Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair Read Free Book Online Page A

stop thinking with this,” Drew patted his chest, “and start thinking up here. I’m sure that some kind of partnership between the two properties can be reached.”
    Nate laughed. “You obviously have no idea how Frankie works. She would never get involved with a DeLuca.”
    Nate knew that firsthand.
    As though sensing she was the topic of conversation, Frankie dropped her feet to the floor, and, after pocketing her knife, strode toward him with enough purpose and attitude to scare even the manliest of men.
    Nate leaned against the table, crossing his ankles, and smiled. “Hey, Francesca.”
    She stopped when they were toe to toe, her eyes narrowed into two irritated slits as she gave him a long onceover. He gave her an equally long assessment, taking in the way she smelled—freaking incredible—and how her blouse hugged her breasts. Breasts he had spent the past two days convincing himself couldn’t be as perfect as he’d imagined.
    They weren’t. They were even better. Almost as impressive as her backside, not that he could see it right now with her staring him down, but he remembered.
    When the tapping of her combat boots didn’t get her desired results, she cleared her throat, letting him know he was caught staring. He raised his eyes and—
oh yeah
—her baby blues lit up, her face softened and she smiled. And his brain glitched. Just like that. One smile and he was so gone.
    “Seven and a half million,” she said, still smiling, and he was smiling back. “What an idiot.”
    By the time her words set in, she was already shoving her way through the crowd, proving them both right: He
was
an idiot and her ass was as sweet as he remembered.
    “Good to see you too, Frankie,” Nate called out.
    “Bite me,” she said over her shoulder, flipping him the bird as she made her way toward the exit.
    “You’re right,” Drew laughed, clapping Nate on the back. “I don’t know how that woman works, but you obviously do. How long have you two been circling each other?”
    “Since high school,” Trey said, his eyes equally as glued to Frankie’s retreating backside as she pushed through the massive double doors. Nate elbowed him.
    “Maybe it’s time you let yourself get caught,” Drew suggested, packing up his briefcase.
    “Get caught?” Nate asked, dismayed. Not at the idea of Frankie’s more than capable hand on him because, sweet Jesus, tangling with Frankie would be like skydiving, alligator wrestling, and silky, sweet curves all rolled into one. But because spending time with Frankie and not getting involved would be impossible.
    No, Nate and Frankie as anything more than bitter friends would be a mistake. And Nate didn’t do mistakes. Not ones that had the potential to blow up into a disaster of epic proportions.
    “All I am saying is that Pricket can be a hard ass and I don’t think he was joking. If you two can’t find a way to play nice then you
will
lose that property and I guarantee that Pricket will make it so no one in your family for the next hundred years will be able to get their hands on it.” Drew gave Nate a serious look. “You want that land? Maybe it’s time to change up the rules.”

    Frankie passed between the marble columns and down the front steps of town hall, which spanned the entire length of the building, heading toward the parking lot. A warm breeze blew past and the thin layer of maple leaves, so yellow that the town seemed tinted with the season, floated down Main Street, past each brick-faced storefront decorated with pumpkins, and underthe festive banner advertising the upcoming harvest and Cork Crawl.
    Shifting her helmet, she stepped off the curb by her motorcycle and stopped, her stomach plummeting to her toes.
    Further down the two-lane street, exiting The Barrel Buyer—a specialty wine shoppe and tasting room—was her grandfather, briefcase in hand, scowl in place. He headed toward his sedan and was about to open the door when he looked up and spotted