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Aw, hell.
His throat tightened. His gut clenched. What happened to his heart was just too painful to accept. Because it meant he still cared about this woman. To the depths of his soul.
It wasn’t just lust. It was everything. Every little thing about Jewel Catalano. Some shit he couldn’t even begin to grasp or explain, but mostly … her very essence consumed him. Made him restless. Made him hot. Made him want to say whatever the hell he had to say in order to not be the source of her tears. To not be the bad guy to Rogen’s knight in shining armor.
He spared a glance at Rogen, who dragged a hand down his face, apparently experiencing some peculiar emotions himself. Then Rogen grabbed a mitt and crossed to the double oven along the back wall and pulled out a baking sheet with bread. He set the loaf on the counter and retrieved a stockpot from one of the large racks over the island.
Rogen shook his head, obviously lost in his own consternation. Eventually, he said to Vin, “I didn’t know the two of you were together when she came to see me at Trinity. That e-mail I sent you—”
“Fuck, Rogen. That was ten years ago.” And not anything Vin wanted to discuss with his best friend. Or anyone else, for that matter. Ever. “Let it pass.”
Vin unraveled himself from Jewel. Whisked away the trickles on her cheeks. Kissed her on the forehead. Then he said, “Tell me what’s happening now. With whatever business you two have drummed up.”
Because he honestly couldn’t rehash that day when Rogen had sent him the simplest, most innocent message—and it had turned Vin’s life upside down. Just when he’d righted it following his parents’ tragic and shocking deaths.
Jewel sniffled and went for a tissue. Rogen hacked off a chunk of bread and tore it into small pieces. Vin joined him and snagged one, dipping it into the spicily aromatic sauce. He sampled
it and told Jewel, “One of your best pots.”
She’d always been great with sauces.
“I know Bolognese is your favorite,” she said, pain still clouding her eyes. Continuing to hold Vin hostage.
Rogen told him, “We struck up our own deal related to the property.”
Vin bit back a groan. “No, you did not.”
“Yeah. We did.” Rogen let out a strained laugh. “It’s a bit on the risky side, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”
Jewel set the table in the bay window that created a good-size alcove. Rogen brought water to a boil on the stove and Vin washed his hands, then started collecting the dried pasta that would take only a minute or two to cook. For him, it was a bit unnerving how they were all so simpatico in the kitchen. Not tripping over one another or wondering what to do next. They just picked up whatever slack there was and the result was always some fantastically executed meal.
The kitchen staff at the estates had never been too thrilled when the trio would take over from time to time, but that was usually when a grandparent would swoop in and smooth the waters. And partake in the food.
Rogen said, “My father is going to renege on his verbal agreement.”
Vin glanced at Jewel. “Always get it in writing, sweetheart.”
“Yes, I know. Except…” She shook her head. “I didn’t have anything concrete until I hooked him with scotch that’s, like, a gazillion years old. It has sentimental value. And the entire transaction is contingent on me procuring that decanter, so … first things first.”
Vin tamped down the legal lecture. Instead, he said, “Without the senior Angelinis’ signatures, you’re back to square one.”
“We’ll get those signatures,” Rogen asserted. “I know my father’s plan and I’m going to prevent him from jerking her around. He’ll get his scotch and the money Jewel proposed. The signatures will follow. Including mine.”
Vin brought the wine and glasses over and took a seat at the table, opposite Rogen. Jewel set out bowls of the pasta and the sauce and served her guests.
“Not to harp,” Vin said, trying to keep all the errant feelings and tension from his voice—and not so sure he succeeded, “but I advised you against that, Rogen.”
“For good reason,” his friend conceded.
Temporarily derailed by Jewel’s sexy body—those curves and plumped-up breasts, not to mention an ass that never failed to tempt him—Vin suggested to her, “Perhaps you should put some clothes on. Let us drool over the Bolognese, not you.”
“I’m sure you both can handle it.” There was a hint of mischief in her tone, overriding whatever had made her cry on his shoulder. She brought over the bread, then sat between the two men.
They toasted and sipped before digging into their plates.
Rogen took a few bites before saying, “I came to Jewel to find out why she wants the property. For an inn.” He shared a smile with her, and Vin had to look away. Rogen added, “I want a vineyard. They go perfectly together. So why shouldn’t we go into business together? In one form or another.”
“Meaning?” Vin asked with a crooked brow, not certain he liked the direction in which this conversation was headed. For numerous reasons.
