“Marry me,” Mac said. “To save the vineyard. It’ll be strictly business.”
He’s right, Winifred (Fred) Cartwright thought. It was just a contract, a way to access the money tied up in her inheritance. It didn’t mean anything.
She mustn’t think about his broad shoulders. About the intriguing tattoo that curled around his arm, how his muscular body gleamed when he worked in the warm sunshine, or how his ocean-blue eyes heated her from the inside out.
She mustn’t think about the stolen kiss, the way he slipped his arm around her waist to pull her against him. The soft touch of his lips on hers.