Susan Mallery - Seductive One

Understanding clicked in her brain like a light going on. “You wanted to make sure I was staying,” she whispered.

“Yes. So I tested you to see if I could drive you away. I wanted to make sure that this time you wouldn’t give up. Not for anything.”

She both understood and resented his methods. “What about Joe? You offered him everything.”

“I did, but he would never have run things. I hoped…” He sighed. “An old man’s wishes. I wanted him to stay, and I thought with the winery, he would. But he would never have been the one. It was always you.”

She shook her head. “You were never going to sell.”

His expression turned sly. “You think not?”

Brenna covered her face with her hands. “Of course you wouldn’t. Oh, God. One more place I’ve been an idiot.” She put her hands back on the desk. “If worse came to worst, you would have left everything to Dad and had him hire a manager. After all, one of your granddaughters could have a child interested in the winery.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But that’s not necessary. You have proved yourself. You wanted it so much, you started your own label. You fought for what you believed, and you have earned your chance. You will carry on the tradition of Marcelli Wines and in time pass that tradition on to the next generation and the one after that.”

Brenna didn’t know what to say. She rose and circled around the desk. Her grandfather stood and held out his arms. She stepped into his embrace.

“Marcelli is yours,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be here to watch over you, but you can start to make a few changes.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk. It was too much.

“So we’ll argue a little,” he continued. “The difference is now you get to win some of the time, eh?”

“Oh, Grandpa.”

He stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “This makes you happy?”

She nodded because it was still difficult to speak. There were details to be worked out. While she would be in charge of the winery, she knew it would be owned jointly by her sisters and Joe. But regardless of logistics, she would be the one shaping Marcelli Wines.

Bittersweet joy swept through her as relief mingled with pain. She finally had what she’d always wanted. She should be content…whole, even. So why did Nic have to be the first person she wanted to tell?

The rumble of several trucks interrupted Nic’s meeting with his sales managers. Despite his interest in the report being discussed, he found his attention straying to the window where the first large vehicle came into view. For several minutes he did his best to ignore the noise, but finally he was forced to excuse himself to check on what was happening.

He already knew, he told himself. Ever since his conversation with Mia, he’d been waiting for something like this. Confirmation had arrived that morning in the form of a cashier’s check for the amount Brenna owed him, plus accrued interest. The debt had been paid in full.

She’d come clean with her grandfather, and the old man had come through for her. Nic had never doubted his love and devotion, even if Brenna had questioned Lorenzo’s feelings. The Marcellis were family, and for them, the word meant something. Sacrifices were made. Acts of rebellion were explained and pardoned. In the end, no matter what, they had each other.

Nic crossed to the old fermentation building. A dozen or so men carefully loaded barrels of wine into the trucks. A man with a clipboard checked off the inventory. He saw Nic but didn’t speak to him. Nic was about to return to his office, when he heard a familiar voice. He froze.

Brenna?

He hurried toward the sound. Was she here? Could he explain?

“Brenna,” he said as he circled around one of the trucks.

Then he saw her standing beside several barrels, directing the men. Strong and sure and still not aware of him. She spoke with a firmness he recognized.

She looked tired, sad, yet beautiful. She’d always been beautiful.

“Brenna,” he repeated, and this time she heard him.

She turned and stared at him. There was no expression on her face, no way for him to gauge what she was thinking.

“Brenna, I-”

“Don’t,” she said coldly. “Don’t try weaseling your way out of all of this, Nic. I’m not interested.”

“I need to explain.”

“No, you don’t. There aren’t enough words in the world to excuse what you’ve done. There is nothing you can say to ever make me understand or forgive you.” She laughed harshly and without humor. “Big assumption on my part. That you’re here looking for absolution.”

He stepped toward her. “I am. I’m sorry. About everything.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. Not anymore. Not ever again. Take your cheap apologies somewhere else. You’ve lied to me for the last time.”

With that she walked to one of the trucks and climbed into the passenger seat. The driver had already secured the wine barrels. Now he closed the back gate, climbed into the cab, and started the engine.

Nic stood there, watching them drive away.

He waited through the rest of the loading, and when the last truck disappeared down the driveway, he stood alone in the old building.

He’d known it was over-had realized that there was no way to undo what he’d done-but until her wine had been taken away, he’d thought maybe she might be willing to listen. If he could speak with her, explain, maybe he could make her understand.

Or was that just an ego-based fantasy? In truth she was gone because he’d never been willing to acknowledge she was important to him. She’d been a means to an end, not a person. Not a woman he loved. Had loved.

Hell, who was he kidding? Brenna was as much a part of him as his fingerprints. She’d stolen his heart a lifetime ago, and he would never get it back.

He crossed to one of the chairs still in the building and touched battered wood. They’d sat in these seats, talking, arguing, rediscovering the possibilities. She shared her dreams with him, he’d relived their past. Somehow ten years after the fact, they’d made peace with what had happened before.

They’d made love in this room. They’d shared bodies and hearts, and until this moment he hadn’t known how much that meant to him. Now there were only ghosts and echoes of what could have been. He’d fallen in love and he’d been too blind to see his feelings for what they were. He’d put away the past, but had lost the future.

Even without Marcelli Wines, Wild Sea would go on. The company would grow and prosper. The Giovanni family would never want for anything. As he had wanted, Nic had created a legacy that would continue indefinitely.

He sank into the chair and rested his head in his hands. Oh, yeah, he should be damn proud. He’d created a legacy for one. There were no children to carry on the family name, no wife to come home to. He lived with a dog. At the end of the day he stood alone.

For years he’d told himself that was what he wanted. That he needed no one. But he’d been lying. He ached for Brenna. Her voice, her laughter, her touch, her grit and determination, her fearlessness, her love, gave his life purpose. He’d never loved anyone else because he’d never stopped loving her. They were a part of each other. She’d seen that, but he’d been blinded by pride and ambition. Now they were all he had to keep himself warm at night.

The fault, the blame, the responsibility was all his. There was no delegating this disaster.

For the first time Nic wondered if Salvatore had ever regretted his act of revenge. He’d exacted a price for his best friend’s betrayal. Had he ever considered the cost too high? Had Salvatore lost more than he had gained?

For nearly a hundred years the Marcellis and Giovannis had been linked. First by friendship and dreams, and later by hatred and destruction. What was that old saying? Those who do not learn from the past are destined to repeat it. Well, Nic had finally learned, even if his great-grandfather had not. Success through destruction or revenge was an empty victory, and the price was paid by generations. He couldn’t change what Salvatore had done, nor could he undo his own reckless behavior. But he could make amends. They might not win back Brenna, but they would end the feud. Maybe that was the best he could hope for.