a sideways glance in his direction. His hand was wrapped around the wine bottle and he was watching her as if he knew she was dreaming a dream that wouldn’t come true. But it would. As if he was waiting for her to give up. Give up? On her first day? He didn’t know her.
After a long pause he broke the silence. “Not discouraged?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. The wine is yours,” she said waving her arm at the racks that lined the stone walls. “All of it. Take the bottles with you.”
“Legally it’s yours,” he said coolly. “But I’m curious to see how this one has held up.”
He scraped away the wax with a knife hanging on the wall and popped the cork with a rusty opener, then he tilted his head back and held the bottle to his mouth. Fascinated, she watched the muscles in his throat move while he drank it. Her mouth was dry. He handed the bottle to her. His fingers brushed her hand and goose bumps broke out on her bare arms. It was the cool damp basement that made her shiver, not this tall, dark Sicilian stranger.
“Try it,” he ordered. “Tell me what you think of it.” She knew what he thought. She could have no educated opinion. So why did he even ask?
She put her lips where his had been and tasted the wine and him at the same time. She felt a quiver of excitement. Maybe it was second-hand contact with his lips, maybe it was the old fermented wine. It wasn’t fair to put her on the spot this way, testing her to see if she knew anything about wine.
Unnerved by the way he stood there, arms crossed, way too close in that small space, his eyes glittering in the dim light and brimming over with self-confidence, she couldn’t think of a single original thing to say.
“Ciao,” came a voice from somewhere above them. “Chiunque nel paese?”
“My brother,” he muttered. Then he swore in Italian. At least it sounded like swearing.
So much for the bonds of Italian brotherhood, she thought as he brushed by her on his way up the stairs.
CHAPTER TWO
DARIO took the stone steps two at a time leaving the American heiress behind. That’s all he needed—his brother interfering just when he was finally making progress. At least he thought he was. It was hard to tell when she kept insisting she wasn’t discouraged. But no woman in her right mind would take on a run-down operation like this. Most women he knew wanted a beautiful house, land, money, excitement and more.
Naturally the woman he compared all others to was his ex-fiancée, Magdalena, who’d made it clear the life he’d offered her was not enough. Surely this woman would have to agree, sooner rather than later, that this run-down dump of a place was not enough for her, no matter what the long-term possibilities were, and run back to where she came from, which was where she belonged.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Cosmo, who was standing in the stone patio, his car parked in front of the house.
“I heard from Delfino the American woman might be on the property. I wanted to say hello and welcome her on behalf of the family.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Dario demanded, struck by his younger brother’s immaturity and lack of common sense. “Welcome the woman who has already refused to sell the property back to us? The woman who’s keeping Nonno from realizing his dream before he dies?”
“Nonno’s dream or yours?” Cosmo asked.
Dario ignored the question. He knew what his brother thought. He knew what the whole family thought of him. They thought he was obsessed with trying to recover this land they’d written off long ago. Maybe he was. But maybe he should be. Because it was his fault they’d had to sell the land, and now it was his responsibility to get it back. It was so obvious. Why couldn’t they understand that?
“What were you going to do, bring her flowers and roll out the red carpet?” Dario asked.
“Of course not, but be honest, Dario, you’re the one who cares more than anyone about getting the place back. Give it up.”
It was true. No one in his family had any idea how important it was for him. How much he blamed himself for what had happened—and would continue to blame himself until he’d got the property back and their wine won the gold medal. Then and only then could he put the past where it belonged. Until then…
“It’s gone,” Cosmo said. “Get over it. Stop blaming yourself.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dario said. “It’s my fault we had to sell. You know it’s true.”
“Forget it,” Cosmo said. “It’s over. We have vineyards enough. Let this one go. I came by to see for myself if the new owner is as beautiful as I heard,” Cosmo said.
Dario shook his head. “You heard wrong. How do those rumors get started? She’s not beautiful at all.” It was true. Her mouth was too large, her nose too small. Her hair was the color of copper in the sunlight, but that was definitely her best feature.
“So she’s not beautiful. What is she like?”
“Just offhand, I’d say she’s stubborn, proud, determined and naive. And overconfident. No idea what it takes to make wine. As soon as she realizes this place isn’t for her, she’ll be on her way. But right now she’s wavering.” Unfortunately that was just wishful thinking. He didn’t detect any sign of wavering in this woman. “If you don’t leave now you might say the wrong thing and she’ll be here forever. It’s not fair to her to encourage her.”
“Encourage her?” Cosmos teetered on the edge of indecision. “I just want to meet her and say hello.”
“Not today.”
His brother wasn’t happy about it, but after a few more exchanges, he finally left and Dario breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t matter what the new owner looked like, she was new, she was a challenge, and he didn’t trust his brother to stand up to her. He’d feel sorry for her when he heard she was an orphan and forget the goal, which was to convince her to sell by pointing out the obvious: this was not a place for a novice, a woman on her own, a foreigner who knew nothing about viticulture. It was in her own interests either to find another house in Sicily or go back where she came from. He only wanted what was best for her—and for his family of course.
Though feeling sorry for an heiress didn’t make sense, his little brother was a flirt and a playboy and loved to have a good time. In other words, a typical Sicilian. He was easily swayed by a new girl in town with a fresh face as well as a few curves in the right places. He had charm and affection, yes, but those were traits not needed today.
Dario knew from painful experience what his brother ignored or wouldn’t believe. That women are masters of deceit. They were seldom what they seemed. Beautiful or not, they could look innocent and act vulnerable, but they were hard as polished marble and equally strong-willed, self-centered and capable of lies and deception.
When Isabel emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of wine under her arm and a smudge of dirt on her cheek, Dario knew his brother would have stood there, mouth open, gaping at the American heiress, taken in by her apparent lack of pretense and that dazzling red hair and pale skin. No, she wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking in a way Dario had never seen before. She had a certain freshness and large helping of pride of ownership in her new acquisition—the Azienda.
