Free Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair Page A

actually here to prove to Judge Pricket that I am serious about this land and serious about making this work. We only have thirty days to change his mind or we both lose.”
    “
You
lose,” she reminded him, tipping back the beer and taking a long pull. He watched her throat work. Her eyes locked on his over the rim of the bottle and he found himself thinking that thirty days was a hell of a long time to keep his hands to himself. Especially if this was her usual nighttime attire.
    As if reading his dirty mind, Frankie’s face flushed and she shifted on the counter.
    Interesting
. She was as uncomfortable with the sexual heat that seemed to sizzle between them as he was.
    “I lose and we all lose, Frankie,” he said hopping down and slowly making his way toward her, sliding between her legs and taking the beer out of her hand. Noticing she kept her gaze onhis mouth, he took a sip and continued, “So unless you want to explain to your family how we let a bunch of Joe Dot Coms move in with their trophy wives and designer dogs, then you had better get used to me and my golden boy loafers, because we’re moving in.”
    He didn’t mention that his pansy-ass Frappuccino maker was in his trunk. Or that his plan to mess with her somehow backfired, because he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her lips.
    “Oh, yeah?” A totally cool, almost bored expression crossed her face as she casually leaned back on her hands. The movement made her legs open a little wider, slide a little closer to home. “And just how do you think this will work?”
    Damn it. Now she was screwing with him, trying to pretend she wasn’t the least bit affected. Too bad her breathing was just as labored, her eyes just as dilated.
    Nate rested his palms on the counter, leaning in until their mouths were just a breath apart. “Do you need a diagram or would you prefer a demonstration?”
    His voice came out totally unaffected, an effect that would be ruined if she scooted herself any closer because his southern region was already manning up.
    “Dream on,” she said and Nate smiled because there was a small stutter in her normally tough voice. “Because in the end, that tab and slot you’re talking about would still belong to you and me.”
    His gaze slid down to the base of her neck. For several long seconds he watched as a pulse leapt beneath her creamy skin. Oh yeah, Miss Untouchable was aware of him, hyper aware of him. And suddenly Nate knew that making this work wasn’t the problem. He was more concerned about what happened if it did. Because she was right. Come tomorrow morning, theywould be staring at each other across the kitchen table, a legal pad full of new emotions to add to the already complicated list.
    They both had a lot on the line, him even more so. And doing something as stupid as following through on this, whatever it was, would only backfire. He needed to focus on getting those other ten acres.
    Giving her this one win, he pushed off the counter and stepped back—away from temptation. Ignoring the victorious smile on her pretty lips, he made his way into the front room, grabbed his bag, and walked to the front door.
    “Leaving so soon?” she asked. He could hear the confusion in her voice, disbelief he had caved so easily.
    “Nope, just locking the door. Wouldn’t want to get any unwanted visitors.” Swinging the duffle over his shoulder, he strode past a very pissed off Frankie, narrowly missing an elbow to the ribs, and headed down the hallway. “If you don’t have a preference, I’ll take the master.”
    “Too bad, DeLuca. I’m already in the master,” Frankie said, shuffling past, her feet slapping on the hardwood floor and the lace cupping that backside shifting higher with each step, before she slammed the door.
    He turned the knob and, no surprise there, it was already locked. The shuffling of furniture sounded as Frankie barricaded the door.
    “I hope that bed is a king,” he laughed outside the door.