fiery brunette with exotic eyes who seemed damn set on ruining his life.
Gabe faced down his brothers over the green felt top of the pool table and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s still here.”
That was the reason all four DeLuca brothers had decided to meet here, at the plaster-sealed wine cave that sat smack in the side of a mountain and doubled as the town’s watering hole.
The Spigot was the only place in St. Helena that served something out of the tap, and since it wasn’t off the main highway, tourists didn’t know it existed. It was loud and dirty and a cash-mandatory, shoes-optional kind of place. And it fit his mood perfectly right about now. Because they needed to come up with a plan—fast.
“I talked to Rocco over at Chiappa Vineyards. Regan interviewed there yesterday.”
“And?”
“And the position was no longer available.” Gabe leaned down and broke. Not a single ball went in.
“Your game is crap.” Trey, the youngest brother, aimed and shot. The one ball went in the right corner pocket, the three ball in the left.
“Tell me about it,” Gabe mumbled.
Over the past few days, Regan had interviewed at six different wineries, all owned by friends of Gabe’s, and all with the same result: position officially closed.
Gabe stayed true to his promise that wherever Regan went, he’d turn up. Monday, she was having lunch with Alessandro of Graziano Vineyards over at the Martini House. She had just pulled out her portfolio and had Alessandro drooling over her ideas—and her toned legs that were exposed from red-tipped toes to well past midthigh as she leaned over the table to point out some detail—when Gabe sat down and asked if he could join them, effectively ruining Regan’s lunch, and her interview.
On Tuesday, while Regan was taking a tour of The Cellar, the premiere wine cave and distributor in the Valley, Gabe showed up to talk with the owner about their new inventory. The DeLucas being one of their biggest customers, Regan’s interview was delayed—permanently. Just yesterday he’d been at Picker’s Produce, Meats and More, buying some beer and burgers for the Niners’ game when he rounded the chip aisle, headed for the buns, and came across the best set he’d ever seen in the produce aisle. Encased in a tight black skirt and offset by a pair of pointy black heels, Regan was squeezing a cantaloupe and looking like some X-rated corporate type with her hair wound up in a complicated knot. All that was missing were the glasses and briefcase.
Instead of slapping a restraining order on him, like most women in her situation would have, she asked him how many quarters he had. When he pulled out five, she chucked two melons at his head and let loose three derogatory words about his sex, then turned on those spiky heels and stormed out, her hips swaying with anger, each step doing stupid things below his belt.
Gabe needed a night to clear his head, and that meant no Regan. Plus, he and his brothers needed to figure out what they were going to do with the woman who was stubborn enough to try and make St. Helena her home.
“So, what cup size are we talking?” Marc asked.
Not the image Gabe needed. But he answered. “Definitely C.”
“Was hoping you’d say D.”
“Why?”
“Because a woman fitting your description with a full C just walked in and is headed straight for Jordan and Frankie.”
“Holy shit,” Trey said, his eyes glued to the front door.
Game face firmly intact, Gabe turned in his chair and—Sweet Mother of God. In her tight gray skirt, mile-high heels, and nothing but leg in between, Regan was, in a word, edible.
She gave a cute little wave, and Jordan—the traitor—waved back. So did Frankie and just about every man in a ten-foot radius of their table. Not that Gabe blamed them. Regan wasn’t just beautiful, she had something exotic about her that made it impossible not to stare. And everyone was staring. Including Gabe.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” said Nathaniel, the second oldest and, until that moment, Gabe’s favorite brother, setting down a pitcher of beer while ogling every delectable inch of Regan.
“Holding out?” Gabe shot for the six ball and missed. “That woman is crazy and unpredictable.”
“And hot as hell.” Marc leaned back, rocking his stool against the wall, a smug grin on his face. “And here I felt bad for you, spending your days following around some crazy woman. She could throw her cantaloupes at me