Intoxicating (14 page)

They were in DeSalme territory after all. Everywhere they looked signs advertised DeSalme Wineries. People carried shopping bags with the DeSalme Logo etched on them.

What had she been thinking? A tiny family winery didn't stand a chance up against the corporate wines. Those taste tests where consumers went for brand loyalty over taste haunted her.

“Remember Chateau Montelena,” Maurice said, reading her mind.

Chateau Montelena was a small winery in Napa Valley that in 1976 beat out a French chardonnay in a blind taste test in France known famously as the
Judgment of Paris and immortalized in the film
Bottle Shock.
The wine had rocked the industry, proving once and for all that California chardonnays could compete with French wines.

“If Chateau Montelena can score against the big boys, we can too.”

Kiara glanced over at her cousin. She and Maurice had had their differences. Philosophically, they disagreed on almost everything. But they were family and right now, she felt closer to Maurice than anyone.

“Thanks for holding my hand,” she said.

“Hey, you and I clash a lot, but we're both Romanos.” Maurice smiled. “Do you remember that time when we were kids and we visited the DeSalme Winery?”

Kiara shook her head. “No.”

“You were probably too young. I was around eight, so you would have been what, five?”

“Why were we at DeSalme?”

“That was before they went corporate. Back when Richard DeSalme was still running the place.”

“Not ringing a bell.” She knew what Maurice was doing, trying to take her mind off the upcoming competition and she appreciated it.

“They invited us to a big cookout, along with several other wine people.”

Kiara cast her mind back. “Wait a minute. Did they have a swimming pool and horses?”

“They did.”

“Hmm, I do remember it. Vaguely.”

“I'm Eric's age. We got into a wrestling match. He beat me, but he cheated, put me in a full Nelson.”

“Oh, well, your skills lie elsewhere, cousin.”

A memory flitted. She remembered the smell of
barbecue, a group of rowdy children running through vineyards, playing tag. She was “it” and she walked to the end of the row and there had been a boy about her own age, with compelling chocolate-brown eyes. An odd sensation ran through her. Eyes the same color as Wyatt's.

Wyatt.

She felt badly about that. He'd tried to call her several times, but she'd let it go to voice mail. She still wasn't ready to talk to him. Still hadn't sorted out how she was going to deal with these scary feelings. Once this competition was behind her, she'd be ready to sit down with him and have an honest discussion.

Maurice navigated the Civic Center parking lot, and parked in a spot reserved for contestants. Kiara quickly forget the memory as they took four crates from the back and loaded them onto the rolling dolly. She wondered if she'd been fooling herself. The wine was good. But did they honestly stand a chance of taking the Best of the Best against DeSalme?

When they were finished loading, Maurice wheeled the dolly toward the Civic Center and Kiara trotted ahead so she could open the door for them. A blast of cool air hit them as they entered the long corridor leading to the event room where the judging would take place.

The center was a bustle of activity. Contestants, judges and ancillary staff buzzing around, setting up. A news crew was on hand from a local news station. The walls of the corridors were plastered with advertising, most of it from wineries throughout California. Bella Notte hadn't been able to afford the advertising that often ran to six figures.

“I heard DeSalme is unveiling a new advertising campaign today,” Maurice said, reading her thoughts again.

“We certainly can't compete with them on that score.”

“No worries.” Maurice grinned. “We'll let our wine do the talking. After this, word of mouth will be all we need.”

“I don't know about that.”

“Stop thinking about that taste test you conducted in grad school. It was one test, years ago.”

They had almost reached the door where contestants were supposed to enter. There, plastered from floor to ceiling was DeSalme's new poster.

The slogan read DeSalme, from our family to yours.

But that's not what stopped Kiara in her tracks, Maurice kept walking, not noticing that the panoramic poster had ensnared her.

Beneath the slogan was a picture of the DeSalme winery, stretching out, classy and beautiful. To the left side of the poster, superimposed over the vineyards was a picture of the DeSalme brothers.

She'd always thought there were just two DeSalmes, but this picture depicted three siblings, their names emblazed under their photos in elegant script. Scott. Eric. Wyatt.

From the poster, Wyatt's brown eyes met Kiara's. His hair was cut short and he wasn't wearing glasses, but it was Wyatt.

It took her a second to process what she was seeing. Why was Wyatt Jordan's picture on the poster for DeSalme wine?

Did that mean…

Oh, dear God. Her stomach lurched and for one horrible second, she thought she was going to throw up.

The man who'd been working at Bella Notte for the past month, the man she'd just spent the night with on Twin Hearts. The man she'd shared a bottle of Decadent Midnight with under a full moon on the last day of June. The man she'd fallen in love with was up there on the poster with Scott and Eric DeSalme.

The truth hit her with the force of an open-handed slap.

Wyatt was a corporate spy.

Blind tasting: To taste wines without
knowing their identity.

“K
IARA
?” M
AURICE CALLED
her name.

She stood there in a daze, her eyes fixed on Wyatt's charming printed smile.

Maurice followed her gaze. “What the hell?”

The air-conditioning was chilling her to the bone. Slowly, haltingly, she faced her cousin. “Let's go check in,” she said, keeping her voice completely emotionless.

“That's Wyatt.”

“I see that.”

“He's a DeSalme.”

“So it seems.”

“You didn't know?”

“Did you?”

“No, of course not.”

She shook herself. “It's getting late. We need to register.”

“What are you going to do about that?” Maurice jerked a thumb at the mural.

“There's nothing to be done. Come on.” She squared her shoulders against the desolation battering her heart and walked through the door.

Her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID: Wyatt.

Part of her wanted to answer it and scream at him, but the calm scientist in her powered off the phone. No more distractions from him. She was here to win this competition and that's what she intended on doing.

They were given a number and an instruction sheet. They had two hours to kill. This was tortuous.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Maurice asked.

“I couldn't eat.”

Her cousin put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry about Wyatt.”

“I'll live.”

“I know you liked him.”

Loved.
She loved him.

You can't love him. You don't even know him. He's a liar. He put on a mask. He showed you the face he wanted you to see. The glasses were probably even fake.

“You want to get drunk?” Maurice asked.

“Tempting as that sounds, it's no cure. Thanks for the offer though. But I would like to taste the wine. Just a reassurance that it is as good as I think it is.”

“Okay,” Maurice said. He opened a crate, took out a bottle of Decadent Midnight. He gave it to her to hold while he went to find a glass.

Kiara's nose twitched. She smelled vinegar. Who smelled like vinegar? She scanned the growing crowd.

Maurice handed her a glass. She poured an ounce of wine, lifted it to her nose. Vinegar. She blinked,
shook her head. Something was wrong. She took a tiny sip. Phew.

“Vinegar.” Tears sprang to Kiara's eyes. “It tastes like vinegar.”

“How is that possible?” A scowl creased Maurice's forehead.

“Open another bottle.”

Maurice twisted out the cork on another one. He took one sniff. “Vinegar.”

“Another.” She could hear her voice go wire-thin, garroting off her air.

Maurice opened another one, shook his head.

“They've been tampered with,” Kiara said with utter despair.

“Wyatt DeSalme.” Maurice spat out the name. “He spiked our wine.”

Wyatt might have been spying on them, but Kiara did not want to believe he'd stooped to spiking their wine. Could not believe it. Not the man who had so tenderly made love to her underneath the full moon.

Wake up and smell the wine, sister. He screwed you over. In more ways than one.

That pain that shot through her heart was agony. It was a special kind of hell. She'd opened up her home, her winery, her heart to Wyatt and this was how he'd repaid her. Lies.

Every word he'd spoken had been a lie. The tender lovemaking they'd shared on Twin Hearts, nothing but a lie, a charade, a con. So much for romantic legend. The myth was officially busted. She'd shared a bottle of wine with him under the full moon in June and they were not fated. He was not her destiny. At least not the
good kind of destiny. She'd been nothing but a pawn in the DeSalmes' ploy to crush their competition. She was a fool.

“Contestants,” came an announcement over the loud speaker. “It's now time to bring your wine to the sommelier at the front of the room. You have fifteen minutes to get your wine turned in so it can be marked for the judging.”

“It's over,” she told Maurice. “Let's pack up this salad dressing and get the hell back to Idyll.”

Maurice stared at her as if she'd sprouted a second head. “I don't believe it.”

“What?” She couldn't meet his eyes. Could barely keep breathing. How was it possible to hurt so much and still keep breathing?

She'd fought so hard against falling in love with Wyatt. Had resisted and resisted, but he'd worn her down. Made her believe she could have everything she ever wanted, but had been too afraid to wish for. This was why she'd been so afraid. Terrified of feeling exactly like she was feeling now.

Betrayed.

“You,” Maurice said. “Throwing in the towel. Giving up without a fight. It's not like you, Kiara.”

“Things have changed.”

“You're not the first person to be betrayed by love.”

“No, but I'm the first Romano who has been.”

Maurice grabbed her by the shoulders. “I won't let you give up. Fight, Kiara. You have to fight.”

“What for?”

“For everything Bella Notte stands for. Love, romance, the best damned wine in California.”

“It's too late. There's no way to get a fresh bottle of Decadent Midnight here before the judging. It's over.”

“Maybe not,” Maurice said.

She was too defeated even to hope, sluggishly she said. “How?”

Maurice nodded toward the exit.

Kiara turned.

The minute she saw him, her heart skipped a beat.

It was Wyatt and he had two bottles of Decadent Midnight in his hands.

A million emotions bombarded her—hurt, sadness, regret, betrayal, foolishness, hope. Stupid hope that somehow there had been a mistake. But he'd probably just come here to gloat. She tightened her jaw, fisted her hands, hardened her heart.

 

W
YATT SAW THE
hatred in Kiara's eyes. Felt it like a blow. When he'd seen the advertising on the wall he'd known she'd have figured out who he was. And now that he saw her standing there with Maurice, surrounded by open bottles of Decadent Midnight, he knew she'd also found out that her wine tasted like vinegar.

She stalked toward him, her body trembling with fury. “You bastard!”

Heads turned. A murmur ran through the crowd.

On the drive up, he'd convinced himself he could talk some sense into her, but one look at her face and all hope disappeared.

Kiara was lost to him as surely as if he'd been the one to spike her wine.

“I have fresh bottles,” he said by way of an apology. “Get them to the sommelier now.”

“How do I know those aren't vinegar too?” She glowered.

“I guess you'll just have to trust me on this.”

“I'll take them,” Maurice said.

Wyatt handed the bottles to Maurice without even looking away from Kiara. “We have to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you Wyatt
DeSalme.
”

“It's true,” he said. “I am a DeSalme.”

“I don't want to hear it.” She began to walk away.

“No!” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the hum of the crowd. “I'm not going to let you put up that wall. I know you want to. You like hiding out. But I'm not going to let you eject me from your life without first hearing me out.”

People were really staring now, but he didn't care.

Wyatt held out his hand. “Kiara, come with me.”

For the longest time he thought she was not going to respond. Then finally, she turned back, gave a curt nod but wouldn't take his hand. “There's a flower garden across the street from the center,” she said. “We can talk there. You have five minutes. That's all the time I'm going to waste on you.”

She left by the side exit and Wyatt hurried to catch up with her. Across the street she began to pace around the pink geraniums. The bright, optimistic garden was in harsh contrast to his dark, hopeless mood.

“That wine I brought you is not spiked,” he said.

“Had an attack of conscience, did you?”

“I didn't spike it.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Who did?”

“Your intern, Lauren.”

“Now why would she do that?”

“Because my brothers paid her to do it.”

“Why didn't they pay you to do it?”

“Because I quit being their spy when I realized I was falling in love with you.”

Kiara inhaled audibly. “Don't even try to lie to me.”

“It's true.” He gentled his voice. He could see she was hurting, knew he was the cause of her pain and that ripped him up inside. “I tried to call you and tell you but you wouldn't answer your phone. I left you, like, five hundred voice mails.”

“But you've been spying on Bella Notte for a month.”

“Guilty,” he said. “I didn't know how to break it to you. I didn't want to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

“I know and I'm so, so sorry.” He came toward her, hand extended.

She held up a palm. “Stop.”

He froze, too far away to touch her but close enough to see the anguish etched into her face.

“I planned to tell you who I was this morning when we woke up,” Wyatt said. “Actually, I meant to tell you last night, but well, things kind of got out of hand on that score.”

“That's easy enough to say now, in hindsight.”

He was trying to smile, but his old standby wasn't working. He gave up the struggle, looked at her beseechingly. “You ran out on me. Why did you run out on me?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “You don't get to do this. You don't get to turn this around and make this my fault.”

“That's not what I'm trying to do.” He rubbed the nape of his neck with a palm. “I'm just trying to explain.”

“You're the one who lied. You're the one who spied.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm making a mess out of this. And it's the most important speech of my life.”

 

I
T WAS THE
most important speech of her life too. Kiara tightened her arms across her chest, steeling her mind against him, but even as she did it, a part of her was crying out,
listen, listen, maybe he can make this all right.
She longed for him to make it right. She wished she could go back in time and erase everything. Stay by his side, wake up next to him and turn into his embrace instead of running away from the love she was feeling, have things play out the way he'd intended. Let him confess underneath the olive tree instead of here, in front of everyone.

But she hadn't done that and she'd discovered the hard way who he was and…and…
he'd broken her heart.

This was what she'd feared all along. This was why she'd avoided romantic entanglements. Not because she didn't believe in the family legend, but because secretly, she believed so deeply that she knew that once she fell in love it would be for keeps.

Until Wyatt, no one had ever pushed her out of her comfort zone. No man had ever challenged her the way he did. No one had ever been worth climbing to the top of Twin Hearts for. But she'd done it with him. Made the climb, taken the plunge, drunk the wine and put her heart on the line.

And it had all turned to dust in her hand.

“When I woke up and put together what had happened, that you'd gone to Sonoma without me…” His voice cracked with emotion and he trailed off, his eyes burning into hers. “It just about killed me.”

“You think it was easy for me?” she whispered.

The bleak expression, desolate as forsaken land, carved his handsome features. “I was so afraid, Kiara, so scared that you didn't feel for me the same way I felt for you. I tried to tell myself I was keeping this light. No strings attached. That it was just good fun, but I've been lying to myself for weeks now, unable to face the truth.”

In Kiara's mind the big, open area narrowed to just the two of them. The tourists, the flowers, vanished. “What truth?”

His hand trembled as he reached for her, closed quivering fingers around her wrist, and stared deeply into her eyes. “That I love you and no amount of pretending otherwise can change it.”

He loved her.

She was overcome with emotion; her thoughts whirled; feelings assailed her—fear, hope, excitement. Could it be true? For weeks now she'd been telling herself this was nothing more than lust. She'd warned herself not to get involved. Had done her best to avoid getting serious. But it hadn't worked and now here was Wyatt professing his love for her.

All promises to the contrary,
he
hadn't kept it light either. He was in as deep as she.

The implications washed over her, vast and forceful as a tidal wave. He loved her and she loved him.

“Kiara,” he whispered.

Anxiety tinged his voice. Or maybe it was something else. What did she know about him really? He wasn't Wyatt Jordan, charming cork dork, but corporate playboy Wyatt DeSalme. How could she love him when she didn't even know who he was?

Unable to speak, she turned and looked away.

He moved his hand from her wrist to her chin, tilted her face to meet his gaze. “Talk to me, Kiara.”

“Who are you?”

“You know me. You know me better than anyone.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You've been putting on an act, playing a part. You seduced me to get information about my winery. You used me.”

“Yes,” he said, not denying it. “In the beginning, that's true. But once I met you, once I understood how much Bella Notte meant to you, I stopped spying for my brothers.”

“Then why didn't you just leave?” She felt a tearing in the center of her chest.

“Because I wanted to be around you. I needed to be around you.”