Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(89)

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“It means I’ll consider it.” I sat up and put my feet on the ground so that we faced each other. “You have one week to convince me. I’ll go on whatever trip you have planned. I’ll listen to your story. I’ll give you the opportunity to sell me on this partnership and why it’s worth my time and effort.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“If you can manage to persuade me, I’m in. If not, no deal.”

“Works for me.” He held out his hand.

I hesitated, but eventually I put mine out too, and he enclosed it within his. His grasp was warm and strong, and the handshake was solid. It wasn’t all business, though—a shiver swept across the back of my neck at his touch. Damn him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You won’t be sorry.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I let go of his palm and reclined in the chair once more. He did the same, and for a few minutes, we just lay there side by side, listening to the chatter of the katydids and staring up at the sky.

“This reminds me of prom night. Remember?” he asked.

Of course I remembered. “Yes.”

“I never understood why, out of nowhere, you wanted me to kiss you.”

I smiled secretly. “Good. I hope it’s been torturing you for years.”

“Tell me what you were thinking.”

In truth, I’d wanted him to kiss me because he’d looked so handsome and broody lying there next to me. And I’d had a great time with him that night. But he didn’t deserve that answer. “I was bored. You looked lonely.”

“Bored? Lonely?”

He sounded so outraged, I laughed. “I suppose there was a fair amount of curiosity involved. You were always bragging about how girls were all over you. I guess I wanted to know what all the fuss was about.”

“I see. And did that kiss satisfy your curiosity as to why I was such a stud?”

“Yes, actually.” I looked at him again. “I thought you were a very good kisser.”

“And yet you walked away.”

I felt proud of my teenage self. “Yes. Because I didn’t want it to go any further and I didn’t trust you not to pressure me.”

“Fuck off, I never would have pressured you like that.”

“Maybe not,” I allowed. “But I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Well, you must have enjoyed it, since it wasn’t long afterward you came to my dorm room looking for more.” He sounded smug.

“That wasn’t really about you. It was about me.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Liar. You wanted me. You admitted it years later.” He looked over at me. “Remember? At Hughie’s graduation party?”

“Yes. I remember that night. Thank you for reminding me of yet another occasion on which you showed me why you can’t be trusted.” I swung my feet to the ground. “And with that, I bid you goodnight.”

“Chloe, come on. I was just—”

“Goodnight, Oliver.” Before he could say another word, I stood up and headed for the sliding door to the kitchen.

From there I fumbled through the darkened house, found my purse and keys on a table in the front hall, and slipped out the front door.

On the twenty-minute drive home, I felt so hot I had to roll down the window and let the cool wind blow through my hair.

For a minute, I let my mind wander back. To prom night. To his dorm room. To Hughie’s graduation party. To that unbelievable weekend we’d spent together holed up in a Chicago hotel room seven years ago.

We’d had our ups and downs, but our chemistry was undeniable. We knew exactly how to light one another on fire in every way, good and bad. But that weekend—that weekend—had made me believe we were soul mates. I honestly thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together. I thought I’d been wrong about him.

So stupid.

Those memories had been buried deep inside me for years. But maybe it would be good if I dug them up and let them keep me company over the next week. Oliver had a way of getting under my skin.

I couldn’t let him.





“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me for a bit?” I asked Henry DeSantis the next morning at work. “My mom and April can cover inn-related business, but it’s a really busy time for the winery.” I felt terrible that I was taking off during our high season.

He looked up at me from behind his computer. “I’ll be okay.” Henry was rarely at his desk during the work day—he was usually out in the vineyard, pouring wine in the tasting room, giving tours of the winery to writers or buyers or sommeliers, maintaining his bottling lines, overseeing the fermentation process, or attending marketing meetings with me, Mack, my dad and various other family members. But this morning I’d caught him checking his email before he headed out. “Renee is going to come in this week,” he added.

“Oh, is she? That’s nice.” Renee was Henry’s wife. I didn’t know her too well, but she was a talented graphic designer, and she’d done some work for us in the past. “At this point, I’ll probably only be off for a week,” I told him, “but things are a little up in the air for me at this point.”