Minutes pass and agonizingly accumulate into hours. The space I thought I needed from her came and went and the longing I have for her has grown into an excruciating ache under my ribs. I feel like a loaded gun about to go off. I know Kyle is itching to sit and discuss how we’re going to play out her last few days here, but I can’t. Knowing that while I’m up here working she’s down there and we’re losing time is killing me. I can’t take it anymore. She’ll be gone before we know it, and then it’ll be business as usual, but for now, she’s here, and I can’t wait any longer.
“Where are you going?” Kyle calls out from his office, which is next to mine, as I jog past his doorway and down the hall toward the back door.
“To find Shelby,” I throw over my shoulder.
“Wait!” He emerges, and his face drops a little, giving away that he’s worried. He’s also holding one of Shelby’s biscuits, and I’m insanely jealous that he’s eating something of hers. Irrational, I know, but I want her and everything about her all to myself.
Kyle’s watched us closely over the last couple of days, and he knows I’ve deviated from the plan and we’ve grown closer. Hell, everyone who works here probably does, but I don’t care.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, mumbling through another bite of the biscuit.
“Don’t worry, Kyle. It’ll be fine. The winery’s good, we’re good, and I’m good.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I do worry, and as your friend, I’m warning you to be careful.”
I hear what he is saying, but I don’t agree. There is no reason that I can’t indulge in something good for a few days. The plan was to woo her enough that she would feel the need to write a kick-ass post for her blog, but what if she doesn’t write the post? We have always assumed that she would, but maybe she’s only writing an article for the magazine. If she doesn’t write it, then things are no worse or better than they were before. We could move forward with the marketing of the magazine article, and the whole plan can be forgotten as if it never existed.
“It’s all good, trust me.” I smile at him, and his eyes narrow with concern before he lets out a huge sigh.
“Last I saw her was at the barn. I think she’s wandering around the property today taking pictures.”
Pictures.
My heart starts racing with anticipation of seeing her, and I know the place she’s ultimately headed.
“Thanks, man. I’ll catch up with you later.” With that, I’m out the door and running in the direction of the apple trees.
She loves the bees almost as much as she loves the cliff.
Turning down the last row, I spot her sitting under the shade of the trees, and the sight stops me in my tracks and halts the breath in my chest.
“Be still my heart,” I whisper to myself and rub the burgeoning ache in my chest.
Shelby is lying on her stomach with her feet kicked up in the air, her blonde hair is pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, and she’s reading a book. She looks so comfortable and so relaxed that part of me doesn’t want to bother her. She looks so at home here.
Wow is all I can think.
My heart starts to race, my hands have started to shake, and as a breeze blows the leaves on the vines move in unison like an ocean wave and I know . . .
This is the moment.
The moment people talk about when they say they just knew.
She’s perfect.
She’s wearing cut-off shorts, a tank top, and those ridiculous rain boots. Her face is pink from the afternoon sun, and she’s never looked more beautiful. She takes my breath away.
I try to burn this image of her in my mind. I never want to forget it, not that I think I could.
Walking straight for her, I force my steps slower so I don’t startle her, and she looks up as she hears me approach. Big blue eyes shine at me, and her smile lassos my heart.
Everything inside me clenches with want for her. Want for her friendship, want for her heart to be mine, and want for her body. I want to imprint myself so deeply on her that I consume her mind as much as she consumes mine.
My knees hit the dirt next to her blanket, and I soak in every tiny detail of her face.
“Hi,” she whispers, watching me with wide eyes. Tiny freckles dot the skin under her eyes and across her nose. I’ve never thought once about freckles on a girl, but damn on her these are adorable.
Being at a loss for words, all I want to do is drop soft kisses across said freckles and one to her lips. She tosses her book to the side and sits up, resting her weight on her heels and watching me.
What do I say to her? How would I even begin such a conversation and after only two weeks. She would think I’m crazy and, if by some chance she doesn’t, how do I ask her to be mine?
Mine.
This girl, this beautiful, easy-going, independent, driven girl is mine. As sure as the sun will set tonight and rise tomorrow, I know in my gut this is a certainty, and I’m so moved by the realization that I cup her face between my palms and bring her lips to mine.
Her lips are full, warm, and easily follow my lead as she kisses me back. Her tongue dances with mine, and I drown in what has now become my favorite flavor . . . her.
This kiss is different.
It’s because I am different.
I was so focused on football for so long and then the winery that I didn’t even realize I was starving until I met her. I’ve had a taste of what life is like with her, and there’s no going back.
Sliding my lips across hers, I kiss the corner of her mouth and pause to breathe in the air surrounding her. Sweetness fills my nostrils and pieces of her hair tickle my face, but I hold her close never wanting to let her go.
I need to be closer.
Lowering her down to her back, I run my finger down her cheek, over her jaw, and across her lips. Lips that are parted, and flushed red as she breathes heavily.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes caress my face as I brace myself over her.
“I don’t know.” I answer her honestly, because I really don’t. I want to do and say everything, but I don’t know how or where to start.
“Everything okay?” she asks, running her hand up my arm and pushing the hair off my forehead.
I nod my head, my eyes briefly slip shut at the feel of her touching me. “How’s your morning, what did you do?” I ask her.
“I wrote a post for my blog about your winery.” She pauses, looking for a reaction, but I steel my emotions and lock the muscles in my face. I’m afraid that she’ll read my anxiety instead of my gratitude, and I don’t want that. “I really do love it here,” she whispers.
And there it is.
The part of me that naively had been hoping she wouldn’t write the post slowly backs away, bowing to the truth. She’s a passionate person when it comes to the things that matter most to her, and over the last two weeks, I’ve watched her fall in love with the winery, the wines, and all the details that make us the brand Wolff.
Pain slams into my chest, and I lower my forehead to rest against hers. I should be more elated but the premise behind getting the post makes me feel dirty.
Maybe I should ask her not to post it?
No.
Then I would have to explain why, and I can’t bring myself to explain to her that originally my goal was to lure her in and lie to her through kindness to get the post. She would see this as the ultimate deception.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I frown and shake my head. Shelby feels the movement and pulls back to look at me, her brows lowered over her eyes. Guilt engulfs me, and I feel like the worst kind of person.
“Aren’t you worried people will discover who you are after the magazine prints?” She must have thought of this, right? Maybe this is the angle I can use to get her not to post the article. Kyle would be disappointed, but we’re smart and resilient. We can find other ways, in addition to the magazine, to get our name out there.
Her hand slides over my s
houlder to my arm, and her warm fingertips slip under the edge of my sleeve.
“I thought about that, but I think it’s time. I think I’m ready. A lot of work has gone into the blog for a lot of years, and if I’m looking to advance myself professionally, then I need to let others know besides my partner and my editor who I am and how truly committed and in love with this industry I am.”
Pulling farther away, I look deep in her eyes and find a confidence that wasn’t there when she spoke of the blog in Asheville. Before she liked her anonymity, and now, I can see that she’s made this decision and wants to stand behind it. If I weren’t already proud of her, this would have done it.
A bee buzzes by her head, and she jerks to the side and starts to laugh. I grin back at her while getting lost in the sound.
“I don’t think people will be too surprised when they find out who Starving for Southern is. You are amazing, and anyone who’s ever met you already knows this, including me.”
“Thank you.” Her lips tilt into a bigger smile, and her hand moves to settle on my waist.
“Shelby, if I didn’t tell you already, I’m really sorry about the way I behaved at the event and when you first got here.”
She giggles. “You still haven’t told me why, other than giving me the ‘it-wasn’t-you-but-me’ line, but I think we’ve moved past that, don’t you?”
“I hope so,” I whisper, finding forgiveness and adoration beaming back at me. There’s no trace of suspicion, only trust.
Ducking my head into her neck to hide so she doesn’t see the raw emotions on my face, her arm slips around me and pulls me close. My weight falls over her, and my body comes to life. Teasing her skin, I pull the strap of her tank top to the side and trail my lips down her neck and over her collarbone. Tasting her as I go. Her head tilts, giving me more access, and her back arches, pushing her tighter into me.
“I need more of you. I need to be inside you,” I mumble as her free hand finds it way into my hair. I’m crazy for this girl, and the need I have is so overwhelming that it almost borders on desperation. I need to take her, claim her, mark her . . . anything that will make her mine.
And ease my guilty conscious.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Her hand trails from my waist over my back and finds the hem of my T-shirt. She easily lifts it up and off my body, allowing the sun’s rays to warm my back as they slip through the branches of the tree.
All around us, the sounds of the hills float by and not once do I hear the telltale signs of another person. Just the buzzing of the bees, the chirping of birds, and the leaves waving in the passing breeze. We are alone and lost to the world. This moment feels stolen, but as I sit back on my heels, I intend to take it anyway.
Removing her clothes, I start with her boots. It’s like unwrapping a present that I’ve waited my whole life for and as my eyes peruse each newly bared section, her soft ivory skin flushes pink.
“Hmm, where should I start?” I tease her, rubbing my thumb on the inside of her thigh.
“With your clothes,” she says, her voice a little labored.
Smiling at her, I strip down, and slowly begin worshiping every inch of her beautiful body. Her sounds, the expressions revealed on her face, and her fingertips as they dig into my hair, shoulders, and back, all of it lets me know she’s as lost in the sensations as I am. I could live a thousand years and never tire of touching her.
“Zach,” she whispers my name as I trace my tongue over her hipbone and travel up to her breast. “More,” she says on an exhale. When I glance up to her face, I find her eyes filled with desire and yearning.
Not needing to be asked twice, I lace my fingers through hers, seal my lips to hers, and push home.
Home.
Her.
Her breath rushes out on a gratified sigh, and I breathe her in as her fingers tighten around mine. My eyelids slip shut as I’m hit with a fervent onslaught of tingles racing from my groin up my spine. Being inside Shelby, being connected to her, it doesn’t even come close to comparing to anything ever in my life before. It’s a feeling so strong that as I start to move, with each stroke in and out, I feel like her body is holding on and taking a piece of my soul, and I freely give it.
Time stills as we lose ourselves to the emotional and physical act of making love to each other. Light and shadows dance behind my eyelids, leaves all around us blow in the wind, but all I see, feel, and hear is her. I would give her anything and everything to be able to relive this intense, exquisite, incredibly euphoric feeling every day. That’s what this is for me . . . love.
Smiling to myself, I think these are the kinds of moments that artists are constantly chasing. Words aren’t needed, but many different sentiments are radiating off us. I know this is new, and I know we got off to an unconventional start, but I can feel the way her heart is drifting in every touch, every kiss, every look. It’s the way she stops breathing when I come near, and the way she breathes me in at the same time too.
“Tell me,” I whisper some hours later.
Her eyelids flutter open and she blinks against the brightness of the late afternoon sun.
“Tell you what?” she asks, her eyes sleepy and satiated as she rolls to face me. Her lips barely move as she speaks, but they still draw me in as I burn to memory each curve, freckle, and eyelash.
How do I explain to her what I’m asking for? How do I tell her she’s what I need? There’s so much to say, and so much to do. I want it all. I want . . .
“Everything.”
Homemade Biscuits
Zach stayed with me the rest of the day and all through the night. If we weren’t tangled up in each other, we were drinking his wine, eating, and laughing. As serious as he has been and can be, I’ve never laughed with one person as much as I did with him.
I think what surprised me the most was how tender he was with me. Maybe it was because we moved past that initial must-have desperation, or maybe because we weren’t limited on time, but he was different yesterday, and it was noticeable. Not that there is anything wrong with the difference, but I almost wish his movements were still lust filled and less warm, less loving. It all adds to the vision of what I think a life with him might be like, and considering I have one day left here, this makes me long for something that won’t be.
Deciding I need to stop thinking about him and start thinking about leaving, I move from room to room through the cottage, picking up the mess we made last night and setting my things off to the side for packing. At some point, I glance outside, and my breath catches because the black crow is back. The world around me blurs as I narrow my gaze on it and my heart rate picks up. It can’t be coincidental. It must mean something, and dread slips in under my skin. Closing my eyes, I turn away and do my best to forget about it.
Stopping next to the kitchen island, I run my fingers over the lavender flowers and then lean in to smell the plant. Lavender is supposed to have a calming effect, if only it would work on me and my anxious heart.
The problem is, Zach isn’t what I expected, not that I have expectations from him, but there’s this gentleness in the way he looks at me and touches me that I’m not used to. As blissful as my heart feels, it’s because of this that there’s an unwanted nervousness sitting deep within me. A nervousness that seems to be growing the closer we get to the assignment ending. Maybe that’s all it is, I’m anxious about saying goodbye and not knowing what happens next, or maybe there’s a reason for this gut feeling . . . I haven’t figured it out yet.
From across the room, my cell phone starts ringing, and my heart jumps. Thinking that it might be Zach calling, I move across the room, and see that it’s Meg. I let out a sigh of relief, she’s the person who can calm me down.
“Hey!” I answer on the third ring.
“One day left!” Meg squeals. “I’m so excited for you to get back home. I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long being apart.”
I can almost see her bouncing around in the kitchen at
OBA, and I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “I miss you, too.”
“So, have you and Zach talked at all about what happens after tomorrow?”
Well, there’s no beating around the bush with her, straight to the point.
“No.” I walk back into the kitchen and sit at the island, hoping that eventually the plant will work its magic on my nerves.
“But you want to see him again, right?”
“I think I do,” I say on a sigh.
“Then why don’t you sound more excited?”
“I don’t know. Everything was great, no it is great, but I woke this morning feeling off. All of this is so quick, so unexpected, I feel—”
“Stop right there. I know you, Shelby. Nothing is off, you’re anxious because you like this guy. I’ve seen you do this before, and it’s like as soon as things move out of your comfort zone, you’re sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop. Are you listening to me?”
“I am, but Meg, there’s a large black crow sitting on the table outside the French doors and it’s staring at me through the window.” I glance outside and she’s still sitting there.
“So?”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“No, enlighten me, Oh Great One,” she says sarcastically.
“Black crows are a sign of a bad omen. I know this feeling I’m having isn’t for nothing.”
“Have you lost your mind? Seriously? A crow? Now you’re looking for trouble when there isn’t any. Are you trying to sabotage this good thing that you have going? I mean really, you’ve cooked food there all week, I’m sure it smelled divine, you eat outside, and the bird is probably looking for a snack.”
“Explain to me why I saw one on my first day here, and now on my last.”
“It isn’t your last day, you have one more, and you didn’t see one because you weren’t looking for one. You do this when things don’t seem to be going your way—you start looking for answers to questions or problems that aren’t there. It’s the control freak in you, and you need to stop this. Seriously, don’t get your feathers ruffled over it. Throw the bird a piece of bread, and watch, it’ll fly away.”
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 22
