Million-Dollar Marriage Merger - By Charlene Sands Page 0,9
base of her neck—just to appear human again. She changed her clothes, throwing on a black pair of pants and a soft knit beige sweater that ruffled into a vee and looked stylish though comfortable. She slipped her feet into dark shoes and walked out of the room. Whatever Tony had in mind, she certainly wasn’t going to dress up for him.
Tony closed the magazine he was reading and rose from the sofa when she strode in. She squirmed under his direct scrutiny. “You look better.”
She didn’t comment yet noted genuine concern in his eyes. Why?
He strode to the door and opened it. “Shall we go?”
“Where are you taking me?”
Tony’s expression flattened. He’d caught her meaning. “I’ve made arrangements, Rena. No one will see you with me.”
If she weren’t so upset about everything, her face might have flamed from his acknowledgment. She lifted her chin. “How’s that possible?”
“We own half of Alberto’s. It’s closed to the public tonight.”
“You mean you had it closed for my benefit?”
“You haven’t had any use for me since I returned. I didn’t think you’d like answering questions about being out with me tonight if anyone saw us.”
Rena had almost forgotten that the Carlinos had their hands in other enterprises. They owned a few restaurants as well as the winery. They also owned stores in outlying areas that sold a line of products related to wine.
“This isn’t a date, Tony. Just so we’re clear.”
Tony nodded. “Very clear.”
Rena strode past him and waited for him to exit her house before she locked the front door. She moved quickly, and once he beeped his car alarm, she didn’t wait for him to open the car door. She climbed into his Porsche and adjusted the seat belt.
“Ready?” he asked unnecessarily. Once they made eye contact, he roared the engine to life. “It’s a nice night. Mind if I put the top down?”
“No, I could use a good dose of fresh air.”
It’s how Tony liked to drive, with the top down, the air hitting his face, mastering the car and the road beneath.
He hit a button, and mechanically the car transformed. He drove the road to Napa surprisingly slowly, as if they were out for a Sunday drive. Every so often, he glanced her way. She couldn’t deny his courtesy.
Or the fact that she thought him the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever met. She’d thought so since they’d first met the day he entered public school at the age of sixteen. Up until that point, the Carlinos had gone to an elite private school. But Tony hated the regimented lifestyle, the solitude and discipline of being in an academy. Finally, his father had relented, granting his sons the right to go through the public school system.
Tony had made a lasting impression on her, and they’d started out as friends. But the friendship had grown as they’d gotten closer, and Rena had become Tony’s steady girlfriend two years later.
Despite his obvious wealth and place in Napa society.
Despite the fact that Santo Carlino and her father had become bitter enemies.
Despite the fact that Rena never truly believed she could have a lasting relationship with Tony.
“Care for some music?” he asked, reaching for the CD player button.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be quiet.”
She didn’t want to rekindle memories of driving in Tony’s car with the top down and the music blasting. Of laughing and telling silly jokes, enjoying each other’s company.
“Okay,” he said amiably.
They drove in silence, Tony respecting her wishes. Shortly, he pulled into Alberto’s back parking lot. “I usually don’t resort to back alley entrance ways,” he said, with no hint of irritation. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, actually quite hungry.”
“Good, the food is waiting for us.”
Before she managed to undo her seat belt, Tony was there, opening the car door for her. He reached his hand inside, and rather than appearing incredibly stubborn in his eyes, she slid her hand in his while he helped her out. The Porsche sat so low to the ground she would have fumbled like an idiot anyway, trying to come up smoothly to a standing position.
Sensations ripped through her instantly. The contact, the intimate way his large hand enveloped her smaller one, trampled any false feeling of ease she’d imagined. She fought the urge to whip her hand away. Instead, she came out of the car and stood fully erect before slipping her hand out of his. Composing herself, she thanked him quietly and followed him inside the restaurant.
“This way,” he said and