Unease rushes under my skin, and a cold sweat breaks out on my back. I should tell her, now would be the perfect time to clear the air and admit to what we’ve been doing, but I don’t think she’ll respond kindly to it. It doesn’t matter that I’ve told her and shown her more than I ever have another woman, she’ll still see ‘our plan’ as betrayal. Just knowing that I have the potential to hurt her, I feel like I’ve betrayed myself.
Pushing her feet off my lap, I get up and grab our glasses to refill them. Oblivious to my internal panic, she smiles at me and then follows me into the kitchen. I drag my hand over my face before I squeeze the back of my neck and shake off the guilt.
Three days.
Three days until her stay here is over, and then maybe one day, we can look back on this and laugh about my stupid plan.
Handing over her wine glass, I scan her from head to toe as she walks over to the window and looks out at the night sky. She’s shorter without the shoes on, her hair is slightly messy from running her hand through it, and she looks like a fantasy come true in this dress.
“Why do you wear dresses all the time?” I ask, stepping up behind her. This dress looks like a men’s dress shirt, and I let my mind believe it’s one of mine.
“Why not?” She glances over her shoulder at me and smiles.
My fingers slip under the edge and graze up the outsides of her thighs. Goosebumps trail across her skin. I love that she continually reacts this way to me.
“Don’t act like you don’t love them. I know you do, more than once I’ve caught you staring.”
“Not denying that, I really do,” I say, sweeping her hair back off her shoulder and then taking the wine glass from her hand. I set both of the glasses down and wrap my arms around her so I can run my nose up the column of her neck. Her head tilts to the side, and she lets out a sigh as my lips pepper kisses over her skin, tasting, sucking, memorizing. Dragging my teeth along her jaw, I turn her chin and sink into the warmth of her mouth.
What is it about kissing her that makes me delirious?
Twisting in my arms, she steps closer, and I tangle one hand in her hair and rest the other on her lower back, pulling so there’s no room between us. Fervor burns through my veins. She’s a perfect fit against me, and I devour her mouth as if it’s the last time I’ll ever get to taste it. Shelby matches my intensity, and her fingers manage to become restless as she finds the top button on my shirt.
I pull back—not to stop her because heaven knows I don’t want to stop. It’s the urge to see her eyes full of the heat I know . . . hope will be there.
I’m not disappointed. Her eyes are slightly glazed and wild and her chest is rising up against the fabric of her dress, and I ache to see her flawless skin. Pushing her back against the wall, I’m enthralled with the way the moonlight makes her glow.
When I slip my finger around the top button of her dress, she doesn’t stop me. I pop it open and then slowly trail one finger down her skin to the next. She shivers even though her skin is warm, and I love that I know she tastes like vanilla and honey. One by one, the buttons open until I reach the bottom, revealing a sliver of her skin peeking out straight down the middle. Softly, my hand flattens across her chest and slides down the middle, between her breasts, over her stomach, and grazes the top edge of her panties before sliding over her hipbone and up the bumps of her spine. When I reach the clasp to her bra, I snap it open and am reminded why I love that she wears strapless bras, too.
With her standing before me like a goddess of the night, her lips swollen, her hair wild, and sexy, any willpower that I had left against her is eviscerated. No one has ever left me feeling like this. I’m always the one in control. I have always set the pace, giving and taking exactly the way I want to. Yet, here with her, I feel completely out of my element. It isn’t that my confidence is gone, it’s that she makes me want to drop to my knees and beg.
“Zach.” Hearing my name whispered from her lips causes my chest to constrict and everything south of my waist to tighten.
My eyes find hers, they’re dark and sultry and my heart rate picks up. “Yeah?”
“More.” She breathes out with an assertiveness that has me slipping my hands inside the dress. They slide up her stomach and palm her breasts. Her head tips back and hits the wall as she arches her back, pushing into me and letting out a low moan. Moving my hands outward, I slide her dress off her shoulders and then dip my head back to her skin.
My tongue runs over the swell of her breasts and finally, when she lets out an impatient noise, I latch on while massaging the other. I could taste her from head to toe every day for the rest of my life and it would never be enough. Feeling her hands on my shirt, she resumes unbuttoning it as my fingers dip under the edge of lace resting on her hipbone.
Cold air hits my skin as she drags my shirt off, and I slip my hands around the backs of her thighs and lift her against me. When her legs wrap around my hips, I almost stumble from how good she feels surrounding me. Her warm hands glide across my shoulders, and sink into the back of my hair as I pin her against the wall and crash my mouth against hers.
“Stay with me tonight,” she mumbles against my lips, and I chuckle.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.” I press my hips against her and tighten my grip on her ass so she knows exactly how I want this night to go.
“Good.” She lets out a soft groan.
Damn this girl.
Without breaking the kiss, I turn and carry her to her bedroom and then drop her on the bed. She lands and looks a little wild with bright eyes, her hair messed up, and her lips swollen and damp from our kisses. I watch her as I toe off my shoes and remove the rest of my clothes before crawling onto the bed after her. She scoots away from me with a come-and-get-me smile. When I wrap my fingers under the piece of lace that’s hiding what I most desperately want, she stops playing games and lets me pull the fabric down her legs.
Never in my life have I seen anything as perfect as she is. I knew she had an awesome body, and for almost two weeks, I’ve imagined what she would look like bare, but nothing prepared me for this.
“You’re so beautiful.” I run my palm up her leg, needing to touch her. The muscles in her stomach tighten, and her fingers curl into the sheets, but she never breaks eye contact with me.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases. “Come here.” She pulls on my arm.
Instead of moving up her body, I move down, wanting to take my time exploring every dip, and every curve, everywhere.
Hours pass as Shelby and I forget about who we are, what we’re doing, when she’s leaving, and what this might mean. We lose ourselves in the feel of each of other, and I block the emotions that make me feel as if I’m losing myself to her. I focus on how, with each exhale, her breath rushes out, and my name is whispered past her lips and against my skin. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
Banana Pudding
A muted light dips into the room as the sun slowly makes its appearance. It’s early, too early to be awake after the night we had, but I don’t mind.
Stretching my leg out, it runs down beside his, and I feel him stir. I didn’t mean to wake him; I just want to be touching him.
He adjusts his head on his pillow, slips his arm around my waist, and pulls me until I’m flush against him. Tingles spread through my limbs as his warm muscles blanket over me, his heartbeat pounds steadily against my back, and a sense of belonging washes over me. A belonging that is foreign and if I’m honest, scary.
“You smell good,” he says, his voice raspy and full of sleep. Dipping his head, he buries it in my neck, and breathes me in.
“I probably smell like you.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs as his hand tightens against my stomach.
My eyes drift shut to the steady rhythm of his heart. Neither of us is lulled back to sleep, but neither of us makes a move to get up, either.
Slowly, the light blooms, brightening the room. Zach rolls over onto his back and
lets out a contented sigh. I miss the feel of him already.
“Are you staying for breakfast?” I turn to face him. His eyes are closed, his hair is sticking up everywhere, and his lips look puffy and inviting. I swear he’s never looked better.
His drowsy eyes find mine, and his fingertips slide across the space between us in search of my hand. “I wish I could, but I need to get some work done.”
“Work, shmerk.”
He chuckles at my evident pout and rolls to face me.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he trails his thumb across my cheek, tracing every feature on my face before pressing down on my bottom lip.
“So beautiful,” he says, shifting us both so that I’m tucked under him and he’s braced on his elbows.
“I made a coffee cake yesterday, it’s on the counter if you want to take it.”
He smiles, and I feel it straight down to my toes. “Don’t you want some of it?”
“No, I made it for you.”
He pulls back and the heated way he looks at me makes me want to melt. “I don’t know why, but I find it incredibly sexy that you cook for me.”
“Well, maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll cook you something for dinner tonight, too.” I add a little sultry tone to my words.
He slides off me and stretches as he stands; I swear he does it on purpose. So much skin and so many muscles that I can hardly think.
“Something tells me I have a little luck on my side.” He grins, enjoying my perusal of his gorgeous body.
“You might be right.” I smile back.
He pulls on his clothing. I want to beg him to stay, but I know he can’t, so I keep my mouth shut as he leans over and gives me a kiss goodbye. I listen to him as he moves through the house, grabs the coffee cake off the counter, and then shuts the front door softly behind him.
Sliding my foot across the sheets to his side of the bed, it’s still warm, and a piece of me falls even more for him. I know I’m really in trouble when I trade out my pillow for his and snuggle down. I just can’t help myself.
It’s mid morning before I drag myself out of the bed, brew a pot of coffee, and sit to do some work. I look over the different recipes we’ve selected, meal plans I’ve put together, and the pairings to go with each. For the most part, I feel like I’m done with the assignment. I’m pleased with how it’s all come together, and I think they will be, too. Sometime before the final interview, I’ll sit down with Zach and Kyle to see if they have any last-minute changes they’d like to make. I think I’ll even invite the photographer.
Done with work, I pack a small bag, throw on my boots, grab my sun hat, and wander over to the barn. I could’ve taken the golf cart, but there’s something about today, something in the air that makes me want to move a little slower, memorize more of the details.
I think about Zach growing up here, and how different his family is from my dysfunctional one. He has roots here. There isn’t one inch of this property that hasn’t been touched by Zach in some way, and I’ve never had anything like that. He’s a part of the vineyard as much as the vines are, and my heart longs for this, too. Even if it’s just a tiny piece.
“Hi, how are y’all doing today?” I ask to a couple that’s walking out of the barn. I know I’m not a part of the Wolff Winery staff, but I can’t help but feel pride as if I am.
“We’re great, thanks,” an older gentleman says. “It’s just so beautiful here.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to us.” I smile at the couple. “I hope you enjoy your time here, and don’t forget to taste The Queen Bee, it’s delicious.”
They nod their heads, and I give them a wave and walk into the barn.
“You know, if you ever decide on a career change and want to give up your fancy restaurant in Charleston, I might be able to squeeze you in as a staff member.” Kyle is grinning at me from his spot by the label machine.
“Such a generous offer,” I drawl, smiling back.
“How’s your morning?” he asks, abandoning what he’s working on and coming to stand next to me.
A blush creeps into my cheeks as I think about Zach, and Kyle smirks knowingly when he spots it.
“It’s good. Two days left, and I realized that I don’t have many pictures of my own, so I’m snapping a few.” I also plan to use some of them with the blog post, but he doesn’t need to know that. It’ll just open the door for questioning on the content of the post, and I need to do this without influence from someone else.
“Two days. Yeah, Michelle mentioned that last night. Two weeks sure flew by. She’s going to miss you. She’s really enjoyed not being the only girl around here.”
The thought of leaving sends an unwanted pang to my chest.
“I bet. It’s a serious business having to put up with you two all the time.” I tease and Kyle laughs.
“Is there anything else I can show you? Any questions?” he asks, genuinely.
“Nope, I think I’ve seen it all and I’m question free.”
“Well, all right then, I’ll let you get back to it.” Kyle’s Southern charm shines through with every word.
“Thanks.”
He gives me a wink, and I sneak past him to the kitchen. Zach mentioned this was where his mother jarred the honey, and sure enough, as I open the cabinets there are several jars just sitting there for the taking.
Jackpot.
Each jar has a piece of lavender-colored fabric wrapped over the top and a piece of twine tied in a bow around the lid. I snap a quick picture and grab a jar for myself before I head out the back and across the property toward the bees. It’s time to write the blog post and that’s the perfect place to do it.
All of the posts I write for the blog come from the heart. Whether it is about something I love or something I hate . . . they are all still me. And this post is no different, except I know that by posting it, I will be exposing myself.
In general, the food industry is relatively tight. Anyone who is serious about their career as a chef, who’s trying to make a name for themself, stays up-to-date and informed about what is going on around them and who they need to know. I’m certain my blog is followed because of the comments on the reviews, and I know those same people will also read the regional issue of the magazine to see who was mentioned and who wasn’t. Putting two and two together won’t be difficult. The question is: am I ready to step out and be accountable to my peers? The answer is yes. My career is changing, I feel it, and so does Meg. This assignment was just the push I needed to firmly stand behind my name and my work in the culinary world.
Last year when I gave them the recommendations, my name was just printed along with other contributors to the magazine. This year, my name and my face will be attached to the article. I’m proud of that. Between the online stories of my time here and the print magazine, this is an incredible opportunity, and I’m not going to let it pass by.
I find a spot under Zach’s apple trees, unpack my blanket and laptop, and then set to writing . . .
Two weeks ago, if you had asked me about wine country in the United States, my mind would have gravitated to the West Coast. Stretching from Napa Valley and Sonoma north to Willamette Valley in Oregon, I would have named one vineyard after another. But if asked about the East Coast, I may have said, “Oh yeah, there are supposed to be some amazing wineries on Long Island and in Virginia.” However, Dave Matthews’ wines in Charlottesville being the only specific one to come to mind.
Given the opportunity for a freelance editorial assignment, I found myself staying at a vineyard in northern Georgia, Wolff Winery, and being thrown into the world of vinification and food pairing. Openly, I admit to knowing little about the process of winemaking, but being tucked away at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, I fell in love with not only the ambiance and friendly staff of the winery but also the award-winning wines, too.
It’s easy to see why there are so many wineries around the world. There’s a certain magic to cultivating, growing, harvestin
g, fermenting, and bottling wine, and anyone who makes wine will tell you the most important step comes from the heart. It takes passion, patience, and more knowledge than can come from just a harvest or two. Sure, if you water a plant and give it sunlight, it will grow, but growing grapes—the science behind creating the perfect clusters—is truly fascinating.
What I discovered is, in many ways, making wine is like cooking with different spices. Too much of this or too much of that and it can throw the taste off, but where they differ is cooking problems can be easily fixed, usually on the spot, but there’s only one harvest per year and only one chance to get it right.
Wolff Winery, from what I’ve tasted, never gets it wrong. This is why it was the chosen vineyard for this assignment, and I’ve loved creating and pairing some amazing dishes to accompany their wines. From reds to whites, and of course sparklings, they are delicious, high-quality wines that are comparable to some of the most sought after flavors around the world. They’re affordable, great for any occasion, and need to be tasted by all.
Be on the lookout in a few weeks, I’ll post the assignment once it releases. You’ll be able to read all about my experiences at the winery, get an inside look at how wonderful the Wolff Winery family and staff are, and see what has made this hidden gem at the base of the Smokies such an incredible find. And if in the meantime, you run across one of the Wolff wines while out dining or in a retail store, make sure you grab it and see for yourself why wine with food is . . . the perfect pairing.
Cinnamon Coffee Cake
I hated leaving her this morning. Never have I wanted so badly to stay with a girl like I did with her, but knowing I had work to get done this morning and needing to put a bit of space between us, it was best that I left. All morning my mind has been consumed with blonde hair that was spread all across her pillow and mine, soft skin, and a sleepy content smile that damn near cracked my chest in half. This girl is under my skin, and I’m afraid to look and see how deep.
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 21
