Blood Vine Read online

  “Yes, the grapes are from our family vines on Šolta, before they were burned,” Andre said.

  “A fire?” How tragic, to lose so much heritage.

  Andre sipped his wine before he said, “Yes, that’s why I—why my family came to the U.S.”

  “When was the fire?” Zoey asked.

  “Eighteen forty-seven,” Andre said. Her next question had formed on her lips when he added, “It is a very long story. Another time?”

  “Sure.”

  “This wine was produced from the Šoltan vines planted when this estate was founded, and recently spliced onto the vines on my new land.”

  “But—” Zoey checked to be certain she understood “—it’s the Zinfandel grape whose name I have no hope of saying in Croatian?”

  “Yes, that one.” Andre nodded. “The vineyards we acquired several years ago bear a startling similarity to our vineyards in Šolta and the resulting wine tastes just like the ones we used to make.”

  “Were you actually able to taste wines made by your family so long ago?”

  He tilted his head. “Able to taste them? Oh, I see. Yes, I was fortunate enough to taste wine made from that vineyard.”

  Why did she feel like he was evading her question?

  Pedro lifted the glass and swirled it. “She’s been breathing for a while now.”

  “She?” asked Zoey.

  “I let Andre decide the gender. It’s his wine.”

  Andre let out a quiet snort. “You don’t let me decide anything.” Then he raised his glass and said, “Živili.”

  “Živili,” Pedro said.

  “Cheers?” Zoey asked.

  Pedro nodded. “Pretty much.”

  She brought her glass to her mouth and glanced at Andre to find him watching. She lowered her lids and concentrated. When the wine hit her tongue, she opened them wide again.

  She ran her tongue along the back of her teeth, searching out words for the astonishing mixture of flavors in her mouth. “It’s as thick as blood…and it tastes like sunshine, raisins, and peppery licorice.”

  The flecks in his green eyes glittered. “Yes, Zoey, it does.” For the first time, he didn’t call her Ms. Porter. “Your palate is perfect.”

  He looked delighted with her. She glanced away, her head suddenly light, as if she hadn’t eaten all day. Darting her eyes back to him, his face had gone neutral. She wanted the delight back.

  “Let’s go in to dinner,” he said, snapping her out of the trance.

  For an instant, it seemed like he would take her arm and she leaned in, aching for the touch. Then he backed off. His deer-in-headlights look returned, and he pointed the way into to the dining room instead. Zoey walked ahead of him quickly, hoping her face didn’t show her disappointment.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She wasn’t a swooner. And besides, he was clearly trying to keep things professional. She should follow his cue.

  With the same ivory walls and French doors, the dining room appealed to Zoey almost as much as the parlor. Savory garlic and thyme scented the air. They sat at the end of a large table. Zoey was across from Andre, which required her to look at him often. His lips quirked into a grin sometimes, but what would it be like to see his handsome face in a full-blown smile?

  Lena served tender homemade pasta in tomato sauce, a crisp-skinned roast chicken, and lemon tarts for dessert. Zoey had rarely eaten a meal so delicious in San Francisco’s best restaurants.

  Andre leaned over the table and gestured with his big hands like a stereotypical Mediterranean man. He spoke animatedly about local winemakers and their wines, hardly touching his food. Zoey asked lots of questions. By the end, she understood much more about the wine market. Nostalgia explained why the wine mattered to Andre, but she still didn’t understand why he wanted to rebrand it.

  Pedro slipped out without a word, and she assumed he would be gone for just a moment. Andre continued discussing the technical side of winemaking. She could listen to him all night, with that accent that made him sound like a sexy bad guy in a James Bond movie. He knew everything about wine, but he wasn’t a snob.

  After half an hour alone with him she guessed, “Pedro’s not coming back, is he?”

  Andre touched his forehead and shook his head. “I think not.”

  “Why?”

  “I suspect that he and Kos were amused to find that you and I had—” he paused “—crossed paths before. Either they think they are playing cupid, or being very funny.”

  “Oh.” She blushed. “Well, then can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes. But I retain the right not to answer.” Something glinted in his eye.

  She suddenly felt like she had a genie in a bottle and only one wish. She wondered about him, his family history, his age. What if she didn’t ask the right one? He probably wouldn’t answer something personal, so she stuck with the question she had intended.

  “Why am I here? There’s something about your goals for this project that you’re not telling me. If I don’t know what you’re really after, I can’t help you get it.”

  “You’re right.”

  She waited a long time for him to go on, forcing herself not to look away as he watched her.

  Lifting his glass, he emptied it in one deep swallow. “Evening is my favorite time to roam. If you’re willing to walk with me, I will try to answer your question.”

  “I’d love to. Pedro only showed me the vineyards close to the house. It would feel good to stretch my legs more.”

  “Did you bring a pair of jeans and some sturdy shoes?”

  “Yes. I’ll go change.”

  Which jacket should he wear? Andre’s favorite looked threadbare, and suddenly he cared. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head and pulled on a utilitarian sweatshirt. Was it a mistake to invite her on this walk? Perhaps, but it was too late to change his mind.

  Zoey was already waiting in the kitchen. She looked him over brazenly.

  It was only fair to give her the same gaze, up from her tennis shoes to her thick brown braid and back down. Her tight jeans fit snugly to her ankle. They would have seemed impractical, but he had peeled jeans like that off enough women to know they were very stretchy. She filled them out nicely. He could not abide a skinny woman. Of course, she probably thought her thighs were too big, but they were to his liking, and would surely look even better wrapped around his waist.

  Davo. His jeans were suddenly too tight for his growing erection.

  She had on a long-sleeved athletic top made of some synthetic material that no doubt wicked, resisted, and blocked all manner of things. He held the door open for her and took a long look at her ass as she walked through. Just as sweet as he remembered.

  Side by side, they walked north into a vineyard. The bright moon was helpful—she would be able to see well and wouldn’t notice his keen eyesight. Even to his ears, the night was quiet, and he remembered the similarly companionable silence the night they met.

  How to answer her question about the project? If she was Ethan Bennett’s spy, his revelations might put the household in danger. Or worse. If the Hunters learned of the power of the wine, more than one hundred years’ work would be ash.

  Unsure what to reveal, he began. “You asked about my goals for the wine…” The sound of her breaths, quick and shallow, meant she was working to keep up. He slowed his pace. “I mentioned that my family’s home burned in the middle of the nineteenth century?”

  “Yes,” she replied. She walked a few steps ahead. Gravel and dry earth crunched under their feet.

  “It was a terrible war. Do you know about the history of ethnic conflict in the Balkans?”

  “Only that there is one.”

  “Yes, well. One—” he searched for the right word “—clan was intent on killing my whole clan.”

  In front of him, she stopped walking and spun to face him, her mouth slack. Good to know she found genocide upsetting.

  A few long steps took him to her side and she fell into pace
with him again. “My clan was so frightened that we disbanded and went into hiding. We have all changed our names and spread out across the United States. We don’t know how to find one another—”

  “But, if you can’t find them—”

  “That is why I need you. I want to use the wine to send them a message. I hope it will allow us to reconnect.”

  Before he even finished speaking, her head shook. “Andre, you’re talking about five or six generations. Why is this so important to you, and how can you know it will matter to the other descendants of your clan?”

  If he told her more, would he jeopardize everything? Their footsteps filled the silence until he spoke. “My clan values its traditions and ties to the homeland above all else. I am certain these traditions are alive with the other refugees. Winemaking is in our blood, and I have to believe they will remain on the lookout for a message.” He had told them to, all those years ago. Davo, they better still be paying attention.

  She stopped again and faced him, forcing him to a standstill. “If your homeland on Šolta is so important to you, why don’t you return? Or for that matter, just reach out to them on the Internet.”

  “Neither of those is an option.”

  “Why?”

  He raked an arc in the gravel with his toe. “You may think us paranoid, but we do not believe we would be safe, even after all these years. We cannot risk being found.”

  She scratched her head through hair that looked delightfully thick. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “You all have something like collective post traumatic stress disorder.”

  “Perhaps. But, as the saying goes, just because we are paranoid does not mean they are not out to get us.”

  She laughed, but he didn’t. “You’re serious? It’s hard to imagine what would frighten a man like you.”

  Instantly, her cheeks went pink in the moonlight and she took a hurried step. How far did that blush go down her chest? He followed her. Yes, she would find it hard to imagine many things about him.

  They reached the top of a low hill. He pointed at the vineyards most recently added to his estate. “This is where I stood when I discovered that land is very similar to my homeland.” A breeze rustled through shrubs and once again the scent of the soil and plants became a portal to another time and place. His eyelids closed of their own accord, and he remembered what it was like to be safe and strong.

  When he opened them, she was looking out over the vines that snaked along the rolling hills. It was a chance to watch her unobserved. At dinner and now, he noticed that, whenever she was silent, she had an unnatural stillness about her. It unsettled him—she was simply too calm. He wanted to shake her, or kiss her, or do something to draw the life out of her.

  She stirred, and pointed at a wooded area in the shallow valley below. “What’s that?”

  Leaning in to follow the line of her finger, he answered. “A small spring. It waters all those shrubs.”

  “Will you show me?”

  His fingertips came to rest between her shoulders. She jerked at the touch, then pushed into it slightly. What did she think of seeing him again, and what did she think was going to happen out here alone in the night with him?

  He guided her toward the spring. The path narrowed. Behind him, her footsteps were a slow beat on the gravelly path. Darkness thickened on the descent into the little valley.

  The telltale sound of rolling rocks hit him before Zoey gasped. She’d slipped on the loose gravel about ten feet behind him. He raced to cover the distance, just barely catching her before she hit the ground. Silently cursing his weakness, he righted her and held her arm until she found her balance. Moving like a tortoise was a nasty reminder that he was wasting away.

  Clinging to him, and shaking her head, she looked stunned to be on her feet—clearly her mind had already prepared her for impact.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She gripped his shoulder and his forearm, digging into his flesh with dainty fingertips. She blinked. “Thank you. How did you catch me?”

  “You are welcome. But, Zoey, are you hurt?”

  “Fine. Fine.” She shook her head as if trying to clear it.

  “Come this way, the spring is just over here.” He tugged her wrist gently, hoping to distract her from the questions she wanted to ask.

  The spring was surrounded by small trees and shrubs, forming an arching cathedral overhead. He stooped under tree limbs to reach the source of the water. Behind him, she had to squeeze closer to fit into the small space. As she drew near, he noticed how far she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eye. He was used to being tall, but he had at least a foot on her. Even little Mila had been several inches taller than her.

  Stepping onto a rock next to him, she bridged the difference in their heights. “Thank you for catching me.”

  “As I said, it was no problem. I am pleased that you are uninjured.”

  She pointed her finger into his chest. “Andre Maras…it’s strange to know your name.”

  Was she flirting? “It is a little strange, Ms. Zoey Porter.”

  The hint of a smile played on her lips. Her warm palms came to rest high on his chest and her fingers curled around his shoulders, tugging him closer.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he said.

  “Me either.” It was so sexy, the way she bit her lower lip. “But, this coincidence is hard to ignore. Don’t you wonder…?” Her eyelids lowered when she looked at his mouth.

  Davo. This was not good. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I haven’t kissed a woman in a long time.”

  Stepping off the rock, she pulled away, leaving him cold. “What? Like since the last time you picked someone up in a bar?”

  “Please. I don’t kiss women I meet in bars.”

  “But you were there to pick somebody up that night? I couldn’t have misread that.”

  “Yes, of course. But not for kissing, just for…you know, a quick fuck.”

  Her lips parted in what could only be astonishment.

  Double davo. He’d made it worse. Women were impossibly confusing. “Isn’t that why you were there?”

  She threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin, recovering quickly from whatever had surprised her. It seemed Ms. Porter didn’t like to be at a loss.

  “Sure,” she said. “But I’ve never actually picked up someone in a bar. I expected kissing.”

  “Never?” That surprised him. She’d seemed so confident sitting next to him that night. Then again, she’d seemed confident in every situation he had seen her in today. Even admitting her inexperience picking up men, she seemed self-assured.

  She shrugged. “That was my first, and last, attempt.”

  Oddly, pleasure surged in him at her admission. Next came possessiveness, which made no sense—she wasn’t his and he didn’t want her to be. “Why was it your last?”

  Wind rustled the leaves overhead, and a beam of moonlight broke through, causing her eyes to sparkle. She looked down at the pool of gurgling spring water. “I was looking for a casual hook up. I guess you taught me a lesson about getting more than I bargained for.”

  If she only knew.

  Oh hell, she was walking back toward him—slowly. “Andre, how old are you?”

  He gulped down a dry swallow, as he watched the way her slow gait made her hips sway. He should put a stop to all this right now. Instead, he said, “Older than you, Ms.…Zoey. What are you, twenty-nine, thirty?”

  Her eyes jerked to his. They were the saddest things he had ever seen. But her tone came out light. “I’m thirty-one. It would have been polite to low-ball your guess, you know.”

  Watching her move hypnotized him. “Why bother? I’m not interested in girls.”

  The confession must have inspired her, because she made her own. “It’s totally unprofessional to say this. But, this feels the same, like that night…”

  Blood pounded hot through his veins, making his bra
in throb, making it hard to think. She was right, and he needed to keep away from her because of it.

  She took another step, and the clean womanly smell of her filled his nose. “I’m curious why you make me feel this way. No one…” She froze, mid-sentence, inches from him.

  Walk away, just like she did. Walk. Away.

  The brown of her eyes was like the richest Šoltan soil. He searched them for the thing that drew him. This time it looked like pure desire. He had been half-erect thinking about her all day—her look of wanting brought him fully to life.

  This time he was no tortoise. Lightning fast, he pinned her back against a tree with his hips. Growling, he bent his head to hers and began a kiss nice and slow, to rein in his animal instincts. It would take all the restraint he had to keep from biting. He brushed his lips across hers and felt her body tense up like a bow.

  A second later, her tongue probed at the seam of his lips. It seemed that Ms. Porter didn’t want him slow and restrained. Another wave of desire hit him, hard. She forced his mouth open and swept past his teeth until she found his tongue. He cupped her ass and her hips began to rock.

  There was no stopping now. He lifted her so that she could wrap her legs around him. She rubbed herself up and down his length with the roll of her hips. He sucked on her tongue, and the taste of his wine lingered in her mouth. Then he stilled her hips with his hands and thrust both his tongue and his hips in a rhythm that caused her to moan.

  He lifted her shirt, trying to reach her breasts. Underneath, she had on a tank top with an elastic bra built in. She lifted her arms. Struggling with all the layers, he said, “Damn it, I shouldn’t have told you to take off that dress. I could have had it off you much faster.”

  “What’s the hurry, Mr. Quick Fuck?”

  Still focused on peeling off her layers, her tone made him smile. “Time for slow later, I want you now.” He lifted her tank over her head, baring her breasts, and growled again. “Beautiful. You are so beautiful.” Looking up to her face, her smile was exultant and his heart soared.

  He slid her down his body so her feet were back on the ground and then he knelt in front of her. He lightly licked one of her nipples. When her soft, sweet skin pearled under his tongue he moved to the other. Then he began to suck her breast harder and ran his hand up her thigh, using his thumb to search for her clit through her jeans. She gasped when he found it and began rubbing quick circles as he drew on her breast with his insistent sucking.