He's a playboy. A certified Casanova a younger version of me would likely (definitely) have fallen for, hard.
I would have loved the way Marco Grado looked at me from across the bar. The way he strode over to my friend and I as if he owned the place.
As if he owned me.
Fortunately, I've been burned by enough guys like him to know better now. Especially when he turns out to be the same Marco Grado who co-owns the vineyard neighboring mine. Or more precisely, the vineyard which is mine for the taking if I choose to accept my father's "gift" of part-ownership in Sunset Vineyards.
A choice between giving my father a free pass for all the pain he's caused or returning to a job I hate means there's no room for the kind of heartbreak Marco would inevitably bring me if I gave in to his not-so-subtle advances.
Advances that are becoming harder and harder to ignore.
