Mr. Red Page 7

  I slip outside and cross the yard to my favorite spot, my unease dissipating as I take in the view. I need to stay focused on my goals, on my future. I pull out my phone and dial my sister. “I’ve been thinking about you all day today,” Kimmie says with a note of concern in her voice when she answers. “Is everything okay?”

  My older sister has always been psychic like that. Ever since I was a baby. She’s told me since we were little that we’re cosmically attached- she asked her parents for a baby sister for her sixth birthday, and damn if I wasn’t born on her birthday. And she’s been the best- she’s never judged me, and she has every reason to- for starters she’s as tall and slender as I am short and wide. She’s perfectly poised, and naturally, perfectly beautiful. And if that’s not enough, she’s also wildly successful- the Vice-President of branding for one of Seoul’s top cosmetics companies. There’s no competing with her because she’s perfect. She always has been, but not in an awful way, because she’s also the kindest, most generous, most caring person I know. And she’s been there for me through all of the high-school garbage, the moving away and changing my name, the lap band surgery after my divorce- everything. I love her with a fierce devotion that’s only matched by my parents.

  “It could be, I suppose,” not quite sure how to broach the subject.

  “Hmmm. I’m not encouraged by that. Is it the vineyard? Are you sure it’s a good idea working for one of the Case triplets? I worry…” Her voice trails off.

  “I know, and yes, the vineyard’s going great. And I discovered these abandoned barrels in the cellar that are phenomenal. Declan’s given me the go-ahead to name them, and market the shit out of them.” That’s not why I called, but I’m stalling. As much as she has my back, she’s going to flip when I tell her I spent the night fucking Nico.

  I can hear the smile in her voice. “That’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you, Bean.”

  I warm at the old nickname. She started calling me that when mom was pregnant with me, and it stuck. And even though the elementary kids started calling me Soybean when they heard Kimmie call me Bean, it never hurt in the deep soul-marring way the other insults did when I got fat in the fifth grade.

  “Thanks, sis. I know this is going to put Fieldstone Winery on the map.”

  “So you’ve finally come up with a name for the vineyard? I love it,” she enthuses. One thing I adore about Kimmie is her infectious enthusiasm. It’s why she’s good at her job- she falls in love with every new product her company develops.

  “Thought about it yesterday while I was pruning with- while I was pruning.” I catch myself too late, and Kimmie is too attentive to miss it.

  “With who?”

  I take a deep breath. “Nicholas Case,” I say with my heart pounding up around my throat.

  “What?” she asks, voice dropping two-hundred degrees to absolute zero. In that moment, she sounds like our grandma who used to scare the shit out of us when we were little kids and my parents would leave us with her to go on an occasional date. “Tell me you didn’t just say what I thought you said.”

  My face heats. I feel like I’m having a hot flash as my insides burn up. “I did,” I say in a small voice, suddenly feeling about eight-years-old again.

  “Are you insane, Bean? Swift death is too good for him. You know, I have connections…”

  I totally believe it. She travels in some crazy circles in Seoul. “But it’s-”

  “He needs to be staked out in the desert and fed to the ants,” she says with absolute disgust in her voice. Gotta love fierce sister love.

  I pull in another deep breath, gathering my courage. “He’s not like that anymore, sis. He’s… different.”

  She scoffs. “Leopards never change their spots.”

  “No, really. You’d see, if you were here. Andhe’ssuperhotandImighthavefuckedhimlastnight,” I finish in a rush.

  My confession is met with silence. For a moment, I wonder if she’s hung up. Or thrown her phone across the room. “You might have fucked him,” she says after several more strained moments of silence. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” she screeches, and I have to pull the phone from my ear. My whole body burns with shame. I hate it when Kimmie gets mad at me. It’s maybe only happened a handful of times in our lives, and most of the time it comes from a place of righteous indignation on my behalf, but it still makes my stomach fill with bile and my body burn with the worst kind of desperate self-loathing.

  I bite a nail, second-guessing the call. I should have been prepared for this.

  “Katie,” she reprimands. “Honey, you deserve so much better than the likes of him.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I murmur, tears springing to my eyes. “Katie’s gone.”

  “You’ll always be my Katie-bug, little Bean,” she says with such deep mourning that a tear sneaks out of my eye.

  And another follows behind it, dammit. “I can’t be that anymore. You know that.”

  She sniffs dramatically. “I know, I know, but sweetie, you’re playing with fire. This won’t end well. He’s bound to find out. You can’t keep something like that buried forever.”

  “Tommy never knew.”

  “Tommy never deserved to know,” she spits.

  “Neither does Nico. And I’m never going to tell him. Look, it was just a thing,” I add after a pause. “A blip, a chemical explosion.”

  “Well it better have been the best fucking sex you’ve ever had, then.”

  “Oh it was.”

  “Ohmygod.” She lets out a half-hysterical laugh. “I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around this. I suppose as long as you know what you’re doing…”

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admit.

  “You have to admit, the irony is something else.”

  I nod. “Yeah,” I wonder if he’d look at me differently, knowing I was Katie the Cow. I don’t want to find out.

  “You should make him fall in love with you, then dump his ass,” she says spitefully.

  “Kimmie,” I gasp, scandalized. “You know I’m not that vindictive.”

  “But I am,” she says, deadly serious. And this is why I absolutely adore my sister. She would go to the mat for me, or worse. There was a moment during my divorce when she threatened to rip Tommy’s balls off. I think he believed she would, because he was much more cooperative after that. “And you should be,” she adds. “God knows, he deserves all your wrath and then some.”

  “Can we change the subject? Please?” I plead. “I’ve tried my best to move beyond all that crap.”

  “Fine. Just promise me you won’t fuck him again.”

  A knot presses into the spot just beneath my sternum. I’ve never broken a promise to my sister. I’m sorely tempted to say no… because holy hell, I want a repeat of last night more than anything. But she’s looking out for me, and she’s right- Nico Case is dangerous business. I nod with more than a little regret. “I won’t.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nico

  It’s mid-afternoon, and Alison has been coolly professional since she came in from her morning walk. Surprisingly cool given the heat we generated last night.

  “You need to start fertilizing.” I know I’m poking the bear, but I can’t help it. I’m tired of being ignored, and I’m not a complete idiot when it comes to winemaking.

  My comment doesn’t even earn me a sideways glance. She keeps thinning the grapes like I commented on the weather. “You need to stop acting like you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m just looking out for my brother.”

  “I am too.” She opens her mouth to say more, but then snaps it shut with a shake of her head. “Fine. You don’t trust me? Vet me. Call Danny Pendergast. I assume you know Danny?”

  I do. Danny Pendergast is one of Dec’s best friends from our time at Stanford. In addition to being the great-grandson of a notorious Kansas City gangster, he’s built a whiskey club t
hat’s sought after by the most influential wheelers and dealers in the country, some of them with less than… pure connections. You want to buy a company, make a real-estate deal, procure rare art, anything- you go to Danny. “How do you know Danny?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Danny recommended me for the job.”

  I deflate. If Danny recommended her to Dec, then she’s the real deal. Danny only surrounds himself with the best. But if that’s the case, how come I’ve never heard of her? I might not be on a first-name basis with the top guys in Napa, but we at least know each other by sight. “Is that so? Then how come I’ve never seen your name in print?”

  I can feel the righteous anger bristling off her. “Practical Winery and Vineyard. Last year’s-” She stops and throws up her hands. “Why am I justifying myself? I don’t need to justify myself to you.” Her voice takes an icy edge. “You have a problem with me? Talk to Declan. Hell, call Danny. I have work to do today.” She turns on her heel and marches away, only to stop and march back, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Contrary to what you might think, Napa is not the center of the wine universe. Try reading something beyond the Napa Wine Examiner.”

  “Look, sweetheart. I-”

  “And another thing,” she interrupts gesticulating wildly. “We are not repeating last night. Ever.”

  “Damn straight,” I drawl. “I don’t make a habit of bedding bossy mouths.” Only my cock is fired up from all this arguing, and I’d like nothing better than to tumble her into the grass and discover if she tastes as delicious al fresco.

  “Bossy mouth?” Her outraged gasp is of comic book proportions, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Bossy mouth? You haven’t even begun to see bossy mouth.”

  Weaker men would wither under the glare she aims at me, but all I want to do is poke at her some more, wind her up, and then kiss her senseless. “I think I need a lobotomy,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Oh you need more than that,” she snaps back.

  I step into her space, close enough that her breath skates across my collarbone. I duck my head and murmur into her ear. “Nice to know your hearing is as sharp as your tongue. Bossy mouth,” I add with a low chuckle.

  Her gaze snaps to mine and the air between us sizzles. I still, a current of awareness sensitizing my nerve endings. Her eyelids flutter and her mouth softens. The urge to lean in and kiss her is powerful. I want to taste what she’s like all fired-up, feel her hard shell soften beneath my fingers, obey the demands of my tongue.

  Energy coils low in my belly, ready to release, but I don’t get my chance, because I hear Carla, hollering from the top of the hill. Alison steps back, but not before I see her shoulders vibrate with a shiver. “I-I’ve got to take care of some things in the crushing pad. You know what to do here, and Carla can answer any questions you have.”

  She steps back, and turns, jogging up the hill. I whip out my phone. I don’t care that it’s Sunday afternoon, I’m fucking calling Danny. He answers on the third ring. “Let me guess,” he drawls. “You’ve met Alison.”

  Danny also has an uncanny, almost psychic ability to foresee trouble- long before it actually arises. I’d bet what little money is left in my bank account that he’s been waiting for my call. I cut to the chase. “She said you recommended her to Dec.”

  “Indeed I did.”

  “So she’s legit.” I make it more of a statement than a question.

  “Are you implying I’d purposefully screw over Declan?”

  He would if it meant saving his own ass, and we both know that. “What’s her story?”

  He chuckles. “What makes you think there’s a story?”

  “There’s always a story,” I remind him. Danny makes a point of knowing all of his associates’ stories. He considers it insurance.

  “She has a double degree from Cornell- microbiology and enology, summa cum laude. She interned in France and Spain under two winemakers I personally know and respect, and she’s been an assistant winemaker at a vineyard just outside of Kansas City.”

  “Why not head?”

  “No one’s given her a shot.” I can sense Danny’s irritation, but he’s gonna have to suck it up and answer my damn questions.

  “Family?”

  “Dad’s from Seoul, is president of a pharmaceutical company on the Kansas side. Mom’s from good Midwestern stock. Sister is VP of Brand Awareness for a cosmetics company in Seoul. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. How do you know her?”

  Danny’s voice turns cold. “Privileged information.”

  “Not if she’s working for my brother it’s not.”

  “Oh hell, yes it is. I’ve answered your questions. She’s legit, she’s talented, she’s smarter than you and your brothers put together, and if you stay the hell out of her way, she’ll make Declan a fuck-ton of money. Capisci?”

  Funny, hearing a descendant of an Irish mobster use Italian. But I get the message, loud and clear. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “And another thing. Keep it zipped around her. Get what I mean? She’s too good for the likes of you.”

  On that point, we agree. And while I sure as hell am not gonna ‘fess up that we’ve already dallied in the garden of earthly delights, I’m also not going there again, no matter how hard my dick begs. No way, no how. Miss Bossy Mouth is going firmly in the one-night-stand column.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nico

  Alison struts down the hall looking like a million damned bucks. I let out a low whistle. “Where are you going?” It’s clear she’s off to somewhere. She’s wearing hot pink leather ankle boots that I want wrapped around my neck while I devour her. Her hair falls in soft waves behind her shoulders, and she’s wearing fuck-me-pink lipstick that matches her boots. She’s wearing a tunic similar to the one I ripped off of her last night- only this time in a deep shade of turquoise that sets off her skin and her eyes perfectly. I want to rip it off her all over again. And then I’m struck with the worst thought- what if she’s going on a date?

  The acrid taste of jealousy rises in my throat. Surely, she’s not that cold? I mean, I know it was just one night, and I have zero claim to her whatsoever, but it doesn’t stop an ugly taste from creeping into my mouth.

  “Out,” she says, gently placing four wine bottles labeled with masking tape into a thermal carrier. “Don’t expect me for dinner. Help yourself to the leftovers.”

  “Where are you going?” I ask again. I know it’s none of my damned business, except… I want to know.

  She narrows her eyes and stares at me. When she speaks, her voice is laced with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

  I close the distance between us and brace my arms on the counter, not breaking eye-contact. “Because maybe I’m a little concerned about your safety,” I state in clipped words with more than a little steel in my voice.

  Her eyes widen slightly, as if she’s surprised by my answer. But then she rolls her eyes with a wave of her hand. “No need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I will absodamnlutely worry about your sweet little ass when it’s out of my sight, angel.” The strength of my vehemence shocks me. But it’s true.

  She chuckles with a shake of her head, then stares me down. “You got one thing wrong, pretty boy. There’s nothing little about my ass. And thank you very much, but I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?”

  She glares. “Of course I can.”

  “I have no doubt of your overconfidence in order to prove a point.”

  “And I have no doubt of your fake concern,” she snaps.

  I stalk around the counter, right into her space, close enough I catch a whiff of her rose-scented lotion and a layer of enticing floral perfume. Her mouth drops open in surprise. I want to kiss her, smudge her pretty pink lipstick. “Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart. I don’t fucking lie.” Not anymore.

  Pain flares briefly in her eyes. “Ha.”

  “You don’t have to bel
ieve me, but it’s the truth. Now tell me, where the fuck are you going?”

  She lets out a big sigh and rolls her eyes. “I’m going to the Napa Winemaker’s mixer. No need to worry at all.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “What?” She shakes her head. “Oh hell no. I did not sign up for this shit.”

  “You afraid I’m going to steal your thunder?”

  Her mouth thins, and I bite my cheek, because laughing right now might cost me my balls. “No. I’m afraid you’re going to be an enormous pain in my ass.”

  I step back and open my hands. “I can’t promise I won’t. But I do promise to be on my best behavior. And I’m coming with you.”

  She stares at me a long second, jaw set. The conflict flickers on her face. “Fine. But you aren’t saying a word, got it?”

  “It’ll be like I’m not even there,” I promise, stupidly delighted she’s given an inch. I head to the closet and shove an arm into my jacket. “We can take my bike.”

  “No way.” She grabs her keys from the dish at the edge of the counter. “I’m driving.”

  “What is it, angel?” I grin broadly. “Afraid of being too close to me?”

  “Of course not,” she denies too quickly.

  “So you’re afraid of motorcycles.”

  “Absolutely not,” she says, brimming with exasperation.

  “So you have no problem riding behind me then. I can strap the wine to the back.”

  She scowls. “Okay, fine. Let me get my jacket.” She stomps past me to her bedroom and emerges a moment later wearing a leather motorcycle jacket. It’s hot as fuck, half-zipped and nipping in at her waist. I want to see her in that and nothing else but those fuck-me-pink booties.

  “You’re something else, Ali.”

  She ignores my compliment and stalks to the door. “Let’s go.”

  I love riding my bike. I love the feeling of leaving my problems behind, of the possibility that lies around the next corner, the feel of the wind, the sense that you can reach out your hand and touch the trees. But nothing compares to having Alison behind me on the bike, thighs glued to mine, chest pressed against me and holding on for dear life. I’m engulfed in her embrace, her essence, and I swear, I can feel her heart beating through the layers of leather.