Scanning the room, my eyes instantly fell on the man in question. Michael Sinclair was my father’s lifelong friend; it was he who employed my parents all those years ago as ‘grape pickers’. Yet now, he was in financial trouble and too ashamed to ask his good friend Pep for any help.
Man, was I pissed. Not that I was angry with Michael Sinclair himself; I knew he was embarrassed, maybe even ashamed about making a bad business deal with that piece of shit Tate Turner. He was a calculated and manipulative asshole, and he’d been after the Sinclair Winery for years.
Tate Turner was a high-paid accountant for an extremely successful accounting firm in Adelaide. He had made partner by the age of twenty-three. He was your typical ‘Aussie’ bloke.
A pretty boy, that’s what he was.
He had that surfer-boy look, with shaggy dirty-blond hair, blue eyes and lean, muscular body. Not a hair out of place and always clean-shaven. But he was a sleaze; there was nothing nice about him.
I despised him.
But Michael Sinclair was desperate, and he had trusted the wrong man.
Big. Mistake.
Now, he was about to lose everything. If it wasn’t for my father exposing Tate Turner for his treachery and extortion of almost two million dollars, he would have had control of the Sinclair Winery by now. Now was the time; Tate Turner had been trialled and jailed for fraudulence, theft and embezzlement. The last I heard, he had yet another repetitive crime added to his growing list; he had been charged for assault on a young woman, in inner Sydney. That bastard! If he ever laid a hand on my sister Mia, I’d kill him with my own bare hands. This last charge would keep him in jail for a longer stint, but he’d be out in no time. He may have had good lawyers but I had the best, and I had the power and the control to whip his sorry ass. I needed to do something and do it fast, before Tate Turner got his greedy hands on the Sinclair Winery. Admittedly, I was a selfish ass. Of course, I wanted the Sinclair Winery for myself. ‘Keeping it in the family’, if you like. I liked Sinclair, and I wanted to help him. After all, he had helped my father nearly forty years ago, and who was I kidding anyway? I wanted that winery for myself.
I wanted it all.
Goddamn it! If only Sinclair had come to me for help then this never would have happened. For months now, I had been plotting to take over the Sinclair Winery. I could have easily done it, but I didn’t want to offend him or have him feel any more humiliated than what he already felt. Now, with Tate Turner out of the picture, it was time.
Time to take control.
Just as I was about to turn and answer my father, I saw her.
Jada Sinclair. She was a stunner.
As the eldest daughter, she was the heiress to the Sinclair Winery; if it stayed in the family long enough, that is. My eyes narrowed to slits as I studied her. She leaned in and stepped up to kiss her father on the cheek.
I hadn’t seen Jada for at least eight years, and man, had those years been good to her.
Fuck, she looked hot!
Jada wore a black, skin-tight, lace dress that dipped low in the front and also at the back. I stared at her greedily, completely mesmerised by every alluring curve of her body, more pronounced now that she had matured. The dress was long with a sexy slit enhancing one extremely toned, tanned and sexy thigh. Her blonde hair fell in luxurious, thick waves down her exposed back, and her green eyes were still as intoxicating as I could remember.
Geez, my dick was getting hard just looking at her.
I knew what I wanted. My plan included her. In my bed. On my terms. The Sinclair Winery would belong to the Brunetti’s. It was just a matter of time.
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve got this all under control; you just need to trust me. I’ll go give my speech but by this time tomorrow, I will set the ball rolling,” I said. I turned and walked up to the podium to deliver my speech.
Yeah, I was a prick.
***
JADA
From the very first moment I stepped into the ballroom, I spotted the ruthless Max Brunetti from across the room, and my insides went up in flames.
Max was so goddamn gorgeous. He was by far the sexiest man in the room with the most delectable body. I had been infatuated with Max Brunetti ever since I was a little girl. Good Lord, he looked amazing tonight. How delicious would it be to run my hands and tongue down those hard, corded muscles? My thighs were quivering just at the thought of it. Although Max was a busy CEO, I knew he worked out, and years of outdoor physical work in the vineyards kept his body in prime shape.
He wore a designer suit that defined the large, bulging muscles of his arms and encased his thick thighs. His Italian leather shoes screamed wealth, and I was pretty sure I could see the makings of a tattoo beneath his linen white shirt. He kept his black hair short at the back but long at the front, and he wore it slicked back with the odd tendril falling over his face from time to time. God, he was hot.