At that moment Silvio Junior appeared on the dais. All eyes turned toward the robust man with the shock of silver hair and thick black eyebrows. Though barely five-eight, Silvio had a presence about him that was only enhanced by his Armani suit and Italian leather shoes. He appeared strong and confident, a man to be reckoned with, rightful heir to all fortunes D’Amato.
Planting his back to a brick column, Parker scanned the old monastery grounds with a critical, suspicious eye. Old, rambling structures like this could be a nightmare to secure. Though the walls and adjacent structures had a fortresslike appearance, they were filled with dark nooks and deep crannies, unseen hiding spots. There were shadowy caverns cut into the hillside to house the wine barrels, as well as a maze of underground tunnels that could easily become routes of escape should anyone want to take a shot at the top runner for the wine country’s “vintner of the year.” There was access through the grape receiving platform and shipping dock. A bell tower loomed high above the tasting room, which had once been the church. The tower itself was dark now, the staircase leading upward secured. And yet…
He glanced up at the highest point of the turret, focusing on the belfry, that dark open space under the roof. For a second he thought he saw movement. Weird. He’d checked the lock himself, so he knew it was secure. Probably a bat, as it was a little past twilight, when bats and owls and insects stirred.
Squinting, he saw no dark shape hunched near the railing. No assassin setting up a high-powered rifle aimed at the stage and Silvio D’Amato’s cold heart.
But really, who would want to harm Silvio or this, his pride and joy?
A question he’d asked Silvio when his ex-brother-in-law had strong-armed him into this gig. “We all have enemies, Parker, you know that. Just as we all have secrets.” His brown eyes had darkened and he’d taken a sip from his glass of Pinot.
Secrets…anyone entangled with the D’Amato family got the crash course on family skeletons.
“Should I be watching for someone from Uncle Alberto’s side of the family, or have things been quiet on that front?” Parker had asked Silvio Junior.
Although Silvio let the question drop, the vein pulsing in his forehead had provided all the answer Parker needed. “Just do the job I’m paying you for,” Silvio had snapped.
But it wasn’t money that drew Parker here tonight. Though he was loath to admit it, Parker couldn’t stay away. He hoped to see Resa again. Call it idle curiosity or something deeper, but he’d never been able to resist a chance to be near her.
Resa…
He was on alert for her as he walked the perimeter and observed the guests all talking, laughing and sipping ruby-red wine. He recognized more than a few faces—relatives or business partners he’d met at family to-dos when he’d been married to Resa.
A lifetime ago.
After a brisk stroll past the chapter house and the former dormitory he did a perimeter check of the garden area, but found nothing that warranted a second glance. The cellars seemed secure, the kitchen and dining room were occupied by a frenzied staff that had been screened and cleared before the event.
And then he saw her.
At least a glimpse.
Resa.
His heart clutched. He’d known there was a chance she’d show up, but had thought that if Silvio had mentioned that he’d be there, she might have passed. Apparently not so. He caught a glimpse of her walking down a long hallway lit by candles, her dark hair sweeping her shoulders.
Or maybe he’d been mistaken.
That woman didn’t seem to move with the same grace he remembered of Resa, or was that his imagination? Had he made her more of a sensual enigma with the passage of time? Just as wives who died suddenly were often elevated to sainthood in the surviving husband’s mind, maybe his perception of Resa was imbued with sexual mystery.
Get it straight. Remember how it played out, he reminded himself. Yes, she’d set her sights on him. Yes, she’d come on to him, lured him. Yes, she’d used him to rebel against her family and yes, she’d tossed him aside when the going got rough. But had he created an image of a woman who had never really existed?
The woman with auburn hair joined a group, and he realized it couldn’t be her. With Resa, there was always that tug in his gut, that chemistry.
He couldn’t let himself be distracted. Whether Resa was at the event or not, he had to pay attention. Silvio was taking the stage, smiling, welcoming people to the D’Amato Monastery Estates and the crowd seemed rapt, all eyes turned toward the dais. So far so good.
He turned away from the dais and saw her again…this time closer to the old chapter house doorway. Instinctively, he eased toward her, moving around the edge of the crowd and along the passageways of the cloister.
Remembering.
How they’d come together; how they’d been ripped apart.
Though she didn’t look over her shoulder, she slipped through the doorway to the old library. Behind him Silvio’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“…our unique blend…oaky, with just a hint of pear…”
Parker barely noticed. He told himself that he wasn’t following his ex-wife just to talk to her, but that there was something secretive and restless about her. Something that required soothing.
As if Resa is going to do anything desperate. Come on, Parker, you know better. Get back to your job. Forget her.
But he followed her through the library to the dormitory and the night stairs, which were originally used by the monks in the evening to get from their rooms to the church.
But they’d been locked. Right? Hadn’t Oscar said they’d all been secured?
Hell.
She was ahead of him, walking swiftly, stirring the flames of candles flickering in wall sconces, all part of the ambiance of the party. Into the stairwell she went, and he held back the urge to shout or startle her.
At the stairs to the church she stopped, turned and sent him a sizzling glare that melted his bones. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
He approached, smelled the scent of gardenias, a perfume he’d always equate with her and those incredible nights of twisted sheets, sweaty muscles and pure heaven.
“I was hired. What about you?”
“Invited. I’m family. Remember? You’re not. Not anymore.”
He ignored the barb. “So why aren’t you out celebrating and lifting your glass to your brother?”
Her smile twisted wickedly. “Being part of this family is a dubious honor at best. Listening to Silvio—” She rolled her expressive eyes and turned a slim palm toward the heavens. “Come on! Talk about boring.”
“Then why show?”
“Free drinks,” she said, then laughed at her own joke.
He was caught again. Quick as lightning he was trapped in that invisible but steely hold she had over him, and she knew it. He saw it in the warm liquid brown of her eyes, the curve of her mouth.
“It’s good to see you.” The words slipped out before he could catch himself.
“I don’t know why.” Her brown eyes met his, and he felt locked in her gaze, lost in her scent, a mixture of gardenias and fresh rain. “Nothing has changed, Lucas. We can’t fix what’s shattered.”
He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter; he was willing to settle for the things that remained whole…a pair of brown eyes so warm they could ward off a winter night, a hint of gardenia and spring rain. But before he could find the words, the moment had passed. The window closed.
Lifting an eyebrow, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to the ladies’ room.” She turned on a heel, then looked over her shoulder. “And you’re definitely not invited.”
A reference, no doubt, to the times he’d sat on the rim of the tub while she’d bathed in mounds of scented bubbles and allowed his hands to wander under the piles of foam and through the deep water to touch her in the most intimate of places. There had been candles surrounding the tub and they’d sipped wine, D’Amato Chardonnay, and she’d moaned in pleasure until he’d lost control and joined her.