An Exquisite Challenge - Jennifer Hayward

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it was a full-out assault on her common sense.

      And it was working.

      She yanked herself out of his arms, her chest moving rapidly in and out. Her five seconds were definitely up. Way past up.

      “That was not fair.”

      “You need to admit you have a problem to solve it,” he murmured dryly. “Now we know.”

      “We also know we can control it,” she pointed out. “Look it’s done. Presto,” she said, waving her hand at him. “Never to be had again. Curiosity’s over.”

      He picked up the file and got to his feet. “Be at my office at ten tomorrow.”

      She stared at him incredulously. “You’re leaving me hanging?”

      He waved the file at her. “I need to read this.”

      “That kiss was nothing, Gabe.”

      “I’d like to see what something is.”

      She watched as he straightened his shirt. Mortification sank into her bones. Why the hell had she allowed that to happen? She was supposed to be convincing him of her professionalism, not her skills in the necking department.

      She followed him to the door. “You won’t regret it if you give me this job, Gabe.”

      He gave her a long look. “Che resta da vedere.”

      She scrunched her face up. “What does that mean?”

      “That remains to be seen.”

      He left. She picked up her shoe and threw it at the door. His soft laughter came from the other side. “Use the deadbolt, Alex.”

      Despite her bone-deep fatigue, it took a hot shower and an hour of fretting to get herself anywhere near sleep. Gabe had been playing her and playing her well. Establishing a reason not to give her the business. She’d just been too busy being a spineless fool who couldn’t resist his Italian charm to see it.

      After all these years of walking away, it had taken jet lag to do her in.

      She whacked her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. If she got another chance, if he gave her the job tomorrow, she wasn’t making the same mistake twice.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MORNING BUMPER-TO-BUMPER traffic on Highway 101, with every motorist in northern California fighting their way into San Francisco with an aggressive zeal that said they were ten minutes late for a meeting and short on temper, wasn’t helping to improve Gabe’s mood. In fact, it had sent it to a whole other level.

      He cursed, checked his blind spot and accelerated into the left-hand lane, which appeared equally blocked, but the movement at least made him feel as though he was doing something.

      “Maledizione,” he muttered. “I should have stayed in the city last night.”

      “One of San Francisco’s most eligible bachelors, devoid of a date on a Thursday night?” His brother Riccardo’s taunting voice sliced through the high-tech speakerphone.

      “I was at an industry party.” He scowled at the tinny box. “Mention the bachelor thing one more time and you’ll be talking to empty air.”

      His brother chuckled. “I’m just jealous I never made the list.”

      As if. Riccardo had dated five times a man’s usual share of the styled-down-to-their-pinkie women who inhabited the island of Manhattan and it hadn’t been until he’d met Lilly and fallen flat on his face for her that the parade had ended. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “They probably figured they were doing the female population a favor.”

      “Maybe so.” Humor flavored his brother’s response. “Speaking of women, talk to Matty lately?”

      “No.” It struck him as strange now that he thought about it. Matty and Gabe were close and usually talked once a week. “What’s up?”

      “A woman, I think. He won’t talk about it. You should call him.”

      Gabe wasn’t sure his cynical attitude of late was going to be of much use to his younger brother. Matty was the Don Juan of his generation—he thought love made the world go around. Gabe wasn’t sure how he’d acquired that notion in their particular family, but that was for Matty to figure out. Not his problem. Matty’s issue was likely of the which-one-do-I-pick variety, anyway.

      “What happened to the Olympian?”

      “I don’t know. He hung up shortly after I asked him if her flexibility was useful in bed.”

      “You don’t say?”

      His brother’s tone turned businesslike. “How are the events going, by the way? Do you need me in Napa or can I just do NYC?”

      Gabe’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “They’re getting there. We’re working through some kinks at the moment.” He checked his rearview mirror and moved back to the center lane. “New York’s fine. I can handle Napa.”

      “Bene. The doctor said to keep a close eye on Lilly for the next few weeks.”

      “You should be there,” Gabe muttered distractedly, his brain on five hundred people at his vineyard in three weeks. “How did Marco take the news of a little brother?”

      “He’s estatico. Already picking out which trains his little brother can and cannot use.”

      Gabe smiled. “Already a De Campo.”

      “Was there ever any doubt?”

      “Nessuna.” Marco was an exuberant brute of a little boy so much like his father and the rest of the De Campo brothers it was like watching one of them as a child. Gabe was glad the little guy was going to have a brother, because his had been a lifeline in a childhood marked by his parents’ coldness. His father’s survival-of-the-fittest regime had reigned supreme in Montalcino, his mother’s lack of interest in her children blatantly apparent. A business merger between two important families did that to the family dynamic.

      “I heard,” Riccardo said evenly, “that Alex flew over there to do the events.”

      Gabe grimaced. “I fired the PR firm. They were spewing out garbage that was all wrong for the brand.”

      “Three weeks before launch?”

      “It wasn’t working.”

      “So you’re letting Alex step in?”

      “I’m thinking about it.” Truth was, Alex’s portfolio was brilliant. The campaigns she’d included had all been for established brands launching products with breakout potential. Just like The Devil’s Peak. Not only had her campaigns been sophisticated and clever with the big buzz potential he was looking for, they’d also been exactly the tone and feel he’d wanted in the last PR agency’s ideas.

      “The board is only giving me so much leeway with the Napa investment.” Riccardo’s quietly worded warning came through the speaker. “At some point they’re going to rein us in, and I’d prefer that time be when you’ve had a chance to make things happen and they’re compelled to keep investing.”

      Gabe stiffened. “You think I’m not well aware of that?”

      “A launch event is a launch event, fratello, not the second coming of Christ. Get it done. Don’t let yourself get in the way of your success.”

      Old animosities surged to life—charged, destructive forces that skimmed just beneath the surface. If he’d inherited his father and grandfather’s wine-making brilliance and the ability to play with the chemistry of a wine until it melted on the tongue, Riccardo had mastered the ability to see the big picture. It was the one trait, Gabe was sure, that had catapulted his brother over him to CEO, aside from the fact that Riccardo was the eldest, and Antonio was traditional to the hilt.

      He

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