Innocent of His Claim by Janette Kenny Page A

situation and her, hated that a part of her would always want this closeness.
    He stepped from her and she just caught herself from grabbing him and holding on to this fragile contact. Her face burned at the admission. Thankfully he was busy moving something out of the walkway so he didn’t notice her flush.
    She tore her gaze from the man who commanded too much of her thoughts and gave her chilled arms a brisk rubbing. The room was stacked to the arched ceiling with oak barrels, and a pungent aroma hung in the air.
    “You are cold.” He grabbed a man’s jacket off a peg andswept it around her shoulders before she could protest wearing a communal garment.
    His scent drifted off the fabric and she stilled, knowing this was his. Another puzzlement that was solely Marco.
    She had never thought a man in his position would hang his coat among the workers’ rough jackets. Yet common sense told her that he would need this if he spent any amount of time here and she knew he must. Knew that Marco wasn’t just a man to spout orders or supervise—that he was one who would lend his back to a task as well.
    And that only served to remind her that she really had never known Marco Vincienta at all.
    “Thank you,” she managed, clutching the jacket close and welcoming the warmth. “I didn’t realize the winery was so large.”
    “It is deceiving from the outside. This is actually a natural cave that has been used by the Toligara family for centuries.” He motioned above them to the network of round pipes. “I’ve made substantial changes to modernize the winery. These pipes carry the new wine to the casks.”
    “Why so many?”
    “Each is a different type of wine, and they must not be mixed.”
    “Wow,” she said, lowering her gaze to find him watching her with eyes that held an intimacy she didn’t wish to explore here with her defenses already in tatters. “How badly did my father damage it?”
    “The winery and olive groves suffered minimal damage. But the vineyards …” He paused and a shadow crossed his eyes. “There were few vines left alive and those needed much nurturing. Each day that I struggled to rebuild I hated your father more, not for his stealth in acquiring my family’s business but for maliciously destroying it.”
    “You hated me just as much or more,” she said.
    He moved toward her with predatory grace, eyes lockedwith hers. She tried to make her shaky legs move but they got the message late, managing to do no more than shuffle back a fraction, his advancing steps besting her retreating ones.
    “I tried to but I could not,” he said, the scratch in his usually controlled voice catching her by surprise. “What about you,
cara?
Do you hate me still?”
    Her back slammed against the wall, the stones cool and hard against her spine, his gaze hot and probing hers. That familiar tingling danced over her heart, her belly, before settling low between her legs. She clenched her muscles, willing the needy sensations away, but that only made the ache more intense, more demanding.
    The woodsy scent that was uniquely his enveloped her. He was far too close. Far too powerful. Far too tantalizing.
    “I have no feelings toward you at all.”
    “Not even desire?” he asked.
    “No, none,” she said with surprising nonchalance. His gaze drilled into her and she squirmed, her insides twisting and her heart hammered against her ribs. “You’re lying,
cara
. The rapid pulse in your throat tells me your heart is racing. Your eyes are dilated with your need and your nipples are peaking through your shirt. If I put my hand between your legs would you be wet for me too?”
    Damn him! Was she that transparent? “I’m here to do a job, Marco. Get that through your head. Nothing more.”
    He smiled but that left her more uneasy. “You do realize you cannot escape the inevitable,” he said, a note of amusement ringing in his voice that echoed in the cavernous keeping room.
    She was realizing far too much being