Forbidden to His Touch Page 8

  “We can work out the details once you get home,” he hedged.

  “No.” She braced her shoulders, knowing that this time, she held more control than he’d ever wish to grant her. She glared at him with the same intensity he’d shown her, the heady shift of power between them bringing a lightness to her chest. “We work them out now or we don’t work them out at all.”

  “I still don’t understand why you think this is necessary,” Alexander said later that night, after Sophia had told him about Rafael and her father’s will. “Your father’s dead, Chaves is an overbearing bastard and you have nothing to prove to either of them.”

  “You’re right,” she said as she placed her napkin next to her plate. “But you have to admit Raf had some valid points.”

  “I do?”

  “Raf’s just following through on a promise.” She toyed with the crumpled linen, her thumb tracing a pleat to its monogrammed edge. “And it’s what Papa wanted.”

  “I thought you’d given up trying to please your father when you left California.”

  “I did. But maybe going back is the only way I’ll finally move beyond what happened with him. The winery is part of my past, and I can’t just continue to ignore that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll never know whether this is supposed to be my path if I don’t give it a try.”

  “But you have a path here.” Alexander stopped her fidgeting with a warm hand and then waited until she met his concerned gaze. “A perfect path.”

  “Perfect?” she asked, remembering Rafael’s assessment of the predictable boredom of servicing a string of safe, stodgy clients. Her gaze slid left as she contemplated an unending stretch of years spent catering to rigid, inflexible clients who balked at her efforts toward innovation.

  “Yes. Perfect. You have a stellar career and you’re months away from a full partnership. Why would you throw that all away now?”

  “I’m not throwing it all away,” she claimed, sliding her hand from beneath his touch. “I’m thinking of this as a new adventure, one in which I’ll use everything I’ve learned here. With the way Raf and I have set it up, I’m actually going to be able to do more than I’d ever do here. Besides, if it turns out I hate it, I can always get my position back here.”

  “Of course you can. You’re irreplaceable,” he conceded. “But if you leave now, you’re also advertising that you aren’t fully committed to your career.”

  “I don’t think Wallace sees it that way.”

  “So you can’t see this backfiring on you at all?” he asked, and irritation tainted his tone.

  “There’s risk in everything,” she reminded him while scanning his reddening face. Alex was typically impervious to emotion, and the fact that he seemed almost … angry surprised her. “But I can’t let the fear of future failures keep me from trying.”

  “You’re moving backward. To a life you hated.”

  “I didn’t hate it.”

  “You didn’t hate him, you mean,” he clarified, and the accusation stung.

  “This has nothing to do with him.” She shoved back her chair and stood. She couldn’t think with Alexander questioning her, requesting explanations she couldn’t give.

  “Then what is it?” he persisted.

  “I don’t know.” She strode to the window and stared out into the busy street below Alexander’s flat. Unwilling to articulate her reasons aloud, she traced a finger over a misted pane of glass. She hadn’t even admitted her reasons to herself. All she’d acknowledged was that her decision was irrevocably tied up with the way she felt about Rafael, her father and the Turino lands. She had unfinished business in California, business she couldn’t conduct from her London desk. “It’s just something I have to do,” she finally said.

  “And what about us?”

  “Us?” she asked, turning to stare at her good friend while a tendril of trepidation curled low in her stomach. “We’ll still be friends. It’ll just be more … long-distance.”

  “I don’t want long-distance.”

  Unwilling to head in the direction he wanted to go, she forced a bright smile. “It’s not like we won’t have phones or email,” she assured him. “And until I set up a European office here, I’m sure business will bring me over at least two or three times a year. We’ll see each other plenty.”

  His mouth firmed as he shook his head. “It’s not enough. I’m coming with you. To California.”

  Her breath caught while she sent him an astonished glance. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  “Because I won’t abandon you to that man.”

  “That man?” Sophia laughed aloud, but the sound rang hollow. “I’ll grant that Raf’s not the friendliest sort, but it’s not like he’s some sort of monster. Raf would never hurt me.”

  “Of course he will. You don’t see the way he looks at you,” he said, and his normally serene features had firmed into an expression of jealousy she’d never seen in him before. “I do.”

  She blinked and dropped her gaze to her hands, uncomfortable discussing Rafael with anyone, least of all Alexander. “He looks at me like I’m an unwanted obligation he has to fulfill. But he’s civilized enough that he won’t take it out on me.”

  “He looks at you as if he means to devour you whole.”

  “What?” she protested, even as her heart began to pound. “No. You’re reading him all wrong. Raf feels nothing but hatred for me. He never has.”

  “Sophia,” Alexander scolded as he gripped her shoulders. “Hatred is the furthest thing from Rafael’s mind when he looks at you. Trust me. I’m a man and I know desire when I see it.”

  Hearing Alexander talk about desire was so horrifically embarrassing that she felt her face heat. “You’re wrong. It’s nothing like that. Raf and I … we … there is no way we’ll ever be anything other than partners. I’m a burden, an annoying side effect of his relationship with my father.”

  Alexander’s hands moved to her jaw, tipping her face until she looked at him again. “Do you know how I know you’re wrong?”

  Locking her knees to quell the trembling of her legs, she stared at Alexander while dread tightened her chest. Please don’t do this, please don’t do this.

  “I know because Chaves looks at you the way I look at you.”

  “Alex—”

  “I know. We’re colleagues. You don’t date coworkers. But you’re quitting, right? Now’s my chance. And you have to know I’ve wanted more than friendship from you since the day you were hired on.”

  “Yes, but I.” She floundered, unable to complete the sentence, she was so uncomfortable. “That doesn’t mean you should totally reroute your life just to follow me to California.”

  A flash of offense darkened his blue gaze. “Are you saying you don’t want me to come with you?”

  “Of course I … I mean, we’re friends!” she blurted. “Best friends! But we’ve never even talked about … about dating and now I’m supposed to be okay with you uprooting your life to follow me?”

  “You’re not?”

  “I don’t want anyone making decisions based on what I am doing.” She pulled free of his touch and backed into the window, resenting that he was pressuring her for more than she wanted to give. “What if it makes you unhappy? What if you hate California?”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’d feel guilty that you gave up everything here for a life you’d have never chosen had I not been in the picture.”

  “But you are in the picture, Soph. And being with you is what I want,” he said. “Don’t you want that, too? Just a little bit?”

  A pang of guilt pinched low in her belly. “Alex …”

  “Surely you know this is where we’ve been headed after all this time.”

  Yes, she had. But she hadn’t wanted to confront it. She’d valued his friendship, his company, the easy way they had together. She hadn’t wanted the complication of anything more serious, and had been grateful for the excuse of wo
rk keeping things platonic. “Alex … I …”

  “I know this is sudden, and I know you’re not ready to start thinking of us as involved romantically. Not yet. And I wouldn’t have even brought it up if you weren’t planning to leave.”

  “I—”

  “But you can’t deny that we’re very well-suited,” he persisted as he claimed her hands. “We respect each other, we like each other and we get along famously. Right?”

  She flushed and dropped her eyes. “Right.”

  “I can’t think of a better foundation for a relationship. Can you?”

  Rather than answer, she allowed him to pull her close, to wrap his long arms around her and lower his mouth to hers. The kiss was warm and gentle, just like Alexander, and its pleasant dampness was a sweet contrast to the voracious plundering she’d experienced with Rafael.

  Wanting to enjoy it more, she squeezed her eyes shut and opened her lips. But even as Alexander lingered at her mouth, his tongue gently prodding hers, she felt nothing beyond a detached sense of disappointment. His restraint and patience asked for no more than she was willing to give, and she couldn’t help but feel frustrated with his politeness. Just like Alexander, his kiss was … nice. Uncomplicated, respectful and nice.

  When he pulled back, his face slightly flushed and his breath hitched hard within his chest, as his eyes glittered with fierce intent. “I won’t lose you to him, Sophia. I can’t.”

  “You won’t,” she promised. Of that, she was painfully, irrevocably certain. She lifted both palms to Alexander’s dear face and offered a small smile. “But I can’t let you come to California. It’s too much when I feel so conflicted right now. I value your friendship, I value you, and I don’t want to lose you. But I’m not ready for this yet. I’m sorry, but I’m just not. I have to resolve things with my past before I can think about a future with you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A MERE eight days following her return to California, Sophia awoke again at dawn. She dressed in a light pair of khaki pants and a thin white blouse before twisting her hair into a utilitarian knot that kept the curls out of her eyes. Staring out her window at the vineyard, awash in rosy morning light before the heat of the day had descended, she felt the same surge of anticipation she’d felt when she stepped back onto Turino land. Her Turino land. The more time she spent here, the more she realized Rafael had been right. Being here, taking her place in the long line of Turino wine makers, was her destiny.

  Despite Rafael’s avoidance of her now that she was home, she’d spent the days reacquainting herself with the land she’d left behind. She’d delivered lunch to the workers yesterday and had met all the new hires who’d joined the vineyard since her time away. She recognized most of them from the funeral, and made a point to ask about their families before leaving them to their duties.

  Today, Sophia crept down the main staircase, not wanting to awaken Dolores. She eased the front door open and stepped out onto the tiled patio. Within a hundred yards, she stood between green, shoulder-high rows of twisted vines laden with clumps of chalky blue and plum. She traversed a few of the parallel lines of leaves and fruit and then stopped to select a single plump grape. Pulling it free of its stem, she rubbed her thumb over its dusky flesh until the deep purple hue appeared, shiny from its contact with her skin. It was firm and when she popped the fruit into her mouth, its juice was both sweet and tart.

  On impulse, she shed her shoes and socks and then dug her bare toes into the cool, dry earth. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the riot of orange and red that gilded the horizon and washed her future livelihood in shades of gilt pink and marigold. The scent of the vineyard was a poignant reminder of the summer days of her childhood, when her entire world had been this stretch of land, these tidy rows of tended vines, the workers that labored for her father and Rafael.

  Rafael, who now seemed more distant and bitter than she’d ever thought him capable of being.

  Despite the tenuous agreement they’d made, she could tell he wasn’t happy having her here. Yes, he’d felt compelled to bring her here for Papa’s sake, but he didn’t relish having her underfoot. He didn’t really care to be her partner or her friend. They’d barely exchanged ten words on the flight back to California, and after they’d landed, she’d almost changed her mind about coming home. Why would she willingly court the conflicts that were sure to come?

  But she’d never stopped wondering how things could have been, had he ever allowed her inside.

  Which was why she’d come, wasn’t it? To pry the secrets of Rafael’s past out into the open. To see him as the man he truly was, and to show him the woman she’d become.

  Wise or not, rational or not, she fully intended to bring an end to the chapter of her life entitled Rafael. She didn’t know how it would end and fully expected a bit of a tragic twist, but she was not going to simply stand by and watch things unfold this time. She wouldn’t beg for a resolution, but she wouldn’t cower from the uncomfortable interactions, either.

  She’d experienced a moment of clarity on their flight over as she’d watched Rafael stoically ignore her, his big body tense with suppressed agitation.

  The mystery that was Rafael still intrigued her.

  He still intrigued her.

  And before the chapter ended with him, she intended to bring the tension between them to a head. He could throw up all the walls he wanted; she would not be deterred.

  She didn’t expect him to love her. She’d never be fool enough to make such a stupid mistake twice. But she’d never, ever stopped wondering what it would be like to peel back the layers that were Rafael and expose the man beneath the protective shell.

  Turning, she lifted her eyes to trace the boundary of Turino land. Her stomach took a startled dive when she saw a tall, dark silhouette moving through the adjacent field, and a flutter of recognition went through her as she realized it was Rafael. Just like in the mornings of her youth, the breeze teased his black hair and pressed the front of his white shirt against his chest.

  She swallowed and grew still, wondering if she should quietly retreat before he noticed her or force the confrontation they’d been avoiding since her arrival home. But before she could decide, he glanced up from his survey of his plants, and surprise etched his features as he registered her presence. A momentary flare of hunger heated his eyes before he schooled his expression back into its usual mask of black moodiness.

  Excitement, along with the shocking realization that she wanted this clash, almost twenty years in the making, kept her from turning tail and running. And even as her better judgment screamed at her to scurry for cover, she strode straight toward him as if she expected him to welcome her. Behave the way a partner behaves, she reminded herself. Calm and professional and businesslike. She pasted a pleasant smile on her face, ignored the pulse winging hard beneath her skin and steadily closed the distance between them.

  He wore denims and boots again, his loose white shirt tucked into the waist and the worn spots on his knees, thighs and groin drawing her attention. When she finally reached him, his black gaze tracked her from head to toe, cataloging her wrinkled clothing and her unkempt hair.

  “You’ll cut your feet,” he said darkly, as if his vineyard’s rich soil was bristling with knives and broken glass.

  “I’ll take my chances,” she answered with a small smile. He could be moody and mad over nothing, but she refused to sink to his level. Not now, when they had a future to build together.

  “Don’t you remember your trip to the hospital when you almost lost your little toe?” His scowl held more than a trace of outrage. “Or have you conveniently forgotten that as well?”

  “I was twelve,” she reminded him. “And being chased by you, if I recall. I’ve kept an eye out for rogue shovels ever since.”

  “Put your damn shoes on, Sophia.”

  “Or what?” she challenged, cocking her head and staring at him with as innocent an expression as she could muster. Wi
th Rafael, she’d learned early on to overlook his terse edicts. Otherwise, she’d have spent her life locked up in her bedroom, her only portal to the world a safe, tempered window of glass.

  His nostrils flared and a furious tension in his muscles made ropy knots appear in his forearms.

  Rather than give him time to fabricate a suitable reply, she switched the subject. “I noticed that Papa no longer bottles Chardonnay. When did that start?”

  He shifted restlessly, his reluctance to abandon the topic of her safety as clear as the flexing of his jaw. “Three years ago.”

  “And Dolores reports that you split the wine production completely.”

  “Yes.”

  Monosyllabic replies aside, at least they were conversing in civil tones. She had to celebrate her small successes. “So Papa only made the reds, while you were left with the more challenging whites.” She cocked her head, studying his inscrutable expression. “How’d that work out for you?”

  “Fine,” came his curt reply.

  Amused, she didn’t allow his grumpiness to dissuade her. “I heard your winery design is quite innovative.”

  Obviously uncomfortable with her study of him, he scowled. Again. “Common sense isn’t innovation.”

  Sophia turned to view the three-story winery that had been erected in her absence, its clean, rustic lines set seamlessly into the hill at the center of Rafael’s property. “I’d love to see it. Will you show it to me?”

  Just as she’d anticipated, he met her request with grumbling resistance.

  “I know you’re busy,” she said, drawing up close to his side. He tensed at her nearness while she pretended not to notice. “But we’re partners. I have to understand all the workings of our business if I’m to take part in it.”