Judy Duarte - Triplets Found - The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

Get over it, she told herself, shoving aside the sting of disappointment and hiding behind an I’m-not-the-least-bit-interested stance.

Anthony Martinelli approached her little corner of the world, interrupting her thoughts.

“Hello, Lissa.” The handsome older man, who wore his Italian heritage well, flashed her a charming smile that crinkled along the edges of his sharp blue eyes. “You look lovely tonight.”

Lissa didn’t warrant the “lovely” comment, although she had tried to look her best this evening. But she appreciated Anthony’s kindness, especially as she watched her hopeless romantic fantasy go up in a sensuous swirl of smoke. “Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself.”

Anthony must have been a real lady-killer when he was younger, because he was one of the most attractive middle-aged men she knew. Many of her father’s friends and business associates developed a paunch, a softness. But the widowed vintner didn’t appear to have aged in all the years Lissa had known him.

The silver at his temples merely gave him added charm, while a trim, solid physique and a sundeepened olive complexion suggested he still did a lot of the physical work on his vineyard.

“I hear you’re about to introduce a new blend this evening,” Anthony said.

Lissa smiled, glad to focus on her work. “We’re calling it Virgin Mist.”

“Sounds intriguing. And appealing.”

So Sullivan had been right. The name was perfect in a marketing sense.

“We wanted our closest friends to be the first to taste it,” she added.

“Then I’m especially happy you’ve included me.” Anthony cast her a charming Al Pacino smile. “I’ve been meaning to call you, Lissa. I’m not sure what your calendar looks like, but I’d like to take you to lunch or dinner someday soon.”

The comment took her aback. Had the widowed vintner taken an interest in her?

A romantic interest?

Surely not. He probably wanted to discuss business.

“I’ll have to check my calendar, but since my dad is leaving for San Diego in the next day or so, I’ll be pretty busy.”

“What’s in San Diego?”

“He needs to get his uncle situated in an intermediate-care facility.” She didn’t want Anthony thinking she was trying to blow him off, so she added, “While Dad’s gone, I’ll be working with the marketing consultant we brought in, but after he goes home, I should have some time.”

“Good. I’ll give you a call next week,” Anthony said, his blue eyes vivid and…

And what?

Flirtatious?

Not likely. Ever since Sullivan had arrived on the scene, Lissa’s schoolgirl imagination had certainly taken her on a romantic joy ride.

Still, she liked the idea that someone might have found her attractive—even if he was more than twenty years her senior.

Gretchen Thomas had latched on to Sullivan for the cocktail hour and it appeared she planned to stay that way until after breakfast tomorrow morning.

She was an attractive woman, aware of her beauty and adept at showing off her double-D assets to the fullest. Sullivan might have taken her up on the unspoken offer of sex, had they met while he was on vacation. But his only interest in Gretchen this evening was the article she would write about Virgin Mist.

Her lips curled into a smile. “Maybe we can sit together during dinner.”

“Mrs. Cartwright has probably assigned place settings.” At least Sullivan hoped so. It would make things easier for him if Gretchen latched on to someone else for the remainder of the evening. Otherwise, he’d have to make sure he rejected her affections with grace and charm. If he failed to do that, things could get really hairy.

A woman scorned was one thing. But a female reporter scorned was something entirely different.

He tried to remain cordial and keep things on an impersonal level, but Gretchen wasn’t making things easy.

“I have no qualms about moving a couple of name tags,” she said, with a cherry-red smile.

“That sounds appealing, but it’s my job to rub elbows with some of the vintners this evening.” Sullivan scanned the mingling crowd, looking for Lissa. He could use a little help slipping away from Gretchen.

Several times during the past half hour, he’d searched the room and caught Lissa’s eye, only to have his gaze ricochet off an unreadable expression.

Was she mad about something? Did she think he’d dropped the ball because he’d been lusting after the busty reporter who’d tried to attach herself to his hip?

Lissa needed to understand this thing with Gretchen wasn’t going anywhere, that as attractive—and obviously willing—as Gretchen was, Sullivan wouldn’t let things take a sexual and unprofessional turn.

“Excuse me,” Ken Cartwright said, addressing his guests. “May I have your attention?”

Ah, a way out. Thank goodness.

People gradually grew silent and turned toward their host, allowing Ken to continue his speech. “My daughter Lissa has worked with me for years, learning everything I know about wine. And I think she’s surpassed anything I’ve ever done.”

The guests smiled and looked at Lissa, then at her father.

“My daughter has created a new blend called Virgin Mist,” Ken said, pride evident in every word. “And we’d like you to try a glass before we officially unveil it later this month.”

As the catering staff carried in silver platters laden with glasses, offering Virgin Mist to each guest, Sullivan couldn’t help but study Lissa. She worried her bottom lip, undoubtedly waiting for the reaction of her peers, waiting for their response.

Sullivan should be at her side. It was his job to support her.

As glasses raised, a few murmurs rippled through the room. Anticipation grew steadily.

Taking the chance to untangle himself from the determined blonde, he said, “It’s been great talking to you, but it looks as though I’m back on the clock. Will you please excuse me?”

The woman gave him a sad-eyed pout, which he quickly dismissed. Leaving Gretchen, he made his way toward Lissa, but before he could reach her side, an older man eased close to her. It was the guy he’d seen her talking to earlier, although both seemed friendlier now.

The man was expensively dressed and the picture of refined charm. Handsome.

And he was also old enough to be her dad.

He whispered something that lit up her eyes. Complimenting her wine, Sullivan realized, as the other guests burst into nods and smiles.

Lissa appeared to be pleased with the attention. But Sullivan spotted masculine interest in the man’s gaze, in his stance.

Ever since his ex had dumped him for a rich guy who was old enough for Medicare—or so Sullivan thought—those May-December things stuck in his craw.

What attracted a young woman to an old duck like that?

He’d always suspected Kristin had gone for Atwater’s bucks. Not that Sullivan hadn’t had money when they’d first married. He’d had a ton of it—all tied up in a trust fund, which his father had refused to release until after Sullivan had earned his first million.

And Kristin, apparently, had gotten tired of waiting.

Yet Lissa didn’t seem to be the kind of woman who was attracted to a hefty bank account.

Maybe it was the father-thing, her being adopted and all. But even that psychological stretch didn’t help Sullivan understand. Or make it any easier to accept.

The older gentleman intimated something to Lissa, and she laughed. Sullivan supposed the friendly exchange shouldn’t bother him. The guy was probably one of the vintners in this region. A successful man, no doubt.

But as the evening unfolded, he learned a little more about the man who’d set his sights on Lissa.

Martinelli’s second wife had died in a skiing accident last year, while vacationing with friends in Canada. The woman had also been fifteen years younger than Martinelli.