Forbidden to His Touch Page 7

“Fine. Engage their marketing services,” she said as the color rose in her cheeks. “My boss will most likely insist on handling your account himself.”

  “Not if I tell him that having you as my liaison is a condition of me signing with him.”

  She sent him a haughty glare. “Fine. I’ll be your liaison. I’ll sell Turino wines all over the world if I have to. But I’m not going to California with you.”

  “You’d rather be fired?”

  “I’d rather another position.”

  “I’ll make the same offer, no matter where you go.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  He offered her a cold, triumphant smile. “I wonder how long you’ll survive here without a job.”

  “Longer than you’d expect,” she challenged. “I just inherited my father’s entire estate, remember? I have enough money that I’ll never need to work again. I’ll be fine, no matter what threats you make. And I’m not going back to California.”

  She’d always been a fighter, but he could tell that her years away from home had made her stronger. More resourceful. A grudging respect he didn’t wish to feel warmed his gut. “Your inheritance is not liquid,” he said. “It’s tied up in land and the business and the estate. Once you run through your savings, you’ll have nowhere else to go.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she stared up at him, as resistant to his bullying as she’d always been. “Then I’ll sell. Everything. You’ve done such a fine job building the reputation of the Turino Winery, I’m sure investors will line up to pay me a premium price.”

  “You can’t sell,” he bluffed.

  “Of course I can. It’s mine, as you so clearly pointed out. I can do whatever I want with it now.”

  “Except dissolve or alter the partnership. You can’t do that unless I agree.” He loomed over her, and her dizzying scent rose up between them. “I don’t.”

  “But I have a life now,” she protested. “I have friends. A career I excel at. I won’t give it all up for a man who didn’t even acknowledge my existence for the past seven years.”

  “You don’t have a choice. You’re a Turino. The only one left.”

  “So?”

  “So your inheritance represents the labor of eight generations of Turinos. A family legacy nearly two centuries in the making. You can’t be foolish enough to throw that all away just because of some minor spat with your father.”

  “It wasn’t a minor spat!” she shouted in frustration. “I’ve lived without any family contact for years because Papa was too stubborn to admit he was wrong!”

  “Yes. But he wanted to make amends in the end. He forgave you.”

  “I did nothing that needed forgiving,” she argued. “He was the one in the wrong.”

  “Now who’s being stubborn?” he asked.

  “Like you’re one to talk,” she shot back.

  “Me?” He reared back, unwilling to discuss anything beyond Turino and her role as his heir. “This has nothing to do with me.”

  “It has everything to do with you.” She glared at him, her color high and her breasts lifting with her agitated breaths. “By putting you in charge of my welfare and giving you control over my life, Papa was exacting his revenge the only way he knew how. This has nothing to do with making amends. It’s just another way for him to control me, to force me into a box of his making. Except now, he’s making you his henchman.”

  “Fine. I’m his henchman.” He forced a grim smile. “Hate me, call me names, do whatever makes you feel better. But know that the outcome of this little meeting of ours won’t change.”

  “Because you’ll blackmail me into doing Papa’s bidding.”

  “Your father only ever wanted what’s best for you.”

  “No. Papa only wanted what he thought was best. He couldn’t have cared less about what I thought was best.”

  “It’s unfortunate that you choose to see it that way.”

  “Choose?” she sputtered incredulously. “You dare to talk to me about choice?”

  “Yes. You could choose to view this as an opportunity, a chance to prove to your father how capable and independent you really are. You could choose to see that your father was a proud man who loved you the best he knew how, a man who offered an olive branch of peace before he died.”

  “Sending you to coerce me into a life I don’t want is not a peace offering.”

  “He didn’t send me. I came of my own volition.”

  “Liar,” she countered. “You’re only here because my father’s will forced your hand.”

  “I came because it’s the right thing to do,” he growled, irritated that she was right. “I came because I keep my word.”

  “And you resent it. Just like you resented all the time you had to waste on me before,” she said.

  “I never resented you.”

  She met his claim with a bitter laugh, and knowing he was the reason for her bitterness made his stomach twist. “I know you always felt saddled with Turino’s spoiled, self-absorbed, immature daughter, just as I know you felt too indebted ever to complain.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t complain. I owe Turino everything. Watching out for you was the least I could do.”

  “Right. So you kept me out from underfoot,” she snapped. “You protected me from my own impulsiveness, and you kept me safe from whatever dangers you and Papa imagined lurked on the horizon. But you didn’t want to do any of those things. Ever. You hated the imposition and you were more than happy to see me permanently gone. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

  I was never happy with you gone. Ever.

  “And now, thanks to Papa’s peace offering, you’re left to deal with the mess that is Sophia yet again. A mess you want even less than I do. Admit it. If you’d had any say in the matter, we wouldn’t even be talking now.”

  Frustrated, wanting her, and unable to do anything about either, he rattled the papers between them. “I do have a say. And I’m in agreement with your father. He wanted you home, running the Turino Winery, and fulfilling your potential as his only heir. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Oh, I believe you’re sorry,” she shot back. “But you’re sorry for all the wrong reasons. You’re sorry, and you’re taking out your frustrations on me instead of the man who deserves it.”

  “I’m not taking anything out on you.”

  “Of course you are! He’s manipulating both of us, and you’re playing right into his hands! He’s punishing me for leaving him and he’s leveraging your loyalty to exact the punishment on his behalf, knowing full well that you’re too honorable to refute him. We’re both just pawns in his game, and you’re allowing him to continue his role of puppeteer.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. You hate me,” she insisted while her blue eyes flashed with frustration. “You’d like nothing better than to see me cut out of everything.”

  What I’d like is you in my bed. Beneath me. Writhing with pleasure and screaming my name.

  “So why can’t you just pretend Papa wanted that, too, and end this? Now, before everything gets worse?”

  “What I want is irrelevant,” he boomed. “What does matter is your birthright and a dying man’s last wishes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes. Why do Papa’s wishes take precedence over yours?”

  He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. His secrets were too deeply buried, his past too horrific for her to hear.

  “Why does the mere act of saving your life put you in his debt forever?”

  When he met her question with more silence, she sighed and her expression softened. Dangerously. He tensed as she moved to place a tentative hand upon his rigid forearm. “You don’t have to live this way, you know. You can build the life you want instead of the one he’s prescribed for you.”

  He didn’t want her sympathy. He didn’t want her sweetness or her acceptance or her understanding. He wanted her to despise him. He needed he
r to hate him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled, jerking his arm from the fire of her touch. “And I don’t have time to clarify things for you. All you need to know is that I will not allow you to stand in the way of my promise to him.”

  “You won’t allow me.”

  “Yes. We either do this the easy way, or we do it the hard way. Your choice.”

  “No,” she repeated calmly as she stood her ground.

  “No?” He glared at her, irritated that he’d yet again failed to intimidate her into doing his bidding. Just like when she was a child, his resistance, his anger and his commands only served to strengthen her resolve. She’d always possessed the ability to chip beneath his defenses, to draw him closer until he grew soft and weak and malleable. But this time, he couldn’t let her win. It would ruin them both. “I don’t think you understand,” he reiterated. “You choose. Or I choose for you.”

  “You can’t,” she insisted with a determined jut of her chin. “Papa might control you, but he’ll never control me. Ever. His bullying tactics didn’t work seven years ago, and they certainly won’t work now, even if you’re the one doing the bullying.”

  They stood in their silent standoff, until Rafael realized he’d been approaching things all wrong. How could he have forgotten? Sophia couldn’t be bullied. She had to be dared. Or coaxed. But coaxing was too dangerous. For both of them. “I’m not bullying you,” he said. “You’re just afraid, and you’re allowing fear to stand in the way of a lucrative partnership.”

  “Fear?” she repeated, bristling. “I’m not afraid.”

  “You are,” he goaded, hoping that she’d rise to the bait. “The Sophia I remembered would have never backed down from a challenge. She’d have welcomed the adventure, the risk and the unknown. She’d have plunged in headfirst without a second thought, and she certainly wouldn’t have kept saying no because she was afraid.”

  “I told you, I’m not afraid. I haven’t been afraid for years.”

  He waved a dismissive hand toward the elegant surroundings of the firm’s reception area. “You’re lying. Fear is the only thing that would have allowed you to accept a life that’s such a predictable, boring grind.”

  She stiffened, her mouth settling into an annoyed line. “Insulting me and my chosen career won’t help you make your case.”

  He angled a contemptuous glance at the stack of plans on the receptionist’s tidy desk. “It should. Your talents are wasted on accounts like—” he tipped his head to read the top file “—O’Toole Refrigeration.”

  “They’re a perfectly respectable business,” she protested.

  His arched brow belied her claim. “You know you’re meant for better things.”

  “Flattery won’t help you, either,” she snapped.

  “It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.”

  “No,” she corrected. “It’s you trying to get what you want. And it won’t work.”

  “You have no idea what I want,” he said, shifting tactics yet again. As dangerous as it was, he knew he had to soften her into changing her mind. When bullying and daring failed, coaxing was the only option left.

  Just think of her as a client. A beautiful, stubborn client who has to be seduced into changing her mind.

  Though flirting with her as if she were a stranger and touching her as if it meant nothing was a gamble he shouldn’t take, he couldn’t give up until she agreed to come home. So he forced his rigid muscles to relax and his features to calm. Stepping into her space, he lifted his hand to the counter’s edge, a hairbreadth from the pale, white skin of her upper arm. “I know you miss California,” he said in a low, beguiling tone. “I know you miss the warmth of Napa Valley, the sun and the sense of family and home.”

  Visibly suspicious of his changed demeanor, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “If I miss anything, which I don’t, it would be the fantasy of home. Not the reality.”

  “There’s nothing to stop you from creating the fantasy now,” he murmured as he stepped closer. Everything within him tightened, heated. But he didn’t allow his expression to change. “It’s yours. You can make the home you’ve always dreamed of having.”

  “That dream is dead,” she said as she edged sideways, creating space between them.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he said. He moved until he’d trapped her between his uplifted arms, stalling her retreat. “Working the land, crafting quality wines, it’s in your blood.” He leaned closer until she had to tip her head to retain eye contact. “Don’t you remember how much you loved learning about the different species of grapes? The fermentation? The soil? You never ran out of questions and you always wanted to know more.”

  “I was a child, fruitlessly trying to impress you.” Despite her defensive posture, he could hear the shallowness of her breath.

  He could see the frantic flutter of her pulse at her throat, and he felt his own heartbeat slug hard and fast within his chest. “Don’t you want to impress me now?” he asked quietly.

  She swallowed audibly and color flagged the crests of her cheeks. “Fortunately, I’ve matured beyond such pointless quests.”

  Dragging his eyes from the evidence of her reaction, he forced a reasonable tone. “Of course you have. Which means you’ll no longer allow my presence to stand in your way. You can claim your birthright without the messiness of our past interfering.”

  “You’re right. I could. If I wanted to,” she reiterated. The thinness of her voice betrayed her awareness of him. “But I don’t.”

  “No?” He allowed his gaze to slip down to her mouth, a mouth that had parted with nervous, reluctant arousal. “But you and I both know how hard it was for you to leave California.”

  Her color deepened and her attention darted to his chin. “London is my home now.”

  “You don’t love London the way you loved the winery.”

  Her hands clenched at her thighs while her nostrils flared. “Like I said, I loved the fantasy. I thought I loved you. I’m no longer the fool I once was.”

  Good. Keep it that way. “Which is why it can work now,” he said evenly. “It’s been seven years. You’re a mature adult now.”

  She remained rigid and silent, her thoughts as transparent as glass as her resolve wavered.

  “Come home, Soph,” he cajoled, watching her translucent skin and her expressive features as she battled to resist him. “Embrace the life you were meant to have, the life your father wanted you to have.”

  Furrows of worry and doubt drew lines between her brows. “No.”

  “As full partner in the winery, you’ll have more creative leeway than you’d ever have here. You can build Turino Winery into a multinational company, and market it in a way that far surpasses anything your father ever dreamed of,” he promised. “Think of the freedom. The lack of boundaries.”

  “No.”

  “You won’t even have to see me if you don’t wish it,” he added, knowing his presence contributed to her opposition. “Our interactions will be based on business only. We can even communicate through a third party if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

  The offer to maintain the distance between them seemed to have the opposite effect from what he’d intended, as a flare of anger lit within her eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she accused as she shoved against his chest with both hands. “Fulfilling Papa’s wishes without having to get personally involved.”

  “It never occurred to me that you’d want it otherwise,” he said as he granted her the space she demanded. A flicker of unease traveled the length of his spine, warning him to tread lightly.

  “Of course it didn’t,” she said. “You’ve always been very good at projecting your preferences and rules and boundaries onto me.” Her eyes, as blue and unfathomable as the ocean, dared him to deny the claim. “Except now, you’ll find I’m not the biddable little Sophia I used to be.”

  “You were never biddable,” he reminded her as his trepidation mounted. He’d wanted
her to come home, to hate him and to fit into the safe, predictable role he’d crafted for her.

  “Well, I’m even less biddable now.” She seemed to gain inches as she warmed to the topic. “And when I come home, if I come home, it won’t be on your terms. It’ll be on mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. Mine. For once, I’ll be the one calling the shots instead of some arrogant, unreasonable male with a penchant for secrets.”

  “Fine. Tell me what will convince you to come home, and I’ll make it happen,” he said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SOPHIA stared at Rafael, trying to make sense of her conflicting emotions and faltering resolve. He really hadn’t changed, despite the years of separation that yawned between them. Adaptable, angry, controlling and charming when the situation required it, he was a chameleon who adjusted his tactics until he met with success. And she, susceptible to every shade of Rafael he cared to display, was tempted to fall in line just as she always had. But she couldn’t. She’d learned from her mistakes. Hadn’t she? “You don’t mean that,” she said.

  “I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him, mentally weighing the pros and cons. It was easy to believe she’d be strong enough when a physical distance stretched so irrevocably between them. She could ignore him, discount him and pretend his opinion of her didn’t matter. But maintaining her professional resolve when he was close enough to touch, to smell, would be another challenge entirely. One she wasn’t entirely convinced she could handle.

  On the other hand, the thought of being near Rafael again, of debating various aspects of their shared business while tension kindled between them, made her feel more alive than she’d felt in years.

  Seven years, in fact.

  She wasn’t a girl anymore, and she was much more confident when it came to going after what she wanted. The boundaries Rafael set for their interactions were no longer going to hold her back. This time, she’d be the one to make the rules.

  “If I do this,” she began, her sudden realization of the shift in her power making her feel bold, “if I do come home, it will only be to set up a European office that I can run from London. I have no interest in remaining in California indefinitely. Nor,” she added before he could interrupt, “do I have any interest in being a silent partner. I’ve been boxed up in Papa’s house before, trapped and coddled and protected until I thought I’d go mad. I won’t do it again.” She angled her chin and then moved toward Rafael until he was the one to take a step back. “We’re either partners in truth, or we aren’t partners at all.”