Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(29)

She refused a second glass of champagne but soon her jangling nerves had her wishing she hadn’t. They made small talk as the luxurious car cruised the country road. What either of them said hardly registered. When they reached the small airport, there was no red carpet like in the movie Pretty Woman, but there might as well have been for all the deference with which they were treated as they boarded the sleek white jet.

Adrian stopped to speak with the pilot and then came into the cabin and sat across from her.

Surrounded by plush leather and soft lighting, she felt like an angel who’d landed on a cloud.

But the man across from her? He did not in any way resemble an angel. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, and he was freshly shaved. The white collar of his shirt set off the swarthy tone of his skin, making him look mysterious and dangerous. And the tuxedo he wore looked like it had been stitched onto him. He wore the formal attire as though he was entirely comfortable in it. As if he didn’t even notice the fancy clothes. And maybe he didn’t.

He reached across the space between them, and she tensed. But he only grinned and said, “Seat belt.” He lifted the end of the belt and handed it to her.

“Mr. Ellison sent this,” a uniformed flight attendant said as she handed Adrian a bottle of wine with a note dangling from its neck. Natasha watched as he unfolded the note. He laughed.

“Lars is up to his old tricks. He’s challenged me. He bets that this wine is better than any I’ve ever had or made.”

Information. Slowly their stories were leaking through the rules of the game. Adrian was a vintner. There were so many around, it made sense. But evidently he was a very wealthy vintner. Or he had very wealthy friends.

Even though Adrian had said he’d borrowed the limo, the plane and the pilot, Natasha was pretty sure he was wealthier than she’d first suspected. And it began to dawn on her why he wanted to keep his identity a secret. He didn’t want to be liked for only his money, just as she didn’t want to be judged for her lack of it. She was touched that he was willing to risk exposing himself to give her a great night out.

But the reality of his wealth made the gap between them yawn wider. She suddenly felt like a mermaid who knew she couldn’t reside in his world and was certain he wouldn’t want to live in hers. Why couldn’t she have met a nice middle-class Californian? Adrian was probably about to take off for his next destination—Monte Carlo or Ibiza or Fiji or wherever really rich people liked to hang out in the spring—and all she’d have were the memories of the few days she’d spent with him.

It would have to be enough. He’d helped her find her footing, even if he hadn’t known how much he was helping her at the time.

And tonight she could enjoy the waters she swam in. Mary was watching Tyler and knew she’d be home late. Adrian had warned her sufficiently about that, at least.

The attendant returned with two glasses of champagne. Natasha took the delicate crystal glass and sipped.

“Can I bring you a magazine?” the attendant asked. “I won’t be serving the meal until we’re in the air.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, but thank you.” She wasn’t going to miss one minute of looking out the window.

The engines revved and the plane took off down the runway. The speed pressed her back into her seat, pinning her with a force she hadn’t expected.

She looked over at Adrian. He was watching her with an expression she couldn’t read. She leaned forward to peer out the window. The plane lifted, climbed, and soon the hills and mountains, vineyards and town spread out like pieces of a puzzle below.

“There’s Mount Saint Helena,” he said, leaning forward to point.

Impossible to miss, the jagged ridge stuck out higher than any peak on the horizon.

“It was once a volcano,” he added. “It’s on the Ring of Fire. Mount Shasta and Mount Lassen are too.” He patted the bottle of wine in the seat next to him. “The volcanic influence is why such great wines can be made in this area.”

“I still feel bad about keeping you from making it to the top of the mountain.”

“There were many other pleasures in that day,” he said. “Maybe next time we’ll make it all the way up.”

Next time. She doubted there’d be a next time. Although she’d loved the time they’d spent together, at her core she was a realist. The outrageous charade she was playing would come to an end. He’d continue on with his life, and she’d pursue hers. But as she pasted on her most courageous smile, she knew that she’d already let him into her heart.

The pilot banked the plane and the city of San Francisco came into view. The evening light splashed across the buildings, making it appear like a magical land that popped up out of a child’s storybook. The sparkling waters of the bay and the vast ocean beyond the Golden Gate Bridge hugged a green-blue cushion around the city like a cloud.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Adrian said. “Right there with Paris and Rome. I think it’s the most European of American cities.”

She wouldn’t know.

“Yes,” she answered.

She leaned closer to the window and watched as the city receded below them and green hills with roads snaking between them took its place. She glanced out the window at the other side of the plane and spied the sun sinking slowly into the vast waters of the Pacific Ocean.