Nic shifted on his chair and looked away. An emotion she couldn’t identify moved across his face, then was gone.
“I spent eighteen months cut off from the only family I’d ever known,” he said. “When I came back, Emilio was a stranger to me. We never reconciled. I don’t consider that a victory.”
Brenna didn’t doubt he’d been scared and angry when his grandfather had sent him away. Nic had gone to France and found work at different wineries there. He’d honed his skills, and when his grandfather had come looking for him, he’d been in a strong position to negotiate.
“What about when he begged you to return?” she asked. “He was forced to admit he was wrong and he needed you. My grandfather would never have done that. He would have let me go without a second thought.”
Nic’s mouth twisted. “Bullshit. Your grandmothers would have ganged up on him so fast, he would have been begging for mercy inside of a day. No Marcelli would ever let one of their own walk away. Family is everything to you people.”
Brenna straightened. Something in Nic’s voice, something in the tone and the way he spoke the words, sparked memories. All those years ago he’d always wanted to talk about her family. He’d enjoyed hearing about celebrations and arguments and their loud, loving Sunday dinners together. She remembered thinking he’d looked almost hungry to hear the stories.
Had he been living vicariously through her experiences? Had the Marcellis been the family he’d always wanted? Was his request to go to the engagement party a chance to thumb his nose at them, or had he wanted to see the one thing he’d never had?
“I can’t decide if you love my family or hate them,” she said.
Nic surprised her by saying, “Both.”
“You’re serious?”
He shrugged. “Hate is too strong a word. I resented their hold over you. I didn’t want you to choose them, but I always knew you would. Now it doesn’t matter.”
Didn’t it? She couldn’t believe he’d let the past go. Neither of them had. There was too much energy, too much anger and hurt still alive.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for being immature, for letting you put yourself on the line and then turning my back on you. I’m sorry I chose Jeff and that I let what was really important get lost in my fear. I’m sorry you got sent away.”
She could do her “sorry” list for fifteen minutes, but it would get boring, so she stopped.
“Nic, I don’t know what to say.”
“Me, either.”
Maybe there wasn’t anything left to be spoken. Maybe there wasn’t anything left at all.
“No,” she whispered involuntarily. “This can’t be all there is. There has to be more.”
His eyes darkened. “You know what else there is.”
She blinked, not sure what he meant, then she got it. Sex. The attraction that was always there, drawing them together, making them want and ache and…
He stood and moved toward her. She rose as well, but only to back away. “No,” she whispered. “Not now. Not like this.”
He shrugged. “So walk away.”
He moved like a predator. Like a man willing to take what he wanted. She wasn’t afraid, not exactly. And damn it all to hell, she didn’t want to walk away.
Awareness rippled along her spine. Her skin prickled. Logic dictated that this was a mistake. Making love right now, like this, would be really dumb. She would leave. Right this second.
She drew in a deep breath to calm herself, but that turned out to be a mistake. The heady smells of fermentation reminded her of all the other times she and Nic had made love in this room. Ghosts of their passionate selves surrounded them. She felt more than heard their sighs of surrender.
One of them moved closer. She wanted to say it was him, but it could have been her. His gaze settled on her mouth.
“This is just a reaction to the emotionally intense conversation we just had,” she said desperately
He nodded. “Or chemistry. We’ve always had chemistry.”
“Uh-huh.”
This time she was sure he was the one who moved, because she was too stunned to get her leg muscles to react. Without thinking, she licked her lower lip. His gaze sharpened, then narrowed.
Her fingers itched to reach for the hem of her T-shirt and pull it off over her head. She wanted to be naked right this second. She wanted his hands everywhere on her body, his tongue in her mouth, and then she wanted him to take her hard and fast, right up against the wall.
What she should do was back away. Or tell him no. Saying no would be really, really smart.
She cleared her throat. “Do you think-”
“No,” he said, cutting her off.
“So shouldn’t we-”
“Absolutely.”
She had the feeling they were talking about different things.
He touched her face with his fingers and she was lost.
Maybe if he’d grabbed her, pulling her close and demanding, she might have been able to resist. Right now strong passion, strong anything, would be a little unsettling. But he didn’t demand or take or use. Instead he stroked her cheek with a light, gentle touch. His dark eyes smoldered with restrained passion, yet he moved as if he had all the time in the world. As if this moment was special and to be savored.
Her eyes fluttered closed. In the darkness of not seeing, she depended on her other senses to tell her what was happening.
She heard the low sound of his breathing, the brush of his shoes against the concrete floor as he stepped closer. She inhaled the scent of his body as it mingled and blended with the yeasty smell of the wine. She felt warm fingertips drifting down her cheek to her jaw and the sweep of his thumb across her throat.
Her heartbeat sped up. Blood raced through her body. Heat bubbled. Electric anticipation grounded her in place as she waited for the inevitable. The first kiss. The beginning of their-
His mouth pressed against hers. The warm, tender contact caught her unaware. She jumped slightly, even as her arms rose and closed around him. They pressed together, hard to soft-she wiggled her hips and shifted closer-very hard to soft. He settled his hands on her waist and his lips more firmly on hers. She tilted her head in a movement as familiar as breathing.
A few minutes ago she’d wanted sex-fast and hot and out of control. But now that he was touching her, she didn’t want that anymore. She wanted to make love with Nic. Maybe it was all the emotions they’d dredged up with their conversation. Maybe it was days and weeks of spending time together. Maybe, given their past, it was simply inevitable.
She surrendered herself to the moment and the man. When his tongue touched her bottom lip, she parted for him. Last time they’d plunged together, taking, wanting, needing. While the fire still burned within her, making her breasts ache and her thighs tremble, she wanted a slow seduction, not an explosion of uncontrollable need. Either Nic felt the same or he could read her mind.
Instead of sweeping inside her mouth to claim her, he slipped in with a gentle caress. They kissed leisurely, deeply, rediscovering favorite movements and old resurrected passions. She buried her fingers into the cool, silky strands of his thick hair. His hands moved from her waist to her hips, then slid together and drifted up her back. He circled his palms so he both soothed and excited. When he reached her shoulders, he stopped, then retreated to the middle of her back. Her body clenched in anticipation.