He lowered his hands to the arms of the chair, tapping one foot while he looked around her office and waited. And waited.
God, she was gorgeous when she was furious.
Her face even more flushed, her eyes sparkled with fury and she slammed the door behind her as she stalked back into her office and stood there, chest heaving. And what a nice chest it was. Another layer he wouldn’t mind peeling away. Her breasts were high and round and full and quivered beneath the thin blue knit sweater as she took deep breaths in and out. Her fists clenched at her sides, her arms stiff.
He waited.
He could see she was ready to practically stomp her feet in frustration and he tried not to smile.
“Shut up,” she hissed. “Just. Shut. Up.”
“I didn’t say a word.” His lips quivered.
She almost growled as she strode over to the buttery-soft leather chair behind her desk and threw herself down into it. She met his eyes and he lifted a brow.
“Fine,” she snarled. “I’ll prove it to you. Give me a week.”
He lifted one shoulder. “It’s a big project. Take two or three weeks. Don’t rush through it. I know how busy you are.”
Her lips tightened. “Two weeks. I was going to start looking into soap producers to partner with, but that can wait.”
“Soap producers?” Jesus, now what?
“Yes. Never mind that.”
“No, no, tell me. What else do you have up your sleeve?” She was a crazy woman. What the hell else was she planning? She was spreading herself way too thin.
“The pomace we throw away. Well, actually it goes to compost. I want to find a soap producer who would use it to make olive oil soap. It would be very moisturizing.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She gave him a look, chin down, brows lifted.
“Please,” he said. “I’ve heard you use worse language.”
She tossed her hair back, looking a bit abashed. “Fine. No, I’m not shitting you. It’s being done elsewhere. I didn’t just make it up. I think it’s another avenue we should explore.”
“I’ll explore it,” he offered. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”
She stared at him, chewing on her bottom lip. “No.”
He inhaled slowly through his nose, digging deep for patience.
“Fine. Do it all yourself. But just remember—you need to show me a business case for anything you want to do.”
She scowled at him, folding her arms across her chest.
They stared at each other for a long wordless minute and the room grew warm as heat built between them. Her lips parted and then, once again, her lashes lowered. Adrenaline sizzled through his veins and he shifted in his chair. Christ.
A knock at the door had them both blinking, licking dry lips.
“Come in,” Tara croaked.
Her grandfather poked his head around the door.
“Hello,” he said. He looked back and forth between them. “Sorry to interrupt. I forgot to mention to you earlier, Tara, that we have some visitors coming from Italy in three weeks. They’ll be traveling down from San Francisco with Bob Moir and Ben Kibsey.”
Joe had no idea who they were and his expression must have communicated that. “They are two olive growers from the Napa Valley,” Tyrone added. “Tara, could you arrange a dinner party for that Friday night? I’ve offered to take them out for dinner.”
“Why don’t you get Sasha to do it?”
“She’s busy with her charity work.” He smiled fondly and Joe noted how the corners of Tara’s mouth turned down at that. Huh. Little sibling jealousy there? “Besides, this is something you should do. I’ll expect you to act as hostess for the dinner party.”
“Fine,” Tara snapped, rolling her eyes.
“And while we’re talking about dinner,” Tyrone continued, “Joe, why don’t you join us for dinner at home tonight? I should have offered earlier, but it slipped my mind.”
“Thanks.” Joe glanced at Tara and saw her mouth compress. “That’s very nice of you. I’d be happy to join you.”
“Good. We’ll see you at seven. It’s just casual, Tara and her sister and I.”
Joe nodded. So he’d get to meet the sister who apparently was everything Tyrone wanted Tara to be. A spoiled princess, according to Nick. Interest sparked in him as he left her office.
“Lots of door slamming going on lately,” Paige commented to him as he emerged from Tara’s office. He paused, then grinned and held up both hands in innocence.
“Wasn’t me.”
She smiled back.
He walked back to his own office, shaking his head over the idea of manufacturing soap from olive oil.
Chapter Seven
Tara fumed. Bad enough she had to see him at work all day, now Grandpa was inviting him to their home for dinner. She had half a mind to stay at work all evening, which actually wouldn’t be that unusual.
At home, she changed into a pair of jeans and a tank top, since Grandpa had said casual, and wandered into the kitchen where Nina was preparing their meal.
“What are we having, Nina?”
“Chicken with artichokes and lemons and olives,” Nina replied. “Served over couscous.”
“Mmm. My favorite.” She reached for one of the marinated artichoke hearts Nina was slicing up and earned a little slap on the back of her hand. “Hey!”
Nina grinned affectionately at her. “I need those for the meal. Oh all right, have one.”
Tara grinned and popped a piece of artichoke into her mouth. Yum. “Where’s Sasha?”
“In the den.” Nina frowned. “I think she’s making martinis.”
“Oh.” She frowned. Tara and Nina both worried about how much Sasha was drinking lately. “I’ll go see.”
She left the huge kitchen and went across the hall into the cozier den. This was where she and Sasha spent most time when they were home, where they watched television together or read if they weren’t in their own rooms. Sasha indeed stood at the bar pouring a drink from the martini shaker into a stemmed glass. She dropped two olives from a crystal bowl into the glass.
“Hi,” she said, noting Tara. “Want one?”
Tara sighed. “Sure. How many have you had?”
Sasha shrugged, poured another glass and dropped in two olives. “Who’s counting? I hear we have a guest for dinner tonight.”
“Yeah. Grandpa invited Joe.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. He’s sure got you wound up.”
“He does not!”
Sasha just laughed. “Oh yeah, he does. Last night when you got home you were practically spitting you were so mad.”
“And today too,” Tara muttered.
“What happened today?” Sasha looked ready to be entertained.
Their grandfather entered the room. “Oh good, you’ve made drinks. Joe should be here any minute.”
“Actually, I’ll have to make more.” Sasha turned back to the bar. “I just poured the last one for Tara.”
She shook up another batch and while she was doing that, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Tara said reluctantly. She went to the front door and opened it to Joe. He held a bottle of wine, and was dressed in a pair of black pants and a form-fitting, sexy-as-hell charcoal T-shirt made out of some expensive-looking fabric.
“Hey,” he said, and she felt his eyes move over her as he checked her out. Her stomach muscles clenched and she tried to stay calm. “This is for you.” He handed her the wine.
“Thank you. That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”
He shrugged and walked into the foyer, glancing around. Tara knew their home was impressive. The ceiling in the foyer reached all the way to the second story, and a wide curving staircase with carved wooden banister climbed to the second floor. A spectacular chandelier hung above them, golden and amber globes of glass that cast a mellow glow. Rugs in jewel tones of ruby, sapphire, emerald and topaz decorated the gleaming oak floors.