Page 5 of His Billion-Dollar Takeover Temptation

The band struck up the beginnings of a classic song, yanking her out of her memories and back into the ballroom. Her dad still refused to tell her why he’d decided to sell to Adrian Cabrera, but that wouldn’t stop her. She might have jumped the gun with her accusations, and mucked up her first meeting with the conceited jackass, but she hadn’t donned her tallest heels and put on twice the make-up she normally wore for nothing.

With a deep breath, and a squaring of her shoulders, she walked down the length of the balcony and descended the elegantly carpeted staircase to the ballroom floor.

Adrian pulled another glass of Merlot off one of the passing silver trays. What he really wanted was a shot of whiskey after that encounter with Everleigh Bradford.

He risked a subtle glance up at the balcony. The infuriating woman had disappeared. If she had any sense, she’d be walking toward the elevator and would never darken his door again. He wouldn’t punish Richard Bradford for his quick-tempered daughter’s actions, but he would certainly have a word with him.

His blood boiled as her accusations whirled in his head. Yes, he was a shrewd businessman, but he would never force a fellow vineyard owner into selling if he didn’t want to.

What the hell had Richard Bradford told Everleigh? Why would he lie about their deal?

He had just taken another drink when the pesky woman reappeared at the edge of the room. He leaned against the wall and watched as she smoothed the skirts of her dress before advancing into the crowd, her head twisting every now and then.

Looking for him.

He smirked, despite feeling an odd pang of disappointment. She was just like all the others who pursued him—not because they wanted him, but because they wanted something from him.

Just another Nicole.

His one attempt at a relationship had gone down in flames not six months after it had started. He hadn’t been a fan of relationships even before Nicole. Her machinations and her epic performance the night he’d broken things off had cemented his bachelor status for life.

Down below, Everleigh paused and greeted a couple seated at one of the round tables. The man said something to her and she threw her head back and laughed, those blonde tresses dancing with a life of their own. Seeing her like this, carefree and without baseless accusations falling from those sumptuous lips, chased away the memory of Nicole’s scheming smile and sparked his desire.

His eyes roamed over Everleigh’s heart-shaped face. Compared to many of the women here tonight she wore minimal make-up. She was beautiful, but naturally so. Rather than simpering and throwing around a seductive pout, she laughed and hugged and smiled. She had obviously come here tonight on a mission, but in this moment, unaware that she was being watched, he saw a glimpse of a woman who could seduce just by being herself.

It was intoxicating.

Perhaps he should speak with her.

At the very least, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity about why she had decided to invade his party and risk his wrath.

And maybe, if they could resolve that little matter, she would agree to spend a night in his bed...

Everleigh ran into several familiar faces as she navigated the crowd in her search for Adrian. Neil Mikaelsen, the head sommelier of a popular New York restaurant. Alesha and Ben Gaiman, owners of a well-known winery in Missouri.

The wine industry spanned continents, but it was still a tight-knit family. Too bad Adrian Cabrera couldn’t see how being respectful and even friendly was not only good business practice but also led to decades-long friendships with people who knew the challenges and hardships of operating a winery.

The few people she’d spoken with about him had described his success in glowing terms. The man himself? Not so much. Aloof, cold and distant had been common adjectives.

She looked around the ballroom once more, but didn’t see him. The blasted man had to be six and a half feet tall. How hard could it be to spot him?

She had just congratulated Cora and Cole Owens on their daughter’s recent marriage when she passed by the dessert buffet. The table, draped in burgundy silk and lit with gold votives, offered up treats like gourmet chocolates infused with caramel and raspberry, chocolate soufflé bites, and an elevated crystal tray stacked high with cookies dusted with powdered sugar—polvorones, according to a black sign with gold cursive.

Beneath it, in small print, was a note.

Myabuelawould bake up a batch ofpolvoronesin her tiny kitchen every weekend. We include a dish of “dust cookies” at every Cabrera Wine event to honor her memory.

The signature at the bottom, written in a bold script, read“Adrian Cabrera.”

Surprise filtered through the adrenaline that still pulsed through her. She hadn’t thought of the man as sentimental.

Curious, she picked up a cookie and bit into it.

Oh, heavens.

Bursts of cinnamon and chocolate filled her mouth as the delicate treat melted on her tongue. Her senses quivered at the rich taste. Not that she had any experience with sex, but if she had, she’d bet these cookies would give lovemaking a run for its money.

“Delicious, aren’t they?”

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