Heard It Through The Grapevine. Pamela Browning

I have to get up early in the morning,” she said curtly, though the words had a hard time moving past her suddenly dry throat.

      Josh straightened, a hint of impatience in his stance. “Gina,” he began, but she interrupted.

      “I really have to go in now,” she said on a slightly frantic note. She was beginning to feel light-headed, and she’d hardly drunk any wine at all.

      Before she knew it he had cupped a hand around her nape and was pulling her head down toward him. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe; all the air seemed to have left her lungs. She closed her eyes and an unbidden picture sprang up from somewhere deep inside—two bodies, theirs, tangled amid bedclothes, and his hand sliding slowly up from her waist to cup her breast and bring it to his mouth. The fantasy expanded until she could imagine his warm skin pressed against hers, and the arch of her back as—

      She made herself open her eyes. She shouldn’t be thinking of Josh that way. As she knew only too well, moonlight and a romantic setting did not a relationship make. She had found that out all too painfully once before.

      She took a deliberate step backward, inadvertently treading on Timothy’s tail. The cat yowled and leaped into space, and Gina nearly lost her balance.

      Josh grabbed her before she went flying off the porch, and she clutched at him in order to stabilize herself. His muscles were strong beneath the sleeve of his shirt, the fabric soft and expensive. The sight of the monogram on the pocket reminded her that he was Joshua James Corbett III, Mr. Moneybags. And she was the same person she had always been, Gina Angelini of Rio Robles, California, which was hardly in his league. She’d known it from the beginning, and he’d more than likely known it, too, since he’d chosen Tahoma and not her.

      Flustered, she pulled away. The mood was broken, but at least he had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he said.

      Gina made an effort to pull herself together. To cover her confusion, she peered into the shadows, looking for Timothy. He was sulking, no doubt, but he’d get over it when he heard the electric can opener. That sound always made him come running.

      She had barely regained her composure, when Josh spoke. “Thanks for the evening, Gina,” he said, unexpectedly formal and overly polite.

      “You’re welcome,” she said, equally as formal and polite. He raised his hand in a farewell salute as she opened the door and backed inside. Timothy poked his head out of his favorite refuge, the catnip patch, and meowed plaintively.

      “Come in, Timothy. I won’t step on you this time.” The cat, eyeing her distrustfully, jumped onto the top step and followed her up the stairs to her apartment.

      Through the kitchen window, Gina kept an eye on the back of Josh’s shirt as he disappeared around the corner of the cottage. She was in trouble, big trouble. And clearly, she’d be in over her head if she couldn’t say no to Josh Corbett and mean it.

      Chapter Three

      Josh drove away in his rented BMW, still smarting from Gina’s rejection. In the rearview mirror, he saw a light flick on upstairs in the cottage. He slowed the car and leaned his head out the window to glance back. Gina’s shapely silhouette was framed in the square of light, showing off her considerable attributes.

      Which happened to include what might be the most voluptuous breasts he’d ever seen; not that he’d actually seen them, but give him time. And that long elegant neck of hers, and that thick mane of naturally ash-blond hair, which set off to perfection her tawny complexion and dark, dark eyes. As Gina moved from one side of the room to the other, Josh accelerated quickly so he wouldn’t be witness to whatever she did next. He might have the hots for her, but a Peeping Tom he was not.

      Business. I’m here on business, he reminded himself. At the moment, however, pleasure seemed a whole lot more important.

      When he reached the large two-story house near the river where he’d rented an apartment yesterday, Mrs. Upthegrove, his landlady, was walking her beagle, Sadie, along the path leading to the back of the house. The landlady was as spare and tall as Sadie was short and fat, which disproved the idea that dog owners tended to resemble their dogs.

      “Hello, Josh,” she said pleasantly, tossing long salt-and-pepper bangs back from her face. “How’s your room? You’ve got a hundred and something TV channels in there because of my new satellite dish.”

      Josh hadn’t turned on the TV since he’d arrived, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her. “Everything’s great,” he said. His apartment had been carved from the bottom floor of the house and consisted of the former library, an enormous bathroom and a bedroom that had once been a large pantry.

      “Did you find Gina at her shop, like I said?”

      “Yes,” he said, figuring that he might as well stop to scratch an adoring Sadie behind her floppy ears.

      “Gina’s in a position to help you learn more about the wine country for the article you’re writing.”

      He’d said that an article was in the works, which was true. But that wasn’t the only reason he was visiting the Napa Valley. He was prepared to remain mum on that topic, however, so as not to blow his cover.

      “Thanks for pointing me in the right direction.”

      “Oh, no problem. Let me know if I can do anything else to help.”

      He turned to walk away, but Mrs. Upthegrove, who had urged him to call her Judy Rae yesterday when he’d written her a check for a month’s rent, followed along.

      “Was it wonderful for you and Gina to get reacquainted after two years?” the landlady asked with great interest. “Was she happy to see you?”

      “It was great,” Josh replied, though he wasn’t sure this was true for Gina. He’d skip answering the second question, since the moment she’d recognized him Gina had ordered him out of her shop.

      “Good,” said his landlady with great satisfaction. “I always thought you chose the wrong woman. That Tahoma was bad news.”

      He couldn’t have agreed more, but he had his key at the ready to unlock the door and didn’t want to prolong the conversation any longer than necessary. “Good night, Mrs. Upthegrove,” he said firmly.

      “Judy Rae,” she reminded him, so he repeated it after her and closed the door before she could say anything more.

      His apartment was configured so that he entered it through the bedroom, which was small, but the double bed was comfortable and the window faced the meandering Napa River. The living room, or the former library, was sumptuously paneled in mellow old oak, and three walls of shelves housed books. At one end was a small rudimentary kitchen, and beside it the entrance to the bathroom, which had a tub with claw feet and a floor made of shiny dark green marble.

      This apartment, like the smaller one next door, was tastefully furnished with cast-off furniture from the rest of the house, which Judy Rae had confided was too expensive to maintain without tenants to help with the bills. Some of the pieces, like the bed, were antiques. Others were new, such as the gaily patterned rug covering the tile floor.

      Josh peeled off his clothes, lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling in the dim light from the lamp across the room. For a moment, he wished he were home in Boston. Yet if he were miraculously able to transport himself to his own comfortable town house on Beacon Hill, he wouldn’t be plotting how to wangle more time with Gina Angelini, as he was now.

      Gina. Her very name made him feel all warm inside. Gina Angelini, Gina the angel, Gina the beautiful. Why had he ever turned her away?

      Because, in his judgment at the time, she was too natural and unspoiled, too gentle and sweet, to be subjected to the media attention sure to follow his choice. Throughout the filming of the show, Gina had sent signals that she was uncomfortable with celebrity; she had been noticeably homesick when she first arrived in Scotland. Still, he’d