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A dynasty in crisis…reunited by desire!

THE ASHTONS: JILLIAN, ELI & CHARLOTTE

Three of your favourite authors bring you three sexy and seductive romances following the scandalous Ashton family

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April 2010

The Ashtons: Jillian, Eli & Charlotte

Featuring

Just a Taste by Bronwyn Jameson Awaken the Senses by Nalini Singh Estate Affair by Sara Orwig

Maitland Maternity: Triplets, Quads & Quints

Featuring

Triplet Secret Babies by Judy Christenberry Quadruplets on the Doorstep by Tina Leonard Great Expectations by Kasey Michaels Delivered with a Kiss by Mindy Neff And Babies Make Seven by Mary Anne Wilson

The Ashtons: Jillian, Eli & Charlotte
Bronwyn Jameson
Nalini Singh
Sara Orwig

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Just A Taste

By

Bronwyn Jameson

Bronwyn Jameson spent much of her childhood with her head buried in a book. As a teenager, she discovered romance novels and it was only a matter of time before she turned her love of reading them into a love of writing them. Bronwyn shares an idyllic piece of the Australian farming heartland with her husband and three sons, a thousand sheep, a dozen horses, assorted wildlife and one kelpie dog. She still chooses to spend her limited downtime with a good book.

Bronwyn loves to hear from readers. Write to her at bronwyn@bronwynjameson.com.

Look out for Bronwyn Jameson’s exciting new novel, Magnate’s Make-Believe Mistress, available from Mills & Boon® Desire™ in December 2010.

To that pair of fabulous Desire™ authors Kathie DeNosky and Kristi Gold – thanks for the inspiration, the guidance and the laughs. Love your work, girlfriends!

Prologue

As the first strident notes of the bridal march screeched through the Vegas chapel, Spencer Ashton didn’t bother hiding his wince. He closed his eyes to shut out the faux-marble columns and the ceiling painted—poorly—as a cloud-scattered sky.

Unfortunately, losing the faculty of sight only intensified his other senses. The recorded music sounded even tinnier. The sweet sickliness of massed flowers and candles clogged his lungs.

He didn’t deserve this. He’d earned his cathedral and pipe organ and choir. He wanted to turn and see the pews overflowing with business and society luminaries, to feel their handshakes and back-slapping congratulations as they welcomed him into their elite kinship of power and privilege. And more than any of that, he deserved to see his bride walking down the aisle on her father’s arm.

Oh, how he would have relished the moment when John Lattimer handed over his only child and answered the question of “Who gives this woman?”

That was the only “I do” that mattered to Spencer. The two little words that meant his boss and mentor for the past five years was handing him the final key, not just to his investment-banking megalith, but to the entire Lattimer wealth.

Self-satisfaction hurtled through Spencer’s blood, turning his earlier wince around. At his side, Caroline completely misinterpreted that smile. Her biting grip on his elbow fluttered into a soothing caress as she leaned close and whispered, “I know. I feel the same way.”

Spencer doubted it, but why not indulge her?

He wasn’t getting the ceremony he deserved but he was getting the result. He squeezed her trembling hand and smiled right into her eyes. “You make a beautiful bride, Caroline.”

Easy words, when he stood to gain so much. As easy as the romantic words he’d chosen to sweep her off her feet. As easy as the avowal of everlasting love that preceded his let’s-get-married-right-away, I-can’t-wait-darling proposal.

No, he hadn’t wanted this quickie wedding, but he couldn’t risk the publicity or the complications of a high-profile wedding preceded by an engagement party and all manner of but-you-must-have-family-to-invite occasions.

He had no family that he cared to acknowledge, but today he would join one of California’s finest. Soon he would sit at his father-in-law’s right hand in the boardroom of the Lattimer Corporation. In time, it would be the Ashton-Lattimer Corporation.

Oh, yes, that had a near-orgasmic ring to it, as rich and glorious as the cathedral bells that tolled in Spencer’s imagination, in the wedding he wasn’t having. The rich and glorious sound of his future. All he had to do was pretend he adored the mousy blonde who was about to become his wife.

The minister swept into the chapel, apologetic for his tardiness and obviously pressed for time since he launched into the ceremony without preliminaries. Spencer half listened. His eyes drifted down to the Lattimer pearls at Caroline’s throat.

She might not match him in looks or ambition or character, but John Lattimer’s daughter was his ideal wife in other ways: demure and agreeable, quiet and giving, rich and ready to inherit.

He smiled and gazed into her moist and tremulous eyes as he repeated the same meaningless vows as last time. In his mind he added an extra vow. He promised to spend enough time in Caroline’s bed to breed the babies she wanted, children to keep her occupied and out of his hair, grandchildren to link the Ashton and Lattimer names and bind him more securely to all that would be his.

As the minister said the final words that joined them together as man and wife, euphoria rose again from Spencer’s gut, stronger this time, almost choking him with its intensity.

Spencer Ashton had traveled a long way from the farm-stench of Crawley, Nebraska, and finally he had arrived. He hadn’t gambled and gotten lucky. He’d succeeded because he was smart enough and shrewd enough and focused enough to turn ambition into reality.

Everything he had ever wanted, everything he deserved, everything that mattered would soon be his.

Everything.

One

Napa Valley, California. Thirty-eight years later.

In naive, lust-crazed, love-addled ignorance, Jillian Ashton wagered everything that mattered when she eloped to Vegas with Jason Bennedict. And when the marriage ended in a fiery late-night car wreck, she lost it all.

Her lying, cheating husband, her home, her savings, her job, and the last tattered shreds of her self-respect.

Poof, all gone.

Two years later Jillian had a home and a job in her family’s Napa Valley winery. As for that lost esteem…well, today she stood a chance of regaining a sizeable chunk. More literally she stood—in two-inch businesswoman heels—in the Louret Winery meeting room gaping at her brother. As Louret’s business manager, Cole controlled the purse strings. He did not, by virtue of his job and his personality, ever make things easy.

And yet…

“Everything?” Jillian asked on a rising note of suspicion. April Fool’s Day wasn’t until Friday, surely. She waved a hand at the flip chart by her side. “You’re agreeing to all these changes?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jellie. I’m saying your idea has merit. Get some quotes.”

“But you haven’t seen the rest of my—”

“Pretty pictures?” Cole rocked back in his chair, looking more amused than impressed by the presentation she’d slaved over. “Save the rest for next Monday’s meeting. I’ve a ten o’clock appointment to get to.”

Jillian sucked in a breath and released it slowly. Sure, his casual use of her childhood nickname and the pretty-pictures dig rankled, but she should be used to her brother’s—to both her brothers’—patronizing indulgence.

As the youngest of four siblings, she’d endured such head-patting all her life.

In retrospect the flip-chart presentation had probably been a tad over the top for a family business meeting—especially since Cole and his dog were the only family members to show for said meeting—but she’d wanted to knock his socks off. For months she’d worked on her proposal to expand and remodel the winery’s tasting room.

This was important.

She needed the challenge, creatively and professionally and personally. She needed to prove herself to her family and, most importantly, to herself.

“What’s your time line on this project, Jellie?”

Jillian—aka Jillie, aka Jellie, aka Jellie-Belly—felt her shoulders tighten reflexively. Oh, yes, she definitely needed to prove herself more than the little sister. She might have failed at her marriage but she was a graduate in viticulture and enology. For the past eighteen months she’d successfully managed Louret’s tasting room.

And she was past thirty, for heaven’s sake!

Biting back her annoyance, she carefully packed away the last of her presentation materials before responding to Cole’s question. “Ten to fourteen days, depending on the selected contractor’s schedule.”

“You have a list of contractors?”

Jillian smiled sweetly and tapped her portfolio. “It was on my next pretty page. The one preceding my proposed time line. How many quotes would you like me to get?”

“Your call, as long as Seth Bennedict is one of them.” He paused to study her closely. “Will that be a problem?”

Yes. She swallowed a lump of imminent panic and met his eyes. “No.”

Cole nodded. “Good. If Seth’s your man, I know it’ll be done right.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

With the portfolio tucked under her arm, she calmly left the meeting room and closed the door at her back. For a brief moment, she indulged the tremor in her limbs by leaning against its solid timber strength.

But only for a brief moment. Irritation skated the edges of her nerves as she stalked to her own office, the smallest of half a dozen built atop the tasting room in Louret’s winery building.

If Seth’s your man, I know it’ll be done right.

So much for her brother’s confidence in her ability to manage this task. As it happened, she’d done her research. She’d talked to a stack of locals about their dealings with Napa building contractors. And, so okay, her brother was right about whose name kept popping up, but…

“Seth Bennedict is not my man,” she muttered as she sank into her chair, inordinately bothered by that wording. Oh, Seth Bennedict was a man all right. A big, dark, brooding mass of male with a disturbingly intent gaze and an equally disconcerting habit of taking charge.

He was also her brother-in-law and the only living soul who knew the most humiliating details of her disastrous marriage.

Even when she’d not wanted Seth’s help—especially when she’d not wanted it—he’d bulldozed over her objections. Sure, he’d untangled the financial mess that was Jason’s legacy, which meant he also knew how gullible and witless she had been in allowing their joint affairs to become so knotted.

Jillian’s fingers curled into the cushioned arms of her chair. Success with the tasting-room redesign was her chance to drag herself beyond the crippling grip of her past. If that meant working with Seth Bennedict and his indissoluble links to those dark years, then so be it.

It wouldn’t be any fun, but she would deal with it.

And she would start dealing today. Right now. Before she chickened out.

She grabbed her purse and car keys from her desk drawer, then shook her head ruefully. The way her life had panned out, she wouldn’t recognize fun anyway, even if it came tap-dancing across her desk wearing a Team Fun sweatshirt.

Seth Bennedict recognized fun. A bosom buddy of hard physical labor and on-the-job satisfaction, it screamed through his muscles with each swing of the ten-pound hammer then settled damp with sweat on his skin.

Man, he didn’t get to do this often enough.

The downside of success as a building contractor was too much business and planning and consulting, not nearly enough hands-on. He couldn’t think of a more gratifying way to spend his thirty-eighth birthday than pounding down walls.

Well, okay, so he could think of one.

He’d woken that morning thinking about it, with the remnant shreds of a broken dream hard in his body and hot in his mind.

But then his phone had rung—Lou, foreman on this job, calling in sick—and before he could replace the receiver his daughter had propelled herself onto his bed, bouncing and gabbing with it’s-your-birthday-Daddy excitement.

His phone rang again. Then his housekeeper Rosa appeared, looking for Rachel and breakfast orders. And that was reality.

A thriving business, a phone that never quit, and a three-year-old daughter who owned him heart and soul. No time to indulge his body in anything more than a stray early-morning fantasy—forget the real deal!—which left the only other physical release he was getting any time soon.

Seth squinted through the dust of demolition, fixed his gaze on the target wall and lifted his hammer.

“Boss.”

He turned to find one of his younger laborers standing in what remained of the doorway.

“You have a…uh…visitor.” Tony thumbed over his shoulder and shuffled his feet in a way that invoked ghosts of birthdays past.

Seth released his breath on a sigh. He was too old for this—for whatever this turned out to be. Reluctantly, he downed tools, removed his dust mask and goggles, and schooled his expression to take in good humor whatever strip-o-gram surprise came sashaying through the door.

Please, just let her keep her hands off of me.

But when he looked up, genuine surprise wiped all expression from his face and a good amount of cognitive function from his brain. Possibly because every early-morning fantasy of the last year exploded through his blood.

He did notice that Jillian Ashton-Bennedict was over-dressed…for both his fantasies and for the reality of a building site. She wore a dress the color of sandstone, a slender column of material that ended just shy of her knees. She wasn’t sashaying. Instead she picked her graceful way through the rubble, all long legs and high heels and cool female elegance.

No one did cool elegance like Jillian Ashton-Bennedict.

And nothing turned Seth on quicker or hotter than her particular brand of femininity.

With one hand she smoothed her hair—shorter than last time he’d seen her, curling around the elegant length of her throat in soft ash-brown layers—and he caught the glint of gold on her ring finger. Then she looked up and her eyes met his across the pile of century-old bricks and timber that separated them.

Debris of the past. How appropriate.

It never changed, this first stilted moment born of their shared history. The hurt to her pride because he’d witnessed her lowest point. His forced restraint, hiding the fact that she turned him on just by walking into a room.

And underlying both, the knowledge of what bound them together—the accident that had killed both their spouses.

“Stay there,” he said, more sharply than he intended or wanted. Damn. And she still wore his dead brother’s wedding band. “Tony shouldn’t have let you in here without a hard hat.”

“I told him I wouldn’t be long.”

“Which doesn’t change a blessed thing. He knows the rules.”

“Don’t blame Tony,” she said quickly. “I sort of lied.”

Seth peeled off his gloves as he started toward her. After five years with Jason, he knew how highly she valued honesty. Knew her bending of the truth would barely register on any fib-o-meter. He stopped in front of her. Waited for her explanation.

“I said you were expecting me.”

Which, while no whopper, did qualify as extremely untrue. He hadn’t seen her since a few days before Christmas, and on that occasion only by chance. She’d brought a present for Rachel and hadn’t expected to find him home.

Seth stopped in front of her. “I haven’t seen you in over three months. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“No.” She shook her head in denial, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his.

“I’m surprised Tony believed you. Since you’re such a lousy liar.”

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

The whisper of a sigh escaped her lips. “You’re right, I am, and I suspect Tony thought the same. He said he was only letting me in here because it’s your birthday.”

“Did he think you might have brought me some sort of birthday surprise?”

She met his gaze then, a momentary connection before she blinked and looked away. Seth didn’t blame her, since he imagined his eyes burned with all kinds of erotic birthday surprises.

Most of them included her. Naked and gift-wrapped.

“Sorry.” And, dammit, she really did look sorry. “I should have remembered.”

Seth tried but he couldn’t stop himself asking, “And if you had?”

“I’d have at least brought you a card. Or maybe even a cake.”

“With candles?”

“Wouldn’t that constitute a fire hazard?”

Only to Seth’s imagination.

Somewhere during their birthday-cake banter, he’d started to picture Jillian wearing nothing but teeny tassels and those sexy high heels, bursting from the top of a tacky surprise cake. The kind his buddy Lou might have arranged had he not been out sick. The kind he had no right placing in the same fantasy as Jillian, the sister-in-law he had no right lusting after. But since he’d done so from the first moment he laid eyes on her, and since she’d never shown any sign of being anything other than uncomfortable in his company, he figured he’d keep right on lusting from afar.

Part of the ongoing penance for coveting his brother’s wife.

She looked uncomfortable now, no doubt because he couldn’t help staring—yeah, and lusting—and because the silence between them had stretched into the realms of long and awkward.

“I called in at your office,” she said, bridging that conversational gap while casually widening the gap between them. “Mel told me you were working out here. She didn’t say you were destroying Villa Firenze.”

To indicate the scene of carnage, she did this little gesture thing with her hands. They were elegant and eloquent, Jillian’s hands, and one of the many, many things he’d noticed that first time he met her as Jason’s new bride.

One of the many, many things that turned him on.

“The Maldinis are converting the ground floor into a restaurant.”

“Ahh.” Pivoting on her high heels, she took in the whole scene through thoughtfully narrowed eyes, as if picturing the completed renovation. “It looks like a big job.”

“A satisfying one.”

And not only because he’d lucked out and gotten the chance to wield tools today. He followed her gaze around the Italian-style villa, solid and structurally sound, yet with the soul of its century-long history alive in the cellars and gardens and kitchens.

“I hope they’ll go with Tuscan food,” she said.

“They will.”

Jillian nodded, satisfied with his assurance. Seth Bennedict had that way about him. He said; you believed. And she grabbed at the perfect segue into her reason for being here. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Seth.”

One thick dark brow lifted in surprise. “You’re starting a restaurant?”

“No. Oh, no.” She loved good food, which meant someone else needed to cook it. “But I am extending and remodeling our tasting room. I’d like you to quote.”

There, that hadn’t been so difficult. Not once she’d gotten past the unsettling sight of Seth looking so rough and, well, uncivilized. Although she wished she’d known about his birthday. A card, a cake, a gift of wine would not have been inappropriate.

Staring at the tiny snagged tear in his T-shirt, at the teeny sliver of dark skin and darker chest hair…now that was inappropriate.

“Is this not a good time?” she said, looking away. Rattled because she’d been staring, and just a bit giddy with a sense of airless heat. “To talk about this?”

“You’re here now. We can talk, but let’s take it outside.”

He wore a hard hat. He’d already mentioned the fact that she didn’t. “I guess I’m breaking all kinds of safety regulations.”

“Yeah.” He met her eyes, his as dark and intense and disquieting as always. “You are.”

“So. How extensive is this job of yours?”

This question she could answer, now that Seth had removed himself from her breathing space. With an extremely disconcerting hand at her back—not quite touching, but hovering thereabouts—he’d shepherded her away from the curious sidelong glances of Tony and his coworkers and into a stand of olive trees beside the villa.

Leaning against the gnarled trunk of one old tree, arms crossed over his chest, he looked relaxed and receptive.

Reassured, Jillian waved a hand toward the villa. “Not very extensive compared with your present job. A lot of the work is remodeling and refitting, but there is a storage room that has to go so I can expand the tasting room space.”

“Business is good, then?”

“Busier than ever. Easter weekend was complete madness and we’re anticipating even more traffic over the summer, since we’re doing a national marketing push.”

His brows rose a little. “I thought boutique wineries like yours were all about word of mouth and competition medals.”

“Yes, but we’re releasing our first chardonnay. Plus with the economy tight the gap between premium wines like ours and the average bottle is narrowing.”

“You’re losing market share?”

With Cole at the helm? Oh, no, her brother would so not allow any market to get away from him! “Our sales are still growing, but we’re not resting on our laurels.”

“What’s your schedule for the renovation?”

“I really need this to be quick and hassle-free. I don’t want to close tastings, so I’ll be setting up a temporary area in the cellar.” Which Eli was going to hate. “As for starting time—” She drew a breath and looked right at him. “That will depend on you.”

He stared back at her for a long minute, those dark eyes even harder to read than usual in the mottled pattern of light and shade. “I haven’t said I’ll do it, Jillian.”

“Are you saying you won’t?”

“Not won’t. Can’t. Not if you want it done in the next month or two.”

Jillian’s stomach plummeted. “You’re that busy?”

“Signed contracts on two new jobs last week, and that’s on top of a heavy schedule.”

All the emotional energy she’d spent worrying over coming to see him and asking for his help, and he couldn’t do it? Why hadn’t she considered this outcome? Why hadn’t she realized that his reputation would always keep him booked way ahead of time?

Well…blast!

Except right on the heels of that initial sense of anticlimax, came a subtle easing of tension in her shoulders and limbs. It felt almost like relief. She had identified Seth as number one on her best-builder list; she’d driven over here and done the asking; he’d said no.

Now she could carry on as before, not exactly avoiding him but not needing to seek him out. She wouldn’t have to deal with his macho intensity or her reaction to it. Truth be told, the man scared her, unsettled her, made her too aware of herself. And she neither liked nor trusted any of those reactions.

With her thumb she touched the back of the wedding band she still wore on her left hand, not to remember, but as a caution against repeating the mistakes of her past.

A caution to proceed slowly and with care, especially when it came to men.

Yet this man—this builder—had brought her out here, encouraged her to talk about her plans. What was that about? “If you weren’t interested,” she began slowly, frowning, “why didn’t you say so before, inside?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” Something shifted in his gaze, deep and dark, making her feel as breathlessly offkilter as when his hand had hovered at her back. “I said I can’t fit your time frame.”

Semantics. Jillian dismissed the whole conversation with a frustrated little shrug. She didn’t have time for this…for this bandying of words or for her body’s rogue responses.

Whatever the reason, he wasn’t interested in quoting for her tasting room renovation. Discussion closed.

Seth watched her press her lips together and straighten that long, elegant backbone. Gathering her poise and dignity after copping another blow on the chin. He’d seen her go through the same motions many times before, and knew she wouldn’t try and change his mind.

And, damn, just once he wished she would beg a favor of him.

Exasperated with himself—for wanting something that would never happen, something so out of character for Jillian—Seth straightened from his slouch against the tree and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.

“Just a minute.” He wasn’t going to change his answer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help in a smaller way. “I hear Terry Mancini’s finding retirement tough. He might be interested in a job like yours. Or I can call around and see who’s—”

“There’s no need to do that,” she interrupted. “I can manage to find someone else on my own.”

Posture straight and her shoulders all stiff with pride, she turned to leave. And wasn’t that just like Jillian, going all cool and haughty and knocking back his offer of assistance?

Once she had accepted his help, eventually, but not because she had wanted to. She’d had no choice. And oh how she’d resented that lack of choice, his intervention, and the inevitable slam to her dignity when the truth about Jason’s affairs unraveled.

Seth felt his own shoulder muscles bunch with tension. “I’m sure you can find any number of builders who’ll jump at the work, Jillian. But will they do a good job?”

She had already started to turn, preparing to leave, but she paused to look back across her shoulder. “I don’t know, Seth. That’s why I came to you first.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help.”

“So am I.” She looked right at him then, her gaze clear and direct. “I wanted the best.”

Well, damn.

Two

The sun was still sleeping when Jillian rose. She tiptoed from her second-story bedroom and down the winding staircase without missing a step in the near-dark. She’d taken the same path so many times she imagined she could do it blindfolded. This was her family home, where she’d grown up and lived into her twenties, and she’d moved back after Jason’s death.

She didn’t mind living with her parents. It wasn’t as if she had a social life—or, Lord help her, a sex life—to consider. Safe, secure and nonthreatening, her life at The Vines was everything she’d rushed to escape in her early twenties and everything she wanted in her future.

At the foot of the stairs, she swung toward the kitchen…and barreled right into her mother.

The solid impact drove a whoomph of breath from Caroline Sheppard’s lungs. Surprise startled a squeak from Jillian’s. With one hand flattened over her wildly thumping heart, she peered through the wan predawn light into her mother’s face.

“Good grief, Mom, you scared a year off my life! What are you doing skulking around at this hour?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

“As it happens, I do have a reason.” Jillian held the riding boots she carried aloft. “I’m on stable duty this morning and I have to be finished before eight.”

“Another builder?”

“Yes.” Unfortunately.

The sigh in her answer must have sounded as weary as she felt because her mother’s hands came up to gently squeeze her shoulders. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, Jillie. There’s no rush.”

“After dealing with the crush over Easter?” She shook her head ruefully. “The remodel needs to be done before summer, Mom, and the sooner the better.”

Yesterday seemed about perfect to Jillian.

After a week of calling and chasing and calling again, she had exhausted her A-list of builders. Every morning she woke with nothing more concrete than, “I’ll do a quote and get back to you.” And today she faced Louret’s weekly business meeting with no solid quotes and only one builder of questionable reputation showing any solid interest. Cole might well decide that he should be overseeing the job.

“I can do this, Mom,” she said, straightening her shoulders. And she would, once she found a builder who wasn’t booked solid right through summer. Or who didn’t think he knew better than she how her tasting room should look and function.

“I know you can do it, hon.” Her mother gave another reassuring squeeze. “So, who is it this morning?”

“Travis Carmody.”

Caroline frowned. “I can’t say I know him.”

“He hasn’t been in California long.”

“Is he any good?”

“He’s available.” Which, somehow, had moved way up Jillian’s priority list. She bit her bottom lip, worried all over again. “Or at least he says he is.”

“You don’t trust his word? Isn’t that telling you something?”

“That I have deep-seated trust issues?”

Caroline smiled at her wry attempt at humor, but it was a small smile tempered with maternal concern. “Or perhaps he’s not the right man to hire. Have you tried Seth Bennedict?”

“He gave me a straight ‘can’t do it.’”

Her mother’s finely shaped brows arched expressively. “Well, I am surprised that Seth wouldn’t help you out.”

“I didn’t want him to help me out, Mom. I wanted him to quote the same as anyone else. A business deal. No special favors.”

She met Caroline’s eyes, and the circumstances of her previous dealings with Seth Bennedict arced between them. They had never discussed the nitty-gritty of Jillian’s marriage, and her mother, God bless her, had never asked for explanations. She’d simply offered her love, the sanctuary of her childhood home and a shoulder to cry on.

Yet Caroline had been in a similar place herself after the crushing demise of her marriage to Spencer Ashton. Jillian saw that empathy in her mother’s eyes now, and her throat tightened with emotion.

She flung her arms, boots and all, around her neck and held on tight.

“What’s this for?” Caroline managed to gasp around that constrictive hug.

“Just because.” Jillian’s smile wavered and her vision misted for a second before she blinked the gathering moisture away. “And I haven’t had enough sleep to do emotion real well at the moment.”

“Oh, honey.” Her mother gathered her into an even tighter hug, then saved the moment and both their tears by suddenly pulling clear. “You know what you need?”

Jillian shook her head, her emotional state too rocky to chance words.

“A good bracing gallop to clear your head.”

Oh, yes. That sounded perfect. She and Marsanne both needed a rousing blowout.

Instantly enthused, she dropped down on the bottom step and pulled on her boots. Then was struck by an even better idea. “Why don’t you come too, Mom? We haven’t been out riding together in ages.”

They’d galloped, a little more sedately than Jillian’s long-legged thoroughbred would have liked, but she’d held Marsanne back in deference to her mother’s elderly mount.

Now, with that initial burst of energy spent, both horses were content to walk on a loose rein. Their elevated breathing puffed clouds of steam into the air, adding warmth to the cool ribbons of mist that wisped off the lake.

A perfect spring morning, Jillian decided, breathing the commingled scents of warm horse and fresh growth and the crisp chill of the dawn air. Perfect both from her own perspective and that of the vines that stretched in flawlessly drilled lines to their left and right.

The frost alarms had remained silent last night. Good news for the sensitive new growth that grew apace with the warmer, lengthening days. Good news too for the vineyard staff, including Jillian, who bounded out of bed to turn on overhead sprinklers at the first shrill of those temperature-triggered alarms.

“That smile looks good on you,” her mother commented.

“Well, it feels good, too.” Jillian’s smile turned into a laugh of pure and simple pleasure. “Thank you for suggesting this, Mom. You always have the best ideas.”

Something changed in her mother’s expression, the tiniest hint that she didn’t agree. Jillian felt it as much as she saw it, and her ebullient mood faltered. Caught up in her own troubles, she hadn’t considered her mother’s state of mind. And an awful lot had happened in the last months—the last week, even—to trouble Caroline’s mind.

“You haven’t told me,” Jillian commenced in a casual, reflective tone that matched their ambling progress through the vineyards, “why you were wandering around the house at the crack of dawn.”

“I woke early.” Her mother smiled, but the effort didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Lord knows I love the man, but Lucas snores loud enough to rattle bottles in the cellar.”

“You’re stewing over this Spencer ruckus, aren’t you?”

“This Spencer ruckus” had blown up in January, when they’d discovered a whole unknown chapter in Spencer Ashton’s past. Another family in Nebraska. An earlier wedding that made his vows to Caroline bigamous.

It hadn’t only blown up within their family circle, either. Every sordid note had played, loud and embellished, through both the tabloid and mainstream media. Ashton-Lattimer shares had hit an all time low after the latest revelation: an illegitimate child born from an affair with his former secretary.

Was that particular association disturbing her mother’s sleep?

“I hope you’re not worried about us, Mom. About us thinking we’re illegitimate or something.” To reinforce the concern she felt tight in her chest, Jillian leaned across and rested a hand atop her mother’s. Just for a second. “I mean, it doesn’t matter whether you were married to Spencer or not as far as I’m concerned. We all think of Lucas as our father.”

“I know, honey. But I can’t help wishing he were your father in the eyes of the law. I wish he could have adopted you, that you all could have taken his name.” Regret coated Caroline’s words, but then she shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Just listen to me, bemoaning what I can’t change.”

“If wishes were horses…?”

Their gazes connected, mother and daughter, and a whole world of understanding flowed from one to the other and back again. A sharing of present strife and past misgivings, some unspoken but none forgotten.

Then, with uncanny timing, Marsanne snorted and jiggled her head, breaking the gravity of the moment and surprising a bark of laughter from Jillian—perhaps simply to release some of her pent-up tension.

“Was that a laugh?” she asked her horse, leaning forward to stroke the gray silk of her neck. “Or a suggestion that it’s past your breakfast time?”

Marsanne didn’t answer, although her ears pricked and her stride lengthened as they turned by the lake to head back to the stables.

“I have been thinking a lot,” Caroline said, after they’d walked in silence for several minutes. Silent but for the hwark of a wood duck they startled from its nest by the water. “And, yes, a lot of it while I should have been sleeping.”

Jillian smiled her acknowledgment.

“But not over the legality of my marriage to Spencer. I said my vows before God and I stood by them. In my mind and my heart, it will never be anything but a real marriage since it gave me four of my greatest gifts.”

Eli, Cole, Mercedes and Jillian.

They had both reined their horses to a halt, as if tacitly acknowledging the significance of this conversation. Too important to continue while idling along on horseback.

“I no longer care how it started or why it ended,” Caroline continued, her voice as soft as the morning light. “But I am so very glad that it did end. Otherwise I would not have found Lucas. I would not have all this.”

And although she waved one hand in a delicately expansive gesture, Jillian knew she referred to more than the rich physical landscape and the boutique winery she had fashioned into one of Napa’s finest.

“All this” encompassed the solid strength of love she’d found with Lucas and the happiness she’d forged for herself and her family.

This is what worried her sleep—the threat of further disharmony within her family due to Spencer Ashton. Caroline had lost out badly in the divorce settlement, and finally they’d agreed to seek legal counsel. Since there’d been no marriage, there could be no divorce settlement, right?

“You don’t want to pursue legal action, do you?” Jillian asked.

“I’m afraid it will cause more hurt, more bitter words, and for what? What will it achieve? I have everything I want right here.” Caroline waved that same hand around, this time with more vigor. “Already this brouhaha has sent Cole and Dixie running off to elope.”

Because they hadn’t thought it an appropriate time to arrange and celebrate a wedding, with all that was going on. Of course that bothered Caroline. She’d married Spencer quickie-Vegas-style, and Jillian had followed suit.

Not exactly happy precedents.

“Selfish, I know,” she said softly, “but I wanted to be there.”

Jillian leaned across and took one of her mother’s hands in her own. “No, not selfish. A mother’s right.”

One they all should have recognized earlier, one they’d lost sight of in all the acrimony. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to make amends…

“You know what I’m thinking?” she said, a smile brimming as the idea gathered momentum.

“Please, Jillian, if it is anywhere near as wicked as that glint in your eyes, you can stop thinking it right now.”

“Wicked? I don’t think so.” She tipped her head to the side, considering. “Unless we make it a surprise party—and that would serve them right, seeing as they surprised us all by running off to tie the knot.”

The smile started in Caroline’s eyes, then spread all over her face. Her fingers curled around Jillian’s and held on tight.

“A party to celebrate Cole and Dixie’s marriage? Oh, yes, Jillie, that is a fine idea!”

They sat a moment, hands still linked, smiling at each other and the possibilities. A family celebration, a reason to laugh and dance and remember what mattered. Oh, yes, it was a very fine idea, even if she did say so herself!

“If Travis comes through—” Jillian mentally crossed both fingers and toes “—if he can do the renovation right away, we could hold it in the tasting room.”

“A wedding reception cum launch party,” Caroline murmured. “When?”

“Would early May be good?”

“Spring. The season of rebirth.” Jillian felt her mother’s hand move, felt the touch of her thumb against the wedding band she wore. Never had she commented on that symbol’s continued presence, and she didn’t now. She simply looked into her daughter’s eyes, rubbed her thumb along the gold band again, and said, “It’s the perfect time to forget past problems and concentrate on new beginnings, don’t you think?”

Jillian felt herself tense. Oh, no, this was not about her, not in any sense.

She started to shake her head, but Caroline blinked and her gaze shifted, as if distracted by something out of Jillian’s view. She pulled her hand away and pointed. “That will be your builder, stopping up by the stables.”

Now why would he do that? Was he lost, despite her specific directions to meet at the winery?

Jillian frowned as she gathered up her reins and urged Marsanne around.

“He’s early. Now that’s a change for the—” The rest of the sentence died on her lips as she caught sight of the truck. Her mouth probably hung open for a second. Her pulse definitely jumped.

“Is something the matter?” Caroline asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” Jillian answered slowly. Except for the fact that Travis Carmody drove a weather-beaten red truck, and this one was a distinctive shade of blue.

Her hands must have clenched with involuntary tension because beneath her Marsanne started to prance, her muscles bunching as if preparing for flight. Jillian settled deep in the saddle and soothed her in a low voice.

“I think she’s keen for a last gallop home,” Caroline said. “Why don’t you go on ahead?” When Jillian demurred, she shooed her off. “Go on, Jillie. I’ll potter back at my own pace. If your builder finds the barn deserted, he might not hang around.”

“Sorry, bud, I didn’t understand a word of that. I don’t speak horse.”

Seth didn’t feel all that comfortable speaking to a horse either, but this particular horse seemed to expect a reply…although calling the short-legged equine a horse might be stretching things. Whatever, the animal had a real gift of gab. Not your usual horsey neigh or squeal—his pony-mad Rachel had mastered both, along with a credible mane toss—but an eloquent combination of sounds and facial expressions.

A regular modern-day Mr. Ed, only shorter.

Mini Ed’s ears pricked up, his attention shifting to the open doors at the end of the barn. Seth heard it then, the thud of hooves striking the ground in a deep rolling rhythm, and his body quickened with expectation.

His companion whinnied and snorted. Seth managed not to, at least out loud.

He strolled over to the doorway in time to see horse and rider loom into sight. He knew Jillian rode, that before marrying Jason she’d competed in three-day events, but he’d never seen her on horseback. And the five minutes he’d spent cooling his heels in the barn hadn’t nearly prepared him for the impact.

Sure, he knew those mile-long legs would look spectacular wrapped around pretty much anything, including a huge gray horse. But he’d pictured her straight-backed and ladylike as she approached at a collected pace, not bent over the monster’s neck and thundering up the hill at full speed.

Not out of control, he decided, although that didn’t stop his whole body tensing for the eight seconds it took her to steady and slow to a walk. Seth let his breath go on a long gust that mixed relief with a strange sense of discovery. This was a Jillian he hadn’t seen before, her face flushed with exhilaration, her eyes shimmering as they locked with his.

So, the cool and prissy lady got off on speed. Who would have thought?

“Nice morning for a ride,” he said pleasantly.

“Nice?” One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Nice doesn’t do this sort of morning justice.”

“Point taken,” Seth murmured as she reined the horse to a stop.

When she swung her leg over and started to slide down, he moved in to catch her. After all, it was a long way to the ground. And somehow—despite his architect’s eye for perspective and measurement—he managed to misjudge the distance. Probably because he was distracted by the curves of her backside, clad in stretchy riding pants that fit like a second skin, coming right for him.

His vision actually glazed over for a second. The next, his hands were on her hips and sliding to her waist as that tight little backside connected with his front side. Quick, accidental, over before the heat burned right through his pants.

Yet the quick hitch of her breath, the instant tension in the lithe body beneath his hands, told him she’d felt something, too.

Yeah, well, she had cause.

Reluctantly he let her go, stepping back enough that she didn’t elbow him anywhere delicate when she started doing whatever had to be done with her saddle. It appeared to be quite a bit.

“Need a hand?” he asked after several seconds of watching her tug and fuss with straps.

“I can manage. And I’m actually quite competent at getting off my horse unassisted, too.”

He made a note for future reference.

“What are you doing here, Seth?” She glanced over her shoulder, her face prettily flushed. From the ride, Seth reminded himself, not from the impact of that sliding dismount. “I was expecting someone else.”

“So I heard.”

Her brows pinched together. “You heard that…where?”

“From Eli.”

“My brother called you?” she asked on a rising note of disbelief.

“No, I called you this morning to see if you’d found a contractor. Eli answered. He said you were out riding and then he mentioned that Carmody was coming to quote.”

He tried, but obviously didn’t succeed, in keeping his tone flat and free of condemnation. Her gaze narrowed a fraction as she turned around to face him. “And you don’t approve?”

“You said you wanted the best. Carmody doesn’t come close.”

“The best isn’t available. Travis Carmody is.” The clear green of her eyes deepened. “Unless that’s changed since Monday. Is that why you’re here, Seth?”

“I’m here to save you from employing a substandard tradesman. Hell, Jillian, I offered to give recommendations. I would have helped you line up someone dependable.”

“No one else is available. Not Terry Mancini or the Maine brothers or O’Hara. I tried them all. Travis is my last alternative.” She crossed her arms, sighed and met his eyes. “Exactly how bad is he, Seth?”

“After I got off the phone to Eli, I jumped straight in my truck and drove out here. Before my first cup of coffee. What does that tell you?”

“That bad, huh?”

Her smile was game, but deep in her eyes Seth saw the gathering shadows of disenchantment. He almost caved, almost offered…anything, but then she unfolded her arms and broke eye contact. She studied her hands, and he saw her twist that damn wedding band back and forth.

Rubbing in everything that was wrong about him wanting to offer her anything and everything, this woman who still loved his brother two years after he’d died. Two years after she’d discovered what a lying, cheating bastard he was.

Then she straightened and leveled her eyes right on his. “It’s a small job, Seth, but it means a lot to me. Would you reconsider taking a look at my plans?”

“Since I’m here anyway?”

“Yes. Since you’re here.”

That direct green gaze didn’t waver, and she stood tall and still and proud as she waited for his answer. She had asked for his help and he didn’t stand a prayer of saying no.

“No promises.” Cautioning himself as much as her. “But I’ll see what I can work out.”

“You’ll take a look at my plans? Now?”

“I’m not agreeing to take on the job or even to quote. But I’ll take a look and help you work out a solution.”

“I understand.” She huffed out a rueful-sounding breath. “And I’m not about to look that gift horse in the mouth a second time.”

Seth’s gaze dipped to her mouth, to the relieved smile that itched around its corners, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of a suitably light and witty response. Kissing her was out of the question, he supposed, but that was all he could think about doing, just bending forward and tasting the warmth of that smile in the quiet morning air…

“Seth Bennedict?”

Jillian started backward. Seth turned slowly and realized he’d—they’d both—been so engrossed that they hadn’t heard Caroline Sheppard’s approach. She entered the stable yard on a considerably smaller horse and at a much more sedate pace than her daughter.

And she smiled at Seth with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. “It is you!”

“How are you doing, Mrs. Sheppard?”

“I would be doing much better if you called me Caroline. ” She started to dismount, waving away Seth’s offer to help. “I have all morning to lever myself out of this saddle, and I’d be much happier doing so without an audience, thank you all the same.”

Given his recent experience helping with the out-of-saddle procedure, Seth conceded her point. Which prompted him to turn and seek out Jillian.

In the process of dragging the saddle from her monster horse, she met his eyes with a surprising note of humor. “Don’t even think about helping me again, Seth. I can handle this myself.”

“We know you can,” Caroline interceded, her gaze flicking from one to the other with carefully contained curiosity. “But if you two have business to attend to, I’ll look after the horses and finish up here.”

“That would be great, Mom. Seth’s agreed to take a look at my plans after all.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Seth, once you’re done?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I promised I’d be home to take Rachel to day care. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Then we’ll catch up another day.”

“I’d like that.” He turned to Jillian. “Ready?”

“Once I get rid of this saddle.”

She hurried off into the depths of the barn. So, okay, she didn’t want his help toting saddles but he couldn’t just stand here and watch, right? Not when watching took in the quick left-right hitch of her backside.

Funny, but he’d always thought those beige riding pants a bit starched and prissy. Not anymore. He followed those fast-moving pants inside—in case there was a door to open. Or something.

Off to his right he heard Mini Ed snicker. Probably at him. Seth Bennedict, unable to say no to the lady, despite his promise to keep a healthy distance and save himself this torture of seeing and wanting and not touching.

He knew he would lament this morning, from his foolhardy charge out here to save her from the mistake that was Travis Carmody, to his offer to look at her plans and help her find a workable solution. Then he remembered how she’d stood tall and looked into his eyes and all but admitted she needed his help.

And he couldn’t for the life of him summon up one scrap of regret.

Three

Two days later, Seth swung his truck into the parking lot beside the Louret Winery building and cast his eyes over the assembled vehicles. Besides the staff cars, he counted one minibus, two rental cars and several out-of-state plates. More than enough, he figured, to keep Jillian busy in the tasting room. Excellent.

The rushed Monday morning run-through hadn’t been nearly enough, not done cold, not with him mindful of getting back for Rachel. He needed to see Jillian at work, to see how she worked, before he could be satisfied with her ideas for the remodel. Structurally, the job would be simple enough, but this type of renovation was about more than knocking down a wall or two.

Inside the tasting room he paused while his vision adjusted from strong afternoon sunlight to the muted interior. Too dark, he decided, despite the number of light fixtures and the one floor-to-ceiling window.

His narrowed gaze swept the room, taking it all in, assessing, seeking…and taking too long to find Jillian. Standing behind one of two tasting bars situated along the side walls, she poured for a group of women who, curiously, all wore red hats. She didn’t give any sign of noticing his arrival.

Bad positioning, bad space planning, bad for business.

Jillian’s design with one bigger bar running smack down the center improved all of the above. Seth, the architect/ builder, needed assurance she’d optimized them. He strolled farther inside, circling around, sensing the instant she saw him.

He waited at the end of the long bar while she excused herself to the tasting group and came to meet him.

“Hello, Seth. I wasn’t expecting you.” Her smile was warm and welcoming. If his unexpected arrival flustered her, she didn’t let it show. “You’ve caught me in the middle of a tasting.”

He tilted his head toward the group at the bar. “Seems like a decent number for midweek.”

“Shannon has another half dozen or so looking through the winery so, yes, it is busy enough. It has been since opening, actually.”

She did this cute little wince, a token complaint since her face glowed with busy-is-good contentment. Man, he liked that. The hint of warmth he wasn’t accustomed to seeing in the cool and restrained lady. The absence of those haunted shadows he was too used to seeing.

And the knowledge that she got off on both galloping her horse and her work.

Work. He stopped staring into her eyes and straightened off the bar. “I’m just here to check on a few things. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“You should have called. I’d have said to come later, after I close at four.”

“I wanted to watch you work.” Seth met her eyes, saw them cloud with…circumspection?…and decided he hadn’t worded that so great. “I need to see how your tasting room operates. I’ll just be wandering around. You won’t even know I’m here.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Wandering around, doing what?”

“Some measuring—”

“You don’t need to check my measurements,” she interrupted with a spark of her trademark pride.

“Yeah, I do. That’s my job.” To illustrate that that’s why he was here—work, his job, nothing personal beyond a favor to his brother’s widow—he gestured toward the women in the wine-tasting group. “We’d both better get back to it.”

He went to work, starting down at back, taking measurements for the repositioned doorway between the tasting room and the winery, checking out the storage room she wanted gone, then working his way back down the room. Checking against her—detailed and accurate, he conceded—draft plan, making notations, setting up a work schedule in his mind.

And all the while aware of her voice, like the soft, rich melody of background music, as she went about her business. As he worked nearer, the hum of that voice took on the shape of words, then sentences, then the full commentary, and Seth reached three fundamental conclusions.

She knew her wines. She knew her audience. Her job in this tasting room married the two.

Oh, and yeah—if he took on this job, he was a masochist.

Squatting on his haunches to check the cypress flooring—it was making way for slate tiles and although well-worn, it might be salvageable for resale—he felt the passion for her work and for her wines play over him in warm, velvet notes. Not a good position with all that wine-talk flaring through his body.

Shaking his head, he stood. But being a masochist, he decided to observe for a few minutes, out of her line of vision but close enough to listen in as she finished up the current wine and selected another bottle.

She poured a small measure into each glass as one of the red-hatted crew—who were all dressed in various shades of purple—expounded her knowledge of big California reds.

“I think you’ll appreciate this cabernet sauvignon,” Jillian interjected smoothly when the expert paused to draw breath. “It’s our ninety-eight reserve.”

“My husband says cabernet is a man’s wine,” a woman commented. “And we don’t have the palate to appreciate it.”

“Carol, isn’t it?”

The fiftyish-looking woman nodded.

“Well, Carol, your husband might be interested in the Human Genome Project which showed that women, in fact, have finer palates. As a gender—” she paused to smile conspiratorially at the all-female group “—we’re better at sensory evaluation.”

“No kidding?” Carol grinned back. “I told Jim he was talking horse-spit.”

He watched Jillian temper her smile. “The ‘man’s wine’ comment is interesting since cabernet sauvignon is regarded as the king of red grapes. They make into wines that are big and bold and full-bodied. Some might say those are masculine attributes—others might think that’s a sexist viewpoint. Or simply horse-spit.”

They all laughed, Carol longest and loudest.

“And there are some women who prefer those qualities in their wine,” Jillian continued. “What about you ladies?”

“I like my men big and bold and full-bodied. Does that count?”

More laughter, and since the joker looked prim and ladylike and had to be pushing eighty, Seth grinned, too. Amused by the interplay, intrigued by Jillian’s easy rapport with the group—another facet he’d never been privy to—he leaned himself against a thick vertical support beam, crossed his arms and settled in to enjoy the show.

“Do you like the big wines, Jillian?” another woman asked.

“When I’m in a certain mood, yes. Other times I’m in the mood for something more elegant and refined. Less ballsy, if you will.”

“You must have a preference though,” the woman persisted. “What’s your favorite of the Louret wines?”

Jillian lifted a glass, tilting the angle until the opulent ruby color of its contents caught the light. “You’re about to taste it.”

“So, you’re feeling ballsy today, are you Jillian?” Carol asked.

No, Seth decided, as the warmth of the group’s laughter rolled through him. That didn’t describe her current mood. Ballsy was Monday when she’d galloped that monster horse up the hill. Today she was more relaxed and supple and confident.

“Pinot noir,” he suggested softly.

In his peripheral vision he saw a dozen red hats swivel in his direction, but his eyes were fixed on Jillian as she carefully placed the glass back on the bar and even more carefully turned his way.

“Why pinot noir?” she asked as her eyes met his. No wariness there, more a watchful stillness, as if she held her breath while she waited for his answer.

“My interpretation of your mood.”

Wow. Between the impact of those dark chocolate eyes fixed on hers and the complexities of his answer, Jillian could find no ready response.

Assuming that his pinot noir call wasn’t some off-the-cuff pick-a-wine retort.

Later, she would stew on that. Possibly for days. For now she needed to concentrate, since this tricky group was already firing questions at their new quarry.

“Do you think cabernet is a man’s wine?” Carol wanted to know.

“What’s your opinion on that gender research project Jillian mentioned?” another asked.

“Are you a wine drinker?”

“Have you ever done a tasting with Jillian?”

She really did need to concentrate, since she somehow heard that as “tasting of Jillian.” And the notion of Seth’s mouth on hers, on her body, tasting her…

Oh, boy. Instant dizziness and disorientation. Her mouth turned dry. Her hand shook as she reached for water and took a quick mouthful, washing away the taste of full-bodied wine and the forbidden heat of her thoughts.

Better. Except the women of the Golden Elms Red Hat Social Club looked set to drag Seth over and into their tasting circle. Making a time-out T with her hands, she raised her voice enough to be heard above the hubbub. “Ladies, let’s give Seth a break.”

Thankfully—and surprisingly—they quietened. Enough that when Kitty spoke, her cultured little lady’s voice chimed as clearly as silver on crystal.

“Is Seth your man, Jillian?”

Please, Lord, let me slip through these floorboards and disappear.

Of course the good Lord wasn’t listening. No doubt because of her previous sinful thoughts about tasting. And because she couldn’t look anywhere near Seth until her face stopped flaming, she focused on the faces in front of her as their interested observation turned to speculation.

I have to answer here. Let me do so with some coherence and dignity.

“Seth’s a builder. An architect and a builder, actually.”

Heartened because—hallelujah!—her voice did work, she chanced a glance his way. He didn’t look embarrassed. In fact, leaning against that beam with his sleeves rolled up to reveal dark forearms folded across his broad chest, he looked…like the embodiment of Eli’s ninety-eight reserve cabernet.

Big and earthy and full-bodied.

Good Lord, she did not mean that! She meant he looked less serious and intense than usual. Not exactly smiling, although there might have been a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“He’s helping me,” Jillian continued, looking to distract the women and herself, “with my plans to renovate the tasting room.”

“You’re changing this room? Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“I hope you’re going to lighten the decor with some pastels.”

“You can’t be serious, Linda! I love all the timber. It’s part of the ambience.”

Much diverted by the notion of a design and decor makeover, the women were off and running. They asked questions, but didn’t wait for answers. Suggestions and counter-suggestions swirled in a debate as lively and colorful as their own purple-suited, red-hatted attire.

After several minutes, she tried to bring them back on topic but failed. She shook her head and directed a helpless shrug in Seth’s direction. His full mouth crooked into a smile and for a beat of time Jillian just stared.

Completely mesmerized.

And it struck her that she’d never seen Seth Bennedict smile, or at least not right at her. Her heart stuttered and her skin tingled with warmth. Her internal sensors sounded a danger-danger warning, but she could not look away until the quietest of the group—Helen—touched her on the arm, breaking the spell.

“If you need to go talk to your man, Jillian, it’s fine with us.”

This time she let the “your man” assumption slide right by. It wasn’t worth explaining all over again. “I do need to have a quick word about the renovation plans.”

“Then vamoose. We’ll still be here when you’re done.”

That’s what she was afraid of. But she excused herself, they waved her off, she went…although not quickly enough to miss Kitty’s whispered comment about big, bold and earthy.

The wine. Of course she meant the wine, since they’d all lifted their glasses and taken a first sip of the ninety-eight reserve she’d poured.

It was a very big wine.

Still, her cheeks bloomed with heat as she slipped out from behind the bar. Who knew if Seth had overheard? He wasn’t smiling anymore, just standing there watching her approach in a way that made her nerves and her pulse lollop all over the place.

To compensate, she held herself erect, shoulders straight, and strived to make her smile polite and businesslike. “I have a few minutes if you want to talk about my plans, now you’ve had a decent look at the place. Why don’t we go over by the window?”

“Where it’s a bit more private?”

She glanced back over her shoulder and, sure enough, they were being watched.

Still, Seth seemed to be taking it in good humor, so she smiled and shook her head as they made their way to the far end of the room. “I’m not used to such a fascinated audience.”

“Not your typical tasting group?” he asked.

“Hardly. I don’t know if I could handle someone like Kitty several times a day!”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t the full disarming dazzler of before, but an attractive near-smile that made him look more relaxed. Not that it completely relaxed Jillian. When she took the chair he offered at the setting by the window, she tried to sit back and enjoy the sensation of resting her feet for the first time since breakfast. But then he leaned his hips against the table, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and goodbye relaxation.

“I don’t think there is any ‘typical’ group,” she continued, looking out over the vineyards, a safe alternative to other, closer, scenery. Right at eye level, actually, not that she was noticing. “We get all kinds through here, although I would say less drop-ins and more of those who seek us out.”

“People who are serious about their wines?”

“Yes, we get plenty who know exactly what they want. They might ask for a specific flight of wines or a vertical, say, of cabernets.” She predicted the next question and explained. “That’s a tasting of one wine’s various vintages, youngest to oldest, as opposed to a horizontal, which is the same vintage from several wineries.

“Anyway, that’s the enophiles but they’re balanced by groups like this one.” Turning from the window, she gestured toward the group at the bar.

“You mean groups with odd dress sense?”

“I take it you’ve never encountered Red Hatters before?”

“Not in numbers,” he muttered. “Scary.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Only if you’re scared by women of a certain age who aren’t afraid to have fun.”

“They’re an organization?”

“A disorganization, according to these ladies.”

And she only hoped that one day she’d have the chutzpah to wear purple and red together. To look toward the future and laugh about the past. Even to indulge the hormones that had hummed to life in her blood.

“They’re having fun,” he commented, “but they’re also keen to learn.”

“Yes.” She looked back up at him, found him watching her with interest. Not so threatening, that quiet intentness, when it focused on her work and when he got it so absolutely right. That made her confidence hum in perfect tune with her hormones. “That combination makes them my favorite kind of wine tourist.”

“The way you run your tasting—” he looked back at the group as a chorus of laughter rattled the window “—it’s different to what I envisioned.”

“Different how?”

“Your focus isn’t taste-and-buy like some other places I’ve seen. You’re giving them a whole lot more.”

Insanely pleased that he got it and unable to hold all that satisfaction inside, Jillian smiled. Deep inside she straight-out grinned. “Our philosophy is to provide a wine experience and education, without being too stuffy. I think we’re succeeding since we get a lot of traffic through word-of-mouth recommendations.”

“I imagine you do,” he said slowly, his eyes serious as they held hers. “You’re good.”

A small compliment should not create such a dizzying effect, but Seth’s did. It went to her head as swiftly as a good red straight from the barrel. She should not have felt the schoolgirlish need to push for more, but she did. “Not stuffy?”

The ladies laughed again, more raucously than ever, and Seth simply cocked one dark brow. Answer enough.

“Is that your focus with the refit? Not stuffy?”

“That’s one of the reasons I want to open the place up and bring in more light. That, and because to really show the differences in appearance and color of the wines you need natural light.”

“I’ve been thinking about the light problem.”

Seth pulled those long legs—which she hadn’t been noticing—under him and stood. When he moved along the wall, touching, inspecting, contemplating, she was intrigued enough to get back on her tired feet and follow.

“What would you think about arched windows, both sides of the room?” he asked.

“How big?”

“Floor to ceiling. Modeled on your entrance doors. Same shape, same width.”

“Yes. Oh, yes,” Jillian breathed, containing the excitement that cannoned around inside—he’s going to do it! He’s taking on the job!—by pacing out that width of window and nodding her satisfaction. “Arches are perfect, Seth. A reflection of the shape of the wine barrel, the bottle, the glass. Will knocking that shape into the walls be a problem?”

“Not for me, but the windows have to be custom-made. They won’t come cheap.”

“I’ll figure out a way to sell them to Cole.”

“I could talk to him—”

“No!”

She cut him off too abruptly, given the way his eyes narrowed, but she felt a strong need to keep control of this project. To let him know she wasn’t the weak basket case he’d had to rescue from Jason’s mess.

“There’s no need for that,” she added in a more reasonable tone. “Cole should be getting used to my additions and changes.”

“Yeah?” The focus of that narrow-eyed interest shifted. “What else have you changed since Monday?”

“Uniforms. These—” she held her arms out a little, showing the claret polo shirt all the tasting-room staff wore “—have to go.”

“Too stuffy?”

“And not individual enough. The marketing campaign is based around Louret’s individual hands-on approach and attention to detail. So, Mercedes and I decided we needed non-uniform uniforms. We’ll have a range of separates—tops and bottoms—in the same palette of colors, but every one different according to our own tastes.”

Seth nodded, seemingly impressed. She was impressed that his eyes hadn’t glazed over as Cole’s and Eli’s had when she pitched the idea to them. Not that they weren’t interested in the tasting room’s vital function at Louret, more that they weren’t interested in wardrobe choices.

Plus they’d both been distracted lately by the ongoing legal meetings over Spencer Ashton and the Lattimer estate.

“So, you’re after a bright and relaxed atmosphere and a functional, comfortable work space.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly!” Seth Bennedict didn’t only understand her plans but the reasoning behind them, and that set him apart from every other builder she’d spoken to.

That and the fact that he was here, tape measure and notebook in hand.

“So.” She drew a slow breath in a bid to steady the nervous let-this-work-out churning in her stomach. “Does this mean you are going to quote?”

“Yes.”

Yes! But she contained the urge to punch the air, needing to ask one more question. The biggy. “Is this a serious quote, Seth? Do you really want the job or are you only humoring me because I practically begged?”

He looked at her strangely. “I’m sorry. Did I miss the begging?”

“The other morning, at the stables.” She waved a hand in that general direction, but she did not want to go back there. She did not want to remember the desperate edge of panic that had driven her to swallow her pride and ask, straight out, for his help. “You said you’d take a look, no promises. What changed your mind?”

For a second he looked right at her, and something in his eyes made her draw herself back, as if that might deflect the impact of all that dark intensity. Then he hitched a shoulder and answered ever so casually. “Like you said, it’s a small job. And I’ve decided to take the opportunity to get my hands dirty.”

Oh, my Lord, it would be Villa Firenze all over again. The dangerous glint in his eyes. The masculine scent of hard work and hot muscles. The glimpse of his skin, glistening with sweat. Her own unaccustomed reaction, part fascination, part run-like-hell terror.

Jillian swallowed. “You’re going to do the work yourself?”

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.”

“But you said you were booked solid right through summer. ” She scrambled to bring order to her thoughts. “How will you fit this in?”

“By juggling and overtime. Will working at night present any problems?”

Yes, no, probably not. Frowning, she considered the situation. If he worked nights, there’d be less disruption. Less bitching from Eli about builders under his feet. “No, that would work,” she said slowly. “But what about Rachel?”

He stared at her a moment. “I thought you wanted me on this job.”

“I do. Yes. Absolutely.”

“Then stop reminding me why it’s not going to be easy.”

“Okay,” she said, exhaling in a long rush. “But promise me that if there’s ever a problem with Rachel and child care, you’ll let me know.”

“Rachel’s not your problem, Jillian.”

“I know that.” And she had no reason to feel stung, no matter how she felt about his little girl who’d lost her mother due to Jason’s recklessness.

Not your fault, she reminded herself. You had no influence over him. You couldn’t slow him down, settle him down, or keep him satisfied. You can’t hold yourself responsible for his actions.

She lifted her chin and looked Seth square in the eye. “And I don’t want to create any problems for her, either, Seth. You’re doing me a big favor here. Let me do this one small thing in return.”

“If it’s ever an issue.”

“You’ll call me, let me help you out?”

She didn’t think he would relent, and he did so finally with the barest inclination of his head. A small acknowledgment rather than any kind of surrender, but that was enough.

Unlike his brother, Seth Bennedict was a man of his word and Jillian intended to keep him to it.