His mouth curved. “I handled the cover issue just fine in Napa. Any other deal breakers?”
“You can’t leave your car on the street.”
“I parked a few side streets over.”
She bit her lip. She had nothing left. “I do have a spare toothbrush.”
“Grazie.” He dropped a kiss on her nose and showered with a ruthless efficiency in her tiny bathroom that made two an impossibility. When she came out fifteen minutes later, a towel wrapped around her, he was sprawled across her rose-colored bedspread watching the news. She dragged in a breath. Told herself people did this all the time. But it felt as though she’d just conceded control of something she desperately wanted back.
He pulled his gaze away from the television screen. Narrowed it on her face. “Stop freaking out, Lex. We’re getting some sleep, that’s all.”
She rubbed her hands against her temples. “It’s just—I don’t—”
“You’ve never had a guy sleep over before.”
She shook her head.
“If I put down the remote, will that make it better?”
She smiled weakly. “Possibly.”
He held out his hand instead. “Get over here.”
She chewed on her lip. “We’re keeping this between us right? You’re not going to announce this to the other De Campos tomorrow?”
His jaw hardened. “I wasn’t planning on it, no. It’s no one’s business but ours.”
“Fine.” One day at a time, Lex.
His gaze moved down over the towel. “You have that sexy silk thing around? Or are you coming like that?”
She dropped the towel and pulled on her nightie with a jerky, self-conscious movement that surely telegraphed her nerves. Her heart did a little pitter-patter as he reached out and hauled her against him. Sleeping with Gabe felt right in a way that terrified the hell out of her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax into his warm, hard heat.
When she finally fell into a deep, heavy slumber, it was full of a million dreams. Dreams she had no business having. Like wanting to be the kind of woman Gabe shared his life with.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AT SEVEN A.M. on a steamy day in Manhattan scheduled to climb into the nineties, Gabe stood on Alex’s doorstep in his wrinkled suit, distracting himself with how sexily she did the tousled, sleepy look. She was one of those rare women who looked even better without makeup, a trait his brothers would say instantly put her into top-tier status.
He would have taken advantage of just how good she looked and allowed himself to be a half an hour late if it had been any morning but this one. Today he had to tell the other De Campos their much-anticipated big bet was dead and the way forward was the Angel’s Share.
Biggest day of his life.
He took the thermos of coffee Alex handed him. She lifted her fingers and brushed the hair out of his face. “You’ve got this,” she murmured. “You know that.”
He nodded. It touched something inside of him, the strength of this woman. He’d known it for a long time, but as he climbed further and further inside her head and saw the vulnerable side of her—the side that the improper possession of a remote control could bring tumbling down—he found he wanted her even more. Wanted to protect her.
“I’ll let you know what happens.” He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers in a kiss meant to get him out the door. Her soft, eager response sent a shaft of desire through him. Dio, this woman got to him. “That was a goodbye kiss, not a hello kiss,” he reprimanded huskily, pulling away with effort.
“So sorry,” she returned. “I’m not so good at telling the difference.”
“Sì. You are.” He headed out into the steamy morning, a wry smile curving his mouth. Went home, changed and made it into the office before the others arrived. The family, still the controlling force of De Campo, made a habit of meeting themselves before the main board meeting to discuss key matters of interest. He settled in the boardroom and flicked through his presentation slides. They were burned into his brain.
He had clashed with Antonio many times over the years, but never before had he believed in his vision as strongly as he did at this moment.
Riccardo walked into the conference room, followed by Matty and Antonio. His elder brother’s gaze swept over him. “Tried to call you last night. You seemed to be occupied.”
“I was sleeping,” he returned evenly. “The jet lag kills me every time.”
His brother let it go. Antonio sat down and cut straight to the chase. “Word is Jordan Lane’s Black Cellar Select is The Devil’s Peak.”
His tie suddenly felt too tight. He tugged at it, a gesture his titan of a father’s hawk eyes did not miss. “He has a mole in our organization feeding him information.”
“Tell me you know who it is,” Riccardo said tightly.
His stomach clenched. “I’m working on it.”
Antonio’s dark eyes flashed. “Eight years down the drain and all you have to say is you’re working on it?”
“What would you have me say?” Gabe’s voice vibrated with emotion. “The man is a criminal. I have a P.I. on it. We’ll find the person. Meanwhile,” he said, swallowing hard, “I have a backup plan.”
Riccardo leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “Let’s hear it.”
“The Devil’s Peak is still a brilliant wine. It’s going to do well for us regardless of Black Cellar Select. I say we leave it in the fall ad campaign, but launch and lead with the Angel’s Share instead.”
Riccardo gave him a wary look. “The Malbec you’ve been working on?”
“Yes.” He got to his feet and walked over to the sideboard. “This,” he said, setting the bottle on the conference table, “is the wine that will make De Campo’s Napa vintages famous in this country.”
Antonio’s face was so red he looked as though he was going to blow a fuse. “A Malbec?” his father rasped. “You think a Malbec is going to be our star De Campo wine?”
Gabe rolled his shoulders back and stayed focused. “It was always the plan to have The Devil’s Peak lay the groundwork first, then have the Angel’s Share put us over the top.” He woke up his laptop screen and projected his presentation onto the wall. “Napa winemakers have been exploring Malbecs for the last few years—some more than others. They’re working beautifully with the California soil. I think they’re the future.”
He went through the stats on the nascent market for the varietal, how it had flourished in other geographies. “See how exponentially popular it’s been in Argentina and Australia.”
“It’s not a real grape,” Antonio derided. “You want me to bet the future of our Napa vineyard on that?”
Gabe held his patience with effort. “If we are to lead, we need to take a risk that will break us out of the pack. The Devil’s Peak is no longer that wine. But the Angel’s Share is. Pedro thinks it will score a ninety-seven.”
Matty rubbed his hand over his chin. “I like Malbecs. Lots of buzz around them. But what about Syrah? Some say they’re the next to rule in California.”
Gabe nodded. “They’re coming. But I would bet on the Malbecs.”
Riccardo gave him a long look. “Pedro thinks it’s ready?”
He nodded.
“Could Lane have a line on this one, too? How far do you think he’s penetrated us?”
“Only Pedro, Donovan and myself have been involved with the Angel’s Share. He can’t know about it.”
Antonio shot to his feet. “We are not making our flagship wine a—a second-class wine,” he sputtered. “You are out of your mind, Gabriele.”
Riccardo pointed at the bottle. “I’d like to taste it.”
“So would I,” said Matty.
He felt hope take flight in his chest. He picked up three glasses from the sideboard and poured for them all. Held his breath as they tasted. Riccardo’s expression was guarded. Matty’s open and curious. Antonio’s outraged.
Riccardo set his glass down first. Turned to Antonio in deference to the old man.
His father pushed his glass away with a disdainful look. “I don’t like it.”
Gabe froze. A white-hot anger sparked inside of him. “What about it don’t you like?”
The old man shrugged. “It doesn’t speak to me.”
“It doesn’t speak to you?” Gabe stalked over and pushed the glass toward his father. “This is one of the most brilliant wines we’ve ever created. Tell me,” he yelled, “what you don’t like about it.”
Antonio swiped the glass away. “This wine is not being made our marquee wine. We’ll use the Devil’s Peak instead.”
“This is not old-world Italy.” The pressure in Gabe’s head built to an explosive level. “We need new wines that are going to resonate with the North American market and this grape, this wine is going to be huge.”
His father stood up and faced him. “Do not disrespect me, Gabriele,” he boomed.
“Me disrespect you?” Gabe looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve done nothing but disrespect me ever since I joined this company. You passed me over when you chose Riccardo without even giving me a fighting chance and you’ve never given me credit for what I’ve done in Napa. So do not speak of respect to me.”