Page 38 of Love Among Vines

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

JADE

“I still can’t get over how good this is,” Jade said as she sampled a fresh glass of sparkling wine.

Every part of her body was at peace—except for her mind, maybe.

“It’s not bad,” Rett conceded. “But it could be better.”

She nudged him under the comforter. “You’re selling yourself short, Mr. Perfectionist. Are we ready to name the wine?”

He nodded and stared pensively at the sky.

“Did you already have some ideas?”

“A few. None of them felt quite right. For our basic line, we just go with whatever varietal is in the bottle. But for the special batches, we usually go for something vague and serious-sounding. Autumn Splendor Select, Golden Harvest Reserve, that kind of thing.”

“Autumn Splendor Select?” Jade asked. “You know that abbreviation spells ‘ass,’ right?”

Rett stared at her for a moment and seemed to be thinking hard. “Shit.”

A smile spread across her face. “It’s still better than all the bird-themed ones I tasted while I was here. If I never again have one more Ruby-Crested Sparkler or Whistling Warbler Chardonnay, it’ll be too soon.”

“Well, you can see why the name thing is so important. And I left less than a week to figure it out. How irresponsible,” he muttered.

Jade snorted. “Sorry. It’s just nice to not be the irresponsible one for once.” She took a bite out of the remaining mini cheesecake on her plate and flopped back onto the pillows, luxuriating in the caress of the blanket against her bare skin.

“My god, this is so good. It’s really annoying that you’re so good at everything. Also, you’re way overthinking this name thing.”

“What do you mean? It’s hopefully going to be a permanent part of our offerings. I have to take it seriously.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” She sat up and jabbed a finger down the driveway where the winery’s welcome sign was partially visible.

He turned toward her, brows furrowed. His gaze dipped temporarily to her chest, then corrected to her face. He may have been a businessman and hell of a baker, but he clearly wasn’t used to thinking outside the box.

She smiled. “Your wine should be called Valentina. After your grandmother.”

He sat up and picked up the bottle, rolled it in his hand. “Valentina,” he repeated, like he was trying it on for size.

“It’s your homage to her. No offense to Ass Select or Gasoline-Infused Elegance or whatever you wanted to call it, but this wine is called Valentina. I won’t be convinced otherwise.”

“It’s perfect.” He sat the bottle down and leaned back into the pillows, ghost of a smile on his face. He rolled over and turned to her, brushed a hair out of her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ll take care of the label design.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. You have enough on your plate.” His grumpy expression was back.

“Consider it an investment,” she said and booped him on the nose.

His hand slipped around her back and he gathered her close. It was hard to tell which was more intoxicating—the wine on his lips or the gentle give of his flesh against hers. His fingers skated up her skin, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps.

He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

Her heart staggered as she returned his embrace, pushing her bare torso into his. The sex had been mind-blowing. Probably the best she had ever had. But the post-orgasm clarity she’d banked on had never come. And now she was helping him create a permanent piece of his business.

He insisted everything was fake. Nothing beyond a mutually beneficial friendship. But these tender, post-coital kisses? They didn’t feel fake or temporary. And the look in his eyes when she named his wine? There was a flicker of something deeper there. Wasn’t there?

Maybe she was doing what she always did—romanticizing and idealizing.

Misreading the signals. There was probably a dog hair in his eye.

He had said in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want a relationship.

But didn’t he deserve a partnership, even if it wasn’t with her?

Life was too short to be bitter, scared, and alone.

Work wasn’t going to take care of him when he was old.

The vineyard couldn’t take him on memorable trips and build a life with him.

Let alone start a family like Margie said he wanted.

She pulled back with half a mind to tell him her thoughts. But something in the burning intensity of those green eyes made her swallow her words.

A fall wind whipped across the rooftop, pebbling her nipples.

Maybe the post-orgasm clarity had never come because she hadn’t been in charge. She had been a pillow princess, lying back and allowing him to ravage her. Maybe she just needed one more solid bang.

She closed her eyes and kissed him again, harder this time. His tongue slipped into her mouth, gently probing.

She rolled him onto his back, then climbed on top.

Desire was building in her again. Was their insane connection a fluke?

Maybe the romantic date and seven straight days of psychological foreplay had clouded her experience.

There was only one way to find out. Sweeping her hair to one side, she dipped her head to kiss his neck.

She licked and sucked, determined to give him something to remember her by.

“Again?” His eyebrows were raised.

His hands slid up and down her back, eventually clamping on her ass. One slipped around her front to tease her, stroking and fondling. A moan escaped, and she bit her lip. She lowered herself to find him hard between her legs.

“Again.” She ground against him, releasing a gasp from between those infuriating lips. For one wildly irresponsible moment, she debated throwing caution to the wind and lowering down, taking him in until he filled every emptiness in her. But that was how people got pregnant.

“You don’t happen to have another…?” She rolled her hips against him again.

He moved her over and threw the covers off, sprinting across the roof. He came back with protection and moved to push her onto her back.

She shook her head. “My turn.”

He obediently sank back into the mountain of pillows. She climbed aboard and took him inside her.

They both gasped. They were like two puzzle pieces who had met at long last even though they had been joined barely twenty minutes before. He filled her from within, sending a shower of sparks from her head to her toes.

His skin was damp beneath hers. They locked eyes as she gyrated on top. He was completely at her mercy, powerless beneath her strong and capable body. He bit his bottom lip, and she was nearly undone.

Maybe she should switch to reverse cowgirl. Less chance of feelings that way. But she wanted to see him, study his reactions, watch as she shifted her pressure or gripped him tighter.

He yanked her down on top of him and raised his hips. There was a hunger in his kiss. His fingertips pressed into her hard enough to leave bruises.

But she didn’t care. She wanted more— needed more.

He moved with her in perfect sync. She pulled back, and their eyes locked.

How was she ever going to come back from this?

Her heart stuttered in her chest. She averted her eyes and focused on the irresistible sensation building inside her.

They crashed together again and again, harder and faster than the last time.

Friction whipped her into a frenzy. Her hands clawed the blankets beneath them.

Finally, they shuddered over the peak together, liquid heat washing over her and sending her body into a quivering mess. She collapsed onto him, a sheen of sweat between them as she pressed her ear to his chest.

His heart thumped beneath her, strong and fast. He wrapped his arms around her, hands tangling in her hair. Shuddering breaths escaped as their heart rates fell.

Eventually, she rolled off him.

He faced her. “You’re extraordinary.”

Her face grew hot. What was it about Rett that turned her into a blushing schoolgirl?

Was it those devastating good looks or the way those fierce green eyes penetrated her right to her core?

Maybe it was his open appreciation of her body now that he had finally lifted the temporary sex ban.

The way he took in each part of her like she was crafted by a master sculptor.

Or maybe it had just been awhile since he’d gotten laid and he was grateful for whatever scraps she threw to him.

Oh, right. She should probably say something back. “Thanks. You too. I should probably go pee. UTIs and all that.”

Was it her imagination, or did he look a little bit sad when she yanked on her sweater and underwear and traipsed down the stairs?

There was no time to worry about that. She padded barefoot over the floorboards and ducked into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and stared into the mirror. Her face was flushed, but her posture was relaxed. She kind of looked like she had just left a spa day.

The second bang hadn’t relieved the encroaching thoughts. Now she was more confused than ever.

The chemistry between them was electric.

Undeniable. She had felt it the second she walked into the winery at the bachelorette party.

He noticed things, cataloguing likes and preferences and always brought a thoughtful gesture.

He listened, cared, was willing to provide solutions when asked.

He would be the perfect husband to someone someday.

But she didn’t have time to wait around for him to decide he was open to the possibility of love.

There was nothing she could do or say to make him fall in love with her.

And besides, what if they did end up together?

He would always prioritize work. He had basically said it himself.

It would never work between them, and she needed to accept that.

He needed a responsible, financially savvy partner, not a free-spirited artist with no family who had wasted two years of her life mourning Nate the concussed fucking papaya.