The Villa (Random House Large Print) - Hardcover

Roberts, Nora

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0375431039 ISBN 13: 9780375431036

Publisher: Random House Large Print, 2001

Synopsis

Sophia Giambelli has never had to worry about competition. For three generation, the Giambelli wines have been renowned for their quality- from Napa Valley to Italy, and throughout the world. The pride of the Giambelli family, and a top PR executive, Sophia loves her job- and excels at it.

But things are about to change at Villa Giambelli. Tereza, the matriarch, has decreed that a merger will take place with the MacMillan family's winery- and Sophia will be taking a new role. As a savvy business-woman, she knows she has to be prepared for anything...but she isn't prepared for Tyler MacMillian. They've been ordered to work together very closely, to make the merger as smooth as possible. Sophia must teach Ty the finer points of marketing and promotion- and Ty, in turn, shows her how to get down and dirty, to use the sun, rain, and earth to coax the sweetest grapes from the vineyard. But as they toil together, both in and out of the fields, Sophia is torn between a powerful attraction and a professional rivalry. At the end of the season, the course of the company's future- and the legacy of the Villa- may take an entirely new direction. And when acts of sabotage threaten both the family business and the family itself, Sophia's quest will be not only for dominance, but survival....

About this title

About the Author

Nora Roberts is the first writer to be inducted into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame.  The number on New York Times bestselling author of Carolina Moon, River's End, Jewels of the Sun, and other novels, she lives in Maryland.

From the Back Cover

elli has never had to worry about competition. For three generation, the Giambelli wines have been renowned for their quality- from Napa Valley to Italy, and throughout the world. The pride of the Giambelli family, and a top PR executive, Sophia loves her job- and excels at it.

But things are about to change at Villa Giambelli. Tereza, the matriarch, has decreed that a merger will take place with the MacMillan family's winery- and Sophia will be taking a new role. As a savvy business-woman, she knows she has to be prepared for anything...but she isn't prepared for Tyler MacMillian. They've been ordered to work together very closely, to make the merger as smooth as possible. Sophia must teach Ty the finer points of marketing and promotion- and Ty, in turn, shows her how to get down and dirty, to use the sun, rain, and earth to coax the sweetest grapes from the vineyard. But as they toil together, both in and out of the fields, Sophia is torn between a powerful attraction and a profe

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Villa

By Nora Roberts

Random House Large Print Publishing

Copyright © 2001 Nora Roberts
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0375431039

Chapter One

The bottle of Castello di Giambelli Cabernet Sauvignon, '02, auctioned for onehundred and twenty-five thousand, five hundred dollars, American. A great dealof money, Sophia thought, for wine mixed with sentiment. The wine in that fineold bottle had been produced from grapes harvested in the year Cezare Giambellihad established the Castello di Giambelli winery on a hilly patch of land northof Venice.

    At that time the castello had been either a con or supreme optimism,depending on your point of view. Cezare's modest house and little stone wineryhad been far from castlelike. But his vines had been regal, and he had built anempire from them.

    After nearly a century, even a superior Cabernet Sauvignon was likely morepalatable sprinkled on a salad rather than drunk, but it wasn't her job to arguewith the man with the money. Her grandmother had been right, as always. Theywould pay, and richly, for the privilege of owning a piece of Giambelli history.

    Sophia made a note of the final bid and the buyer's name, though she wasunlikely to forget either, for the memo she would send to her grandmother whenthe auction was over.

    She was attending the event not only as the public relations executive whohad designed and implemented the promotion and catalogue for the auction, but asthe Giambelli family representative at this exclusive, pre-centennial event.

    As such, she sat quietly in the rear of the room to observe the bidding, andthe presentation.

    Her legs were crossed in a long, elegant line. Her back convent-schoolstraight. She wore a black pin-striped suit, tailored and Italian, that managedto look both businesslike and utterly feminine.

    It was exactly the way Sophia thought of herself.

    Her face was sharp, a triangle of pale gold dominated by large, deep-setbrown eyes and a wide, mobile mouth. Her cheekbones were ice-pick keen, her china diamond point, sculpting a look that was part pixie, part warrior. She had,deliberately, ruthlessly, used her face as a weapon when it seemed mostexpedient.

    Tools, she believed, were meant to be used, and used well.

    A year before, she'd had her waist-length hair cut into a short black capwith a spiky fringe over her forehead.

    It suited her. Sophia knew exactly what suited her.

    She wore the single strand of antique pearls her grandmother had given herfor her twenty-first birthday, and an expression of polite interest. She thoughtof it as her father's boardroom look.

    Her eyes brightened, and the corners of her wide mouth curved slightly asthe next item was showcased.

    It was a bottle of Barolo, '34, from the cask Cezare had named Di Tereza inhonor of her grandmother's birth. This private reserve carried a picture ofTereza at ten on the label, the year the wine had been deemed sufficiently agedin oak, and bottled.

    Now, at sixty-seven, Tereza Giambelli was a legend, whose renown as avintner had overshadowed even her grandfather's.

    This was the first bottle of this label ever offered for sale, or passedoutside the family. As Sophia expected, bidding was brisk and spirited.

    The man sitting beside Sophia tapped his catalogue where the photograph ofthe bottle was displayed. "You have the look of her."

    Sophia shifted slightly, smiled first at him-a distinguished man hoveringcomfortably somewhere near sixty-then at the picture of the young girl staringseriously out from a bottle of red in his catalogue. "Thank you."

    Marshall Evans, she recalled. Real estate, second generation Fortune 500.She made it her business to know the names and vital statistics of wine buffsand collectors with deep pockets and sterling taste.

    "I'd hoped La Signora would attend today's auction. She's well?"

    "Very. But otherwise occupied."

    The beeper in her jacket pocket vibrated. Vaguely annoyed with theinterruption, Sophia ignored it to watch the bidding. Her eyes scanned the room,noting the signals. The casual lift of a finger from the third row brought theprice up another five hundred. A subtle nod from the fifth topped it.

    In the end, the Barolo outdistanced the Cabernet Sauvignon by fifteenthousand, and she turned to extend her hand to the man beside her.

    "Congratulations, Mr. Evans. Your contribution to the International RedCross will be put to good use. On behalf of Giambelli, family and company, Ihope you enjoy your prize."

    "There's no doubt of it." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. "I hadthe pleasure of meeting La Signora many years ago. She's an extraordinarywoman."

    "Yes, she is."

    "Perhaps her granddaughter would join me for dinner this evening?"

    He was old enough to be her father, but Sophia was too European to find thata deterrent. Another time, she'd have agreed, and no doubt enjoyed his company."I'm sorry, but I have an appointment. Perhaps on my next trip east, if you'refree."

    "I'll make sure I am."

    Putting some warmth into her smile, she rose. "If you'll excuse me."

    She slipped out of the room, plucking the beeper from her pocket to checkthe number. She detoured to the ladies' lounge, glancing at her watch andpulling the phone from her bag. With the number punched in, she settled on oneof the sofas and laid her notebook and her electronic organizer on her lap.

    After a long and demanding week in New York, she was still revved and,glancing through her appointments, pleased to have time to squeeze in a littleshopping before she needed to change for her dinner date.

    Jeremy DeMorney, she mused. That meant an elegant, sophisticated evening.French restaurant, discussion of food, travel and theater. And, of course, ofwine. As he was descended from the La Coeur winery DeMorneys, and a top accountexec there, and she sprang from Giambelli stock, there would be some playfulattempts to pry corporate secrets from each other.

    And there would be champagne. Good, she was in the mood for it.

    All followed by an outrageously romantic attempt to lure her into bed. Shewondered if she'd be in the mood for that as well.

    He was attractive, she considered, and could be amusing. Perhaps if theyboth hadn't been aware that her father had once slept with his wife, the idea ofa little romance between them wouldn't seem so awkward, and somehow incestuous.

    Still, several years had passed....

    "Maria." Sophia neatly tucked Jerry and the evening to come away, when theGiambelli housekeeper answered. "I've a call from my mother's line. Is sheavailable?"

    "Oh, yes, Miss Sophia. She hoped you would call. Just one moment."

    Sophia imagined the woman hurrying through the wing, scanning the rooms forsomething to tidy when Pilar Giambelli Avano would have already tidiedeverything herself.

    Mama, Sophia thought, would have been content in a little rose-coveredcottage where she could bake bread, do her needlework and tend her garden. Sheshould have had a half dozen children, Sophia thought with a sigh. And had tosettle for me.

    "Sophie, I was just heading out to the greenhouse. Wait. Catch my breath. Ididn't expect you to get back to me so quickly. I thought you'd be in the middleof the auction."

    "End of it. And I think we can say it's been an unqualified success. I'llfax a memo of the particulars this evening, or first thing in the morning. Now,I really should go back and tie up the loose ends. Is everything all rightthere?"

    "More or less. Your grandmother's ordered a summit meeting."

    "Oh, Mama, she's not dying again. We went through that six months ago."

    "Eight," Pilar corrected. "But who's counting? I'm sorry, baby, but sheinsists. I don't think she plans to die this time, but she's planning something.She's called the lawyers for another revamp of the will. And she gave me hermother's cameo brooch, which means she's thinking ahead."

    "I thought she gave you that last time."

    "No, it was the amber beads last time. She's sending for everyone. You needto come back."

    "All right, all right." Sophia glanced down at her organizer and blew amental kiss goodbye to Jerry DeMorney. "I'll finish up here and be on my way.But really, Mama, this new habit of hers of dying or revamping every few monthsis very inconvenient."

    "You're a good girl, Sophie. I'm going to leave you my amber beads."

    "Thanks a bunch." With a laugh, Sophia disconnected.

    Two hours later, she was flying west and speculating whether in anotherforty years she would have the power to crook her finger and have everyonescrambling.

    Just the idea of it made her smile as she settled back with a glass ofchampagne and Verdi playing on the headphones.

Not everyone scrambled. Tyler MacMillan might have been minutes away from VillaGiambelli rather than hours, but he considered the vines a great deal moreurgent than a summons from La Signora.

    And he said so.

    "Now, Ty. You can take a few hours."

    "Not now." Ty paced his office, anxious to get back into the fields. "I'msorry, Granddad. You know how vital the winter pruning is, and so does Tereza."He shifted the portable phone to his other ear. He hated the portables. He wasalways losing them. "MacMillan's vines need every bit as much care asGiambelli's."

    "Ty-"

    "You put me in charge here. I'm doing my job."

    "Ty," Eli repeated. With his grandson, he knew, matters must be put on avery basic level. "Tereza and I are as dedicated to MacMillan wines as we are tothose under the Giambelli label, and have been for twenty years. You were put incharge because you're an exceptional vintner. Tereza has plans. Those plansinvolve you."

    "Next week."

    "Tomorrow." Eli didn't put his foot down often; it wasn't the way he worked.But when necessary, he did so ruthlessly. "One o'clock. Lunch. Dressappropriately."

    Tyler scowled down at his ancient boots and the frayed hems of his thicktrousers. "That's the middle of the damn day."

    "Are you the only one at MacMillan capable of pruning vines, Tyler?Apparently you've lost a number of employees over the last season."

    "I'll be there. But tell me one thing."

    "Of course."

    "Is this the last time she's going to die for a while?"

    "One o'clock," Eli responded. "Try to be on time."

    "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tyler muttered, but only after he clicked the phone off.

    He adored his grandfather. He even adored Tereza, perhaps because she was soornery and annoying. When his grandfather had married the Giambelli heiress,Tyler had been eleven years old. He'd fallen in love with the vineyards, therise of the hills, the shadows of the caves, the great caverns of the cellars.

    And in a very real sense he'd fallen in love with Tereza Louisa ElanaGiambelli, that whip-thin, ramrod-straight, somewhat terrifying figure he'dfirst seen dressed in boots and trousers not so different from his own, stridingthrough the mustard plants between the rising rows of grapes.

    She'd taken one look at him, lifted a razor-sharp black eyebrow and deemedhim soft and citified. If he was to be her grandson, she'd told him, he wouldhave to be toughened up.

    She'd ordered him to stay at the villa for the summer. No one had consideredarguing the point. Certainly not his parents, who'd been more than happy to dumphim for an extended period so they could fly off to parties and lovers. So hehad stayed, Tyler thought now as he wandered to the window. Summer after summeruntil the vineyards were more home to him than the house in San Francisco, untilshe and his grandfather were more parents to him than his mother and father.

    She'd made him. Pruned him back at the age of eleven and trained him to growinto what he was.

    But she didn't own him. It was ironic, he supposed, that all her work shouldhave formed him into the one person under her aegis most likely to ignore herdemands.

    Harder, of course, to ignore the demands when she and his grandfatherunified. With a shrug, Tyler started out of the office. He could spare a fewhours, and they knew it as well as he. The MacMillan vineyards employed thebest, and he could easily have absented himself for most of a season withconfidence in those left in charge.

    The simple fact was he hated the big, sprawling events the Giambellisgenerated. They were invariably like a circus, with all three rings packed withcolorful acts. You couldn't keep track, and it was always possible one of thetigers would leap the cage and go for your throat.

    All those people, all those issues, all those pretenses and smokyundercurrents. He was happier walking the vineyards or checking the casks orplunking down with one of his winemakers and discussing the qualities of thatyear's Chardonnay.

    Social duties were simply that. Duties.

    He detoured through the charming ramble of the house that had been hisgrandfather's into the kitchen to refill his thermos with coffee. Absently heset the portable phone he still carried on the counter and began rearranging hisschedule in his head to accommodate La Signora.

    He was no longer citified, or soft. He was just over six feet with a bodysculpted by fieldwork and a preference for the outdoors. His hands were wide,and tough with calluses, with long fingers that knew how to dip delicately underleaves to the grape. His hair tended to curl if he forgot to have it trimmed,which he often did, and was a deep brown that showed hints of red, like an agedburgundy in the sunlight. His rawboned face was more rugged than handsome, withlines beginning to fan out from eyes of clear and calm blue that could harden tosteel.

    The scar along his jaw, which he'd earned with a tumble off a stand of rocksat age thirteen, only annoyed him when he remembered to shave.

    Which he reminded himself he would have to do before lunch the followingday.

    Those who worked for him considered him a fair man, if often a single-mindedone. Tyler would have appreciated the analysis. They also considered him anartist, and that would have baffled him.

    To Tyler MacMillan, the artist was the grape.

    He stepped outside into the brisk winter air. He had two hours beforesunset, and vines to tend.

Donato Giambelli had a headache of outrageous proportions. Her name was Gina,and she was his wife. When the summons from La Signora had come, he had beenhappily engaged in eye-crossing sex with his current mistress, a multitalentedaspiring actress with thighs strong enough to crack walnuts. Unlike his wife,all the mistress required was the occasional bauble and a sweaty romp threetimes a week. She did not require conversation.

    There were times he thought Gina required nothing else.

    She babbled at him. Babbled at each of their three children. Babbled at hismother until the air in the company jet vibrated with the endless stream ofwords.

    Between her, the baby's screaming, little Cezare's banging and TerezaMaria's bouncing, Don gave serious thought to opening the hatch and shoving hisentire family off the plane and into oblivion.

    Only his mother was quiet, and only because she'd taken a sleeping pill, anair-sickness pill, an allergy pill and God knew what else, washed them all downwith two glasses of Merlot before putting her eye mask in place and passing out.

    She'd spent most of her life, at least the portion he knew of it, medicatedand oblivious. At the moment, he considered that superior wisdom.

    He could only sit, his temples throbbing, and damn his aunt Tereza to helland beyond for insisting his entire family make the trip.

    He was executive vice president of Giambelli, Venice, was he not? Anybusiness that needed to be conducted required him, not his family.

    Why had God plagued him with such a family?

    Not that he didn't love them. Of course he loved them. But the baby was asfat as a turkey, and there was Gina pulling out a breast for its greedy mouth.

    Once, that breast had been a work of art, he thought. Gold and firm andtasting of peaches. Now it was stretched like an overfilled balloon, and, had hebeen inclined to taste, flavored with baby drool.

    And the woman was already making noises about yet another one.

    The woman he'd married had been ripe, lush, sexually charged and empty ofhead. She had been perfection. In five short years she had become fat, sloppyand her head was full of babies.

    Was it any wonder he sought his comfort elsewhere?

    "Donny, I think Zia Tereza will give you a big promotion, and we'll all moveinto the castello." She lusted for the great house of Giambelli-all those lovelyrooms, all the servants. Her children would be raised in luxury, with privilege.

    Fine clothes, the best schools and, one day, the Giambelli fortune at theirfeet.

    She was the only one giving La Signora babies, wasn't she? That would countfor quite a bit.

    "Cezare," she said to her son as he tore the head off his sister's doll."Stop that! Now you made your sister cry. Here now, here, give me the doll. Mamawill fix."

    Little Cezare, eyes glinting, tossed the head gleefully over his shoulderand began to taunt his sister.

    "English, Cezare!" She shook a finger at him. "We're going to America.You'll speak English to your zia Tereza and show her what a smart boy you are.Come, come."

    Tereza Maria, screaming over the death of her doll, retrieved the severedhead and raced up and down the cabin in a flurry of grief and rage.

    "Cezare! Do as Mama says."

    In response, the boy flung himself to the floor, arms and legs hammering.

    Don lurched up, stumbled away and locked himself in the sanctuary of hisin-flight office.

Anthony Avano enjoyed the finer things. He'd chosen his two-story penthouse inSan Francisco's Back Bay with care and deliberation, then had hired the topdecorator in the city to outfit it for him. Status and style were highpriorities. Having them without having to make any real effort was another.

    He failed to see how a man could be comfortable without those basicelements.

    His rooms reflected what he thought of as classic taste-from the silk moiréwalls, the Oriental carpets, to the gleaming oak furniture. He'd chosen, or hisdecorator had, rich fabrics in neutral tones with a few splashes of bold colorsartfully arranged.

    The modern art, which meant absolutely nothing to him, was, he'd been told,a striking counterpoint to the quiet elegance.

    He relied heavily on the services of decorators, tailors, brokers, jewelersand dealers to guide him into surrounding himself with the best.

    Some of his detractors had been known to say Tony Avano was born with taste.And all of it in his mouth. He wouldn't have argued the point. But money, asTony saw it, bought all the taste a man required.

    He knew one thing. And that was wine.

    His cellars were arguably among the best in California. Every bottle hadbeen personally selected. While he couldn't distinguish a Sangiovese from aSemillon on the vine, and had no interest in the growing of the grape, he had asuperior nose. And that nose had steadily climbed the corporate ladder atGiambelli, California. Thirty years before, it had married Pilar Giambelli.

    It had taken that nose less than two years to begin sniffing at other women.

    Tony was the first to admit that women were his weakness. There were so manyof them, after all. He had loved Pilar as deeply as he was capable of lovinganother human being. He had certainly loved his position of privilege in theGiambelli organization as the husband of La Signora's daughter and as the fatherof her granddaughter.

    For those reasons he had, for many years, attempted to be very discreetabout his particular weakness. He had even tried, a number of times, to reform.

    But then there would be another woman, soft and fragrant or sultry andseductive. What was a man to do?

    The weakness had eventually cost him his marriage, in a technical if not alegal sense. He and Pilar had been separated for seven years. Neither of themhad made the move toward divorce. She, he knew, because she loved him. And hebecause it seemed like a great deal of trouble and would have seriouslydispleased Tereza.

    In any case, as far as Tony was concerned, the current situation suitedeveryone nicely. Pilar preferred the countryside, he the city. They maintained apolite, even a reasonably friendly relationship. And he kept his position aspresident of sales, Giambelli, California.

    Seven years they had walked that civilized line. Now, he was very afraid hewas about to fall off the edge of it.

    Rene was insisting on marriage. Like a silk-lined steamroller, Rene had away of moving toward a goal and flattening all barriers in her path. Discussionswith her left Tony limp and dizzy.

    She was violently jealous, overbearing, demanding and prone to icy sulks.

    He was crazy about her.

    At thirty-two, she was twenty-seven years his junior, a fact that strokedhis well-developed ego. Knowing she was every bit as interested in his money asthe rest of him didn't trouble him. He respected her for it.

    He worried that if he gave her what she wanted, he would lose what shewanted him for.

    It was a hell of a fix. To resolve it, Tony did what he usually didregarding difficulties. He ignored it as long as humanly possible.

    Studying his view of the bay, sipping a small vermouth, Tony waited for Reneto finish dressing for their evening out. And worried that his time was up.

    The doorbell had him glancing over, frowning slightly. They weren'texpecting anyone. As it was his majordomo's evening off, he went to see who wasthere. The frown cleared as he opened the door to his daughter.

    "Sophie, what a lovely surprise."

    "Dad."

    She rose slightly on her toes to kiss his cheek. Ridiculously handsome, asever, she thought. Good genes and an excellent plastic surgeon served him well.She did her best to ignore the quick and instinctive tug of resentment, andtried to focus on the equally quick and instinctive tug of love.

    It seemed she was forever pulled in opposing directions over her father.

    "I'm just in from New York, and wanted to see you before I headed up to thevilla."

    She scanned his face-smooth, almost unlined and certainly untroubled. Thedark hair wisped attractively with gray at the temples, the deep blue eyes wereclear. He had a handsome, squared-off chin with a center dimple. She'd loveddipping her finger into it as a child and making him laugh.

    The love for him swarmed through her and tangled messily with theresentment. It was always so.

    "I see you're going out," she said, noting his tuxedo.

    "Shortly." He took her hand to draw her inside. "But there's plenty of time.Sit down, princess, and tell me how you are. What can I get you?"

    She tipped his glass toward her. Sniffed, approved. "What you're having'sfine."

    She scanned the room as he walked over to the liquor cabinet. An expensivepretext, she thought. All show and no substance. Just like her father.

    "Are you going up tomorrow?"

    "Going where?"

    She tilted her head as he crossed back to her. "To the villa."

    "No, why?"

    She took the glass, considering as she sipped. "You didn't get a call?"

    "About what?"

    Loyalties tugged and tangled inside her. He'd cheated on her mother, hadcarelessly ignored his vows as long as Sophia could remember, and in the end hadleft them both with barely a backward glance. But he was still family, and thefamily was being called to the villa.

    "La Signora. One of her summits with lawyers, I'm told. You might want to bethere."

    "Ah, well, really, I was-"

    He broke off as Rene walked in.

    If there was a poster girl for the trophy mistress, Sophia thought as hertemper sizzled, Rene Foxx was it. Tall, curvy and blonde on blonde. TheValentino gown showcased a body ruthlessly toned, and managed to lookunderstated and elegant.

    Her hair was swept up, slicked back to leave her lovely, pampered face withits full, sensuous mouth-collagen, Sophia thought cattily-and shrewd green eyes.

    She'd chosen diamonds to marry the Valentino, and they flashed and shimmeredagainst her polished skin.

    Just how much, Sophia wondered, had those rocks set her father back?

    "Hello." Sophia sipped more vermouth to wash some of the bitterness off hertongue. "Rene, isn't it?"

    "Yes, and it has been for nearly two years. It's still Sophia?"

    "Yes, for twenty-six."

    Tony cleared his throat. Nothing, in his opinion, was more dangerous thantwo sniping females. The man between them always took the bullet.

    "Rene, Sophia's just in from New York."

    "Really?" Enjoying herself, Rene took Tony's glass, sipped. "That explainswhy you're looking a bit travel-frayed. We're about to leave for a party. You'rewelcome to join us," she added, hooking her arm through Tony's. "I must havesomething in my closet that would work on you."

    If she was going to go claw to claw with Rene, it wouldn't be after acoast-to-coast flight and in her father's apartment. Sophia would choose thetime, and the place.

    "That's so considerate, but I'd feel awkward wearing something so obviouslytoo large. And," she added, coating her words with sugar, "I'm just on my waynorth. Family business." She set her glass down. "Enjoy your evening."

    She walked to the door, where Tony caught up with her to give her shoulder aquick, placating pat. "Why don't you come along, Sophie? You're fine as you are.You're beautiful."

    "No, thank you." She turned, and their eyes met. His were full of sheepishapology. It was an expression she was too accustomed to seeing for it to beeffective. "I'm not feeling particularly festive."

    He winced as she shut the door in his face.

    "What did she want?" Rene demanded.

    "She just dropped by, as I said."

    "Your daughter never does anything without a reason."

    He shrugged. "She may have thought we could drive up north together in themorning. Tereza's sent out a summons."

    Rene's eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell me about that."

    "I didn't get one." He dismissed the entire matter and thought of the partyand just how he and Rene would look making their entrance. "You look fabulous,Rene. It's a shame to cover that dress, even with mink. Shall I get your wrap?"

    "What do you mean you didn't get one?" Rene slapped the empty glass on atable. "Your position at Giambelli is certainly more important than yourdaughter's." And Rene meant to see it remained that way. "If the old woman'scalling the family, you go. We'll drive up tomorrow."

    "We? But-"

    "It's the perfect opportunity to take your stand, Tony, and to tell Pilaryou want a divorce. We'll make it an early night, so we'll both be clearheaded."She crossed to him, slid her fingers down his cheek.

    With Tony, she knew, manipulation required firm demands and physicalrewards, judiciously melded.

    "And when we get back tonight, I'll show you just what you can expect fromme when we're married. When we get back, Tony..." She leaned in, bit teasinglyat his bottom lip. "You can do anything you want."

    "Let's just skip the party."

    She laughed, slipped away from his hands. "It's important. And it'll giveyou time to think of just what you want to do to me. Get my sable for me, won'tyou, darling?"

    She felt like sable tonight, Rene thought as Tony went to comply.

    She felt rich tonight.

Continues...

Excerpted from The Villaby Nora Roberts Copyright © 2001 by Nora Roberts. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: Random House Large Print
• Publication date: 2001
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0375431039
• ISBN 13: 9780375431036
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 704