by Lori Wilde
“Nope.”
“Have you ever been close?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“How do you know I haven’t been?”
“I asked around.”
She was both pleased and annoyed to learn that he had been asking questions about her. She was tempted to ask him what else he’d discovered about her, but he dipped his head and claimed her lips.
Wyatt swallowed the soft sound of pleasure that escaped her throat. His lips intoxicated her as surely as if she’d downed an entire bottle of Decadent Midnight.
His mouth teased, playful and daring. Tempting her to follow him down a road it might be smarter not to tread. His tongue coaxed, cajoled, seduced.
Oh, the promises his kisses suggested, of pleasures she’d never even dared dream. Kiara kissed him back, as fully engaged as he, pressed her body against his, the material of her cotton dress rubbing against his bare chest.
One hand drifted boldly to his belt buckle.
“Kiara,” he whispered. “Are you sure you want to start this?”
No, no, she wasn’t sure. Not sure at all. She knew it was a dumb thing to do—an affair with an intern. Dumb on so many levels and yet, she simply did not care. That shocked her. But instead of answering, she slid her arms around his neck and tugged his head down for more kisses.
He reached for the buttons at the front of her dress, his fingers easing them open as he continued to kiss her. She was so caught up in the tender thrust of his tongue that she almost didn’t hear her cell phone buzz.
“You’ve got a call,” he said in a pensive voice.
Kiara fished it from her pocket and saw Maurice’s name on the caller ID. She switched it over to voice mail and then set her phone on the wine rack beside the corkscrew, the bottle of Bretty wine and their eyeglasses.
“Problem solved,” she said.
Wyatt looked at her incredulously. “You’re not going to get that?”
“You know what? I’m tired of being on call 24/7, 365 days a year. Let someone else field the problems for once. Whatever it is can wait.”
The second the words were out of her mouth, Kiara stood stunned unable to believe she’d uttered them. She was always available for the family. Night or day. Another time, with any other person, she would have answered Maurice. Part of her felt guilty. After all, her cousin needed her. It could very well be important. But guilt faded to nothingness in the face of the very real, very raw desire thundering through her.
Wyatt made her feel things she’d never felt before. Made her want things she’d never wanted. Maybe she never knew just how much she was at the beck and call of everyone in her family. Her life wasn’t her own, but until now, that had never bothered her.
What was he doing to her? Who was she becoming?
Before she had a chance to answer those questions, Wyatt’s mouth was nibbling at her neck. Kiara tossed her head, giving him full access to her throat. The feel of his tender lips at her pulse unraveled a burning heat deep within her feminine core. The pull was irresistible and she relaxed into it, succumbing to Wyatt’s masculinity. She’d never been an overtly sexual woman, but around him, everything was different.
She was different.
His fingers finished unbuttoning her dress and he eased it down the length of her body. A soft sigh unfurled her lips as he edged the fabric over her hips.
A gentle tug sent the garment plunging to her feet, leaving her standing in front of Wyatt in her sensible sports bra and white cotton boy-cut panties and her hiking shoes. She should have felt vulnerable, exposed, embarrassed, but she didn’t.
What she couldn’t figure out was why he was staring at her as if she was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
Wyatt splayed his palms across the cheeks of her butt and leaned into her as he guided them both downward onto the rammed-earth floor. His mouth swept maddeningly slow kisses over the hollow of her throat to the top of her breasts. His fingers worked at the clasp of her bra and shortly, he banished the underwear to some far reaches of the wine cellar.
He cradled her in his arms and kissed her belly while one hand untied the laces of her hiking boots and slipped them off her feet, first one and then the other. Then he methodically disposed of her socks. Her bare toes curled against the warm earth.
“You are so beautiful,” Wyatt pronounced, pulling back to look at her with appreciative eyes.
For the first time, she felt self-conscious. She wasn’t beautiful and she knew it. She didn’t even try to make herself beautiful like most women did. She rarely bothered with makeup and took no notice of her clothes. Her nails were ravaged by work and the only jewelry she wore was her simple gold stud earrings. She put on what was comfortable in the offices, the lab and the vineyards.
“You’re so real and honest,” he murmured. “There’s nothing artificial about you.” He ran a hand down her legs. They were toned from daily walks through the vineyards. His hand settled at the waist of her panties. It was her last barrier on the road to complete surrender.
She quivered, tense with anticipation.
“Wyatt.” She gasped. “I need you.”
“I need you too,” he said gruffly.
He stood and she rose to her knees, her eager fingers yanking at his belt, fumbling for his zipper.
“Wait,” he said, dug a condom from his wallet and fisted it in his hand, then he toed off his shoes, spread his stance and allowed her to shuck off his cargo shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. He stepped from his clothing. Came for her.
Kiara rocked back on her heels. Goodness, but he was magnificent. Much better than she’d expected. Her heart thumped.
Wyatt made a bed of their clothing and pulled her down on top of the pile, all while his mouth was stealing rough, hungry kisses.
They lay down side by side. He caressed her cheek and peered deeply into her eyes as if he saw the answer to the mystery of the ages. Kiara felt herself whisked into a vortex of pure energy. His tongue was light and cool, but it lit a burning fire down every nerve he touched.
In the dark mustiness of the cellar, surrounded by wine barrels and bottles, they were part of the history of this place, this island. Muted light from the wall sconces cast shadows over their faces. He straddled her body, one knee on either side of her hips, and gazed down at her.
His naked erection hardened and throbbed, and Kiara’s nipples beaded tight in answering response. He was so big. So gorgeous.
Kiara reached up a trembling hand to touch her lips.
He looked down at her. She stared up at him, studying his face bathed in contrast. Shadows on one side of his face, light on the other. He lowered his lashes, giving a sultry, bad-boy appearance to his deep-chocolate-brown eyes.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“You,” she said. “I’m wondering how you got into my life and turned it upside down so quickly. Three days ago I didn’t even know you existed and now it feels as if I’ve known you forever.”
“I feel the same way,” he admitted.
“What’s happened? How did it happen?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “All that matters is that it did happen.”
He rolled over to stretch out beside her, propping his head on one arm. He leaned in to kiss her, to caress his mouth over hers in the most perfect kiss anyone had ever given her. Sweet, warm and firm. Full of hope and promise.
A helpless moan rolled from her.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”
“Less talking, more kissing,” she informed him.
“Yes, ma’am.” He ran his tongue along the outside of her lips, outlining their shape.
She wasn’t going to let him get away with teasing her. He needed a dose of his own medicine. While he was fooling around with her mouth, she explored his most sensitive spots. When she lightly flicked his nipple with an index finger a soft shudder passed through him
.
“Wicked.” He breathed. “Who would have believed you were totally wicked?”
Kiara thrilled to his words because she had never, ever in her life been wicked. She was the good girl, the dutiful daughter and, until now, she’d thought she wanted it that way.
He kissed her again and she absorbed his heat. He tasted so good. She could seriously get addicted to his rich, masculine flavor. They played, tongues dueling, teeth nibbling. With each kiss, each touch, each indrawn breath, each tensed muscle, the tension climbed, burning higher, hotter, brighter, reaching fever pitch.
Her mind spun. She wanted him. Wanted him now. Wanted his hard body buried deep inside her until neither one of them knew where she ended or he began.
“I want you,” she dared, reaching her hand down to touch his erect shaft. “Need you.”
Wyatt pulled back. “No, no. You’re moving too fast. Slow down.”
Kiara whimpered her protest. “Tease.”
“You love that about me.” He chuckled.
“Humility is not your strong suit.”
“You love that about me too.”
In the distance, she heard the door to the wine cellar open, but her mind was so preoccupied she didn’t really heed the noise.
“Kiara?” Maurice called, his voice anxious.
She froze in Wyatt’s arms, when she should be springing away from him. If Maurice caught them like this…
“Kiara! Are you down here?”
Kiara moved away from Wyatt, turned her back on him, blindsided, dumbfounded. Lost.
6
Reserve: Term used to indicate
a wine of higher quality.
MAURICE MET HER in the middle of the cellar, a deep scowl on his face. “There you are.” He looked harried. “I’ve been calling and calling your cell phone.”
Kiara ran a hand through her hair, tried to sober up after the inebriation of the things she’d done with Wyatt.
“Your shoes are untied.”
“Oh.” Kiara bent to tie them, grateful for an excuse to hide her face from her cousin. That’s when she realized she didn’t have her glasses. “What’s up?”
“We have a situation.”
“What kind of situation?”
“That cat I told you not to adopt—”
“What?” Alarm spread through her. She felt numb. Please don’t let anything have happened to the stray. She knew she shouldn’t have fallen for him, but she had. “What’s up with Felix?”
“Felix’s caused a big problem.”
Relief pushed out the alarm. “But he’s okay?”
“The cat’s fine, but we might not be.”
Kiara felt Wyatt come up behind her. Ashamed of the way she’d acted and what she’d done, of what they’d almost done, she didn’t turn to look at him. She saw Maurice glance past her to Wyatt, a stern, big-brotherly expression on his face. Did they look guilty?
“Just tell me what happened,” Kiara said.
“Where are your glasses?” Maurice asked.
“Here,” Wyatt passed them to her.
She slipped them on her face. “Thanks.”
Maurice looked from one to the other and raised his eyebrows.
“What happened?” Kiara repeated.
“I was taking the tour group through the barrel room and the cat leaped out from behind one of the barrels.”
“How did Felix get in the barrel room?”
“I suppose he followed someone in and you know how spooky it is there to strangers.” Maurice loved to string things out, escalate the drama. He’d inherited the bulk of the Romanos’ theatrical genes.
“Bottom-line it for me, cousin.”
“Your cat jumped out of the shadows and brushed against a woman in super-high stilettos. She shrieked, freaked, fell and injured her ankle. Unfortunately, she’s the excitable type and she’s crying hysterically and babbling about a lawsuit.”
Dammit. Kiara was already on the move, headed for the barrel room, Maurice and Wyatt at her heels.
“She’s not in there,” Maurice said.
Kiara stopped, spun back around. “Where is she?”
“I had Trudy get Uncle Gino’s wheelchair and take her to the tasting room. I figured she’d be more comfortable there.”
Kiara didn’t know if that was a good move or a bad one. The woman might be more comfortable in the tasting room, but what if moving her made the injury worse? “Call Doc Foster. I’ll go try to fix this.”
“Kiara,” Wyatt said.
She didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not when her heart was still beating so chaotically. She had other fish to fry. Her family needed her.
But his hand was on her shoulder. Calming, reassuring.
“I could try to smooth things over. Talk her out of those lawsuit noises.” Wyatt flashed her an earnest grin. “C’mon. What have you got to lose but unwarranted litigation? I do have a background in PR.”
Public relations wasn’t Kiara’s strong suit. She didn’t have the patience for superficial niceties. She could do it when she had to but it was a job she didn’t mind handing off to someone else. “Okay, yes, fine. Give it your best shot.”
While Maurice got on his cell phone to call the local doctor, Kiara and Wyatt rushed from the winery to the main house.
Just outside the tasting-room doors, the robust smell of lasagna wrapped Kiara in a warm hug of tomato sauce and cheese. And she knew without having to be told that her grandmother was working the Romano brand of charm on their visitor. Good job. They didn’t need the likes of Wyatt Jordan. Her passionate family—with their love for food and wine—had it covered.
Kiara cast a sideways glance at Wyatt as they entered the room. He wore a smile the way most men wore Tshirts—casual, soft, always at the ready. But she already knew that smile could turn devilish in an instant.
The man was a paradox, a puzzle that fascinated her analytical mind. Part of him was slacker—the worn-out jeans, the battered sneakers, the shaggy hair. But beneath the obvious exterior, she detected more. His nails were clipped short and buffed. Not manicured, but well cared for. Kiara’s own nails should look so good. His body, while not overtly muscled, was toned and lean. And he led with an ingrained self-confidence that came from knowing he had the world by the tail. How many slackers could claim that?
He slipped off his glasses and tucked them into the front pocket of his shirt. Then he reached for the door with one hand, placed his palm at the small of her back with the other. She turned to meet his eyes, noticed his impossibly long eyelashes and felt her heart constrict.
No.
To think that she’d almost made love to him. Her stomach pitched.
He gave her a wink. Apparently he thought what had happened in the cellar meant something. It hadn’t. She’d set him straight as soon as she had a chance.
Kiara moved away from his distracting hand, asserting her independence. She didn’t need him directing her.
An amused expression crossed his face, as if he found her prickliness delightful.
Kiara frowned. It was all part of his shtick. The way he was around women, charming and disarming. The endearingly naughty armor he wore.
Well, not her. She wasn’t falling for it. However, she couldn’t help herself when it came to Bella Notte and hoped his handsome face would hold some sway with the visitor who’d hurt her ankle in the barrel room.
The litigious woman sat in the wheelchair with her bare foot propped up on a stool and cradled by pillows. The other foot was encased in a fire-engine-red stiletto. Kiara’s family surrounded the woman. Grandmamma on her right, Grandfather on her left, Trudy behind the wheelchair.
She was in her mid-thirties, possessed a sharp nose and lips that thinned out when she scowled, and right now she was scowling hard, even as Grandmamma slid a thick slice of homemade lasagna in front of her.
“Oh, I don’t eat food like this.” She sniffed. “I take my health very seriously.”
Which is why, Kiara thought, a
little uncharitably, you wore spike heels to take a winery tour. She bit down on her tongue to keep from saying that.
Grandmamma looked distressed. No one turned down her lasagna. Ever.
“Of course you do,” Wyatt murmured. “Anyone can see that. Look at what great physical shape you’re in.”
“Who are you?” the woman asked suspiciously.
So much for Mr. Silver Tongue.
Okay, that was gloaty. She shouldn’t gloat. He was supposed to be on her side.
“My name is Wyatt…Jordan,” he said and reached to take the woman’s hand.
She eyed him as if he was a personal injury lawyer who’d just agreed to take her case and a simpering smile stretched across her face. “Janet Hampton. Miss Janet Hampton.”
“Janet.” Wyatt closed his other hand over their joined palms, looking like a polished diplomat. “I want to express my sincere apologies for any distress this mishap might have caused you.”
Grandfather shot a look at Kiara that said Who is this guy?
Kiara shrugged, sent him a silent message. Let him do his thing.
“Well,” the woman said. “That filthy animal shouldn’t be kept where wine is stored.”
“The cat is a stray who showed up here, but you are one-hundred-percent correct. I do hope you’ll forgive Bella Notte’s oversight.” Wyatt still had hold of her hand and he drew up a chair with his other hand to sit beside her wheelchair. Wyatt was giving the woman his full attention. He never looked right nor left. He didn’t even blink. It was as if his entire world had narrowed to that woman.
He would make a brilliant politician.
“It’s a dangerous situation,” the woman said. “Not to mention bad luck to have a black cat cross your path.”
“Black cats can be scary,” Wyatt placated.
“My ankle could be broken, not merely sprained.”
“It certainly could and you’re probably very tired after a morning filled with wine-tasting. Am I right to assume that Bella Notte was not the first vineyard on your tour today?”
“It was my third stop,” she admitted.
“I know when I go wine-tasting, my head gets a little fuzzy. I have a tendency to drink more wine than I taste.” Wyatt chuckled. “But you look like a woman with a lot of willpower. I’m sure that you avoid getting tipsy at tastings.”
