The Marcelli Bride

7

Darcy was up early because, well, not sleeping had a way of making a person face the dawn. She stood at her bedroom window, watching pale light creep across the vineyards. Suddenly her fingers itched for a pencil. She wanted to capture the moment, the changing light, the way the dew sparkled on the leaves.

She would never make it as an artist, she acknowledged, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, then quickly brushing her hair. It was the reason she’d studied graphic arts and advertising in college. But not having an abundance of talent didn’t stop her from wanting to capture the world with a quick sketch on a perfect morning.

She collected her supplies, then quietly made her way downstairs. The house was still. Reasonable, normal people wouldn’t be up for at least another hour. Which meant she could sneak outside and enjoy the morning in solitude.

As the thought formed, she felt a tendril of fear snake along her spine. Did she want to be alone? Was it safe?

“Not going there,” Darcy muttered. She pushed the questions away, along with the chill, and focused on the chance to just be for an hour or so.

But when she stepped outside, she saw an unfamiliar Secret Service agent in a car by the back door. He got out of the car as soon as he saw her.

“Morning, Ms. Jensen.”

“Morning. And it’s Darcy.”

He nodded. “How can I help you?”

Part of her wanted to forget it. To just go back into the house and wait until all this was over. But a stronger voice in her head told her that she couldn’t wait much longer without going crazy. She had to start doing something.

“I want to draw the vineyard this morning,” she said, holding up her sketch pad. “I’m guessing it will take about an hour.”

“Okay. Give me a second.” He picked up a walkie-talkie and spoke into it.

No doubt getting permission, she thought glumly. What if they said no?

Before she could decide on a course of action, she felt a slight prickling between her shoulder blades. She turned and saw Joe coming out of the house.

Contradictory emotions warred within her. Part of her wondered why she couldn’t spend five minutes alone outside of her bedroom. Another part of her acknowledged that if someone had to disturb the quiet, she wouldn’t mind if it was Joe.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“Old habits,” he told her.

She waited for him to comment on her being awake as well, but he didn’t. Instead he nodded at the pad and pencils.

“Hoping for inspiration?” he asked.

“I was, but it’s turning out to be a big deal.”

The Secret Service agent put down the walkie-talkie. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said, then spoke into his ever-present wrist communicator. “Pigeon is leaving. Repeat, Pigeon is leaving.”

Joe raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t say it,” Darcy told him. “My father is Falcon, my sister is Swan, and I’m Pigeon. Does the Secret Service have a sense of humor or what?”

Joe stepped toward the other man. “Why don’t you stay here,” he told him. “I’ll go with our bird friend while she draws.”

The agent frowned. “I’m supposed to be with Ms. Jensen, ah, Darcy, as protection.”

“Check with Paige,” Joe said. “She’ll clear it.” Then, without waiting for approval, he returned to Darcy’s side and pointed toward the vineyard. “Let’s go.”

“Pretty smooth,” she said when they were out of earshot and walking through vines heavy with grapes. “You said to contact Paige, not Alex, knowing she’s the softer touch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What makes you think it’s easier for me to have you along than the other agent?”

“I don’t call you Ms. Jensen.”

She smiled. “Good point.” And in truth, she didn’t mind having Joe around.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Not a clue. We’ll walk until I find inspiration.”

They continued walking, she in front, he right behind. Dew spattered her arms and soaked her jeans. There was a peacefulness to the quiet, and a sense of safety. As if nothing bad could ever happen here.

At the other end of that plot of grapes they found a narrow dirt track. Darcy paused to survey the miles of grapes and a cluster of trees to the west.

“That way,” she said, pointing. As they followed the path, they were able to walk side by side.

“I talked to my sister last night,” she said. “They’re holding her on some farm in the Midwest. She’s surrounded by cornfields. When I told her about the wine, she was very jealous.”

Joe looked at her. “You shouldn’t discuss your location, even on a secure line.”

Darcy grinned. She liked messing with him-it was a little like pulling a tiger’s tail-dangerous but very exhilarating.

“You think?” she asked with a grin. “Don’t worry, my little SEAL friend. I told her I was in Washington state. They make wine there, too. But as you’re a part of all this, I’m guessing you already know that.”

He shrugged.

She studied him. “How much, exactly, do you know about wine?”

“I’m a beer drinker myself.”

She winced. “That can’t be good. Aren’t you interested in wine?”

“No.”

“But it’s your heritage. It’s in your blood.”

“I want salt water in my blood.”

The man was nothing if not consistent, she thought. Still, to have so much right there for the taking. “I envy you,” she said quietly. “It’s just my father, my sister, and me. And I don’t get along all that well with Mr. President.” For reasons she had never discussed with anyone. “Which means it’s pretty much Lauren and me. We’re close, although we’re not that much alike. She’s perfect and I’m-”

As she spoke, she stumbled on a loose rock in the road. Before she could catch her balance on her own, Joe grabbed her arm and pulled her upright.

They stood there, in the center of the road, his hand on her arm, his fingers touching bare skin. They were close enough for her to feel the heat from his body and his slow, steady breathing. She could see the various colors of brown that colored his irises and the faint scar on the edge of his jaw.

Her stomach clenched in anticipation, which was crazy. Nothing was going to happen.

But for the moment, that single heartbeat of time, she wanted it to. She wanted him to…oh, who knew. Kiss her? Say something sweet? She wasn’t particularly picky, as long as he acknowledged the connection between them.

But he didn’t, and she started to feel awkward. She pulled free of his grasp.

“Obviously Lauren is the perfect one,” she said with a laugh that didn’t exactly sound real. “I’m the clumsy one.”

“You’re still not sleeping.”

“I know. Some. A little.”

“Hardly at all.”

Annoyance replaced her awareness of him. “Haven’t we already had this particular conversation? If you recall, it didn’t end well.”

“If the objective isn’t achieved on the first mission, the team doesn’t give up.”

She glared at him. “There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to begin. For one thing, you’re not a team, and I’m sure as hell not a mission.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, and it’s insulting.”

“Darcy, you can’t avoid what happened forever. It’s not going away until you deal with it. The longer you wait the harder it gets.”

She didn’t want to hear that. She wanted to continue to think that the fear would one day just be gone.

“Go away,” she said, turning her back on him.

He put his hand on her shoulder and moved her until they were facing each other again. “No can do. Look, I understand. You think I don’t, but you’re wrong. I’ve been scared and alone and bad things have happened to me, too. I can help.”

She refused to cooperate. Instead of speaking, she pressed her lips together.

He looked at her. “You’re stubborn.”

“It’s one of my best qualities.”

“Want to take a poll on that?” He lowered his hand from her shoulder and sighed heavily. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I’ve had years of training and experience. You didn’t have any. When I walk into a dangerous situation I expect trouble, but you were just minding your own business at the mall. Those bastards grabbed you with no warning, and the people whose job it is to protect you screwed up. They weren’t there and they didn’t notice. You were totally and completely alone.”

She honestly hadn’t believed anyone could understand what it had been like, but with a few words, he showed her that he got it.

“Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

She hesitated, then the words came tumbling out. “I w-was in the back of the store and walking to the dressing rooms. They grabbed me. I didn’t have time to scream. They put tape on my mouth and tied my hands behind me, then threw me in the back of a van.”

She didn’t want to talk about it, she told herself, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. Somehow she was walking and telling him everything. About the van and how dirty it was, how she’d tried to get to her panic button but couldn’t. About the warehouse and being tied to the chair and scared, so scared, they were going to kill her.

“I tried to get away,” she said. “But there was nowhere to go, and the chair didn’t make things easy. Then I tried to stay calm. I was afraid I was going to throw up, and I didn’t want that. Then the guy in charge showed up. He looked at me and he said-”

She stopped in the middle of the path. Suddenly it was too hard to hold on to her pencils and sketch pad. They dropped to the ground. She rubbed at her still-healing wrists and wished away the rest of the pain.

“What?” Joe asked, his voice more gentle than she’d ever heard it before. “What did he say?”

Oh, God. Tears burned. Weak, stupid tears. She would not give in. Not now.

“I-He said that I wasn’t the one they wanted.” She summoned anger and glared at him. “There. Are you happy? He said not this one. No one cares about this one. I was a mistake. Then they took me back to the mall, dumped me on the loading dock, and drove away.”

Jesus. Joe didn’t know what to say to that. What could anyone say? Darcy stared at him, her expression defiant. She was angry, but it was a thin veneer that could crack at any time, and he sure didn’t want to be around when it did.

Before he could figure out how to respond, she started talking again.

“I love my sister,” she said, her voice shaking. “Lauren is my best friend. She understands me and loves me. I admire her so much. But the thing is…the very worst thing is, sometimes I hate her.” More tears filled Darcy’s eyes. “I hate her because I’m weak and small and jealous. And then I feel so horrible, because I want to be like her and I don’t know how and everyone loves her best. I’m jealous of my own sister. What does that say about me? What?”

The last word came on a sob. Joe felt both trapped and deeply inadequate to the task. What was it about a crying woman that reduced most men to cowards? He wanted to bolt, but he couldn’t, so he did the only thing that made sense to him. He pulled her close and kissed her.

The shock of Joe’s lips on hers was enough to stop Darcy’s tears. One second she’d been in an uncontrolled free fall of self-loathing, and the next she was pressed against a man made entirely of rock, his arms around her body and his mouth very much on hers.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak; she could only react, tilting her head slightly so he could kiss her more. Because it felt good. Better than good.

His lips were an impossible combination of yielding and firm. He held her with just the right amount of possession. Heat surrounded her, melting all the hard edges and drying her tears. She raised her hands to his shoulders and allowed herself to be swept away by the soft pressure.

He didn’t deepen the kiss, but she was okay with that. It had been a long time since she’d wanted a man, so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel the first fluttering of desire low in her belly. Her breasts went from simply a sticky-out part of her body to exquisitely sensitive, and her legs actually got weak.

When he stepped back, she didn’t know what to say. Embarrassment battled with self-preservation. When in doubt, be a bitch. But before she could say anything to shatter the moment, she caught a glimpse of something dark and powerful in his eyes.

Need.

He hadn’t just kissed her to stop her crying. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to. The revelation kept her mouth shut and opened her mind to a thousand amazing possibilities.

“Hell,” he muttered.

She nodded in agreement. Talk about a complication.

“I’m-” He shook his head, as if not sure what to say. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Darcy watched him go. When he had disappeared into the grove of trees they’d been heading for in the first place, she picked up her sketch book and pencils and started for the house. Around her, the morning stirred to life. She heard birds and someone driving up to the winery.

What on earth had just happened? She’d spilled her guts to Joe, and then he’d kissed her. Even more amazing, she’d felt it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to engage sexually. The few physical relationships she’d had in her past had all ended badly. It had seemed smarter to not go there again.

But now, with Joe, she found herself anticipating the next time she would see him. Oh, sure, it would be awkward, but they’d get over it. Besides, she would have the thrill of knowing he’d wanted to kiss her. Which made for a very good day.

Joe avoided the house for the next couple of hours, but he knew he couldn’t stay away forever. What the hell had he been thinking? Talk about letting the little head run his life. Darcy was supposed to be under his protection, not in his arms. Was he looking for ways to screw up his career more? Because if he was, he’d found a hell of a good way to do it.

Angry with himself for being an ass, her for being so damn tempting, and the world in general because he was stuck here, he stalked into the house and found Brenna sitting in the kitchen. She had a plate of pasta in front of her and several slices of bread next to her glass of milk.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully when she saw him.

He glanced at the clock. It was barely ten-thirty.

She followed his gaze. “Hey, I’m eating for the team. Don’t you dare get coffee,” she ordered when he started toward the pot.

“What? If you can’t have any, no one else gets to?” he asked as he poured himself a mug.

“Exactly. Oh, man. It’s great, isn’t it?”

He took a long, slow drink. “Not bad.”

She groaned. “Pig.” Then she stabbed several pieces of penne and chewed on them.

“You’ll be able to drink coffee soon,” he told her.

“Not if I’m breast-feeding. And I plan to, for at least a while. I mean I think I can have a little, but it won’t be the same. I miss my pot of coffee. And wine. And pretty much everything else I had to give up. This had better be an amazing baby, because if it’s not, I’m writing a letter of complaint.”

“I can’t wait to see who you mail it to.”

She grinned. “I’m Catholic, big guy. I have access to spiritual management you can only dream about.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He pulled out a chair and settled across from her. “Is this a late breakfast or an early lunch?”

“It’s my meal in between. I’ve been starving for days. Not sure why. Maybe the baby’s having a growth spurt. Do they do that?”

“Do I look like I know?”

“Not especially. I brought you something.” She pointed to the stack of books on the table. “Since you’re stuck here for a while I thought you’d like a chance to find enlightenment.”

He glanced at the books and saw several of them were textbooks on wine making and grape growing.

This was Brenna-subtle as an explosion. Too bad he wasn’t interested in playing the game.

“Not for me,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Joe. You could look them over. Read a few pages. You might find yourself fascinated.”

“Brenna, don’t push me on this.”

“Why not? I’m pregnant. It’s not as if you can threaten me physically. Besides, it’s time you accepted who you are-a Marcelli. Wine is cool.”

He swore under his breath, then pushed to his feet. “I’m not interested and I’m never going to be interested. Not in this place, the land, or the wine. Just so we’re all clear on the subject. This isn’t my home, and you’re not my family.”

A flick of movement caught his attention. He turned and saw Grandma Tessa standing in the doorway that led to the dining room. Her eyes were wide and filled with pain.

Perfect, Joe thought grimly. The day was going just perfect.

He hesitated, not sure what to say, then he figured there weren’t any words and he stalked out of the house.

Darcy wandered through the various rooms of the winery. Although Brenna had given a very detailed tour, she couldn’t remember what all the equipment was for. The various barrels were marked, but not in any language she recognized. She supposed there was a code that explained what was inside, when it had been put in the barrel, and maybe even when it was supposed to come out.

All so interesting, she thought, breathing in the thick scent of grapes and wine and something yeasty-almost like bread. She found herself wanting to know more about the process and how the decisions were made.

“So you’re intrigued.”

She turned and found Grandpa Lorenzo standing behind her. “I’ll admit it,” she told him with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know about wine until I got here. I don’t drink it much at home, and when I go out, someone else usually picks.”

“Without wine, there can’t be life,” the elderly man told her. “Come. I will show you.”

He leaned heavily on his cane as he led the way into another room filled with large, stainless steel vats.

“The white wines,” he said. “Chardonnays and blends. Different kinds of barrels give a different taste.”

“But how can metal give a taste at all?” she asked.

“You are right. The wine is different because it doesn’t have the flavors of the wood. We play tricks with the grapes. We tease them and coax them. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they do not. Like children. We know what is best, but there are times everyone has to learn on his own.”

He led her into a room filled with all kinds of equipment and a narrow conveyor belt that looked like a snake. “We bottle here. You will come and watch. It’s very interesting. Brenna can’t stand to be here. She says the treatment is too hard on the wine and it makes her sad to see it battered.”

He pointed out where the barrels were emptied and how the liquid flowed into the bottles. Labels were applied, corks pushed in, then sealed with foil coverings.

“So many things can go wrong,” Lorenzo told her. “The bottles don’t move, the wine doesn’t pour, the labels are crooked. But we persevere and then we have this…”

He opened a door, and she saw cases of wine nearly stacked to the ceiling. They were everywhere, leaving only enough space for a small table, a phone, and an intercom.

“My retreat,” he said. “When I want to be alone. I like the room when it’s like this-crowded before the trucks come to take the wine away. In a few days it will be empty. I spend my afternoons out here. Tessa worries about me. I’m too old to be alone.” He touched the intercom. “I call her from here. It buzzes in the kitchen. But still she worries. An old woman.”

Darcy heard the love in his voice, and it made her feel warm inside. They had to have been married fifty or sixty years, yet there was still caring, still affection.

“You’re very lucky,” she said.

“You would think so, eh, but look at this.” He opened one of the cases and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. He pointed at the label. “The same one for too many years. But can we get a new one? No. Brenna brings me designs. They’re so bad. Animals and flowers. We are Marcelli Wines. We have a proud tradition.”

His voice lowered and his expression softened. “Now she has a baby of her own to keep her busy. So the labels will stay, and we will go on.”

“I can’t believe she runs two wineries,” Darcy said. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yes. Too much, sometimes, but she’s stubborn. When I wouldn’t let her run Marcelli, she started her own label. Foolish girl. But the first releases are out. She scored high and sold everything within a week.”

There was pride in his voice. Darcy understood that Grandpa Lorenzo would be an exacting boss, but she wouldn’t mind dealing with the old man. For him, family was everything.

“You have a sister?” he asked.

“Yes. Lauren.”

Lorenzo nodded. “And your mother?”

“She died when I was sixteen. My father never remarried. In politics it’s difficult to find the time to have a personal life.”

“Still, a man shouldn’t be alone. It’s not right. Look at my Joe. Alone for too many years.”

Darcy laughed. “You’re not subtle, are you?”

“I’m an old man who wants to see his only grandson married. He’s a handsome fellow. Strong. He would be a good provider.”

Darcy grinned. “Yes, and he seems to have very nice teeth. I’m sure he’ll be a good breeder.”

Lorenzo smiled. “You tease me.”

“A little. I don’t think Joe is interested in me that way.” Although he had just kissed her. Hmm, the lip-pressing did sort of make things more intriguing.

“You could make him interested,” Lorenzo said. “You have ways.”

“Not as many as you’d think.”

“Darcy?”

She heard someone calling her name. A familiar someone. Male, tall, and with good teeth.

“We’re in here,” she yelled.

Joe walked into the storage room. “Paige and Alex were going crazy. You disappeared.”

“Oh, sorry. Your grandfather and I were just talking.”

“About you,” Lorenzo said. “About your heritage.”

Joe shook his head. “Not now, old man. Let me get Darcy back to her Secret Service team.”

“What about this family?” Lorenzo demanded, banging his cane on the wooden floor. “What about your duty to it? You should be married and having babies.”

“Okay, gotta go,” Darcy said, taking that as her cue to leave. She waved and hurried out of the room. Oh, yeah. Hanging with Alex and Paige was much less pressure than dealing with Joe’s inability to get along with his family.

Joe watched Darcy duck out. Lucky her. She could simply walk away.

“I’m not interested in getting married,” he said calmly.

“So we all know. And what will happen when you are? What will you call her?”

Joe frowned. “My wife?”

“Will she be a Larson? That is not your real name. You are a Marcelli. You should take back the family name. Be proud you are one of us.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Joe growled as he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Change his name? He was Joe Larson, always had been. It was bad enough the old man pressured him about getting married, and now Brenna expected him to learn more about the winery.

The need to run, to bolt for freedom, quickened his step, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. As long as Darcy Jensen was in residence, he was trapped.

He’d barely made it to the barrel room of the winery when he ran into Alex Vanmeter. The head of security didn’t look happy as he glared at Joe and announced, “We have to talk.”