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Chapter Three

At nine the next morning, Sullivan met Lissa at the vineyard office, a small, wood-paneled room that held file cabinets, a computer and an expansive antique desk. It looked like the usual workplace, but a mauve, overstuffed sofa against the far wall and a kitchenette in the corner suggested Lissa spent a lot of time here.

And so did the little puppy that lay curled up on a doggie bed by the potbellied stove.

Sullivan watched as Lissa made a pot of coffee from beans she’d ground only a moment ago.

As she had yesterday, she wore a plain, loose-fitting blouse and the same style of baggy trousers—this time a drab brown.

Why did she choose such dull colors when green or blue would highlight those expressive eyes?

Her mother and sister dressed stylishly, so he had to assume that Lissa preferred to be nondescript. Was that so she would be taken more seriously in the business world? Maybe. It made sense.

As she worked, he watched her from behind. She’d woven her hair into a long, single braid that hung down her back. He figured the strands might reach her waist, if she let it free.

Lissa turned, facing him. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Sugar,” he said. “No cream.”

He’d expected her to turn around and return to her work, but she didn’t move. She just stood there like a deer in the meadow, head raised, eyes focused on a potential foe.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He hadn’t meant to be gawking. But long hair on women had always fascinated him.

If he and Lissa were dating, and his opinion meant something to her, he’d suggest she wear it loose, over her shoulders and down her back. But they weren’t dating, so he kept his opinion to himself.

Still, he had half a notion to tease her a bit, to see if she would loosen up. He was flirtatious by nature, and the playful banter between a man and a woman came easily to him. But he’d better back off. His relationship with Lissa was strictly business. And he’d be wise to keep it that way.

The coffee began to gurgle and sputter as it dribbled into the pot, and soon, the aroma of a robust brew permeated the room.

Lissa withdrew a crystal sugar bowl and two mugs from the small overhead cupboard, and he watched the braid swish along the curve of her back. Yesterday she’d worn her hair twisted in a knot. Did she prefer it trussed up and out of the way?

Maybe she disliked it long, but was too busy to go to the salon for a cut and style. It didn’t matter, he supposed. But the woman intrigued him for some reason.

Her shyness maybe? Her focus on business and finances? Or maybe because he suspected there was a lot more going on behind those vibrant green eyes than most people knew.

As she handed him a cup of coffee, their fingers brushed, and something passed between them. A soft and gentle awareness, a lingering connection of some kind.

Had that initial little spark of attraction he’d felt for her grown?

If so, he wouldn’t act upon it. Lissa Cartwright was too complex, too real. Too rooted in family and responsibility. When he’d been younger and more naive, she would have been the kind of woman he could have cared for—before he’d learned not to believe in romantic dreams.

She snagged his gaze. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most interesting eyes?”

He had interesting eyes? Hell, she was the one with eyes that would stop a man dead in his tracks. But he didn’t want to go there.

“My eyes aren’t anything special,” he said. “They’re just brown—or hazel, I guess.”

“The sunlight is coming through that window.” She nodded to the pane of glass on the east wall. “And it highlights little gold flecks. The color is really unusual.”

Sullivan stiffened. He wasn’t comfortable with her looking at him like that, as if he had something she’d never seen before, as if she thought he was someone special. But he quickly scoffed it off.

She’d only noticed his eye color because of the way the morning sun poured through the window. And she’d merely made a comment, which for some goofy reason, he continued to ponder.

Did his eyes really have gold flecks? If he had a mirror handy, he’d take a peek, just to see what she saw.

“The color is beautiful,” she said, her voice going kind of soft.

“Just in the sunlight.” He cast off her compliment and tried to shift the focus away from himself. “You’re the one with a stunning pair of peepers.”

She cocked her head slightly, as though trying to decipher his words. “Me?”

“What’s the matter? Surely, you’ve had tons of compliments over the years.”

“Mostly from my mom,” she said, cheeks starting to flush. “Although maybe some lady in a grocery store said something once or twice.”

Well, now. See? That’s what happened when a person tried to downplay their looks so no one would notice them. Sometimes it worked.

“You do have pretty eyes,” he told her. “Whether you believe it or not. They’re the color of new leaves.”

Great. Now he was talking like a friggin’ poet.

She thanked him, yet still appeared skeptical.

“By the way,” he added, reneging on his earlier decision to keep his opinion to himself. “You ought to wear green or blue. To bring out the color of your eyes, you know.”

She glanced down at a pair of brown, rubber-soled loafers—shoes that looked a lot like the ones his great-aunt Clara wore. Then she looked up at him with a doe-eyed gaze that reached deep into his chest.

Whoa. That was a little too close for comfort.

He took his mug, then turned and strode toward the sofa—but only because it was on the far side of the room. Away from her, away from the weird stuff he felt whenever she looked at him that way.

Lissa Cartwright was not the kind of woman he pursued. And she was certainly off-limits until his business with the vineyard was over.

From across the room, and from a much safer distance, he turned, took a sip of coffee then asked, “How about a tour of the vineyard?”

“Sure. After we go over the guest list for the dinner party tomorrow night. I’d like you to know who’ll be there ahead of time.” Lissa reached into the top desk drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper and set it upon the oak desktop.

“What’s the purpose of the gathering?” he asked.

“We want to start a buzz about the new blend. So we’ve invited several local vintners and a reporter from Through the Grapevine, a local magazine that has expanded its circulation and should bring in more tourists and interest in the wine region.”

While Lissa described each guest and gave Sullivan a rundown of their holdings and achievements in the industry, they finished their coffee. Then, leaving the puppy to snooze on its bed, they set out to see every nook and cranny of the vineyard.

The air was fresh and clean from a rain they’d had a couple days before, and as they strolled through the parklike grounds, Sullivan was amazed at the beauty of the place. Besides row upon row of grapes that grew on the rolling hillsides, the lush property displayed a stone-lined fishpond that hosted several mallards and two black swans.

The manicured lawns nearly begged for people to sit and relish the peaceful sight.

“Why haven’t you opened up Valencia Vineyards for visitors and tastings?” he asked. “The grounds are beautiful, and I think you could really draw in a fair number of tourists each month.”

“We’ve thought about it,” Lissa said. “But we’ve always preferred our privacy.”

“You called me in for advice,” he reminded her.

“And my father and I intend to consider everything you suggest.” She led him into the new winery that had replaced the older facility they’d used in the past.

“The construction of this building was a major expense,” she explained. “And some hidden costs depleted our funds more than we’re comfortable with. That’s the primary reason we brought you in as a marketing consultant.”

“Then you’re in luck. I’m always glad to offer my services.”

She bit her bottom lip and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She wore an interesting expression.

One that seemed to ask how far he’d go to offer his services.

After they’d explored the new winery, Sullivan said, “You’ve done a wonderful job creating a modern and efficient operation.”

Lissa thought so, too. “Thank you.”

“And if you decide to open the vineyard and winery for tours, word will quickly spread.”

“You’re probably right.” She’d have to discuss it with her father. After all, he was the one who valued his privacy.

“So, where’s that killer new blend I’ve been hearing about?” Sullivan asked. “Do I have to wait for that dinner party tomorrow night?”

“No. I can let you have a taste now.”

“Great.” He flashed her a smile that made her heart skip a beat, which was surprising, since she’d grown a lot more comfortable with the man over the past few hours.

Lissa led him to the tasting room, then took two glasses from the stash they kept in a solid oak cabinet. The walls were lined with wine bottles tucked into crisscrossed shelves. But her special blend remained in an oak barrel that appeared to be only a decoration. She pulled the tap, filled both glasses and offered one to Sullivan.

Before taking a drink, he clinked his goblet against hers and offered a toast. “To the special lady who made this wine.”

Lissa appreciated his thoughtful gesture, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, she watched for Sullivan’s reaction, studying the good-looking man over the rim of her glass.

She guessed he was a bit of a playboy. But how could he not be, with those sexy eyes and that flirty smile?

Sullivan Grayson was too darn attractive for his own good. Or rather, for her own good.

Yet he also had a wealth of sexual experience and could make a woman’s first time special. At least, she suspected he would.

If Lissa had any courage at all, she’d suggest a brief affair. After all, who would get hurt? Not her. She had no illusions about falling in love.

And he certainly wouldn’t get hurt, since he’d probably never given a thought to settling down. Besides, once his job with Valencia Vineyards was finished, he’d be on his way. And that reason, on top of her fierce attraction, made him a perfect first-time lover—if she were inclined to act out the silly fantasy.

For Pete’s sake. What if he wasn’t the least bit interested in being her one-time lover? And if he were, her attempts to please him would be clumsy at best. Either way, she’d be embarrassed. Humiliated.

Mortified.

Fortunately, she was too shy to even suggest it.

Sullivan closed his eyes and appeared to be savoring the taste of the wine.

She held her breath, waiting for him to comment.

When his gaze locked on hers, his expression grew serious. “Lissa, this is incredible. I’m no expert, by any means, but I know what I like.”

She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Really?”

“It’s great.” His eyes verified his sincerity. “With the fresh, unique taste we’ll need a name, something that will reflect the newness, as well as the appeal.”

“I agree.” Both she and her dad hoped that the wine would increase sales—with the right marketing strategy. “Any ideas?”

He thought for a while, then broke into a lazy grin. “There’s one word we need to use in the name.”

“What’s that?” She took a sip from her glass.

“Virgin.”

Virgin? Lissa choked, sputtered and coughed.

“Are you okay?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. I guess it just went down the wrong pipe.”

The explanation seemed to appease him, although she really hadn’t swallowed wrong. His comment had surprised her. Heck, the way Sullivan said virgin made it seem as though he thought virginity held some kind of merit, some value.

If that were the case, maybe her inexperience wouldn’t scare him away.

The idea of losing her innocence to Sullivan made her imagination soar. Of course, he’d probably be shocked if she suggested it—assuming she had the nerve to broach the subject. After all, she’d never been suggestive or forward—sexually speaking.

Besides, Sullivan had his share of beautiful women. What would make him settle for a nobody like her?

She could, of course, dream. Couldn’t she?

Lissa had become good at fantasizing. Which certainly helped, because the thought of going to her deathbed as a virgin was downright depressing, if she dwelled upon it.

“Virgin Mist,” he said. “Now, that’s a name that would appeal to the masses. It promises something new and fresh. What do you think?”

Before she could tell him it worked for her, the big, oval-topped door opened, and her father walked into the tasting room.

“How’d you like the tour?” he asked Sullivan.

“It was great. Enlightening. And the tour director really knows her stuff.” Sullivan shot Lissa a smile that nearly wobbled her knees.

“Well, she ought to. Lissa loves the vineyard.” Ken slid an arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “In fact, she’s the daughter who takes after me.”

Sullivan chuckled, and Lissa smiled.

It was nice when her father said things like that, when he seemed to forget that she was adopted.

But they both knew there was another man out there—somewhere. A faceless man who could actually lay claim to her genetic makeup.

In his Portland law office, Jared studied a legal brief, yet his mind wasn’t on his work.

He was still reeling over the fact that the clock was ticking. That he still didn’t know anything about Olivia Maddison or her child. That the PI he’d hired had been due to check in ten minutes ago.

Just as he glanced at his gold wristwatch, a beep sounded over the intercom system.

“Mr. Cambry?” his secretary asked.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Hastings with Investigative Specialties is here to see you.”

“Send him in.” Jared was eager to know what the investigator had learned, whether he’d found Olivia yet.

Moments later, Sam Hastings entered. He was a big man with a full head of blond hair and prominent brows that shaded pensive eyes.

Jared stood and reached across the table to shake hands. “Any news?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so.” Sam blew out a sigh. “Olivia is dead.”

Dead? Jared slowly dropped to his seat. “What happened?”

“Car accident. Twenty-seven years ago.”

“And the baby?” Jared asked, heart pounding. Had the child died, too?

“It was made a ward of the state and put up for adoption.”

“Now what?” Jared asked.

“Well, let me tell you what I’ve learned, what we’ve got to work with.” Sam took the seat in front of the desk, as though the revelation might take a while. “Olivia and her mother were involved in a traffic accident. Mrs. Maddison was killed instantly, and Olivia was critically injured. Paramedics took her to Portland General Hospital, where she remained in a coma until she died a few weeks later.”

“So, what do the hospital records show?” Jared asked.

“That’s the problem.” Sam took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “A few months after Olivia’s death, a severe storm caused a power surge throughout the county. The hospital’s backup generator kicked on a few seconds later, and the patients were okay. But because the computers are old and the hospital birth clinic lacked funding until the new owners, the Logans, came on board, the computer files were either lost or are nearly impossible to retrieve.”

“But surely there are paper files, not just the computer entries,” Jared said, hoping his efforts to find his firstborn hadn’t struck out completely.

“I’m afraid not. When the power surged, it caused a circuit breaker in the clinic to spark. Some of the sparks landed on a cutesy wall hanging they used as a nursery decoration. A fire started, eliminating a number of paper files regarding adoptions, foster care situations, fertility information and other things.”

Jared could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, could feel his palms growing moist, his stomach knotting. “Are you telling me that we can’t find out what happened to the baby?”

“The child survived the accident, was born prematurely and put up for adoption through the Children’s Connection. What we’ve got are bits and pieces of information.”

“Like what?” Jared asked, his hopes resurrecting.

“A name, an address, a gender…but I’m not sure what matches up.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got, and we’ll take it from there.”

Could that baby he’d fathered twenty-seven years ago be the miracle they needed?

That evening, as Lissa prepared for bed, she couldn’t find Barney. And when she asked her folks, neither of them had seen him, either. Obviously, the rascally pup had sneaked out again. But it was too dangerous for him to stay outside all night.

She grabbed her robe and put on a pair of slippers, intent on searching the grounds.

As she stood on the front porch and scanned the lawn and the pond, she spotted Sullivan sitting quietly on the deck of the cottage, her puppy in his lap.

“Looking for this little guy?” he called out.

“Yes.” She touched the sash of her blue chenille robe, checking to see that it was snug, then fingered the edge of the lapel, making sure it covered her flannel nightgown.

She walked across the grass, then made her way over the small, wooden bridge.

All the while, Sullivan watched her.

She felt weird letting him see her like this, yet she was probably more bundled up than in her street clothes.

When she neared the guest cottage, he asked, “Why don’t you join me for a while?”

Join him? Sit down on one of the padded, wrought-iron chairs on the wooden porch and chat? She really ought to take Barney and go back to the house, yet something urged her to stay.

“All right,” she said. “Just for a few minutes.”

He glanced into his lap, where the puppy rested. “This little rascal was chasing a duck, who didn’t take too kindly to being barked at.”

Lissa laughed. “Barney has a lot to learn.”

“But he’s brave. Instead of running back to the house with his tail between his legs, he wandered over to me.”

“You were sitting out here?”

He nodded. “I like sitting outside when the day is done.”

She didn’t tell him, since it seemed like an insignificant thing for two people to have in common, that sitting on the deck in the backyard was how she always started her days.

“My great-aunt Clara has a front porch like this. It overlooks the stream that runs through her property.” Sullivan shot her a crooked grin. “You have a lot in common with her.”

“How so?”

He shook his head and chuckled, but didn’t answer.

For some reason, she had a feeling he wasn’t being complimentary. And that the commonality she shared with his aunt wasn’t something to be proud of. But curiosity got the better of her. “Speak up, or I’ll take my dog and go home.”

His eyes crinkled with mirth. “She wears comfortable walking shoes like yours. And she wraps herself in chenille and flannel before going to sleep.”

So, Lissa had been right. He was making fun of her. Yet there wasn’t a cruel edge to his laughter. And she chose not to be offended by his teasing. Heck, there was nothing wrong with choosing comfort over glamour and style.

“What would you prefer I wear?” she asked. “Stiletto heels and a silk scarf?”

His eyes lit up. “Do you have them hidden in your bedroom?”

She swatted at his arm. “No. But I’ve got drawers full of flannel and chenille.”

“Too bad.” He slid her a playful grin.

The conversation had turned a bit sexual, which might have excited her, had she been dressed in satin. But her chenille robe weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

“Well,” she said. “Those few minutes have flown by. And it’s time for me to turn in.”

“I hope you’re not mad. Great-aunt Clara is a great gal. And she’s got more spunk than her eighty-five-year-old sister.”

Lissa arched a brow. “How old is your aunt?”

“Ninety-seven. And she still mows her own yard and works in the garden.”

“Impressive. Then there’s hope for the flannel-and-chenille crowd.”

“Great-aunt Clara has a boyfriend, too.” He tossed her a dimpled grin.

“You don’t say.” Lissa figured she’d be ninety before a guy noticed her.

She glanced toward the house and saw that her parents had turned off their bedroom light. Her mother’s doing, no doubt. Trying to give Lissa a little push toward romance.

When she looked at Sullivan, he was gazing at her.

“Are you involved with anyone?” he asked.

The question took her aback—in part because the truth was too revealing. She didn’t mind if he knew she chose sensible shoes. Or that she wore flannel to bed. But she didn’t want him to think of her as the awkward virgin that she was.

So she said, “No one at the moment.”

He didn’t comment, merely studied her.

But she was afraid he’d see through her half truth, so she stood. “Well, I really need to go. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

He stroked Barney’s head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, then reached to pick up the sleeping pup. As she did so, their hands touched, and a warm shiver shimmied through her veins.

Before she could react—or run—Sullivan tugged gently upon her braid. “Do you ever let your hair down, Lissa?”

“Never,” she said, her voice a near whisper.

“You ought to.” His words settled over her like a cloak of crushed velvet.

She slowly straightened, pulling her braid from his hand. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As she strode toward the house, she tried to shake the adolescent fascination with a man who was out of her league.

Yet she couldn’t shake the thought of letting her hair down—for him.