Mr. Red Read online

  “In the corner behind the steel tanks are a couple of ten-gallon water dispensers. Can you fill them in the utility sink?”

  I chafe at her request. Although she’s nothing but polite, her tone of voice makes it clear I’m not to say no. Karma… the dark voice reminds me. There’s no escaping it. I’m paying for my sins in a thousand different ways. I nod with a grunt and head off to find the water containers. When I return, Alison is passing out straw hats to a bunch of women gathered just under the garage door.

  “¡Oye! Señoras. Hoy tenemos que eliminar los brotas laterales, sí?”

  I have no idea what she’s saying, but the women all nod their agreement.

  She turns to the woman on her left. “Carla, tú y yo, y Nico, vamos a inspeccionar la fruta y soltar el verde, bueno?”

  The woman named Carla turns and gives me a broad grin. “Sí”

  “So did you just agree to feed me to the lions?” I ask when I’m within earshot of Alison.

  She turns, and the playful smile on her face sends heat racing through me. “Maybe. Carla’s definitely a lion, and if you don’t… perform to expectations-” She smirks. “She might eat you alive.”

  I shoot a glance Carla’s direction, trepidation rippling through me. Where did Alison find her? Or this crew, for that matter? All my years of growing up in Napa, I’ve never seen an entirely female crew. It must show on my face, because Alison scowls. “You have a problem taking orders from a bunch of women?”

  I raise my hands in mock surrender. “I’m not really in a position to say, am I?”

  She gives me a satisfied smile. “You and Carla and I are going down to the Cabernet lots to drop the green fruit.”

  “What’s that?”

  Alison’s eyes grow wide. “The green drop? You don’t know about the green drop?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re a fucking Case, that’s why. You of all people should know.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I snap, madly running through everything our head grower Morrie taught me about grape growing when I was a teenager. “I was the one being groomed to run the company one day, to make the big calls and delegate the rest. I didn’t pay much attention to what was happening in the vineyard.” The back of my neck heats under her shocked stare.

  “Well it’s high time you learned, pretty boy.”

  Anger sparks through me, making my fingers tingle. “Pretty boy?” My voice rises. “Where do you get off calling me pretty boy?”

  Alison bites her lip, obviously trying not to laugh, and slides her gaze down to my shoes. I swear, it makes me want to shake her. Or kiss her. The latter thought jars me out of my anger for a split second. Strike that. I definitely don’t want to kiss her. That mouth is entirely too sassy for my taste. A laugh escapes her anyway, and she shakes her head. “C’mon, Carla. Let’s show Nico how it’s done.”

  Carla gives an order to the crew. With nods and happy chatter, they take one of the water dispensers and head for the vines. Then she and Alison bend and begin to carry the other one, chattering away in Spanish. “Wait,” I call after them, hurrying to catch up. “Let me carry that.” They stop and drop the water tank, shooting amused glances at each other.

  Alison shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  They watch for a moment as I hoist up the barrel. It’s heavy, but I’ve lifted heavier at the gym. Our gazes collide, mine triumphant, daring her to mock me. Hers- appreciative. And then she does that smirky, lip-bitey thing again and energy surges through me.

  “Holler if you need to stop,” she says before turning back to Carla, the two of them making their way into the vineyard.

  “Don’t worry,” I call after them. “I’ve got this.”

  I’ve never regretted saying something more.

  Chapter Five

  Nico

  She didn’t bother to tell me it was nearly a half-mile walk to the Cabernet lots. By the time we reach it, my shoulders are on fire, my biceps have seized, and I’m winded. This is the kind of shit Navy SEALS do- carrying over a hundred pounds for miles on end. Fuck me for trying to be a gentleman. I drop the barrel onto the picnic bench with a grunt, and flex my arms.

  “You okay? Need a little water?” Alison teases with a giggle.

  “I’m fine.” I growl. But I help myself anyway. A grappa-induced headache has started to form, and if I don’t nip it in the bud, today will be worse than hell.

  “Be sure to stay hydrated,” Alison cautions. “It will feel cool, but we’re working in direct sunlight.”

  I give her a salute and keep drinking.

  She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat before turning to Carla and muttering some random shit I don’t know in Spanish. Carla heads into the first row. Alison lays a hand on my arm and a shock reverberates through my bones. I’m instantly aware - of the coconut scent of her sunscreen, of the birds calling in the trees at the edge of the vineyard- everything comes into sharp relief. It’s such a surprise, I miss what she’s saying. “Come again?”

  “I said, I’ll show you what to do. I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly. Follow me.”

  I follow her into the second row, my eyes drawn irresistibly to the sway of her luscious hips, and the hint of bare skin below her sports bra. She stops and hands me a pair of pruners. “What do you see?”

  A breathtaking fresh-faced woman who against my better judgment, I want to kiss senseless.

  I clear my throat. “Grapes.”

  She makes a face. “You have an amazing gift for the obvious.”

  For some reason that makes me laugh. It starts low in my belly and rises, bursting out in full peals. I bend, bracing my hands against my thighs. I haven’t laughed in god knows how long, and it feels… good. Like something dark inside me has broken loose and evaporated.

  “So glad to know you think that’s funny,” she states with a scowl, which only sets off another round of laughter.

  I return upright and shoot her a grin. To my surprise, she smiles back. It’s shy, sweet, even. Like I’ve broken through a layer of her defenses. We stare, and a current of electricity runs through my body. There’s no denying the chemistry between us, and it unsettles me to my core. I clear my throat. “I see grapes at different stages of ripening.”

  This time, when she speaks, she’s all business, and whatever hovered in the air between us has dissipated. “Exactly. And come harvest time, greener grapes will negatively impact the flavor. Our job is to cut out the green.”

  “But that’s going to lower your yield.” And why would anyone in their right mind do that?

  She gives me another withering stare. “Yes. It is.”

  I glower back. “But you’re costing the vineyard money by doing that.” I cross my arms. “And I know from experience, Dec doesn’t like losing money.”

  “I’m making wine, not cougar juice.”

  “Cougar juice.” What in the hell kind of fucked-up thing is that? Although from the disdain in her voice, I have a feeling it’s nothing good.

  She laughs derisively. “C’mon, pretty boy, you’ve had to have heard that term- it’s what everyone calls your wines.”

  Now I’m pissed. “No way. We have a reputation for making California’s premier wines.” At least we did. When I was a kid. To be honest, all I’ve done is crunch numbers with the express intent of increasing yield and profits. I haven’t given much thought to the wine. Why would I? We’ve always hired winemakers to oversee the flavor.

  She lifts her eyes skyward with a shake of her head before staring at me hard. “Wake up and smell the coffee, Nico… Case Wineries makes party wine. Overripe, overpriced jammy fruitbombs that the ladies drink to get hammered. No subtlety. No terroir. No craft. Certainly nothing a winemaker of any caliber would want to stake their reputation on.”

  Her words sting, but deep down inside, I recognize a ring of truth. There comes a point where all empires run the risk of becoming too big and collapsing in on themselves. Is that what’s happened to my
family’s empire? That would explain Dad’s recent insanity regarding his legacy.

  But I don’t want to lose this battle. I’ve been groomed since I was twelve to call the shots. “And what makes you think you’re going to do better by Dec?” I say with a pointed glare.

  She glares back. “He hired me to make the best wine I can, and I’m going to do just that. With or without you.”

  “So you’re giving me an ultimatum. You won’t even listen to reason.”

  “It’s my job to make wine, not to coddle entitled rich boys going through a midlife crisis.”

  “I’m not-” but I stop, because she’s right. I sound like a petulant four-year-old who hasn’t gotten his way. “Fine,” I say, swallowing hard. “It’s your funeral.” She may have won this round, but I’m damn well gonna make sure she makes Dec a return on his investment.

  Triumph flickers in her eyes, and her mouth pulls into a smirk. “Maybe it’s my party. Now,” she says brusquely, dusting her hands together. “As I was saying- We need to drop the green fruit, so the clusters ripen evenly.” She narrows her eyes. “So that we can sell our wine for a premium.”

  I make a point of ignoring the dig. “Great.” I swoop down to a cluster of mostly green grapes, pruners open.

  “Wait.” Her hand comes to my arm again. “Not so fast.”

  For a hot second my mind goes blank. This woman drives me nuts. For starters, she’s crazy-pants. Bossy. Opinionated. Yet I can’t deny the zip of electricity racing up my arm. It warms my body in ways I don’t recall experiencing- with Veronica or anyone else. And for a stupid second, I wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of touch all the time.

  “We need to make sure the vines are balanced, that the clusters aren’t too close together. Likewise, if you see grapes that are too red, that are, ah-”

  “Too excited?” I give her a sideways glance.

  Her cheeks turn the color of clouds at dawn. “Sure. Too excited,” she repeats with a breathy note. “We need to thin those too.”

  “So this one.” I point to a cluster with my pruners. “Would you drop this?”

  “I would.”

  I glance her direction again. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Her eyes flick to mine, and for a long moment neither of us speak. She shakes her head. “T-that’s all. I’ll work the other side.” She turns, but not before I see the flush deepening on her face.

  We set to work, and for the first hour, we don’t speak except for when I ask the occasional question about a cluster. The trees are alive with bird calls, and the breeze dances lightly through the vines. By the end of the first row, I’m dripping, and I remove my shirt. Alison works faster than me, but by the end of the second row, I’ve matched my pace to hers. “Here,” I say roughly, handing her a plastic cup filled with water when we’re midway down the fourth row. “You need to drink, too.”

  She tucks her pruners into a loop on her overalls and accepts my offering, gulping half of it before stopping to take a breath. “You want some?”

  I shake my head. “Took my fill at the picnic table.”

  She drains the cup, and I watch, mesmerized by the undulating movement in her throat. It’s so erotic, so sensual, my breath catches in my clavicle. “Give it to me,” I say with a little too much grit in my voice. She drops the cup into my hand, and I spin and hoof it down the row back to the table. I have no business lusting after Alison Walker.

  By the time Alison makes the call to break for lunch, my body is on fire. My shoulders ache, my arms feel like lead, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to open my hands again. One of the crewwomen has brought down a cooler and placed it next to the water dispensers on the picnic table, and the ladies dig in, passing out sandwiches and fruit. Alison motions me forward. “Help yourself.”

  I peer into the cooler. There’s only one sandwich and an apple remaining. I glance back at Alison. It hits me that she hadn’t planned on feeding an extra person. “You take it,” I say with a shake of my head.

  She crosses her arms across her chest, accentuating the deep vee of her cleavage and making me hungry for something other than food. “I’ve never had crew pass out on me before, and I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”

  “And I’m not an asshole,” I retort. The arch of her brow implies she thinks otherwise. Something catches deep in my chest. I don’t like that this perfect stranger has already weighed me in the balance and found me wanting. “I’m not,” I reiterate firmly. “And I’m not going to let a woman go hungry while I eat.”

  Her eyes spark with challenge. “So if I was a man ordering you to eat up, you’d have no problem?”

  Fuck.

  “Spare me your gentlemanly posturing.” She glares at me, widening her stance just slightly, as if she’s ready to do battle. “My crew eats first. Period.”

  I mimic her stance, crossing my arms. “No. You need to eat, too.”

  Her eyes narrow, and for a second, I think she’s going to give in. Then my stomach growls loudly. I haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday, and I’m starving, but she’s got to be hungry too. I didn’t see her eat breakfast, either. “Last call, pretty boy,” she says in a low voice, brimming with anger. It’s the kind of tone that says don’t fuck with me, and I can’t resist fucking with her.

  “Take it,” I say with a wave.

  She reaches into the cooler and grabs the apple, tossing it to Carla, then lifts out the sandwich. “Alguien?” she asks, looking around at the women assembled in a half-circle.

  One of the older women pushes forward a girl who looks barely sixteen. “Mi hija tiene hambre.”

  Alison hands her the sandwich, and she ducks her head in gratitude. But instead of diving in, she pulls half from the wax bag and shares it with the older woman. The others cluck their approval as the sandwich gets demolished. As I watch the women circle Alison for directions on what’s next, I’m surprised by the hollow feeling in my chest. This was an empty victory, if you could even call it that, and I came off looking like an ass. I hover on the outskirts as she speaks to the women in Spanish. When they disband, she glares at me and waves a hand toward the end of the picnic bench. “We need to gather up the droppings for mulch. Baskets are there. We’ll haul them up top to the mulch piles.”

  “You should bring the flatbed truck down here.” I saw there was one behind the barn, and even I know it’s meant for work like this. “It would be easier to load it up then drive it straight to the compost.”

  “The hike too much for you, pretty boy?”

  I scoff. “No. I just think it’s a waste of manpower to have a dozen of us do the work a truck could do. Much better use of your dollars.”

  Alison levels a smoldering glare at me. “And maybe, I don’t want diesel fumes anywhere near my vines.”

  “Suit yourself,” I grumble and grab a basket.

  We spend the next hour hauling buckets full of grape and leaf matter uphill to three enormous compost piles behind the barn. The women chatter back and forth merrily, hardly sparing me a glance, while I become grouchier with each laborious step uphill. How the mighty have fallen, the dark voice inside my head taunts. Like any of this was my doing. Except that I was complicit, the infuriatingly pragmatic part of me points out. I took advantage of a situation to exact payback from Jason. I let myself get pulled into a loveless marriage and let Ronnie spend my trust fund indiscriminately so she’d leave me alone. I believed Dad when he promised that I would head Case Family Wineries someday. So this hell is all of my making, which only serves to darken my mood and add to the lead weight pulling on my bones as I blister my hands lugging buckets up and down a hill like a common laborer. At least they’re getting paid.

  My head is throbbing when I stop for water, and the first thing I do is dump a full cup over my head. The icy cold takes my breath away, but then it’s nothing but sweet relief as my head and neck cool. I dump a second cup over my head, welcoming the icy blast this time as t
he water drips down my torso.

  Behind me, Alison clears her throat. I turn to catch her staring, eyes smoldering with hunger. My body answers with a thrill of awareness, and I stare back, equally hungry. The air between us crackles with tension, an electrifying mix of mutual attraction and dislike.

  She coughs and glares. “I want you to head into St. Helena. I have an account set up at Central Valley. Pick yourself up some suitable clothes.”

  “But the others aren’t done.”

  Alison looks pointedly at my feet, and my gaze follows hers. My shoes are trashed. The supple Italian leather is covered with a thick layer of dirt, and one of the seams has split. My designer jeans have fared little better.

  “I’m not stopping until they are,” I answer stubbornly.

  “You’ve done enough for today.” Her tone of voice implies that I’ve hardly done anything.

  “How can you say that?” I sputter. “I’ve worked my ass off.”

  “Do you want a cookie for your efforts?” Her plump mouth thins. “You need to leave now, or the store will be closed, and I can’t have you prancing around the vineyard tomorrow like a dilettante.”

  “I do not prance.”

  The corner of her mouth slowly kicks up. “Oh you most definitely prance, pretty boy, and I can’t have my workers distracted by your fine moves.”

  There’s a compliment in there, somewhere, more than one, and my chest puffs at the knowledge she’s been checking me out. I flex and swivel my hips. “You mean these fine moves?” My smartassery earns me nothing more than a scathing glare. She turns and marches back to the vines. I can’t resist calling after her. “I’ll show you my best moves when I get back.”

  She flips me the bird and keeps going. For the second time today, laughter erupts from deep in my belly. Alison Walker is a ball buster. No doubt about it, and surprisingly, I find that sexy as fuck.