Back in His Bed. Heidi Rice

his hand again to help her out.

      She definitely didn’t want to go inside alone. “Can’t you take me back…?” She stopped as Michael’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. Of course not. That would be silly.

      She was an adult; she could walk into a party by herself. More importantly, she was the owner of Amante Verano, Max’s pride and joy, and this party was in his honor. She allowed Michael to help her from the limo, and took a deep breath to steady herself as a doorman opened the massive entry doors for her.

      She could do this. No problem.

      She was also going to kill Jack Garrett later.

      An hour later, Brenna was plotting inventive and painful ways for Jack to die as she made awkward small talk with strangers. The fake smile was starting to hurt her cheeks, and she wished she’d stuck to her earlier resolution not to come at all.

      Everyone had known Max, so he was a safe and easy topic of conversation for her, but without fail the conversation would turn quickly to Max’s other interests in San Francisco—which she knew little to nothing about—and then on to people she didn’t know and places she’d never been. She had nothing to add to the conversation, and she could only ask so many questions before she began to look like some hayseed hick from the boonies.

      She certainly felt like one.

      A server offered her another glass of wine, and for the first time in her life she declined. The caterers had the Cabernet too cold and the Chardonnay too warm, totally ruining them both. But several people, on learning she was the vintner at Amante Verano, complimented her on the wines. One older gentleman, who owned a chain of popular restaurants across the state, seemed very interested in adding her wines to his wine list. Jack had been right about that much: this was as much a business affair as a social one. She didn’t feel bad, since it was Max’s celebration anyway and he’d be happy to see his wines’ reputation grow, but if she was making business contacts here it meant everyone else was, too, and that just felt wrong.

      Escaping to the ladies’ room, she touched up her lipstick and checked to see Di’s up do was staying put. For once, Di was wrong: her hair was holding the curls just fine, and none had escaped the mass of pins she’d used to hold them in place.

      She stared at herself in the mirror, oddly pleased with herself. In spite of everything, she’d handled this event just fine. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth: she, of all people, had just mingled her way into what could lead to a lucrative business contact. A small surge of pride moved through her.

      She hesitated, though, before heading back out into the party proper, and glanced at her watch one last time.

      Jack was now an hour and a half late. Damn it. What was keeping him?

      “Excuse me. Have we met?”

      Brenna turned to see a woman about her age; while her face looked vaguely familiar, she couldn’t place her. She plastered a smile on her face regardless. “Possibly. I’m Brenna Walsh, from Amante Verano Cellars.” At the woman’s blank look, she added helpfully, “Max Garrett’s vineyard?”

      “Oh, you’re Jack’s ex.”

      She’d known this moment would come. “Yes, that, too.”

      “Is Jack here?”

      “Not yet, but he is planning to come.”

      “Oh, good. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him.” The woman opened her purse and pulled out a lipstick.

      “And you are…?” Brenna prompted.

      “Libby Winston. We met years ago at another event. I think it was shortly after you and Jack got married.”

      Brenna still couldn’t place her, and it must have shown on her face.

      “You probably met so many of Jack’s friends, and it was so long ago…”

      Embarrassed, she tried to explain. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m really bad at…”

      Libby brushed the apology away. “Don’t worry about it. You were so shy and quiet. I’m not surprised you don’t remember many of Jack’s friends.” Libby smiled, but it held no warmth at all. “Everyone remembers you, of course. Jack really surprised us all, getting married like that. And we certainly weren’t expecting you, either.”

      What was that supposed to mean? She tried to sound flippant. “That’s the thing about whirlwind romances. They surprise everyone.”

      “Thank goodness you came to your senses, then. I never could figure out what brought you two together.”

      Brenna officially no longer liked Libby Winston.

      Libby’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “You and Jack aren’t back together again, are you?”

      Brenna nearly choked. She had a feeling Libby might be overly interested in the answer, and after Libby’s earlier comment she was tempted to say yes. But Brenna herself wasn’t even completely sure what she and Jack were right now. “Jack and I are business partners.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Technically, they still were. She hadn’t signed the sale agreement yet.

      “That must be interesting, considering your past.”

      “Actually, it’s working out quite well.” Thankfully her phone beeped, alerting her to an incoming text message. Jack. About damn time. “Excuse me. I need to take care of this.”

      She slipped out the door before Libby could bring up any other uncomfortable subjects and read Jack’s message: “By the bar. Where are you?”

      A quick glance toward the bar, and she spotted his dark head scanning the crowd. When he spotted her, she waved, and his answering smile gave her a jolt even through her ire at his tardiness.

      “Bren, you look incredible.”

      He leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek and she muttered through her teeth, “You’re late.”

      “Unavoidable,” he whispered.

      “You’re dead meat.”

      “I’ll make it up to you.” He pulled back, still wearing that same smile for anyone watching. Stepping back, he let his eyes roam appreciatively down her body. “You look better than incredible.”

      The look sent a zing of electricity through her. Damn it, he wasn’t getting off that easy. He’d asked her to come, and she had. The least he could have done was be here. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

      Tugging on her hand, he pulled her close again and said quietly, “Then let me start making it up to you now.”

      “What? How?” Jack was leading her behind the crowd, out a side door by the kitchen, and down a back hallway as she sputtered her questions. “Where are you taking me?”

      In answer, he pushed open a door marked “Private. Rehearsal Room One.” The door closed behind them, and she heard the lock snap into place. “I apologize for being late. There was a problem with the New York property I had to sort out.”

      “And you had to bring me here to apologize?” The small room held a baby grand piano and a music stand, but little else.

      “No, I brought you here because I’ve missed you.” Jack sat on the piano bench and pulled her into his lap. “And this room is soundproof.”

      That was all the warning she got before his mouth landed on hers.