we’re at an impasse. Take a seat.”
Warily—Nico didn’t normally give up once he’d decided he wanted something—she sat in the farthest chair from him, a dining stool near the kitchenette.
“There are papers that you need to sign as Mark’s guardian. I don’t know what Kent arranged for the personal fortune his mother gave him, but you probably know he didn’t yet own any stocks in the family business.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding once. “Your father still owns them.” Kent had never shared much about his financial status beyond the allowance he gave her to run the household, but the lawyer acting as Kent’s executor had explained this much.
“The shares in Jordan Wines were to be divided equally between us, his two sons, in four years’ time or on his death, whichever came first. The three of us had already signed a Deed of Gift to that effect.” He picked up a sheaf of papers from the coffee table. “Now he wants Kent’s share to go to Mark and he doesn’t want to wait. He’s been deeply affected by Kent’s death,” he said, his gaze fierce, “especially as they’d been in a semi-estrangement that he still doesn’t understand.”
Beth swallowed. They both knew her marriage had been the start of those tensions. But she’d never wanted this—any of it. In fact, they were the two people she’d been trying to protect—Nico and his father. If Nico knew the truth, he’d be put in the untenable position of choosing between two evils: his strong sense of right and wrong would compel him to tell his father the truth, which could lead to him being disinherited, and bringing on another heart attack, endangering his father’s life. To say nothing of his father being haunted in his final days, knowing his dearest son wasn’t even his.
Or, Nico could choose to keep the truth from his father and the secrecy would eat at him like acid. His relationship with Tim would never be as close, as solid, ever again. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Beth couldn’t put Nico in that situation.
He swirled the deep red liquid in his glass. “Dad wants to divide the company between Mark and me in the next few months.”
Beth felt her jaw slacken. “But Mark is a little boy!”
He shook his head dismissively. “No one expects a three-year old to inherit this kind of fortune right now.”
Kent had told his whole family that Mark was born a year later than he had been—not wanting Nico to put two and two together. And since none of the family in Australia had ever met her son, it’d been a relatively easy charade to pull off. She wouldn’t comment on that particular problem yet—she’d find a way to fix this.
She spread damp hands over the pink fabric on her lap. “I think it would be better for Mark if your father leaves all this for now. It’s too much weight on small shoulders, even to just know it’s coming.”
“We agree at least on that. But it’s my father’s money and his decision to make. He’s naming you and me as joint trustees for Mark’s share until he’s twenty-one.”
Suddenly, Beth couldn’t breathe. Joint trustees? After Kent’s death, she’d started to rebuild the pieces of her life. Had made a plan to expose all the secrets once Tim passed away. Then Nico had knocked on her door and scattered all her plans—and her thinking—just by his presence.
And now this. It was too much, too soon. She labored to draw in enough air but still couldn’t fill her lungs.
Nico’s expression changed almost imperceptibly from arrogance to guarded concern. “Beth? Are you all right?”
She needed air, fresh air, and to be away from the man of both her dreams and her nightmares. She dashed for the door, picked up her bag and coat and ran as fast as she could.
Two
Nico gave her twenty minutes head start before jumping into his rented Alfa Romeo, gunning the engine, and following.
Twenty wasted minutes where he’d thought she was genuinely upset. His first impulse had been to follow her, make sure she was okay, but he’d tamped that down, knowing he was the last person she’d want to see. Given their estrangement and current situation, he’d only distress her more.
Then he’d remembered what a consummate actress she was.
Any woman who could make him believe she was in love with him—and he’d believed it to the bottom of his soul for almost a year—was a world-class performer.
He thumped the heel of his hand on the steering wheel as he sped past fields of bare grapevines. He couldn’t believe he’d been taken in again, and so quickly!
Hot air blasted from the heater; already boiling from the inside, he jabbed the off button. Her show of distress had called to a fiercely protective streak—one he thought had died five years ago—and he’d let her walk out. But from now on he wouldn’t let his guard down even an inch. He was here to meet his nephew, find Kent’s copy of the Deed of Gift … and lure the woman who haunted his dreams back into his bed. For one night.
The torment of Beth’s betrayal had never left—through each successful venture, each new woman that came and went within days or weeks, the pain of losing the woman he’d loved had buried itself deeper inside his chest, festering. And the occasional news through the family grapevine—such as the birth of her son to his brother—had ensured the humiliation, the pain, never healed.
Nico ground his teeth as he held the steering wheel in a death grip. He knew it’d been slowly killing him—so it was essential he purge it all now. He needed to make love to her one last time.
He roared into her tree-lined driveway deep in the winery’s estate, and cut the engine.
Striding to the entry, he reined in his emotions. The key to success was to stay on top of his game. No outbursts from his hair-trigger temper.
He thumped on the door. “Beth, let me in.”
Noises came from inside the house but none from the other side of the door. More noises, more movement—she was home, just not letting him in.
He thumped on the heavy wooden door again. “Beth, I’m not going away.”
The door wrenched open to reveal Beth barefoot, in the same shapeless pink dress. Though it was shapeless, it nevertheless showed enough of her figure to fire his passion, as it’d done at his hotel room door.
She seemed troubled, but not surprised, to see him. “Nico, please leave me alone. The papers can be dealt with by our lawyers.”
Not a chance. He strode past her into the warmth of her house.
Turning, he took in the room with its roaring fireplace, decorated in colors that were pure Beth—delicate pinks, pale greens and ivory. Either Kent had trusted her sense of style, or he hadn’t cared.
His gaze rested on the woman who’d closed the door, but still gripped the handle behind her, as if for support.
The want, the need for her that always lurked below the surface surged up to flood his system. “I can’t leave you alone, even if I wanted to.”
“W-why?”
She’d seen it
