Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

That’s what Lissa was afraid of.

Sullivan would turn on the charm. And since his work at Valencia Vineyards was coming to an end, Gretchen would lure him into her eager arms.

Sullivan tried hard to keep his mind on his work. He needed to tell Lissa that their affair was over. That it was best they end things before he left—which, by the way, would be next week. Hell, maybe sooner than that. Some of the loose ends could be handled over the telephone.

But he thought he owed her more than an It’s-been-nice-knowing-you. He wasn’t sure just what he owed her, though. More than the Dear John he’d come home to find—that was for sure.

He supposed having an adult conversation over a glass of wine on the deck was better than a discussion over a scarred-oak desk in a stuffy office, so he decided to wait until the workday was over.

Of course, Lissa had been the one to suggest the temporary affair in the first place. And she was interested in Martinelli. It was possible that she wouldn’t give a rat’s hind end if they each went their own way in the next couple of days.

And maybe their lovemaking yesterday hadn’t affected her in the same way it had him. She could have been so caught up in emotion over her concern for Barney, that she hadn’t felt the same intimacy that he’d felt. The same gut-wrenching fear of getting in too deep.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, when he peered out the window for the fifth or sixth time since the clock had struck one.

“No.” He was just edgy. Unsettled. And waiting for the cavalry to arrive.

Where the hell was the Through the Grapevine magazine reporter? She’d take the focus off what had happened between Lissa and him. Although Sullivan still wasn’t exactly sure what had happened between them.

“Are you looking for Gretchen?” Lissa asked.

Maybe he was. But the tone of Lissa’s voice indicated female concern. Jealousy?

“She’s late,” is all he said. “And you have to pick up Barney.”

“Did you want to go with me?” she asked.

“I have some work to do later this afternoon. And I have to schedule my next client.”

Her face dropped, and her brow furrowed. Disappointment?

Since when had he not been able to read a woman’s expressions and at least have a good idea what she was thinking and feeling?

At a quarter past one, a white van with a grape logo on the side pulled up, and Gretchen Thomas climbed out. Tight-fitting jeans clung to the curves of her hips, complementing her long legs. And a formfitting pink T-shirt displayed her other assets to their fullest.

Damn. That woman was proud of her figure. Too proud, if you asked him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate looking at her.

He shot a glance at Lissa, saw her lean against the desk with her arms crossed and fix a solemn look on her face.

Anger? Hurt? Or was she merely disinterested?

Hell, he didn’t know for sure. Working with Lissa after yesterday’s killer bout of intimacy-in-the-buff left him uneasy.

Hey, maybe she thought he was acting strangely. And that’s what he’d read in her expression.

“I’ll get the door,” Sullivan said. Then he invited Gretchen inside, along with her sidekick, a pudgy male photographer who seemed to be enamored with the sexy reporter. Good luck, pal. She’s way out of your starry-eyed league.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sullivan.” Gretchen extended an arm in greeting, giving his hand a warm, lingering squeeze.

“Same here.” He still preferred not to mix business with pleasure, but he had a feeling Gretchen wouldn’t let that stop her.

“Hello, there.” Gretchen slid Lissa a smile, as though finally noting the vintner she’d come to interview. Noting the makeover, too, he suspected. But she didn’t acknowledge the change in Lissa.

“This is my photographer,” Gretchen said, nodding to the short, stocky man. “Roger Donaldson.”

While the men shook hands, Gretchen withdrew a small tape recorder, a pen and a pad of paper from a black canvas tote bag.

Lissa took a seat at the desk, and the reporter sat across from her.

“All right. Let’s get started.” Gretchen placed the tape recorder on the table and jabbed at the record button. “Tell me, Lissa, what made you want to become a vintner?”

“I’ve always admired my father. As a small child, I tagged along after him every chance I got. He taught me a love for the land and the vineyard. And naturally, I followed in his footsteps.”

Gretchen quickly got down to business, asking questions, scribbling answers. Sullivan had to give her credit. She seemed to know her stuff. And he suspected the magazine spread would be well-written, with the wine and vineyard presented in a positive light.

“How about a tour?” Gretchen asked.

Lissa glanced at her wristwatch. “Sure. As long as we can get it done within the next half hour. I’ve got an appointment at two.”

“I’m sure it won’t matter if you’re late,” Sullivan said. “As long as you get Barney picked up before the vet closes, it should be all right.”

Lissa nodded, then led Gretchen and Roger outside. Sullivan followed several steps behind.

Nearly two hours and two rolls of film later, Gretchen seemed pleased with what they’d accomplished. Sullivan had tried to keep a low profile, and surprisingly enough, the reporter had performed like a professional—until she closed her notepad and stuck it in the canvas bag she carried.