy dog owner,” he said. “You were wrong.”

“I never thought that.”

“Liar.”

She couldn’t help chuckling. “Okay, maybe I was a little concerned that you weren’t ready for the responsibility.”

“Is this where I remind you I run Wild Sea?”

“Business and puppies are very different.”

“Tell me about it. The business has never chewed my shoes.”

He was smiling at her. Despite the attraction and the yet-to-be-discussed kiss, she felt some of her tension ease. Why was it that being around Nic always felt so right?

On second thought, she didn’t want an answer to that.

He jerked his head toward the vat. The first of the juice spilled into the big stainless-steel container. “May I?”

She nodded. He collected a plastic cup from the bag she’d left on the floor and held it under the stream. To the untrained palate, the liquid would be little more than intense grape juice, but Nic would taste the subtleties and the possibilities.

He sipped, frowned, and sipped again. Then he looked at her and swore. “What did you do?”

“The grapes are from three different vineyards. Instead of getting one delivery from each location, I arranged for five smaller deliveries. I’ve coordinated so I get grapes from all three locations on the same day. It cost a little more, but I’ve been able to blend from the crushing stage instead of later in the process. The different grapes are already working on each other. Isn’t it the best?”

He took another sip. “How did you pick the grapes?”

She explained how she’d spent a lot of the past couple of months driving around the valley, figuring out what vineyards got what kind of sun.

“I might have snuck on and tasted a grape or two over the past month,” she admitted. “Then I placed my order. My quantities were small enough that even people who don’t usually sell were willing to give me a ton or two. Including one of your foremen.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re using Wild Sea grapes?”

“Just a few of your best.”

“Well, hell.”

She tried not to feel smug, but it was difficult. “You have all the raw material, Nic. You need to use it better.”

“Thanks. Want a job?”

“I already have one, but if things change, I’ll let you know.”

She knew he wasn’t seriously offering her employment, but it was nice to know she’d impressed him.

“You think you’re hot shit,” he complained. “This is like the time you lectured me on the quality of the oak we were using for our wines. You were what, sixteen?”

“Probably. You can’t go cheap if you’re going to ferment in wood. It would be better to go straight to stainless.”

He finished the juice and tossed the cup in the trash. “You’ll be happy to know I listened. Thanks to you I made a lot of changes here at Wild Sea.”

She appreciated knowing that. “If only I could say the same thing about my grandfather.”

Nic crossed to one of the chairs and pulled it out. Brenna sat down and he settled across from her.

“Is Lorenzo still making things difficult?”

“Difficult being an understatement. We’re arguing about everything. First he complains that the labels are too old-fashioned. We need something new. I happen to agree with him-in fact, I’ve been bugging him about it for a while. So I get new labels designed. Suddenly he says there’s nothing wrong with the old labels, we shouldn’t change anything, yada, yada.”

“Did he forget? Is this an age thing?”

“No. It’s a make-Brenna-crazy thing. He’s always been a curmudgeon, but it’s worse than it’s ever been. He’s on my case about everything. Now he’s talking about my brother. ‘Joe would listen to me about the old ways,’” she said, lowering her voice to sound more like Lorenzo’s. “I always knew having a brother show up didn’t help my case, but I guess…”