Sleeping With the Enemy Read online

  “I hate that it’s so good with you,” she whispered. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

  A feeling of smug satisfaction came over him. Jay leaned in and placed an openmouthed kiss on the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Good,” he said, completely ignoring the niggling fear that he may be ruining both of them.

  Eleven

  Bridgett loved to explore the vineyards first thing in the morning. Spying several bikes leaning against one of the utility buildings next to the winery, she hopped on one with a wicker basket on its handlebars. It was large enough to hold her camera. The grapes had all been tied into clusters to form canopies and she wanted to get some pictures of the spectacular Italian countryside to send back home to her family in Boston.

  The area was surrounded by the Alps and Dolomites and bordered Austria and Switzerland. Bridgett had been surprised to find the perfect rows of grapes located in the northernmost regions in Italy. According to the family hosting her for the summer, only fifteen percent of the mountainous territory was farmable. And the DiSantis family had been harvesting grapes for wine production for centuries. While the charity she interned for hadn’t assigned her to Florence or Milan as she’d hoped, Bridgett knew her sisters would be envious of the scenery at least.

  Jetta, one of the family’s truffle-harvesting dogs, followed Bridgett down the narrow dirt lane, but stopped once she’d reached the main road leading to the village. Bridgett loved to explore the village’s old buildings, which had been built by the Austrians long before the area became a part of Italy. Today she’d take advantage of the bright June sunshine and photograph the centuries-old stone chapel across from the clinic where she was working with a Catholic nun who’d taught her chemistry in high school. She was in Italy for six months while she figured out what to do with the rest of her life and Bridgett figured she’d see everything she could while she had the chance.

  Less than a mile into her trek, the chain on her bicycle snapped, causing Bridgett to lurch to a halt. Her right foot landed ankle deep in the mud, caking her brand-new Skechers sneaker as though it were quicksand. She groaned. Her sister Ashley had just sent them and Bridgett loved those shoes.

  She was still straddling the bike, trying to figure out a way to get her foot out of the mud without leaving her shoe behind when an old Isuzu pickup truck came over the hill in front of her. The truck stopped a few yards ahead and she was surprised to see a young man dressed in a Green Day T-shirt, faded jeans, and Sorel work boots emerge from the driver’s seat. Everything about him screamed American. Loose limbed with an easy smile, he nearly knocked Bridgett off her bike with his gorgeous blue eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked in perfect English. Genuine concern was in his voice and in his expression.

  “I’m just a little stuck,” Bridgett said shyly. She was relieved not to have to converse in Italian, since her command of the language was barely passable.

  His smile grew more relaxed, if that was even possible, as he glanced down at the broken chain. “That’s the sorry thing about bikes—no place for a spare. Not even a spare chain.” He crouched down close to her, getting a good glimpse of her leg beneath her cropped shorts, making Bridgett extremely grateful she’d used a razor that morning. “I don’t think that can be fixed here. Why don’t you climb off and I’ll see if there’s something in the truck’s toolbox to fix it.”

  Bridgett wiggled her sneakered foot. “It’s my foot that’s stuck. I’m afraid if I get off, my new shoe will be left behind.”

  He shook his head but his eyes were laughing at her. “What is it with women and their shoes?” He took a step closer and grabbed onto the bike’s crossbar. “Here, put your hand on my shoulder for some leverage and pull. Hopefully the shoe will stay on.”

  His T-shirt was soft but his shoulder was solid muscle underneath it. Bridgett looked down at her feet in order to hide her embarrassing reaction to his body beneath her hand. She yanked her foot free but, of course, her shoe stayed put. Gripping his shoulder a little harder than she wanted to, she drew her leg over the bike and stood beside him, one foot bare on the road.

  Her rescuer handed her the bike before stepping around it and retrieving her muddy shoe from the quagmire beside the road. “Let’s take this over to the truck and see if we can fix you both up.”

  She hobbled over to his pickup and he lowered the back tailgate for her to sit on. He dug through the contents of the back and pulled out a towel that he then used to wipe off her sneaker as best he could. Bridgett went to take it from him but he held it away from her, his eyes twinkling.

  “Oh no, you get the full Prince Charming treatment,” he said as he leaned down to put her shoe on her foot. “Just don’t tell my little sister I played Cinderella with anyone else but her.” He winked at her before untying her sneaker and sliding it on her foot. “And it fits.” Bridgett nearly melted beneath the glow of his satisfied grin.

  He lifted the bike up on the tailgate beside her, carefully handing Bridgett her camera from inside the basket. “I guess I’m going to have to do the work of the fairy godmother as well and fix your coach. Too bad we’re not in a pumpkin patch.”

  “Really, it’s okay. I can walk back to the manor house from here. It’s not far.” While Bridgett didn’t want to inconvenience him any longer, the thought of never seeing him again left an unsettled feeling deep in her belly.

  “Nonsense. Charlie would strip me of my crown if I let you walk back.” He dug into the toolbox.

  “Charlie?”

  “Hmm,” he said, pulling out a wrench. “My very own princess of a little sister. She’s eight.”

  Bridgett smiled at the thought of this devastatingly handsome guy lavishing all his attention on a younger sister. “And not a bit spoiled by her older brother, I’m sure.”

  He gave her a wicked grin then and Bridgett felt a stirring deep in her core. “Hey, what’s the use of having a younger sibling if you can’t spoil them so they annoy your parents?”

  She thought of her brother Brody, the baby of the Janik family, spoiled rotten by four older sisters.

  Turning back to the bike, he began to work on the chain. “So obviously, given your thick Italian accent, you were born and raised here in Trentino?”

  Her smile grew at his teasing and she relaxed as she watched him work. “More like Boston.”

  “Ahh, a chowder girl.”

  Bridgett rolled her eyes at the popular quip. “How about you, local boy?”

  “I call lots of places home. Mom’s a professor so I grew up in college towns mostly but I spent my teenage years in Manhattan.”

  “Ah, a worldly prince.”

  The chain broke in a second spot and her rescuer swore under his breath. “How far did you say that walk was?”

  “Not far. I’m staying at the DiSantis vineyards. I can certainly manage. You’ve been very kind, but I won’t keep you any longer.” She reached for the bike, but he shoved it farther into the truck bed.

  “Well, Cinderella, this is your lucky day. I’m on my way to meet with the harvest manager there. I’ll give you a lift.” The wariness must have shown in her face because he extended his hand, a sober expression now on his face. “Jay McManus at your service. I swear I’m not an ax murderer.”

  Bridgett glanced at his hand, strong yet elegant. “Isn’t that what they all say right before they chop off the obnoxiously naïve woman’s head?”

  He smiled that breathtaking smile again and Bridgett had to work not to fall off the tailgate. “Yep, you’re definitely a tough Boston girl.”

  She shook his hand warmly. “Bridgett Janik, and if something happens to me, I have three sisters and a little brother who’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

  Jay walked her around to the passenger side of the truck before opening the door and helping her in. “A big family, huh? My college roommate comes from a large Chicago family. I’m t
hinking they can take yours,” he said with a wink.

  The five-minute drive to the vineyard was much too short for Bridgett. Jay explained he was in Italy as a summer intern, learning the ropes to growing grapes for wine production. His goal was to open a winery in Northern California. He was visiting the DiSantis vineyard to learn about the process for growing pinot gris grapes in order to make pinot grigio, a wine that was becoming extremely popular in the United States.

  “Do you like wine?” he asked, his enthusiasm for the subject making Bridgett smile.

  “I’m not a big drinker,” she said as he pulled the truck in front of the winery. It was a little bit of a lie, but her college friends mostly drank beer when they weren’t pretending to be Carrie and her friends from Sex and the City and drinking cosmos. “So I don’t know much about wine, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re in the heart of wine country and you don’t know about wine?” he exclaimed as he cut the ignition. “We need to change that, Cinderella. Today.”

  She spent the rest of the day trailing behind Jay, Vincenzo DiSantis and Giovanni, the master vintner, as they discussed grapes, specifically the deep pink pinot grigio grapes. Bridgett learned that the grigio style was achieved by harvesting the grapes relatively early, in an attempt to retain as much fresh acidity as possible. To retain the freshness and “zing” of the wine, fermentation and storage took place in stainless-steel tanks. If barrels were used, Jay explained to her, this would add palate weight and sweet vanilla-like aromas, which would take away from the clean, simple style the wine is famous for. He told her that pinot grigio wines were almost always intended for consumption within a year or two of harvest, making long-term cellaring unnecessary.

  Later that afternoon, Jay poured her a glass from a bottle Giovanni had just uncorked. “Tell me this isn’t smooth on the palate, Cinderella,” he said before saluting her with his own glass and taking a healthy swallow. She watched his expression as he savored the wine. Jay studied her just as intently when she took her own tentative sip. But the wine was delicious, crisp and fruity at the same time. Bridgett took another drink and smiled at him. The heat in his eyes as he returned the smile had her gulping down her first glass of pinot grigio.

  They spent the next two weeks in each other’s company. Bridgett would spend the day at the clinic, and Jay would retrieve her in his battered pickup and they’d explore the countryside, tasting wine and local cuisine as they went. He told her about his sister, whom he obviously adored, and she told him about her uncertainty over what she wanted to do with her life. Jay teased her about becoming a nun, flirting with her about what he might have to do to dissuade her. Still, it was two weeks before he kissed her. And another week before he slowly divested her of her clothes in an inn outside of Verona and made love to her. Despite her involvement with the nuns, Bridgett hadn’t been a virgin. Yet her previous sexual encounters had been bumbling and sophomoric compared to the way Jay brought her body to life. He made her feel like a woman should feel. And Bridgett couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

  • • •

  Bridgett awoke with a start, her dream of Italy so vivid she could actually smell the grapes of the DiSantis vineyard in the bedroom surrounding her. It took a moment for her to come to her senses and realize the fragrance she was inhaling came from Jay’s vineyard. Another moment later, she remembered she was in his bed. Naked. She slammed her eyes shut and groaned as she flopped back down on the pillow.

  “And to think, you used to be a morning person.”

  She cracked her eyelids open, letting her gaze take in the beautiful room—even more gorgeous in the daytime. Sunlight streamed through the terrace door, open just wide enough to let the fresh morning air permeate the room. Jay was seated at a desk in the far corner, typing out something on his laptop. He wore gray slacks, a freshly pressed white dress shirt, untucked, and his feet were bare. If the casual version of Jay McManus could heat up her insides, the dressed-up version made them positively molten.

  Bridgett heard the furious buzzing of her cell phone from deep within her purse on the other side of the room and she suddenly remembered why she was in Napa in the first place. “What time is it?” she croaked out, looking around the room for a clock.

  “Don’t worry,” Jay said, closing his laptop and standing. “It’s only eight thirty. Mimi isn’t coming until ten.” He walked to the pretty table she’d coveted the night before and poured her tea from a gorgeous china teapot. Placing the teacup and some sugar packets on a plate with a spoon, he made his way over to the bed. Bridgett sat up against the wooden headboard, cool against her bare skin, and tucked the sheet beneath her armpits. Her phone buzzed again.

  “That’ll be Stuart,” she said when he placed the tea on the nightstand. “Can you hand me my purse, please.”

  Jay sat down on the edge of the bed. “Not yet.” The lines bracketing his mouth were more pronounced and those blue eyes steely. He reached up and traced a finger along her jawline. “Did you sleep well?”

  She’d slept deeply. It was eleven thirty East Coast time and she was still in bed. “You know I did,” she whispered.

  He leaned in, kissing her soundly. Jay tasted like coffee and smelled like soap and her fingers curled into the sheets in an effort to not tangle through his still-damp hair.

  “Jay,” she breathed after pulling her mouth away from his. “We can’t do this. We have to get ready to iron out a preemptive media strategy with Mimi.”

  His lips settled into a firm line. “Actually, it’s more of a defensive strategy now.”

  Bridgett’s stomach somersaulted and her phone buzzed again. “Alesha Warren didn’t waste any time.”

  Jay continued to stare at her, his gaze remorseful. “No, she didn’t.”

  “What happened?”

  He reached for her teacup and placed it in her hands, gently caressing her fingers as he did so. “Drink this first.”

  Her stomach was somersaulting into her chest now, and her breathing hitched. The look on his face told her that whatever Alesha Warren had done, Bridgett wasn’t going to like it. Jay angled his chin toward her cup, urging her to drink, but Bridgett wanted to get out of bed, get dressed, and get to her phone. “I’d rather discuss this when I’ve got a little more clothing on.”

  He all but rolled his eyes, giving her a look that said he knew exactly what she looked like under that sheet, and layers of clothing wouldn’t make a difference. “Drink the tea, Bridgett.”

  The arrogant jerk didn’t bother moving out of her way, so Bridgett took a large swallow of Earl Grey, nearly scalding her throat her as it slid down. Jay swore, handing her some ice water from a glass beside the bed. “Tell me,” she choked out.

  Jay stared at her a moment longer, his face softening when his eyes focused on her lips. “That blogger—the Girlfriends’ Guide to the NFL—wrote about us this morning.”

  Bridgett’s heart began to pound. “How . . . ? How did she find out? You said you kept everything protected.”

  “Not about Italy. About us sharing a room in Virginia Beach. She’s claiming you came on to me in the motel lobby.” He gave her a cheeky grin.

  “That’s ridiculous! It was the last room during a storm. Nothing even happened.”

  His smile was sly now. “Yet, according to the blogger, you chased me out to my home in Napa.”

  She was furious now. “We’ll have Mimi refute it. You’re my client. That’s all.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her smugly. She smacked him in the chest.

  “We’re going to make this go away, Jay.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  Bridgett shoved at him, but he wouldn’t budge. “I need to call Stuart. He’s probably ballistic by now. This story has to be stopped.”

  “No.” Jay delivered the one word with such force, Bridgett shifted back against the headboard. “The story is true, Bridgett. You a
nd I are involved. For once, something that damn blogger wrote has real legs. It’s the perfect cover to flush out the person who’s behind all of this while still protecting my other secrets.”

  “So you’re going to use me to protect yourself?”

  He gave her another one of those smug smiles. “It’s not using you if you enjoy it as much as I do. And I’m not only protecting myself here, Bridgett.”

  She slumped against the pillow. At least she could take solace in the fact that he was shielding her past as well.

  “I need to protect Charlie from all of this,” he said, his tone fierce. “I don’t think anyone in her circle or anywhere else knows about the baby. It’s the only reason she would come to my home instead of hers. She knows that my staff can be trusted to keep her private life from playing out in the tabloids.”

  A lump formed in Bridgett’s throat. Of course he was shielding his little sister. Bridgett’s career he could sacrifice, but not Princess Charlotte’s reputation. It didn’t matter if he believed Charlie or not; he would still be there for her. The thought made tears sting the backs of Bridgett’s eyes. She jumped as her phone buzzed again.

  “I need to talk to Stuart,” she said. Her fingers picked at the sheet. “I just have no idea what to tell him.”

  “Tell him the truth. That we’re a couple.”

  “We’re not a couple!” Except she heard the lie in her own words. Walking away from Jay a second time might not be possible. Even if their relationship was based solely on sex this time around, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to refuse his offer.

  Jay leaned forward and laid claim to her mouth while one hand gently kneaded her breast. “We are very much a couple, Bridgett,” he declared as his lips traced the shell of her ear. “As long as we’re both enjoying it, there’s no reason for our relationship to be otherwise.”

  This time it was his phone buzzing inside his shirt pocket. Bridgett tried to even out her breathing while Jay answered the phone, his heated gaze never leaving her face. “Yeah.” He was silent a moment; then both corners of his mouth turned up. “That’s the second best thing I’ve heard all day. I’ll be right down.” He clicked the phone off. “It seems Don has located our missing Sparks cheerleader. He’s questioning her now and we should have some clues as to who’s behind all of this. If nothing else, maybe she can lead us to the blogger.”