Chapter Six

Brody watched his brother approaching them, his breath catching in his throat. He wasn’t certain what to say or do, which was unusual for him. Then, with a flash of insight, he realized just how highly trained he was. He’d been taught to react with hair-trigger quickness—to military encounters.

Nothing he’d experienced, even in the most life-threatening conditions had prepared him for this intensely personal situation.

Elliott Hawke moved closer, closer. It was impossible to see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but the slight tilt of his head indicated to Brody that his twin was staring at Tori, not him. Something knotted in Brody’s gut, but it took an instant to recognize it as jealousy.

“Brody,” his brother said, halting in front of them and giving him something that might have been mistaken for a smile. “I’m Elliott.”

“I figured as much,” Brody responded.

Elliott reached out and took Tori’s hand, pulling her to his side. She went into the curve of his arm as if she belonged there.

“Thanks for coming,” Elliott said to her. “Let’s join the rest of the family.”

That’s it? Doesn’t he have anything else to say to me? Hey, you could speak up, Brody told himself. But the words refused to come.

Elliott turned with Tori at his side and headed down the slope toward the family. For the first time, Brody wondered if he’d made a mistake by coming. He hadn’t anticipated sharing such an intimate moment with strangers. Lou nudged the back of his arm, and Brody walked down the hill.

Elliott and Tori reached the group first, and Elliott pulled out a chair for Tori next to the veiled older woman. He stood behind Tori and informed his family, “This is Brody.”

Heads swiveled in his direction, all eyes focused on him at once. Hazel eyes. Brown eyes. Blue eyes like his own.

An unexpected surge of something he couldn’t quite name slammed into him like a swift kick in the gut. He saw the family resemblance in more faces than he cared to count. Weird. Freaking weird.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he heard himself say, his voice unexpectedly gruff.

“My boy, my boy,” cried the veiled woman. She leaped up and rushed over to Brody.

His instinct said to take a step back, but he held his ground. She stopped in front of him, threw back her veil, and scrutinized him with tear-filled eyes—the same deep blue eyes that watched him shave every morning.

He pulled off his shades and stared back at the lady. Her white hair contrasted vividly with her olive skin and blue eyes. She was an attractive older woman who must have been quite a looker in her youth.

Not breaking eye contact, he didn’t allow the startled gasps from the others to faze him. This was a defining moment, he realized, not knowing who this woman was or why she was regarding him so intently.

Two beats of silence, then she spoke, “Thank God. You’re home again.”

She flung herself at him, sobbing. He caught her, his arms straight out in a vain attempt at keeping her away from his body. Her arms circled his neck and she kissed him first on one cheek and then the other.

“I’m Aunt Gina, your dear father’s sister,” she told him in a voice raw with tears and emotion.

Brody managed a curt nod. He’d never known what to do with women when they cried. His mother never cried, and the women he’d known had tried to use tears to hold him. But this was different.

Again, he felt out of his depth. He needed a few answers, then he was getting the hell out of here.

“We were twins,” she added, holding up two fingers. “This close.”

“I see.” He tried to ease out of her grasp, but she clung to him.

“Everything will be all right now that you’re here.”

He opened his mouth to say he wouldn’t be here long enough to make anything all right, but his gaze wandered for an instant, scanning the group watching them in sullen silence. His aunt might be glad to see him, but the others were glaring at him with undisguised hostility. Even though his brother’s eyes were concealed by sunglasses, he could feel the animosity in his gaze.

His sixth sense kicked into high gear. To the family, he was more than just an unexpected surprise, an intruder.

He was the enemy.

Tori stood on the back terrace of Hawke’s Landing, as far away as possible from the mourners paying their respects to the Hawke clan. From the first moment she’d seen Hawke’s Landing, she had decided it was the most unique, most beautiful of all the vineyards in Napa Valley. Like many of the other vineyards, it had acres of hills adorned with grapevines marching heavenward in evenly spaced rows. Like many of the equally well-known vineyards, Hawke’s Landing had a tasting room and a gift shop which sold T-shirts and baseball caps with the vineyard logo.

There the similarities ended. What set Hawke’s Landing apart was history and personality. It was as if the ghosts of the Chinese laborers who had hacked the caves into the limestone hills a century ago were whispering family secrets each time the wind rustled the grape leaves. Those caves that had cost so many Chinese immigrants their lives contained the sparkling wine that had made Hawke’s Landing famous.

“What are you doing way out here by yourself?”

Tori whirled around, startled, and came face-to-face with Brody. She hadn’t seen him since her father had parked his BMW among the scores of mourners in the lot where tourists usually left their cars to visit the tasting room. Aunt Gina, the drama queen, had swept him away to introduce him to all the dignitaries who’d attended the service, including the governor.

How humiliating for Elliott, she’d thought, and how uncomfortable for Brody. Anyone could see he wasn’t prepared to step into the limelight. The more she watched him, the more certain she was that he was a man who lived in the shadows—lived for danger and excitement. The social and political nuances of high society were as foreign to him as covert operations were to Elliott.

“I’m out here because I’m tired of the crowd.” Tori told Brody half the truth. She didn’t say she was uncomfortable with the possessive way Elliott kept her at his side and with people asking when they were going to be married.

“No sh—no kidding.” Brody leaned against the railing. “Is it always like this?”

“More or less. Your father was active in state politics and anything local or national that concerned the wine country. His heirs are expected to take up the reins.”

“Lucky Elliott.”

More than a hint of sarcasm colored his voice. Evidently, he assumed the responsibility for Hawke’s Landing would be Elliott’s alone. How would he feel if he knew all this was half his?

The way she’d responded to his kiss still disturbed her, and the flutter in her chest whenever he came near made her feel even more guilty. Was she attracted to Brody because he looked so much like Elliott or was it something more?

“There’s a buffet to die for set up in the dining room,” she said, hoping to get rid of him while she sorted out her feelings.

“Aunt Gina already brought me two plates heaping with food.”

Naturally, Tori thought. Manipulative and vindictive, Gina Barzini had taken the prodigal son under her wing. The woman was as domineering and as Machivellian as her twin brother had been. She’d been highly critical of Elliott when he’d been younger and made some mistakes. There was no love lost between them, so she was aligning herself with the secret twin.

“What’s the story with Auntie Dearest?” Brody shifted his stance as he asked the question, moving closer to her.

Tori edged away from him. To say Brody intimidated her didn’t explain entirely her reaction to the man. She couldn’t quite fathom it herself. There was almost a magnetic pull emanating from him. Fascinated with the way he so effortlessly held his physical power in check, Tori’s eyes were constantly drawn to Brody Hawke.

“I don’t think Gian listened to anyone the way he did Gina except for Aldo.”

“Aldo?” he asked, shifting nearer, his blue eyes on hers with startling intensity.

“Aldo Abruzzo, the cellar master,” she responded a bit too quickly. “He runs the operation and advises on the blending of the grapes. Aldo’s mother practically raised Gian, along with her own son, so they were old friends.”

Brody’s eyes narrowed, his thick lashes shadowing their depths. “Why is Gina so thrilled to see me? From what she said, she knew I existed, yet she never made any attempt to find me. Now she’s ga-ga that I’ve returned.”

“I-I don’t know. Perhaps she was only doing what Gian wanted. She would never have dared to cross him.” Her gaze held his for several seconds, then she self-consciously lowered her head.

A group of mourners—laughing so hard no one would have known there had been a death—walked out onto the terrace and stood nearby, sipping drinks and chatting. A tuxedo-suited server passed them, offering everyone a glass of vintage Hawke’s Landing blanc de noir. A hot air balloon flew precariously low across the vineyard as it transported tourists to the far end of the valley.

Tori and Brody didn’t react to anything going on around them. Their private silence was charged with something she couldn’t quite name. A familiar shiver of awareness shimmied through her, and she tried her best to ignore it.

His large hand cupped her chin and brought her face up so that her eyes looked directly into his. Her skin tingled where he touched her, then became uncomfortably warm. For an instant, she thought he was going to kiss her.

“Tori, what aren’t you telling me?”

She stifled a groan and wondered why someone hadn’t told him about the inheritance. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

His breath was warm against her cheek, the word almost seductive instead of accusing. Again she thought he was about to kiss her, and the memory of the incident in the gazebo sent a flare of heat through her entire body.

No, she thought, it wasn’t Brody’s resemblance to his brother that accounted for her reaction to him. This was a unique experience, one she’d never had before meeting Brody. The realization was so upsetting she almost wished she could blame it on the brothers’ being twins.

“I could use a friend,” he said totally disarming her.

She knew he would be walking into a minefield of family politics and intrigues. Would it hurt to let him know what was at stake?

“It isn’t my place to tell you this”—she turned her head to the side so his hand was no longer cradling her chin—“but I see you’ve guessed something is going on.”

“Damned straight. What is it?”

“Your father left you and Elliott equal shares of his estate.”

To her surprise, he showed no visible reaction. He gazed at her with the same intense look, his jaw set, his expression impossible to read.

“Why would he do that?” Brody asked. “I don’t know a damned thing about champagne, and I’m not interested in learning. I have my own life.”

“I have no idea why Gian did it. He was an unpredictable man.”

Brody turned away and stared out across the vineyard. Even though he showed no emotion, she could feel his confusion, his disbelief.

She touched his arm, saying, “You have to understand that this changes the infrastructure of the family. Gina and Elliott have never gotten along—”

“So she’s sucking up to me.”

Tori battled a grin and lost. “Something like that. Her husband, Tito, runs a small boutique vineyard that produces merlot. They’re always in the hole and come to Gian for money. Elliott encouraged his father to close down that venture.”

“A wise business decision, I’d say.”

Tori knew Brody had no idea how complex the family’s relationships were. The clan was ruthless. They had forced out a number of competitors over the years. There had been suspicious arsons and sabotage, as well as the mysterious death of a competitor. Now they may have met their match in the Corelli brothers, who were determined to acquire Hawke’s Landing.

She opened her mouth to warn him, but suddenly Elliott was at her side. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Brody and I were chatting,” she said, aware Elliott was again ignoring his brother. “Why don’t you two talk while I get some food?”

Not giving them a chance to answer, she fled across the terrace toward the house.

Brody turned to face his brother but didn’t say a word. He could easily imagine how disturbed Elliott must be. A brother he hadn’t known existed had appeared suddenly to claim half the family fortune. No wonder Brody had become the enemy.

Still, they were brothers, and blood was supposed to count for something—or so he had always heard. Having no personal experience with family, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“She’s right,” Elliott said quietly, his eyes on Tori as she vanished among the mourners on the back terrace. “We need to talk.”

Brody followed his brother down a winding, tree-lined path toward the bank of hills. Hawke’s Landing was buttressed against a towering shelf of limestone, a virtually impregnable position—militarily speaking, Brody noted. No one could get behind your back.

“Most of our operations go on inside the caves,” Elliott said as he punched a code into the keypad to open the door.

Six-four-one-three-one. Brody automatically noted the combination, although his brother entered it quickly and tried to conceal the pad with his hand.

“The sparkling wine is removed from the caves to the warehouses below only when we’re about to ship it.”

“Hmmm,” Brody murmured, not really interested in the process. He was still numb with the knowledge his father had left this to him. After all this time. Why?

Again his suspicions were aroused.

Elliott flicked on the light to reveal a reception area. Beyond it Brody noticed a wooden door opening to a narrow tunnel chiseled into the limestone. He imagined the Chinese immigrants he’d read about in a guide book, hacking at the boulders with crude picks.

Elliott sat on one of the desks, his leg hitched over the side in a casual manner, but something in the set of his shoulders told Brody this was difficult for his brother. Aw, hell. It was hard for him, too.

“My father’s family built this vineyard from nothing,” Elliott began.

“Using Chinese coolies—slave labor.”

Elliott’s eyes narrowed for an instant. “True, the Chinese had been shanghaied and brought to America to work on the railroads. But by the time my father’s family, the Maggiores, hired them, they were free men. The immigrants were paid the going rate for physical labor—at the time.”

“Slave labor,” Brody repeated, unable to stop himself. As he looked at the caverns visible beyond the tunnel, he imagined the men toiling away in the brutal sun, carrying dirt and debris in buckets for pennies a day.

“I can’t justify the past,” Elliott conceded. “I want to talk about the future. Someone must have told you my father left you half the estate.”

“Yeah, someone mentioned it.”

Elliott seemed to measure him for a moment before asking, “What do you want for your share? Do you have any idea?”

“Nothing. You can have it all. You’ve earned it—not me. I have my own life. You’re welcome to this one.”