Red Red Wine (Tastes of Seduction)

by Jess Dee

NoaM: Positive. Last minute, so only one seat available on flight. Couldn’t get you on business class. Flying premium economy.

  DecMur: Uh…

  NoaM: Uh…as in second thoughts?

  The air around her seemed to thin, making breathing difficult.

  DecMur: Should there be second thoughts?

  NoaM: Abnormal if there weren’t at a time like this.

  Tori’s heart sat in her throat. Second thoughts? About what?

  NoaM: I know you hate this, but it’s the right thing to do.

  What the…?

  She stared at the screen, stumped. Noah made absolutely no sense. He couldn’t possibly be talking about this coming Saturday.

  NoaM: You still beating yourself up?

  NoaM: Still feel like crap?

  NoaM: You can’t marry her, mate. We both know it.

  The blood drained right out of Tori’s face. And hands. It took a good few seconds before she found the strength to lift her arms and type a shaky response, and when she did, it was with the firm belief Noah was very, very confused. Perhaps even delusional. Not only could Declan marry her, he was marrying her. In two days’ time.

  DecMur: I can’t?

  NoaM: You can’t. Not if you’re not in love with her. And let’s face it…

  DecMur: I’m not in love with her

  Tori meant to add a question mark, but grammar and punctuation just weren’t a top priority right then.

  NoaM: I know.

  Nausea slammed into her, and Tori almost threw up on Declan’s computer. The lightheadedness she’d felt minutes ago was replaced by a spiraling dizziness. She dropped her head in her hand and gasped for air.

  The computer dinged and dinged again and then again.

  He didn’t love her.

  He couldn’t marry her.

  Declan was leaving her to board a plane—three hours before the wedding.

  She lifted her head and blinked several times, finally drawing oxygen into her lungs. But her eyes weren’t working. She couldn’t seem to focus them. Couldn’t seem to see. She rubbed them, hard, and blinked a few more times until the words on the screen began to make sense again

  NoaM: Have you seen Tori?

  NoaM: Fuck, telling her is gonna be a bitch.

  NoaM: I don’t envy you.

  NoaM: Did I mention your timing sucks? Two days before the wedding. Seriously mate, it sucks.

  His timing sucked? There was the understatement of the century.

  DecMur: When should I have told her?

  NoaM: Weeks ago. When you started having doubts.

  An enormous lump built in Tori’s throat. One she had trouble swallowing down. Declan had been questioning this for a while?

  No. No. No. No. She didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

  DecMur: So I should have looked her in the eye…weeks ago…and said, Tori, it’s over—I don’t want to marry you?

  NoaM: A little rough around the edges, but basically, yeah.

  NoaM: Let her down easy, Dec. Tori’s cool.

  The water stopped running. Which meant Declan’s shower was over. It also meant he’d walk into the room very soon. And he was the last person on earth Tori wanted to see right then.

  DecMur: Too late for that. Thanks for letting me know, Noah. Maybe if I’d read your and Declan’s IMs before, you wouldn’t need to be giving him all this advice now.

  And with that Tori stumbled to her feet on legs so unsteady they almost didn’t hold her. Her heart pounded so damn hard she thought she might pass out. It was too much to process. Emotional and mental overload. She had to get out. Had to move. Fast.

  The computer dinged. And dinged and dinged.

  The bathroom door opened.

  Ding.

  Ding.

  She tugged frantically at the diamond-and-white-gold ring she’d worn with such pride and happiness. The band now seared her skin, as though she’d just dipped her finger in acid.

  And there he was, beautiful as ever, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Water had darkened his blond hair to brown and dripped down his ripped chest.

  Tori thought for sure she’d throw up. Lose every drop of wine she’d imbibed that afternoon all over the damp, white towel.

  He gaped at her. “Tori?”

  The computer dinged again, and her heart pounded even harder.

  Mercifully, the burning ring flew off her finger.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

  Declan’s mobile phone rang, the trill shattering the silence, loud enough to pierce her eardrums and vibrate across her skull.

  With as much strength as she possessed—which was close to none, seeing as her arms were heavy as boulders and useless as jelly—she flung the ring at him, spun around and fled from his room.

  The night was dark, but the crescent-shaped moon that had just risen made it a whole lot easier to see. It also made it easier to avoid the deviant, killer rocks on the pathway, one of which Andrew’s big toe had become intimately acquainted with.

  Served him right for walking around an unfamiliar wine estate at midnight. But he’d needed the air and the exercise. And he’d needed to escape from his thoughts. They seemed to be cramming themselves into his head at a rapid rate.

  At home he didn’t give himself time to think. He set his goals and worked towards them methodically. Whether it was work or personal, he knew what he needed to do and he did it, focusing 100 percent on the task at hand.

  Here in the Hunter, there was no task at hand. No goal to accomplish, no deadline to meet, no parent to care for. Which meant he got to spend hour upon hour with all the thoughts he usually pushed aside.

  Even the not-so-subtle flirting of the waitress who’d served him dinner earlier at the Harvest Restaurant hadn’t distracted him enough to stop those thoughts crowding his head. They left Andrew wondering when everything had changed. When had he, the carefree son of two wonderfully loving and nurturing parents, become the parent? When had he become the adult? Wasn’t it just yesterday he’d been the relaxed uni student with not a thought, worry or responsibility in the world?

  Maybe he should have taken the waitress up on her offer. Phoned the number she’d left on his bill alongside the little smiley face and the words “call me”. It would have been a perfect opportunity to jump back into his carefree ways. Have a little uncomplicated fun for a night—or a weekend. Lose himself in the pleasures of a feminine body.

  But while the thought appealed, the cute waitress did not. Nope, hard as he tried to get her out of his mind, the only woman who held any appeal right now was the one who’d walked into the hotel carrying her wedding dress.

  Stupid. So bloody stupid to become instantly infatuated with someone he could never have, but all it had taken was one look and he’d fallen. Now he was destined to spend the rest of the weekend regretting not only dementia and pneumonia, but also his very pathetic social life.

  After months of being alone, he’d finally met someone he’d like to get to know better, and of course, she was totally off-limits.

  Murphy’s fucking law.

  The sweet scents and mass of bush-like shapes looming up ahead told Andrew he was approaching the rose garden. Blake had spoken about it at length, and how one of his lovers, Angus, had done a spectacular job creating the garden. Perhaps in the daylight hours, Andrew might have been better able to appreciate Angus’s landscaping brilliance, but at night, with little more than instinct and a half-moon guiding the way, Andrew had to go by Blake’s word alone. Tomorrow he’d get a better view.

  He did breathe deeply though, inhaling the seductive aroma of the roses. The smell grew stronger the closer he got, until he found himself weaving his way through hundreds of thorny, flower-laden bushes, headed towards the hulking, dark building in the center.

  A gazebo.

  At night it looked dark grey, but Andrew had glimpsed it earlier from his window. It was white and striking in it
s grandeur, the roof steepling at the center and wood lattice surrounding its hexagonal sides. He circled the building until he reached two long wooden stairs leading up into it. That was when he froze, surprised to find he wasn’t alone.

  Someone sat on the bench lining the inside of the building, an arm draped over the side and both legs stretched out level on the wooden seat. The figure leaned against one of the beams that extended upwards, supporting the roof.

  Where seconds ago the air had tantalized his senses with it freshness, now it seemed to draw in around him, close and heavy. It took a good few seconds for the identity of the person to become clear. Before when he’d encountered her, she’d radiated happiness, excitement and joy. Now gloom ebbed from her in oppressive waves.

  Andrew sucked in a breath of surprise. How was it possible one woman’s temperament could undergo such a dramatic change in a few short hours?

  Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps, in his eagerness to see the glowing bride again, he’d misidentified the person sitting here as her.

  But no, his gut agreed this was the woman he’d met in the car park. The one who’d brought her entire wardrobe and the kitchen sink to the hotel. The one who’d both admired and teased him about his ass.

  The instant tightening in his chest and lower body confirmed it.

  He considered walking away. Leaving her in peace. Something was up, obviously, and if something were up with him, he’d want privacy to deal with it. Yet instinct told him to stay. A little voice inside urged him to walk on up the stairs and see if she was okay. “Now this is a nice coincidence.”

  She jerked her head in his direction.

  Ah, she hadn’t noticed him approaching. “The sexiest woman in the Hunter Valley sitting in the very place I chose to visit tonight.”

  She didn’t answer, just looked at him in the darkness.

  “You know…” He stepped closer. “You have me at a disadvantage. I never did learn your name earlier.”

  A long moment passed before she answered. “I’m Victoria. But my friends call me Tori.”

  “Its nice to meet you, Victoria.” The urge to call her Tori was strong, but he hadn’t earned the right.

  “It’s nice to meet you too…Andrew.” Her voice was polite but lackluster.

  At least she recognized him. And knew his name. “My mates call me Ando. Mind if I join you?”

  Another lengthy silence followed before she shook her head. He couldn’t see her expression, but suspected if he could, there’d be a large cloud shadowing it. “Please. Sit.”

  Andrew crossed the gazebo and took a seat on the bench facing her. She still leaned heavily against the wood lattice and beam, as though she had not the strength to hold herself upright without it.

  He studied her for a long moment, choosing his next words carefully. “It seems I was right all along.”

  She turned to look at him, dropping her feet to the ground in the process. “Right about what?”

  “Happiness wasn’t the only thing making you sexy.”

  Her response was a confused, “Uh…”

  Andrew leaned forward. “The joy that made you shine earlier is gone,” he said very softly. “Yet being near you still takes my breath away.”

  Her laugh was hollow, but still she answered courteously. “You’re sweet.” The very description she’d used to describe him before, but then she’d been sincere.

  “Not really. A sweet guy wouldn’t say that to a woman he knows is getting married this weekend.”

  Victoria looked left and then right, as though searching for something. “There’s someone here getting married this weekend?”

  Okay, that pulled him up short. “According to you there is.”

  “Ah, that. Yeah.” She shook her head. “Not is. Was.”

  It was his turn to echo her confusion. “Uh…”

  “Yeah, funny thing, that. A few hours ago I was getting married. Now? Not so much.”

  Andrew’s heart failed to beat for a second or two. “The wedding’s off?”

  “The wedding’s off.” Her tone was so flat the moon seemed to dim a little. “I should probably give this back to you.” She held her arm out in his direction, and in her hand he made out the shape of a bottle. “Your gift was really thoughtful…but now it feels as if I got it under false pretenses.”

  Andrew gaped at her.

  “Only problem is, I’ve already opened it.” She held up her other hand, showing him an…empty wine glass. “Haven’t drunk any yet. Can’t seem to work up the energy, but I have opened it. I’m sorry.”

  Andrew didn’t give a flying fuck about the wine. “What happened?”

  “Well, having a drink seemed like a brilliant idea two hours ago, so I popped the cork, but now I can’t seem to stomach anything, let alone good wine, so it’s open but full.”

  “I mean what happened with the wedding?”

  “Oh, right. The wedding.” She nodded. “Yeah, that. My fiancé booked a single plane ticket out of here, leaving three hours before the wedding. And neglected to tell me. I accidentally read about it in his instant messages with his business partner.”

  For the second time in minutes, Andrew was capable only of gaping at her.

  “Now I might be wrong—obviously I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately—but I figured that was as good a sign as any that the wedding was off.”

  “Jesus, fuck.”

  Victoria gave another empty laugh. “That’s pretty much what I thought when I found out.”

  “Your fiancé may well be the stupidest man on the planet.” What kind of dumb fuck left his fiancée at the altar? In fact, what kind of dumb fuck left a woman like Victoria at any time? That defied belief.

  She shrugged. “Or maybe I’m the stupidest woman on earth for believing we had something real.”

  He made short work of the space between them, crossing the gazebo to crouch before her. “Sexiest woman,” he corrected. “Not stupidest. Never stupidest.”

  Victoria looked down at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t make out the blue irises in the dimness, but wished he could, wished he could read in her expression what she hid with her words.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  It was only when a wet drop landed on his knee that he realized she was trembling. Shaking hard enough to spill the wine. As gently as possible, he reached up and took both the bottle and glass from her hands, setting them on the bench a little way away. Then he took her hands in his and gazed up into those enormous eyes.

  Christ, her hands were blocks of ice. Not surprising seeing as she still wore nothing but the shorts and singlet she’d had on earlier. While the early autumn days were still warm, the night temperatures dropped a little. A slight chill bit at the air, yet Victoria seemed not to notice.

  Andrew whipped off his hoodie and wrapped it around her shoulders, guiding her arms into the sleeves and encasing her in its warmth.

  Then he knelt before her again and once more took her hands in his, holding them between his palms to share his body heat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he looked up at her. “So sorry he hurt you like that.”

  She stared back at him, and there was no mistaking her shimmer of tears. Again she opened her mouth to say something, and again nothing came out. Well, nothing except a tiny sob.

  Before Andrew had time to realize her intentions, she did the last thing he’d ever have expected: let out a small cry, grasped his arms in her hands and kissed him.

  Not just kissed him. Consumed him.

  Her mouth crashed down on his, her lips instantly molding to his open ones, startling him down to his toes. Her tongue demanded entrance to his mouth, pushing inside greedily while her lips destroyed his resolve to keep his distance.

  The kiss came as an assault to his senses, an attack on his equilibrium, yet every fiber of his being accepted it as right. Welcomed it. Relished it. As astonishing as the circumstances might be, this, she, was exactly what Andrew needed, exactl
y what he wanted.

  Sparks flared around them, as though he’d been struck by static electricity from her touch alone. His body hardened to the point of pain.

  Common sense pounded at his head, telling him to pull away. Victoria might be what he wanted, but he was not what she wanted. He was not the man she’d chosen, not the man she’d promised her future to.

  But as practical as common sense was, it could not force his mouth from hers.

  He didn’t try to stop her. He just let her in, let her devour him with a hunger he hadn’t anticipated, until her passion carried him away on the ride of his life.

  But there was more than just passion in her kiss. No matter how intensely he felt her lust, he sensed her ire, her fury and her disappointment too. It permeated her grasp, burning him as she dug her nails into his skin. It also echoed through his brain, vibrating in the groan of hurt and hunger she emitted as she kissed him.

  She tasted like the very wine she’d claimed not to have drunk—silky, smooth and fruity. The flavor was intoxicating, throwing his head into an instant spin. Like an alcoholic desperate for another drink, he kissed her back, as hard as she kissed him, indulging in her addictive taste.

  This was insane. Crazy. The woman was in pain. She was hurting, mourning the end of her marriage before it had even begun. He should be consoling her, comforting her. Offering sympathy, not trying to suck the tonsils from her throat.

  But instead of doing what any decent guy would do, he took the opportunity to luxuriate in the velvety heat of her mouth.

  Her hands vanished from his arms only to tangle in his hair. Had he tried to pull away and draw breath, he’d have failed. She clung to him, holding him close, allowing no path of escape.

  But then who would want to escape or try to end a kiss with a woman who’d blown his mind a second after meeting her?

  A decent man, that’s who. Someone who was thinking with his head, not his dick. Only Andrew seemed not to have been able to think with his head since he’d met her. The two organs functioning adequately were his dick and his heart, and both demanded he give this woman whatever she wanted.

  For some bizarre reason, the thing she wanted now was him.

  She kissed him harder, deeper, and he lost himself to the dizzying taste of her breath, the exquisite scent of her perfume. While the honeyed sweetness of grapes and the seductive aroma of roses filled the air, it was the subtle hint of cinnamon and spice clinging to her skin that knocked him senseless.