Mr. Red

by Tessa Layne

  “It is yours,” I blurt before my brain catches up with my mouth.

  She freezes. We both do. We’ve been living in this fantasy realm for the better part of a month now, sneaking fucks in the vineyard or the crushing pad between equipment delivery, or when the workers on Declan’s farmhouse have left. For the most part, we’ve been alone up here on the mountain. The vineyard isn’t open for business, and there’s no tasting room, so we don’t have tourists or buyers stopping by for a taste. It’s been the two of us hidden away on the mountaintop, and it’s been fucking amazing. But we both know it can’t last- Declan will be showing up at some point, and the Chardonnay harvest is mere weeks away. This is merely the calm before the storm.

  “I…” Alison’s head drops and she huffs out a breath, slowly swiveling the chair back around to face me. “There’s something you should know about me.”

  My heart yo-yos. Her face is so serious, pained, even. “Yes?” I ask, throat suddenly dry.

  “I’m divorced.”

  I let out a relieved laugh. “Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me you had cancer or something.”

  Her mouth curves up, but it’s not a smile. “What I’m trying to say is…” she sucks in a breath. “I don’t really have a heart to give. Not anymore.”

  It takes a full minute for me to realize the meaning in her words. And to be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about her declaration. Relieved, yes. Disappointed, yes. Wanting to throat punch her ex, who obviously is an asshole, definitely yes. I wave a hand. “Oh, that. Hyperbole, angel.”

  Her face visibly relaxes, and she tilts her head, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “Okay, just checking. ‘Cause this-” She waves between us. “Is nice. Really nice. But I can’t see us going anywhere. Can you?”

  “No, no not at all,” I agree with a shake of my head. Then why do I feel like I’ve just been sucker punched?

  Chapter Twenty

  Alison

  It would be so easy to fall for him. Kimmie was right, it’s a slippery slope, and I can feel myself slipping a little more each day, in spite of my declaration. I was surprised by his reaction, and if I’m honest with myself, even the tiniest bit disappointed. Because things between us are… surprisingly easy. In spite of the secrets still piled up between us. All the more reason this can’t ever go beyond a wild sexy late summer fling.

  It’s barely light out, as I stretch and roll over for a little morning hanky-panky. Only Nico’s side is empty. “Nico?” I call, pushing up. Nico is not an early riser. Not remotely. So I immediately dismiss the idea that he’s up making himself a cup of coffee, and me a cup of tea. He’s not the ‘surprise me with breakfast in bed’ type, which is fine with me. I’m not that type either. I’m an early riser and breakfast is overrated, as far as I’m concerned. “Nico?” I call again after listening for him. I don’t hear him anywhere.

  And then, I hear knocking- persistent knocking- at the door. My stomach drops as my imagination conjures up all manner of awful. Did something happen to Nico? Is he sick? Injured? Or dear God, is there a fire? Did something happen to the grapes?

  The knocking continues as I throw back the covers and head to the bathroom for my robe. My pulse quickens as I secure the tie and hurry down the hall to the front door. I offer up a silent prayer to the universe that everyone I love is okay. I fling open the door and blink. Nico’s standing on the other side of a car that’s definitely not mine. And… I blink again forcing my synapses to fire.

  The familiar face smiles. “Alison?”

  “Yeah?” I answer stupidly, and then my brain wakes up. Fucking hell, it’s Declan, looking a little worse for wear, but it’s definitely him. “Holy shit,” I mutter. Then I look down. Fuck. My robe barely covers my ass. “Hooooooooly, holy shit.” I start running at the mouth… because it’s too early to be thinking clearly. “What in the hell are you doing here?” I look from him to Nico and back again. “Did I do something wrong? I swear, if you don’t like something, blame him.” I point to Nico, completely okay with the fact that I’m shamelessly throwing him under the bus. I glare at him. “I never should have listened to you about rearranging the crushing pad.”

  Nico raises his hands looking from me to his brother, and damn if he’s not smirking. “What? Don’t look at me. She’s the winemaker. She’s calling the shots.”

  Fucker.

  I immediately think of all the delicious ways I can spend the day torturing him.

  Declan shakes his head, with an expression that sends dread shooting right into my bones. “I know it’s early, but I have a full day. Can you show me around? I want to see where we are.”

  I gulp. “Right now?”

  He gives me an exasperated look. “Some clothes would be nice.”

  Shit. This could not be more embarrassing. My first face to face meeting with my boss and I’m half-naked and sexed up from a night of lovemaking. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right out.” I let the screen slam behind me and tear down the hall. Shit oh shit oh shit shitshitshit. What if he doesn’t like what I’ve done with the grapes? Or how I’ve supervised the construction on the farmhouse? What if he decides I’m a rank amateur and sacks me on the spot? I brace my hands on the counter in the bathroom and glare at myself. “Pull yourself together, girl. You are badassery embodied. He hired you because you know what you’re doing, and you’re damn good at it.” I nod emphatically at my reflection.

  I dress quickly, grabbing a clean pair of jeans instead of my beat up work overalls, a pair of sturdy boots, and for confidence- my motorcycle jacket over a Ramones tee shirt. It’s too early for lipstick, but I fluff my bangs I gave myself last week, and pull the rest of my hair into a ponytail. I’ve got this. I’ve Got This.

  When I join Declan in the yard, Nico’s nowhere to be found. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask where Nico’s disappeared to, but I stop myself just in time. Inquiring about Nico would be a dead giveaway. And I’ll miss him in the vineyard this morning. I’ve been walking the lots several times a day, getting to know what’s ripening first, making a plan for harvest, ordering equipment, cleaning and recleaning everything so it’s ready when we start picking. I can feel the anticipation building daily. Harvest time is magic, it’s why I chose to become a winemaker, and I’m simultaneously thrilled and terrified for our inaugural harvest. “Where do you want to start?” I ask, already formulating a plan of where I’ll take Declan first.

  He walks in a circle, hands on his hips, surveying the buildings and the trees in the distance. Wispy pink clouds color a robin’s egg blue sky. “How about with the vines? I think a walk would do me some good.”

  Good man. Always start with the vines. They matter the most. I can’t help the grin of approval that pulls my mouth up. “Excellent place to start.” I cut through the barnyard to the Chardonnay vines first. “I think we’re about four weeks out? As you know, it’s not an exact science.” I palm a cluster. “They’re still pretty hard, and the seeds are still pretty green.” I pull of a grape and bite it open, spitting out the pulp. It’s cheek puckering tannic. I squish the remaining pulp and push up the seeds. “See how they’re still hard? We want them brown and starting to go mushy.”

  I offer him what’s in my hand, but he waves it away. “That’s why I hired you. I don’t know shit about this process.”

  I suspected as much, but to hear the heir to one of the biggest wine fortunes in the world blow off the entire process of turning grapes into wine, is more than a little irritating. It gives me new appreciation for Nico’s interest in what’s happening with the vines.

  “So I could make cougar juice, and you wouldn’t care, so long as I made a profit?” I say with more than a little disgust.

  His eyes snap to mine. “That bother you?”

  “Of course.” I give him one of those ‘are you a fucking idiot’ looks. “I’m a winemaker. No. Strike that. I’m an artist. No.” I shake my head. “Strike that too. I’m a fucking magician. And I will make you money, don’t worry. Bu
t not by taking shortcuts and making a subpar product.”

  He stares at me, then bursts out laughing. “I knew you were a firecracker. Holy shit, no wonder you’re driving Nico crazy.” He laughs again. “You’re perfect.”

  Something stabs in my heart. I’m driving Nico crazy? I thought… oh, fuck… I thought. I want to vomit. But how could we, how could he… I’m driving him crazy? A lump grows in my throat, one I can’t swallow away. I’ve been such a fool. I blink rapidly, biting my cheek, and somehow manage to smile. I swallow again, unsure if my voice will work when I speak. “Let’s hike down to the Cabernet lot, shall we?”

  I force my attention to the grapes, bringing Declan up to speed on our pruning and thinning practices, and why. I share what we’re noticing about ripening patterns on the steep slope and how I think we’ll manage that during the harvest. The top lots will ripen first, so we’ll pick, and slowly work down the steep hill to the bottom Cabernet vines, which I expect will be ready in late October, or maybe even early November.

  “Shall we go taste the barrels?” I ask when we’ve reached the bottom elevation of the property. It will take a good 20 minutes to hike back.

  “At seven-thirty in the morning?” Declan asks, incredulous.

  I shrug. “Sure. Why not? You can spit if you prefer.”

  He snorts. “As if.”

  “I knew I liked you.” I grin. Seriously, I could not have landed a better boss. Except for the small fact that I’m fucking his brother, and I’m pretty sure he’ll terminate me on the spot if he finds out. And the other small issue that Declan doesn’t know I’ve forced Nico to work for me this entire time.

  He doesn’t look twice at the crushing pad layout- something Nico and I have gone round and round about for days. Like, seriously? Why did I bother stressing about it? You can lead a horse to water…

  We make our way to the wine cellar, and I thrum with expectation. Once the vineyard is officially open for business, I can’t wait to bring VIP groups down here for special tastings. I’ve already set it up with a seating area complete with rugs and leather couches, small sitting areas for people to gather for education and fucking fantastic wine. It will be more intimate when there are more barrels down here, but I could easily host a small gathering of thirty or forty people, complete with candles and nibbles.

  Declan lets out a low whistle when he takes it all in. “You’ve been holding out on me Alison. You’ve got serious vision.”

  “Of course I do,” I snort. “We’re gonna kill it up here.”

  “I love it.”

  I grab a couple of tasting glasses and a wine thief from a shelf and lead Declan to the first barrel of white. I fill our glasses and we swirl. His reaction makes me giddy. “See?” I’m bouncing on my toes. “I told you it was amazing.”

  He grins at me. “Think you can duplicate it?”

  “Or better.”

  I fill him in on my plans for this year- to test the limits of the grapes- with steel and various kinds of oak barrels, for different kinds of fermentation. Once we’ve established what the grapes can do, then we can decide on a direction. “I have a whole spreadsheet on my laptop I can show you.”

  “No need.” Declan waves me off. “Clearly you’ve got it under control.

  I’m pleased, but also just the tiniest bit disappointed. I assumed that as the vineyard owner, he’d take an active interest, not just delegate the whole kit and caboodle to me. I start to tell him that Nico has been a great sounding board for the process, and that I couldn’t have come up with it without him, but I don’t want to arouse his suspicion. And sadly? I think he wouldn’t care. He’s… distracted. That much, I can see. The vineyard is the last thing on his mind. “Everything okay?”

  “What… with me? Yeah, of course. Everything’s fine.”

  “You’re as full of shit as your brother.”

  He smiles at that. “That’s us. Just call us the shit brothers.”

  “So you’ll be helping Nico turn the compost pile later today?”

  His laughter echoes off the wall. “Sure.” He extends his hand. “I like you, Alison. Danny said you’re as smart as they come, and I know I’m paying you a fortune, but I still think I got the better end of the deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nico

  It’s a little after nine when I return from my enforced breakfast with a bag of groceries for the fridge. Alison is working so hard now, during the lead-up to harvest, that I try and help where I can. I still cook for shit, and I probably got too many frozen meals, but she’s never complained. I think, I hope, she’s grateful to have one less thing on her plate.

  She’s sitting at her laptop futzing with the spreadsheet I helped her make for all the different barrels she wants to use with this year’s harvest. I don’t honestly know how much will actually get released, but she’s got good instincts about testing the capacity of the grapes. It’s not like there’s a history of the vineyard she can study, and see what’s worked in past years. We’re- she’s starting off fresh here.

  I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not part of this project. I’m not even here permanently. In fact, I’ve probably overstayed my welcome. It’s only a matter of time before Dec kicks me out and I have to go land somewhere else until I can figure out my next move.

  I drop the groceries on the counter and then come to sweep the hair from her neck so I can kiss one of my favorite spots. “How’d it go?”

  She lets out a groan of frustration, and swivels around. “He doesn’t give a shit, Nico. It’s… disappointing. I thought for sure he’d have some kind of input. I mean, he approves of the choices I’ve made, but it’s like his brain is somewhere else. Like I could tell him I planned to rip out all the vines after harvest, and he’d just wave me on.”

  “He’s a real-estate guy. He’s used to delegating.”

  “But so are you, but you don’t… you…” she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.” Her face is full of gratitude when she raises it to meet my eyes. “Thanks for your help.”

  I brace my hands on the arms of the chair, trapping her. I bring my mouth to her neck, trailing kisses along the sensitive cord and up to the hollow at her ear. “Is that your way of buttering me up after throwing me under the bus this morning?”

  “Are the groceries your way?” she shoots back when she sees the sack on the counter.

  “I love you Alison.” It just slips out, because her wit, her fire, her sparkling sense of humor cracks me up. And nobody is more surprised than me. It wasn’t like I woke up this morning and thought ‘hey, I’ll tell Ali I love her today.’ I only woke up early because I had a weird dream and I heard a car pull up, and when I realized it was Dec, I just had to fuck with him.

  She doesn’t freeze this time, she just stares at me, eyes searching mine, penetrating into the deepest part of me. And then she laughs. A delighted, giddy sound, and she wraps her hand around my neck and pulls me into a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle and sensuous, and very quickly things heat up between us, and she’s reaching for the button on my jeans. I don’t care that her sole response was to laugh, because her hand is stroking my cock, and all I want is to be inside her, showing her that I fucking adore her.

  I pull her up and lead her down the hall. “Declan’s car is gone, and we don’t have deliveries until after lunch today.”

  “But what about the construction guys?” she asks breathlessly.

  “You’ll have to promise not to scream my name when you come.”

  She kicks off her boots and scoots into the middle of the bed, watching hungrily as I pull my tee shirt over my head and toss it to the floor, next to where I’ve dropped my jeans. She shimmies out of her jeans, kicking them aside as soon as her legs are free, and reaches for her shirt.

  I crawl toward her. “Let me.”

  I start by stroking up her thigh and catching the hem pulling it up enough to tease at the soft skin beneath. “Someday we’re gonna talk about your misguided affection for the
Ramones,” I say as I pull the shirt over her head, and nuzzle my way down her neck to the valley between her breasts. My fingers find the clasp of her bra and flick it apart. I could lose myself forever in the full, sweet softness of her tits, and I tease and lick until she sighs and her hips rock beneath me.

  “And then we’re gonna talk about your misguided affection for Wham and the soundtrack of Moana,” she squeezes out between the sexy little moans she makes.

  “Don’t judge. And besides, you like jazz.” I take a nipple into my mouth, teasing the tip with my tongue.

  She snorts, then gasps as I gently bite. “There’s nothing jazzy about Wham.”

  I trail kisses down her belly, and push her legs apart so that I can get to her pussy, which is slick with heat. “But George Michael recorded a jazz album.” I bend and take a long, slow lick up her seam, just how she likes, slowly circling her clit. “Yes,” she pants. “That feels so good. And I like Miles Davis. Big difference.” Her voice rises over the last two words as she comes apart on my tongue, and then she laughs again- a joyous, melodic sound that worms its way into my soul and takes up residence.

  “That’s all you have to say?” I tease after she’s come down. “That Miles Davis is jazzier than George Michael? You’re going to have to do better than that if you want my cock in you.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

  I roll onto my back so she can see just how hot I am for her, and stroke myself slowly. “You can’t be dissing George and the boys if you want… this.” I eye her, waiting for her next move. She doesn’t disappoint.

  She crawls over me, and brackets my thighs with her knees. “You sure you want to be making ultimatums like that?” she returns with a devilish smile, dipping her head to slide her tongue up my cock. “Two can play that game, and I happen to know how bad your cock-” She takes the crown of me into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the circumference, and applying just enough suction my eyes roll into my head. “Wants this,” she murmurs, and does it a second time.