“Tell
me your name.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the commanding, deep voice that
sounds in my ear. I keep myself still, trying my best not to react considering
we’re surrounded by at least a hundred people, but oh, how I want to.
If I could, I’d throw myself into the arms of the man who’s
standing far too close to me. He’s demanding to know my name as if I owe
him some sort of favor, which I can’t help but find hot.
Irritating, but hot.
“Tell me yours first,” I murmur in return, turning my head in
the opposite direction, so it appears I’m not even talking to him. He stands
behind me, tall and broad, imposing in his immaculate black suit and crisp
white shirt—the silvery tie he wears perfectly knotted at his throat.
I might not be looking at this very moment, but I’d memorized
everything about him the moment I first saw him not an hour ago. He’d drawn
plenty of attention without saying a word, striding into the room as if he
owned it, casting that calculating gaze upon everyone in attendance. Looking
very much like the mighty king observing his lowly subjects—until his eyes lit
upon me.
He watched me for long, agonizing minutes. Butterflies fluttered
in my stomach as I felt his hungry eyes rake over my body, and for a terrifying
moment I wondered if he could see right through me. I shifted the slightest
bit, inwardly cursing myself for coming tonight, but I held firm. I refused to
react.
I still refuse to react.
“You don’t know who I am?” He sounds amused at the notion, and
I’m tempted to walk away without a word. My earlier nerves evaporate, replaced
by a steely spine and an even steelier attitude. He’s so confident, so
arrogant, I’m sure he believes he has me.
He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with then, does he?
We’re at a local wine- and brewery-tasting, and I’m here
representing the bakery my family owns. The one I was recently allowed to take
over and run since I’d graduated college. The business they all believe is
going to fail. So why not give
it to Marina? She can’t screw it up too badly.
That’s what I overheard my father telling my uncle. The memory
of his words still cuts straight to the bone.
Finally I chance a glance at the man behind me, drinking in his
thick brown hair tinged with gold, the way it tumbles across his forehead, his
twinkling green eyes, the faint smile that curves his full lips. The
combination gives him a boyish appearance. It’s a complete illusion because
there is nothing boyish about this virile man before me.
“Perhaps you can enlighten me.” I offer a carefree smile and
turn to face him, the nerves returning tenfold when he takes a step toward me,
invading my personal space. His scent hits me first: clean and subtle, a
mixture of soap and just . . . him. No cologne that I can
detect.
Rather unusual. Most of the men I know slather themselves in
expensive scents all with the purpose of drawing us silly women in. Instead,
they end up choking us.
With the exception of this man. I find the uniqueness refreshing.
A slow smile appears, revealing perfectly straight white teeth.
“Gage Emerson.” He thrusts his hand toward me. “And you
are . . .?”
He’s not very subtle. And he’s exactly who I suspected, not that
I had any real doubt. The very man who recently bought up what feels like half
of the Napa Valley, all in the hopes of turning it around and selling it to God
knows who just to earn a hefty profit.
Not caring in the least that he’s forever changing the landscape
of the very place I’ve grown up in. And devastating my family in the process.
“Marina Knight,” I say. God, I sound breathless, and I want to
smack myself. I’m not here tonight because of him. I came for other reasons. To
promote the family bakery, to mix and mingle with local business owners, many I
consider friends. My life in the Napa Valley is all I know.
And this gorgeous man
standing in front of me is trying to take what I know away from me for good.
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