by Marina Adair
“It hasn’t been a very fun night.”
Nate studied her for a long moment, so long that she forgot what they were talking about. Then with a sad smile he said, “Jonah told me about the fire.”
Right. The fire. Her grandpa. And her crap of a night.
“Well, at least my brother bothered to tell somebody,” she said and even to her own ears she sounded bitter.
“He’s been trying to get ahold of you but you aren’t answering your phone.”
“It’s in the house.” Buried under a pile of dirty clothes where she’d shoved it after discovering that all three of her brothers had known about the fire since last night and hadn’t notified her. Not even a call.
In her heart, she knew they were waiting until after the Pick Till You Punt so she wouldn’t be distracted, but it still hurt that the entire family had a meeting to discuss the South Ynez Vineyard without her there.
According to Kenneth, even Dax had been Skyped in from some base in Germany while they all decided how to handle the latest blow to the Baudouin legacy. A blow that could very well be the end to the legacy that, as of two hours ago, she was no longer a part of.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“You sure? Because sometimes letting it all out helps.”
She frowned. “Are you asking me if I’m going to cry on you?”
“I could handle it if you did.”
Yeah, well she couldn’t. Which was why if he didn’t stop looking at her like she was about to snot all over his shirt, she was going to lose it. In fact, the longer he stared at her, the hotter her eyes felt until when she tried to focus really hard on Mittens, he got all blurry.
“I don’t cry. And I don’t want to talk about this.” But she also didn’t want him to leave. So she held out the… whoa, how had that happened? She held the bottle up to the moonlight and frowned—half empty.
Nate sat on the step next to her. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his bent knees, bringing his face eye-level with hers and his thigh flush with her bare legs. She wasn’t sure if it was the simple contact that was reassuring, or the idea that getting drunk with someone seemed less pathetic than drinking alone, but the panicky feeling that had been strangling her ever since Kenneth told her about the fire seemed to ease up. Not all the way, but enough so that every breath wasn’t followed by a sharp pain.
Nate took the bottle from her hand and, looking at the new and improved label, sent her a sidelong smile. “This looks great.”
“Regan designed it,” she said. “And it tastes even better.”
Nate raised an amused brow. His eyes never leaving hers, he made a big to do about smelling the wine and swirling it around in the bottle.
“No glass?”
“Not a glass kind of night. Or a glass kind of girl,” she added just in case he needed that in a woman. “I also don’t cook, clean, or fold laundry.”
“I know,” he said as though he didn’t care. He sounded so convincing that she almost believed him. And if she hadn’t paid witness to every Suzie Homemaker and pedigreed professional Nate had paraded around town with since college, she would have. But the kind of women Nate dated and the kind of woman Frankie was were polar opposites.
As though reading her mind, he smiled. But was it a you’re-my-dream-woman kind of smile or a dream-on smile? She didn’t know. And the fact she desperately wanted it to be the former didn’t help.
Without clarifying, Nate took a final sharp sniff and eyed her over the rim of the bottle. “Lavender?”
“The Syrah grapes came from my little vineyard behind Luce’s lavender garden.”
“And the Cabernet Sauvignon?”
“Right over there.” She pointed to Saul’s gentleman’s vineyard. When Nate sent her an impressed look she shifted on the step. “Glow has been selling me their grapes for the past three years. I took care of her vineyard and the house. In exchange she cut me a deal on the grapes that I could afford.”
“And no one knew?”
She shook her head and couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “That was Glow’s deal and I didn’t want to lose the grapes.”
“Smart,” was all he said before tipping the bottle to his lips.
Her heart skipped a beat. Then three more as he took a small sip and let wine settle on his tongue. This was it, the real test. Everyone who had tried her wine had loved it, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. The only opinion she cared about was Nate’s.
She watched closely as he rolled the liquid around in his mouth, swallowed and—
Hot damn.
There it was.
His eyes went heavy and then slid closed. His chest went perfectly still before sucking in a breath and, even though it was dark, Frankie could make out the way his face relaxed into a complete and utter state of bliss.
“Francesca,” he murmured, taking another sip, as though to be sure he’d tasted what he thought he’d tasted. “This is… wow.”
She pressed her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out. “Are you sure? Charles said it had the potential to endure time, but was too simple and not dense enough to really transform.”
Nate’s expression went soft as he considered what she’d said. Charles had been supportive of her “project” as he’d deemed it, until he had tasted Red Steel. His assessment of what Frankie believed in her gut to be something extraordinary had really shaken her confidence. If a wine didn’t transform, didn’t evoke a different experience over time, then there was no point in holding on to it.
He took another sip. “Your grandfather is a fool. For that comment and for letting you go. This is one of the best wines I’ve ever tasted.” He went on to talk about the smooth, buttery texture of the wine, the perfect balance between classic currant and spice with a smoky note of tobacco at the end, but all Frankie could focus on was the wonder in his voice, the look in his eyes.
He tasted what she tasted. Realized and appreciated what she’d created. And he was proud of her.
“It’s going to win?” She hadn’t meant to put the question mark at the end but tonight, after Kenneth and Charles and her brothers, she needed someone to believe in her. Believe in what she was capable of.
Red Steel wasn’t just a wine. It was her, in a bottle.
“Oh, it’s going to win,” he confirmed.
Maybe it was the crisp evening breeze, or the fact that she was sitting in the middle of Sorrento Ranch facing the realization that her family would never be the same, but suddenly Frankie felt unsure and nervous, like the scared girl who’d just discovered that her dad was gone and no matter how hard she tried, she might never be able to make things right.
“Remember the night of my dad’s funeral?” she said, her voice getting lost in the air.
Only seventeen and staring at her dad’s coffin, Frankie had realized that under the grief was an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief that she would never again have to sit, on rotating weekends, at her dad’s table and pretend she didn’t know how he felt about her. His will had made his feelings more than clear, so instead of going back to the house with a family she didn’t know how to be a part of, she had hid in Saul’s vineyard and tried to figure out where, in her family of yours, mine, and ours, she belonged.
Somewhere between crying and the sun rising, she had realized that she didn’t, and no matter how hard she tried, she probably never would. That was when Nate had found her. Without a word he picked her up and silently held her. She told him everything about her dad, being left out of the will, about how he didn’t love her. And in the end, he’d kissed her. It had been her first kiss and he’d been her first love. And as always, Frankie and love proved to be a toxic combination.
“You kissed me and then threatened to knee me in the nuts the next week,” he said and she could hear a smile creep into his voice.
“You kissed me only to ask Sara Dupree to prom that next Tuesday.”
“I asked her to prom after
you threatened to publically emasculate me if I ever touched you again.”
“I trusted you with my feelings and fears and you kissed me and then went right to my brother,” she said, surprised at how, after all these years, there still could be so much raw emotion attached to that night.
Nate touched her, gently cupping her cheek and tilting it so she faced him. His thumb traced a line from her jaw to her lips, while he waited for her to look at him. Really look at him. The way he was looking at her, as though everything he needed was right there in front of him.
“You kissed me back,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and made things harder. That wasn’t my intention. I was seventeen and scared, the girl I was crazy about was hurting and I couldn’t fix it, so I did what I’d do in my family. I went to your brother.”
“My family doesn’t work that way.”
“I know that now. Just like I know you threatened me because you let me in, let me see you cry, and you got scared.”
She nodded because he was right. He’d terrified her. She may have only been seventeen, but she was old enough to know that what they’d shared wasn’t your run of the mill teenage hormones at work. That the tightness in her heart wasn’t in response to the emotional aftermath of her dad’s death. Their connection was real and intense and something that she could—and no doubt would—eventually screw up. So before it got to that point, before he changed his mind, she’d ended things and did her best to avoid him.
What started out as a way to avert more pain, bypass the inevitable heartbreak, turned into a habit until Frankie found herself a grown woman and still avoiding Nate. But he was somehow always there, in her business, her life, lingering in the back of her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to break free.
And she was tired of trying. At least for tonight. Tomorrow she would go back to surface flirting and serious arguing, but tonight she wanted to feel what it was like to be loved by a man who smelled like forever.
Not that he would be her forever or that he loved her, she didn’t have the forever-gene. But for tonight, anyway, she could pretend.
“I came here because I know you must be hurting and I wanted to be a friend, to be here for you.” Nate’s words came out a husky whisper. “But when you look at me like that, all I can think about is kissing you.”
“Then kiss me.”
Nate’s slow smile turned into a full on grin. “No please or okay?”
Her eyes fell to his lips. “Kiss me, okay?”
One minute his lips weren’t anywhere near her mouth, then he leaned forward and there they were and—Oh. My. God. The man was a genius. Nate DeLuca, starched loafer-lover, was a woman-whisperer of the magical kind.
He gently caressed her, languidly exploring the seam when she opened her mouth to deepen the connection and something changed—this kiss was different, unexpected. All of the earlier lust and desperation that was present in the utility shed was gone, replaced with a softness that took her by surprise and a gentleness that made her feel as though she were precious.
Frankie didn’t know how to respond. Hard, primal, surface—that’s what she was used to. But this, this confused her. And scared her.
He didn’t move closer, didn’t smooth his palms over her body, or press into her. The only contact they had was his hands on her cheeks, his mouth on her lips, and the faintest pressure of their thighs brushing as she tilted her head to the side. It was sweet and erotic and felt so right that a small burst of hope welled up, making her believe that maybe she fit. That with him she could be this girl, and that together they would somehow equal right.
Ignoring the little warning bells going off in her head, Frankie gave herself over to the moment. Maybe this was a mistake, but she wasn’t going to think about it right now. Right now she was going to savor every second of Nate, enjoy feeling connected to another person, and leave the worry and insecurities for tomorrow.
Nate must have felt the change because he groaned into her mouth and the kiss turned hot. So hot that her nipples tightened to painful peaks and her heart raced to keep up.
Nate’s hands slid through her hair while hers fisted in his shirt. She wanted him, wanted this, badly. He seemed to be on the same page because kiss after mind blowing kiss came at her, so many and so fast she lost track of time, lost track of who she was, or what her body was doing.
“Frankie,” he said against her lips breaking the kiss.
Breathing heavy, he rested his forehead to hers and she realized that she was straddling his lap, her thighs wrapped tightly around his middle, ankles locked in the back. His hands were smoothing up and down her bare thighs, his fingertips teasing under the hem of her pajama shorts. And Mittens was curled up in his tire a good twenty feet from them, his back turned for privacy.
“Why’d you stop?” she whispered, rolling her hips forward and pressing against the swollen ridge in his pants. He was hard. And enormous. And even through two layers of clothes, his heat was powerful enough to send aching need rushing to her core. “I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t either, but you’ve had a rough day and I want to make sure—”
“Oh, I’m sure. And to prove it, let’s see what’s behind door number one, shall we?” In one swoop she pulled her top off and—
“Christ,” he hissed. “No bra.”
She let him look for a minute, but when it became obvious that Nate was determined to take his damn time Frankie wrapped her arms around his neck and raised up a little, crushing her chest to his. The friction of his cotton rubbing against her sensitive skin fell heavy between her legs.
Tightening her grip, she rose up, giving a small inch of space between their bodies, and with a teasing glance down and back up, let him do the math.
“Are you telling me that behind door number two is a matching set?”
“You already saw the matching set.” She smiled and so did he. “And if you liked door number one, I promise you that door number two will blow your mind.”
Nate’s hands moved up her naked thighs, under her shorts and kept going, leaving a trail of tingles in their path. Never a man to be rushed, he took his sweet time, teasing and exploring higher until he met heated skin and someone groaned. She thought it was Nate. But it could have been her. Either way, she knew she had him.
“Being a scientist, I know you only take calculated risks, and you like to have all the facts before you to make a decision. You know, to be sure.” She gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up a few inches, exposing some really impressive abs. “Do you have enough facts now, Nathaniel? Because I’d really love to get naked and spend all night in your shag chair showing you what’s behind door number three.”
“As long as it’s not an alpaca with a coat.”
“It’s even better than a boobie prize,” she joked.
But he didn’t laugh, didn’t move, except for his eyes, which dropped and took in every inch of her not covered by clothing. Without a word, his hands tightened on her butt, cradling her against his erection and holding here there while he took her mouth.
This time the kisses weren’t sweet or gentle, which was fine because Frankie wasn’t feeling gentle or sweet. She was achy and wet from holding in every ounce of pent up tension that had grown since, well, probably since high school.
Then his mouth was on the move, nibbling her lips, down her throat, and everywhere he touched her skin tightened. “God, you taste good.”
“Keep going, it gets better.” She rested her hands on his thighs behind her, leaning back and bringing all their hot parts flush. It also gave him easier access to where else she wanted him to taste next.
A low, masculine chuckle came from his chest. He raised his head and, fucking men, the look in his eyes was hot enough to scorch. “Of that I have no doubt.”
She rocked against him as his mouth found her breast. He drew her in, his lips creating an exquisite suction as his tongue flattened against her hard nipple.
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Frankie’s head fell back on a sigh, and she pressed harder into him, trying to ease the building ache but it only left her dizzy. So she ground again, harder, desperate for release. She felt him smile against her breast before moving on to the other one, but his hands stayed put on her ass.
Not that she didn’t like foreplay, she did, but she was wound so tight that she was going to die if she didn’t find some kind of release. And soon.
“Just tell me what you want, Frankie.” Nate said, kissing his way back up to her mouth.
“You inside of me,” she whispered. He raised a brow, so she added, “Okay?”
“Okay.” His hand slid down the curve of her bottom, around the front, his finger sliding deep inside of her. “Like this?”
No, she had something else in mind, but she was too busy crying out, too busy taking pleasure in the smooth, intoxicating rhythm he created, to do anything other than gasp.
“Does that feel good?”
And if her panting and whimpering wasn’t proof enough, the way she pressed down against his fingers, her hips jerking with need, answered the question. Because if he kept up that pace, put his mouth right—Frankie grabbed his head and lowered it to her breast—right there and then—
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Do that again.”
And he did, his thumb rubbed back and forth along her and suddenly two fingers were inside of her. He circled slowly while his teeth gently sank into her hardened nipple. And Frankie was startled to realize that she was two circles and one bite away from an orgasm.
“Like that?”
Yes, exactly like that.
She bit her lip, trying to hold out, but the pressure built, fast and hard. It started in her toes and before she could stop it, heat rushed up, shattering every single thought in her mind until all she saw was a vast blankness and the best post-orgasm glow known to woman.
“You okay?” Nate whispered against her shoulder. His palm glided up and down her back, making opening her eyes impossible.
“I think so,” she said but couldn’t figure how her head managed to fall on his shoulder. He smelled good. She wanted to just lie there, in his arms and nuzzle against him.
