“Uh-huh.” Avery nodded, and the wispy bangs shimmered with the lustre of gold in the sunshine. “I’m sure you’re aware he was scheduled to speak at the gala, but he’s ill. Flu on top of asthma and a weak chest. The doctor says he can’t possibly fly in that condition.”
He could’ve sworn he read apprehension in her wide, Barbie-blue eyes. Not that he blamed her. Even now, seven weeks after she’d run out on him, he wanted to shake her.
Instead he shoved his fists into his pockets and said, “I’m sorry to hear he’s ill. I like Art.”
He didn’t need to add that he detested her. Avery wasn’t stupid—if she didn’t see it in his face, she’d be able to draw that inference herself.
She inhaled sharply.
Guy couldn’t help himself, he looked down. The pink roses moved, her sweet floral scent surrounded him, and he could’ve sworn his world tilted, too.
From a distance he heard her say in that breathy, bedroom voice that drove him crazy, “Well, I’m here to speak in Art’s place.”
Hell!
Inside the snowy-white bower of the grand marquee the Friday night oyster-and-champagne cocktail party that launched the Food and Wine Gala each year was in full swing. Waitresses circulated with trays piled high with hors d’oevres, while dinner-jacketed waiters refilled tulip glasses that glinted in the light of the glittering crystal chandeliers overhead.
“Erica has outdone herself,” Guy said with grudging approval to Blake as he scanned the chattering crowd who’d paid top dollar for tickets to tonight’s event.
“It’s the food that’s got the crowd talking,” said Blake, “and that’s your domain.”
Guy inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment. “It helps that every available ticket was sold,” he pointed out. “The more people here tonight, the more media coverage the festival will get, and the more word-of-mouth buzz will spread.”
“She’s certainly better at public relations than we ever expected,” his twin conceded. “But I was always certain there wouldn’t be any tickets left over to give to the local business suppliers as Erica suggested.”
“The gesture would’ve won Jarrod Ridge plenty of local goodwill.” Guy had joined his twin in vetoing the suggestion when Erica had made it. Deep down Guy suspected he’d done it more because he resented his illegitimate half sister’s very existence, rather than for sound business reasons. It was a suspicion that made him decidedly uncomfortable, one that he was not yet ready to confront.
“Anyway it would’ve made the function too big—lost the exclusivity.” Blake sounded certain.
“We could’ve limited the number of speakers who gained complimentary entry.” Guy’s brooding gaze settled on the woman whose arrival earlier had turned his hard-won peace on its head. Avery didn’t look like she had a care in the world. But he would’ve breathed a lot easier without her here tonight.
“Dad always gave festival speakers free entry to the opening night cocktail party. Mom set the tradition.”
Blake’s point hammered the final nail in the coffin. And Guy resisted the urge to argue that none of them had done what Don Jarrod wanted in life. So why the reverence for his opinion now that he was dead?
But the night of the official opening of the Food and Wine Gala was certainly not the time for friction with his twin.
Particularly not with Avery nearby. A sideways jerk of her head warned him she’d seen them. Guy edged closer to his brother. He fully intended to save his twin from Avery’s irresistible advances tonight. And damn irresistible she was, too, in a dress the color of summer sunshine. Every time she moved diamond drop earrings sparkled through the pale gold feathers of her hair. Even in this celebrity-studded crowd she attracted attention.
After giving them a brief smile of greeting, Avery showed none of this morning’s interest in Blake. From the corner of his eye Guy watched her intercept a tall, well-built stranger. His mouth twisted as she flung her arms around the man and kissed him on the cheek, before stepping away with a beaming smile.
It certainly hadn’t taken her long to find company.
“Who’s the man beside Avery Lancaster?” he demanded. His twin knew everyone worth knowing. Blake’s networking skills and business acumen were unsurpassed.
“Looks familiar.” Blake frowned with concentration. He snapped his fingers. “Got it. A vintner. From California—I think. But I can’t recall his name.”
“Which winery is he with? Does he grow good grapes?” It seemed important to establish a flaw in the stranger who stood too close to Avery for Guy’s comfort.
Blake shook his head. “Can’t remember. It will come to me. Why the interest?”
Guy refused to admit that he was fishing. Whoever Avery’s quarry was, his highly polished Italian shoes and the avant-garde designer-label tuxedo he wore were a testimony to his wealth. It would be good to know that he had some weakness that could be exposed when needed. “Always good to know who’s making the best wines.”
“Information always gives us an edge over the competition,” agreed Blake.
At that moment Avery threw her head back and laughed at something the Californian said. Her earrings danced and her eyes sparkled.
Unexpectedly, anger ignited in Guy’s belly.
He swung away and told himself he should be relieved to be rid of a gold digger like Avery. So why the hell was he so damned annoyed? He’d always been easygoing about relationships, shrugging philosophically when they ended. And usually remaining friends with his former lovers.
But this time it was different.
Blake asked him something. He grunted his assent without any idea about what he’d agreed to. Then he told himself Avery had declared war by running out on him in New York without an explanation of why she’d seduced his business partner, his friend. He’d deserved to know. She might think it was over between them. But he wasn’t through with her yet.
Not by a long shot.
No one betrayed him, then ran out on him…and Avery was about to learn that.
When Erica joined him and Blake, Guy shifted to get a clear view of Avery again as she accepted a glass of champagne that a waiter offered. She didn’t take a sip.
A heartbeat later, Avery’s head turned his way. Guy found himself blurting out to Erica that she’d done a great job with tonight’s cocktail party before Avery could catch him staring at her with puppy-dog eyes. He didn’t even notice his half sister’s flush of surprised pleasure or Blake glaring daggers at him, reflecting the uneasy relationship between the Jarrod brothers and their new-found half-sister.
Another furtive glance showed that Avery had set her untouched glass of champagne down on the edge of the table behind her and was talking, gesturing with both her hands to illustrate what she was saying. When her fingertips settled on her companion’s jacket sleeve, anger stabbed deep in Guy’s chest. Forgetting to pretend disinterest, he assessed the easy familiarity of the gesture through narrowed, bitter eyes.
Maybe not a stranger after all.
A former lover? Someone she’d been pursuing even while she passed time in his own bed?
Bile rose in the back of Guy’s throat.
“What’s wrong?”
Guy started. Erica was gazing at him with concerned eyes.
He glanced around.
“Don’t worry, Blake’s not here. He’s gone to fetch me a glass of water. I’m hot and thirsty. It’s been a long day.”
That made him feel curiously uncomfortable. He hadn’t been aware of Erica’s discomfort. Or his twin’s departure. Because he’d been too damned busy devouring Avery with his eyes. Was he so transparent that even the half sister he barely knew could read him like a book? He pressed his lips together and glanced away without responding, discomforted by the sudden flush that heated his face.
“Who is she?”
“Nobody,” Guy bit out.
Erica blinked. “Hey, I only wanted to help. You looked…unhappy.”
Unhappy? Not at all. Instantly Guy forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Truly, I am.”
“Okay, I’ll butt out.” A smile softened the words.
His own smile widened into a relieved grin. “Thanks.”
The lines of strain around her eyes eased, and a wave of remorse flooded him. It was time to cut Erica some slack. She’d done a damn fine job with the festival so far. Yet before he could offer an olive branch he caught sight of Avery and her companion heading for the exit. The tension that had been winding tighter ratcheted up another notch.
She wasn’t ending up in the other man’s bed tonight. Not under his nose, on his turf.
A well-known food writer stepped forward to greet Avery’s companion, causing him to pause. Guy made his move.
“Excuse me,” he murmured to Erica, before rapidly shouldering his way through the throng, unaware that his half sister watched him go, a bemused look on her face. His sole focus was on Avery.
“I want to speak to you.” He cut Avery away from her partner as neatly as a wrangler.
“Guy! What are you doing?”
Placing his arm around her, he bent his head toward her. To an onlooker it would have appeared intimate. Even cozy. But his growled warning was anything but lover-like. “Now’s not the time for a scene, Avery.”
“Scene? I’m not making a scene—you are,” she objected, her voice rising as he swept her along with him. “Let go of me.”
He leaned closer still—and instantly her sweetly sexy floral scent surrounded him. Savagely fighting the sudden blast of raw desire, Guy lowered his voice and murmured into her ear, “Hush. I have no intention of kidnapping you.”
Two
Avery wasn’t so sure.
It only took one glance to reveal that there was a determined—even ruthless—set to Guy’s jaw that she didn’t recognize. His arm, heavy and unwelcome, tightened around her waist. She would’ve given anything not to be so spine-tinglingly aware of his proximity as he hurried her away from Matt.
She’d known this confrontation was coming from the moment he’d realized she was here to speak in Uncle Art’s place. She’d tensed, waiting for the outburst that had never come.
If she’d realized that her Guy Jarrod was one of the Aspen Jarrods she’d have done whatever she could’ve to avoid coming here. Heck, even though it would’ve meant breaking her word to her uncle, she’d pleaded with Matt this afternoon to take his dad’s spot so that she could catch the first flight out. But Matt had to be back in Napa Valley by tomorrow. And not even her desperate pleas had swayed him.
As she shot her nemesis a sideways glance, her breath snagged in her throat. From the opposite end of the grand marquee he’d been eye-catching, but up close Guy Jarrod was utterly devastating. His six-foot plus height suited the tailored tuxedo, the broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, while the white dress shirt only emphasized the masculine perfection of his handsome profile.