“Really? I had no idea.” He looks at me, his gaze intense. “Tell me more.”

I shrug, wishing I’d never opened this can of worms. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Now I doubt that, Miss James,” he drawls softly. “We’re sharing a meal together so at the very least you could make polite conversation.”

He’s not going to let this go, I can tell. “Well, you asked for my boring life story so here it is. I grew up in Cactus, Texas, a small town with one stoplight. Wait, there’s another, so make it two.” I tap my fingers against my lips, trying to decide what I can and can’t tell him. Not the bad stuff, which there’s a lot of. No-good daddy, and a too-young mama who never stuck around much or seemed to care. Gruff, but lovable grandma who gave me lots of words of wisdom but wasn’t the best at showering me with affection.

This is probably why I seek out love in all the wrong places. My head is just flat-out screwed up.

“I was raised by my grandma,” I finally say. “My mom was real young and not around much.”

“That’s . . . too bad.” He looks a little uncomfortable, like he doesn’t quite know how to react.

Probably shouldn’t have told him that, damn it.

I make a face. “Don’t feel bad. My grandma is awesome. A real sweet old lady who makes the best church cake you’ve ever had.” Sort of. Kind of mean, actually. She’s the type that sits on her front porch with a shotgun and threatens strangers who come on her property that she’ll shoot their asses off if they take one step farther. No joke.

My life in Cactus is a cartoon cliché of epic proportions, I swear.

Matt frowns. “Church cake?”

“Oh, you know. A big ol’ made-from-scratch chocolate sheet cake that everyone at the church social can have a piece of. With some of the best, rich chocolate frosting you’ve ever tasted.” I sigh, missing Grandma’s chocolate church cake something fierce. Grabbing at a mint the restaurant provided, I tear off the wrapper and pop it into my mouth but it’s a poor substitute for chocolate cake.

“Ah, now I see it.” When I look at him oddly, he smiles. “Your accent. I heard it when you were talking.”

I clamp my lips shut. I start talking about home and out comes the Texan like I can’t help myself. “I left Cactus when I was nineteen, and I’ve never been back.” And I don’t really miss it either. I talk to my grandma when I can, but it’s not like our relationship was super close. I had no friends. And I had a wife out to hang me by my hair for messing around with her husband though she thought we’d been up to much worse. She’d found out about me pretty quickly after I found out about her, and it had been such a nightmare dealing with her.

Thank God I never slept with him. I heard he got some other poor girl who worked for him knocked up, his wife promptly left him, and he ended up marrying the mistress.

That would’ve been me if I’d continued with him. My life stuck married to some loser insurance salesman who can’t keep his tongue in his mouth or his dick in his pants, fooling around with every dumb young girl who works for him.

A shudder moves through me at the thought.

“So how about you?” I ask, desperate to change the conversation. I push my empty plate away from me, the bread sitting in my stomach like a lead weight. Sure had been good though. “Tell me your life story.”

He smiles, stabs his fork in the last lobster ravioli standing. “Raised by my father after my mother died when I was four. Always loved baseball because he was a former pro, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. So I did, got injured, was forced into early retirement, came to Napa on my friend’s recommendation and bought the winery. That’s it.”

Well, didn’t he simplify that completely? I need to take lessons from him for the next time I get nosy questions. “You summed that up pretty well.”

“I figured you Googled me anyway, so you probably already know everything.” His cheeks turn ruddy, and I wonder if he’s actually blushing. “I sounded like a complete ass right then.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I did Google you,” I admit, my own cheeks heating. There’d been all the photos from his underwear ad campaign. Those had been rather . . . enlightening. “A while ago, after you took over the winery. I wanted to find out more about my new boss.”

“You hadn’t heard of me before, when I played baseball?”

“No, not really. I don’t pay much attention to sports, and if I do, the only one I care about is football.” At his raised brows, I shrug. “I am from Texas after all.”

Matt

“WELL, I GUESS I can forgive you for your football love, considering you’re from Texas and all,” I say, smiling at her.

She returns the smile, a brilliant, toothy flash, and then it disappears as fast it came. Disappointment fills me but I ignore it.

The more I talk to Bryn, the more I like her. I’m fascinated with her being from Texas only because that’s the last place I figured she’d be from, for some reason. I assumed she was a local, just like everyone else who worked for the DeLuca Winery.

The more she spoke of Texas, the thicker her accent got. It was cute, hearing her talk about grandmas and chocolate cake. She didn’t drop too many other details though. Made me think there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes.

I wonder if she’s hiding something. I know I wish I could—my past, my entire life history is out there for all the world to read and see, thanks to Vinnie DeLuca and his escapades.

She’s actually a little feisty which I didn’t expect. But I’ve only known the other Bryn. The beige-wearing, never-looking-at-me version. This new Bryn, with the sophisticated yet sexy clothes, the gorgeous hair, and the mildly sassy attitude is a pleasant surprise.

I like that she actually ate a meal too. I’ve dated women before who pick at their plates or only order a piece of lettuce and a glass of water. Not only did Bryn down almost her entire meal, she also scarfed down on bread, just like I did.

Had no idea a woman with a healthy appetite was so arousing.

“Sounds like your career was cut super short, huh.” She winces. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sure you don’t like talking about it.”

“It’s all right. Just a fact of life, you know?” I shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother me that I lost my baseball career, but it does. It hurts tremendously. “I miss it, but life goes on and brings you new challenges.”

She raises a delicate brow. “And I’m sure the winery is a challenge.”

“Absolutely it is—an interesting one though. Lots of hard work, but I believe it’s going to reward us in the end.” I said us, like she’s an integral part of this winery, which she is to me.

I wonder if she knows exactly how much I value her. And I’m not talking about her salary or how much I’m making off this venture or anything like that. I’m referring to how much I need her help. How stuck I’d be without her.

Of course, it’s not all about finances and how much money you make, right? I have enough money to last me ten lifetimes. My dad may be a loudmouthed jerk who loves to make his troubles public, but he’s a rich loudmouthed jerk. I think that’s what allowed him to be so crazy through the years. When you’re rich, you’re eccentric. When you’re poor, you’re flat out strange.

Either way, growing up with my father was quite the experience. He expected me to be just like him. So I tried my best to emulate him as much as I could, but I did it with my pro baseball career.

Until the unfortunate injury that took me out of the game permanently. Dad just about lost it. I swear he was ready to disown me and it hadn’t even been my fault. Though it was already on shaky ground, our relationship hasn’t been the same since.

Now I try my best to avoid being lumped in with my father.

“I’m sure it’ll work out. I think you might have the golden touch,” she says, her voice soft, her smile . . .

It’s such a pretty smile. She’s pretty. Beautiful. I stare at her, momentarily captivated and I shake my head, banishing my wayward thoughts.

I wonder what she meant when she said that I have the golden touch. I f**ked up one career by complete accident. I’m working extra hard to make sure this one goes off without a hitch.

Now I can only hope everything sticks to the plan. We’re two days out. The grand reopening kicks off Friday afternoon and runs into the late evening, with all sorts of press events, a tour of the vineyards, a wine tasting, and finally, the party starts at six. There will be food, plenty of DeLuca wine, and live entertainment.

I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

“Well, I should get back to work,” I say as I point my fork at her. When I get time, I need to go back and check out the restaurant Bryn picked up our dinner from. It was the best damn meal I’ve had in ages.

Wonder what Bryn would say if I asked her to go with me. Like on a date.

“You’re going to stay and work some more?” she asks incredulously.

I swallow and nod. “Yeah. There are a few things I need to wrap up here before I can go home.”

“Do you need me to stay and help?” She blinks at me, those crystal-blue eyes sucking me right in and tempting me beyond reason.

Staying late at the office with Bryn, I can imagine all sorts of things happening. Like her spread out on my desk, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a sexy haphazard mess.

I need to stop thinking about Bryn in such a sexual manner. I need to get over my attraction to her. Focusing on work is far more important than figuring out how I’m going to get my hands beneath my assistant’s skirt.

Yeah. I sound like a sexist jackass even in my head.

“No, you can go home. It’s already well past eight. You’ve done more than enough.” I drop my fork on my empty plate and toss my napkin on top of it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll pick it all up.” She grabs the to-go bag from the floor and starts gathering all of the garbage before she fills the bag with it. She picks up my empty plate, bending over slightly and offering me a delicious view straight down her shirt.

Her bra is white, lacy, and her br**sts strain against the delicate fabric. My brow breaks out in a sweat at the tantalizing glimpse, and I keep my eyes trained at that spot for as long as I can before she straightens up and her br**sts are out of view.

Damn, the woman is too hot for words.

“I’ll toss this in the trash on my way out,” she says from over her shoulder as she exits my office and heads for her desk.

I sit in my chair, immobilized as I watch her. The sway of her h*ps mesmerizes me. Her walk is pure seduction. That black skirt fuels my imagination, what with the way it hugs her every curve. Her ass just begs for my hands to touch it.

Get a f**king grip, man. She’s your assistant. You can’t go there.

Ignoring the negative thoughts running through my head, I stand and pull my wallet out of my back pocket, flipping it open. “I owe you money for dinner, Bryn.”

“I can cut myself a check tomorrow if you’d like. We can write it off as a business expense, you know,” she says as she rummages through her desk. “It’s no big deal.”

She’s always thinking, my assistant. “I’d rather give you cash right now, if you don’t mind.” I head for her desk, as I start to pull out a couple of twenties. “You kept the receipt, right?”

I’m so intent on digging through my wallet I don’t realize I’m right in front of Bryn until it’s too late. I run straight into her, our bodies colliding, and I reach out, my wallet dropping from my hand to the floor as I wrap my arms around her waist to keep her from falling.

“Oh!” She grips my shirt to keep herself from slipping in those heels she’s wearing, and her soft, delicious curves nestle up close. I rest my hands tentatively on her back, just above the curve of her ass as she tilts her head up, her wide-eyed gaze meeting mine. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her tongue sneaking out and moistening her lips.

Shit, why did she have to go and do that?

“Uh, I’m the one who should apologize since I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I say, my brain stuttering to a halt at having her in my arms. I tighten my hold on her just the slightest bit. She feels damn good. Too good. My skin is electric, my hands itching to search her body, and I realize I should shove her away. End this conversation now before it has a chance to get completely out of hand.

“All right then. Maybe you should.” Her fingers curl tighter into my shirt, fingertips brushing against my skin, and I feel her touch to the very depths of my bones, even through the fabric. My breath sticks in my throat as I stare at her, completely fascinated with the sultry expression that crosses her face. “Apologize, Mr. DeLuca.”

“Sorry, Miss James,” I whisper, making her smile. Damn, that smile is gorgeous. Everything about her is gorgeous. Why did I never notice her like this before? Well, I did get hung up on her scent but told myself it was nothing. That she was nothing special.

Was I such a shallow bastard that form-fitting clothes and makeup was what it took to really make me notice her?

But there’s more to this woman. She’s smart and always there when I need her, which is often. I try my best to be fair and not always take, take, take, but I’ve been pretty damn selfish since I took over the winery. I’ve been living and breathing this place for weeks and months.

Bryn has stood by my side the entire time. Always there with what I need, guiding me when I’m lost. She keeps me on task.