He flashed her a smile. “Tell the truth. The faster this place is clean, the faster you can have me alone.”
If she told him the full truth, he wouldn’t be smiling at her. Dammit, he deserved better than this, better than her. “Maybe you should’ve said yes to dinner with Casey. It sounds like you two have things to talk about.”
“Not really,” he said. “She got what she came for. She saw me in action, working the way I do every other day when she’s not here. That’ll either have to be enough to convince my family that I’m done with military life and back in California for good or it won’t.”
“You’re so casual about how they think of you, the demands they’re making of you. How can you do that with family?”
“I love them more than anything.” He reached behind the counter and pulled out a backpack big enough to stash supplies for a year. “But that doesn’t give them the right to manipulate me. I don’t mind proving myself, for a while. But I don’t need Casey or anyone else looking over my shoulder. And they need to know they’re not the only ones with power in this situation. I could get a job at a hundred different wineries.”
“Because of your gift, you mean?”
Trace’s easygoing expression vanished. “What’re you talking about?”
“Casey said something about your…you know.” She circled a finger in front of his nose.
Although his face was still serious, his mouth twitched. “It’s not like we’re talking about my dick, Josie. I’m pretty sure ‘nose’ isn’t a bad word.” His biceps bunching, he slung the backpack over one shoulder. “We’re done here, so let’s head out.” He led the way toward the area they’d toured earlier—filled with barrels, vats, and processing equipment. With a nimbleness a man his size shouldn’t have, he zigged and zagged them around all the winemaking equipment and pushed open a door leading outside.
When she hesitated, he said, “You coming?”
“I thought we were having dinner.”
He stepped back and held the door for her. As she passed by, he leaned in and whispered. “We are. I just never said where.”
His breath skimmed her cheek and neck, making the sensitive hair there quiver. She should’ve never agreed to a meal with him. It was more obvious than ever that he loved wine, loved the wine business, and had no plans to pursue anything else. And seeing him again had reminded her how much she’d liked him. She’d known within hours of meeting him that he could be the one for her. If he didn’t love grapes so much.
Doesn’t matter tonight. You have to see this through, so get out there and keep him talking.
“I can see how a keen sense of smell would come in handy to a family with a winery.”
“It would if I still had one,” he said flatly, locking the door and stashing the key in a side pocket on his pack. Then he took her hand as easily as if they did this every day, just a comfortable casual touch, but it shot streams of awareness up her arm. The familiarity between them warmed her chest, especially the area around her heart, and wound its way down to settle low, making her thighs unsteady.
But she had to stay focused here, so she asked, “Are you saying you can’t smell anything?”
“I still have the sense itself, but it doesn’t work the same as it used to. Doesn’t really matter tonight.” He nodded to indicate the path in front of them.
It became very apparent where he planned to take her, and Josie’s momentary pleasure from holding his hand began to fade.
Before them were acres and acres of grapevines, each of them beautifully espaliered on trellises. The sun was sinking lower on the western horizon, creating a sheet of golden light that slanted over the vines, making them look like something Midas had touched.
And everyone knew Midas’s story hadn’t ended well.
But even with her aversion to the plants themselves, her artist’s eye could still appreciate the symmetry of the landscape and the way the leaves fluttered in the light breeze.
Trace smiled down at her. “Hope you don’t mind, but St. Helena is a small town and if we’d eaten at a restaurant, we would’ve spent half the time with people stopping by the table to say hello and ask for an introduction.”
“Sounds like a nice place.”
“It is if you want to be sociable, but the only person I want to be sociable with tonight is you.”
Why did he have to be such a nice guy? If he’d been a jerk, he would’ve been so much easier to resist. But he was nice and hardworking and honest and…sexy.
Like cherry popsicle sexy. The kind of sexy that made her want to lick him up and down, tasting every delicious drop. Maybe once she left Texas, she could…
No, she saw the way Trace was eyeing those grapevines, like another man might look at a flashy car or a gorgeous woman, with admiration and desire. She wasn’t about to get caught up in another man’s obsessive dream. And it was obvious Trace had plenty of dreams when it came to wine.
Still walking hand in hand, they rounded a corner and there, in between two rows of vines, sat a low table covered with a blue-checked cloth and flanked by two beach chairs facing west toward the coming sunset.
It made this vineyard look cozy and inviting instead of broken and brittle. She’d certainly never seen a setup like this in Bitter Pecan’s vines.
Trace handed her into a chair and knelt down to dig into his pack. Out came hunks of cheese, small jars of olives, a container of fruit, wine glasses, and bottles of each of the wines Josie hadn’t tasted earlier.
“Any water in there?” she asked.
He fished out a small bottle and she reached for it, but he pulled back before she could grab it. “Only if you promise to try the wine.”
“I won’t like it.”
“You will the way I serve it.” His eyes creased with a smile that promised he could deliver.
“If I don’t like it, I reserve the right not to swallow.” The innuendo registered in her mind, and she dropped her head to the back on the chair. “Please, please don’t respond to that.”
He shook his head, but he was laughing so hard he couldn’t have said a word if he wanted to. When he finally wound down with a couple of mirthful huffs, he handed her the water bottle. “I’m a gentleman. I wouldn’t comment on anything that has been or will be in your mouth.”
Will be. No, they couldn’t go there. The weekend they’d spent together months ago had been both erotic and playful. Hot and sweet. She’d never made love with a man and laughed so much out of sheer enjoyment.
But as much as she’d like to experience that happiness again, she shouldn’t. Not with this man.
“Close your eyes,” he told her.
“I don’t think—”
“Close them,” he said, reaching back into the pack, “or I’ll use this.” He pulled out what looked like a linen dish towel.
“A blindfold?”
He crumpled it in his big hand. “Not exactly the sexy kind, but it was all I could find on short notice.”
“I can be trusted,” she said, closing her eyes, but he still wrapped the fabric around her face and secured it. Immediately, all her other senses became sharper. She felt the sun’s waning warmth on her face, inhaled the scent of fertile soil, heard Trace’s breathing—even and steady. Then came the gurgle of wine being poured into a glass, and she tensed. “Can I have a spit cup?”
“If you want one after your first taste of this, I’ll get you one. Deal?”
“Okay.”
“Relax,” he said. “It’s hard to enjoy something, take pleasure in it when you’re already convinced you dislike it.”
Then she felt the air in front of her face move and the rich scent of pure vanilla bean and fall apples floated up and surrounded her, making her mouth water. “It smells like dessert.”
“I thought you might like to start with something sweeter.” He touched the glass to her bottom lip, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through her as he gently rolled it against her sensitive skin.
&nb
sp; She reached to take the glass, but he once again caught her hand and returned it to her lap. “Just relax and experience.”
With the way her heart was suddenly thumping inside her chest from his nearness, she wasn’t sure she could relax. Ever again.
The edge of the glass tipped and she opened her lips, just a little, fear of the taste and loss of control making her hesitate.
“Trust me,” he soothed.
She parted her lips more, and the first taste was a drop on her tongue. A tiny sweet pool that she let sit in her mouth, half certain it would turn bitter any second. But the wine eased over her taste buds, flashing sweet, then tart, and ending on a creaminess that made her think of homemade whipping cream. She swallowed and tilted her chin up so the glass would tip into her mouth again, but he pulled it away.
“Hey,” she protested.
“Still need a spit cup?”
“How should I know? I barely got a taste.”
His chuckle was low and sexy, making her tense again but in completely different places. This was the good kind of tense. The anticipatory kind. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and persuasive.
“Tell you what?”
“Anything.”
Chapter Seven
“I think I liked it.” He said nothing, so she continued, trying to translate taste into words. “It was white and gold and silver. Light strokes with a watercolor paintbrush. Like an impressionist painting of a slightly naughty angel.”
She heard him shift positions, as if something she’d said had made him squirm.
“It was like tasting a dessert meant only for adults. Starting out innocent, a wink or a smile. Then it moved on to a sexy glance or a secret touch.”
“And how did it end?”
“Like teasing foreplay on satin sheets.”
“Jesus,” he choked out.
“I’ve always heard that drinking wine is a sensual experience, but I never believed it before. Not until now.”
“That’s like believing making love is always mediocre because your first lover didn’t know how and where to touch you.”
Now she was the one to pull in a quick breath. She heard him swallow and then more wine being poured. “Did you drink the rest of my wine?”
“Yep.”
The glass was against her lips again, and this time, the touch was even more arousing, more electrifying because Trace was also caressing her jawline and tracing the curve of her upper lip. This wasn’t a wine tasting. This had turned into liquid foreplay. Her nipples tightened, and the spot between her thighs began to pulse in time with her heartbeat. Blood rushed in her ears, making it hard to concentrate.
She tried to moderate her breathing and said, “It smells sharper. No, that’s not quite right. More tart.”
“Excellent,” he said and rewarded her by letting her have a taste, a little more this time.
She let it sit in her mouth, no longer worried she would need to spit it out. Red Steel made delicious wine. No wonder her dad wanted their secrets. That made her swallow in guilt and alarm—that Trace might see her betrayal on her face—and she sputtered and coughed.
“Hey, you okay?” He patted her on the back and rubbed gentle circles.
No, she was not okay. She was a liar and a user. And this was the last man she wanted to hurt. Tears seeped out from under her eyelids, and she held a palm to her chest, trying to get herself under control. “Went down the wrong pipe.” She felt the cold water bottle being pressed into her hands. Instead of pressing it to her face to cool the heat of shame inside her, she sipped it until her pulse had almost returned to normal.
“I know you don’t really care for the wine,” he said when she pulled the water bottle away from her lips, “so we don’t have to do this anymore.”
“I want to,” she rushed out, realizing she was enjoying it. “I actually think the blindfold is helping.”
Although she couldn’t see Trace’s smile, she could feel the sheer pleasure radiating toward her. He took her hand and tugged. “Come over here with me.”
With his hands on her hips, he helped her stand, turned her around, and settled her on the blanket with him. He pulled her snugly between his legs, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing the outside of hers, but to her it felt as if his skin was touching her skin, electric and full of anticipation. His broad chest supported her back, and although she was tense with equal parts apprehension and arousal, she tried to relax against him.
Wanted to. She took a deliberate inhale, let it out silently, and melted against him.
“Doesn’t this feel better?” he said near her ear, sending spirals of awareness zinging through her to land in the most inappropriate—and most delicious—places. “I think you’ll find I’ve saved the best for last.” His voice made his chest rumble against her, keeping the sensual vibrations going strong.
He wrapped one arm under her breasts and idly stroked his thumb along the sensitive skin under her arm. Her nipples were fully aware of each tiny brush and responded accordingly. She wanted to reposition his hand, press it to her breasts, but she resisted and gripped Trace’s thighs instead.
She didn’t realize she was doing some stroking of her own until the muscles under her fingers shifted and flexed. Trace’s hold on her tightened and something long and hard pressed against her lower back. Thank God, she wasn’t the only one affected by the fading sunshine, the wine, and the closeness of their bodies.
“You ready?” he asked, his voice several notes lower than seconds ago.
She nodded, unable to say the words without giving away how much he was turning her on.
When the glass touched her mouth this time, it was warm, most likely from Trace’s hand. And the heady scent of the wine only intensified the sensuous feelings waving through Josie’s body.
If the last wine had been satin sheets, this one—with its rich, deep berry scent—was a velvet settee. One where a man bent a woman over, held her by the back of her neck, and—
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
It would be incredible. Trace would wrap his big hand in her hair, pulling it just tight enough for the pain to be pleasureful. He would urge her to lean over the couch, place her hands against its luxuriously soft tufts. Trail his lips down her naked spine until he reached the base, his breath a line of fire on her skin. He would slide a thigh between hers, brush against her, teasing lightly until she spread her legs wider.
“Josie?”
“Wha…what?” Lord, she was breathless. And wet.
“Is this one too much?”
No, she wanted all that and more. Wanted him to slip his hand—
“Are you feeling okay?” he said, concern riding his words. “You’re flushed and taking shallow breaths. You don’t have to prove anything by tasting— “
“It smells like velvet on warm skin. Like that spot between your lover’s shoulder and neck when you haven’t had his arms around you in much too long. It smells like frantic reunion sex.”
“Holy shit.” He shifted and his erection nestled intimately against her butt. “That’s…hot.” He must’ve looked down and noticed her nipples were hard underneath her shirt because his hold shifted so he cradled her right breast. When he circled his thumb around her, she had to clench her legs together to keep from moaning her pleasure.
“I want to taste it.” From her equally husky tone, he had to know she was only partially talking about the wine he still held against her mouth. She put her hands over his to cradle the glass and felt Trace shudder beneath her touch.
The wine’s scent was rich and decadent, a combination of sun-ripened fruit and sin. When the wine slid over her tongue, Josie finally understood what people meant by having a food-gasm. She’d thought rum cake was toe-curling, but this…this was exactly as she’d described it.
It was sex in a bottle.
“This is Frankie’s special Reserve.”
Trace’s words and his continued touch on her breast caused everything inside Josie to tighten
. This was it, the wine her dad wanted so badly to mimic. How could he when this had obviously been made with some kind of magic that could only come from deep in the soul?
The feel of the wine was full and sensual, like a long, hard orgasm. The bite of blackberries and sweetness of chocolate caressed her taste buds. A hint of what she thought was coconut. And something—a spice—that was just out of reach.
That had to be the secret. That elusive, unidentifiable flavor.
She swallowed and whispered, “What’s in it?”
“By the look on your face, I’d say heaven.”
No, heaven was being wrapped in Trace’s arms. Tomorrow, when she was gone and knew she’d never see him again, that would be hell. “No wonder it wins all kinds of awards. How does she do it?”
“By using different grapes to make something new and unique.”
“But it can’t only be the grapes. What about the fermentation process?”
“You think Frankie’s gonna let me in on all her secrets?” He laughed. “Oh, she scribbles ideas down on napkins and papers, stuffs them in a cashbox under the bar, but I think the blend itself may exist only in her head.”
Although quick disappointment pierced Josie, a much larger cloak of expectation was lifted off her. If Trace didn’t know what made the wine so incredible, she was off the hook with him. This—their limited time left together—didn’t have to be about anything but the two of them. The relief Josie felt made her relax completely, and she rested her head on Trace’s shoulder.
“I think that’s enough wine for you,” he said, pulling the glass away and slipping off her blindfold. “You’re obviously a lightweight.” He returned his attention to her breast and with every circle and playful tweak, his nimble fingers were making Josie feel absolutely drunk.
Drunk on lust. On want. On need.
“Trace, why did you bring me out here tonight?”
He sighed and set the glass aside, his hand dropping from her breast. “When I met you last fall, I was poleaxed.” His chuckle was low and edged with self-deprecation. “Your skin.” He lightly ran his lips up the side of her neck, sending a shudder of pure desire through her. “Your hair.” He played with the strands and let them fall back to her shoulders. “Your smile. Your loyalty. Your artistry.”
St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love So Sweet Page 4
