Page 10 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner (Angel’s Peak #6)

It’s not a tentative kiss. There’s no hesitation. No question of if .

It’s a claiming kiss.

His mouth slants over mine with devastating purpose, his thumb brushing along the curve of my jaw, holding me there, deepening the kiss until the world falls away.

Heat floods through me, sharp and dizzying.

His fingers tangle deeper into my hair, angling my head, taking the kiss deeper. Demanding more.

Pulling me into him.

Wrecking me.

I fist my hands in the front of his shirt, feeling the thick, hot beat of his heart against my palms.

He pulls me closer still, eliminating the last breath of space between us, his hand tightening in my hair until I can’t escape even if I wanted to.

Spoiler: I don’t want to.

The blanket slips from our shoulders and pools at our waists, forgotten.

I’m not cold anymore .

I’m burning.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I’m disoriented—drunk on sensation rather than wine. Dominic's eyes have darkened to amber, his expression a mixture of desire and surprise, as if he's as shaken by the intensity as I am.

He rests his forehead against mine, his breath ragged, his hand still cradling my head.

“That was…” he starts, voice shredded.

"A mistake," I finish, though every cell in my body disagrees. "We're supposed to be establishing a business relationship."

“Is that what you think?” His thumb traces my lower lip, sending shockwaves through my system. “That this was a mistake?” His thumb drags across my lower lip, and my body shudders at the contact.

"It has to be." I pull back slightly, trying to regain some semblance of professional control. "I'm here to represent your wines, not?—

"Not what, Elena?" He uses my first name deliberately, and the sound of it does strange things to my resolve. His eyes burn into mine, molten gold and unrepentant.

“We’re supposed to be building a business relationship,” I choke out, aching with the distance now yawning between us. "Not complicate things." I stand, putting necessary distance between us. "We're trapped here for three days. We need to maintain boundaries."

"Boundaries," he repeats, the word somehow both a concession and a challenge. "Of course." Dominic rises, the firelight casting him in bronze and gold.

I turn away, needing the space even if it feels like peeling off my own skin.

The electricity flickers back to life overhead, the harsh overhead lights snapping back on, flooding the room in sterile brightness.

The intimacy fractures.

But the heat?

It lingers and burns. It promises things that no amount of distance will ever extinguish.

I’m trembling—not from fear, but from the raw want still vibrating through my blood.

Dominic watches me, the firelight carving his features into something sharp and unrelenting. He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches me, a slow, measured inhale expanding his chest.

The same chest I had my hands all over a minute ago.

Then, quietly, inexorably, he says,

“Go to bed, Elena.”

The words shouldn’t land the way they do.

They shouldn’t pulse through me like a tether yanked tight.

I turn, blinking at him. “Are you… coming to bed too?”

His mouth curves, slow and dark, but there’s no humor in it.

Only something hotter. Harder.

Something that makes my knees feel suddenly less reliable.

“No.” His gaze sweeps over me, a caress I feel everywhere. “You asked for boundaries. I’ll respect them. I won’t touch you again without permission.”

The knot in my chest tightens painfully.

“But…” Dominic steps closer, not touching but crowding me with the heavy heat of his body. “You’re wrong.”

“About what?” I whisper, even though I already know.

“That wasn’t a mistake.” His voice drops lower, fierce and sure. “It was inevitable. Same as the storm outside. Same as the fact that sooner or later… we’re going to finish what we started.”

I suck in a shaky breath, and he watches me fight for composure. Watches me lose it.

“I want you asleep when I come to bed,” he says, rough velvet across my skin.

"Why?"

“Because if you’re awake…” His eyes darken, the glint of restraint fraying at the edges. “I won’t have the strength to pretend I don’t want you. I won’t be able to sleep without touching you.”

The words lash through me—hot, brutal, devastating.

He steps back before I can say a word.

The cold rush of space between us hits harder than any slap.

I still don’t move. Can’t. My feet rooted to the floor, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Dominic’s mouth curves—slow, dangerous—as he steps closer, until the air between us disappears.

“Go,” he murmurs, the words sharp enough to cut. His mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile—it’s a warning. “Before I stop pretending you have a choice.”

The floor feels unsteady under my feet, and the air feels too thin to breathe.

Still, somehow, I move.

I make it halfway up the stairs before instinct drags my head around.

Dominic stands exactly where I left him—arms crossed, body locked tight with tension, watching me with the feral patience of a predator who knows precisely how the hunt will end.

And the most dangerous part?

I want it to end.

Deep down, some ancient part of me already belongs to him. Already craves to be taken. To be owned in a way that will ruin me for anyone else.

When Dominic Mercer finally decides to take me, there will be no mercy. No escape.

Later, lying in Dominic’s bed—a bed that smells like him, feels like him—I stare up into the darkness and try to remember how to breathe.

The kiss replays over and over behind my closed eyes, vivid and sharp, searing a path down my spine.

The taste of him.

The heat of his hands threading into my hair.

The unyielding way he claimed my mouth like it was inevitable.

The professional boundaries I keep clinging to feel laughable now. Paper shields against a wildfire. The house creaks and settles around me, the storm outside raging harder, wrapping the world in white noise.

The bed is massive. Yet I swear I can still feel the imprint of him beside me—like my body remembers where he should be, even if he’s not there.

Every rustle of sheets sounds like his voice.

Every gust of wind makes my skin tighten, half-expecting to feel his weight dip the mattress. His hands sliding under the hem of the borrowed shirt I’m wearing. His mouth finding mine again—not with questions this time, but with answers I’m no longer sure I can resist.

I clench the sheet in my fists, breathing shallow, while my whole body thrums with restless, helpless wanting.

It’s not desire. It’s deeper than that. It’s need.

The bed is too warm now, the sheets tangled around my legs, my skin burning. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Taste him.

I shove the covers back and swing my legs over the side, my body moving before my brain can catch up.

Just a glass of water, I lie to myself.

I need air.

I pad down the hall, each creaking board a gunshot in the silence .

When I reach the landing, the firelight flickers below, licking at the walls, casting long, golden shadows.

And then?—

I see him.

Everything inside me stops.

Dominic stands before the fire, one hand braced on the stone mantel, his head bowed, his body?—

My mouth falls open, a soft, shattered sound escaping before I can trap it.

I clamp a hand over my lips, but it’s too late?—

I’m already burning alive.

His sweatpants hang low, shoved to his thighs, the heavy line of his cock thick in his palm. His hand moves in slow, rough strokes, coaxing, punishing, reverent.

The firelight gilds every hard plane of him in gold and shadow—his broad back, the flex of muscle along his shoulders, the sleek lines of his hips.

He’s brutally devastating and achingly beautiful.

And he’s not rushing it.

His head tilts back, the strong column of his throat arching, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest.

It strikes something deep inside me—something dark and aching and desperate.

I should turn around. I shouldn’t watch. But I can’t move.

He says my name.

Low. Rough. Broken.

“Elena.”

It rips from him like a prayer and a curse all at once.

The sound lashes across the space between us, binding me to him.

His hand speeds up, every muscle in his body tensing.

I watch, helpless and aching, as pleasure tears through him, raw and unrestrained, his body shuddering under the weight of it.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

I can only stand there, wrecked, as his release spills across his hand, the firelight making every second brutally, agonizingly visible.

Dominic leans his forehead against his arm, breathing raggedly, still facing the fire.

His other hand slowly drifts down his side, loose and spent.

Slow. Leisurely.

He drags a hand over his abdomen, a lazy caress that makes my breath catch. Then, he tugs his pants back up over his hips, muscles flexing with every movement.

I can’t look away.

Every inch of him—still flushed from release, hair mussed, skin gleaming in the firelight—brands itself behind my eyes.

I choke on a sound, a desperate, aching gasp, and bolt.

I back away, silent and shaking, the echo of my name still ringing in my ears. I climb the stairs, legs trembling, my skin too tight for my bones. I slide under the covers, but there’s no safety there.

No distance.

No forgetting.

Not when every pulse inside me is still beating to the rhythm of his rough voice, his aching need.

I want Dominic Mercer.

I want his hands. His mouth. His weight pinning me down.

I want everything he promised without words.

I lie perfectly still beneath the heavy quilt, every muscle locked tight, straining to stay silent.

The only sound is the slow creak of floorboards as Dominic moves through the house.

The hallway light clicks off.

Darkness envelops everything—thick, endless, electric.

The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs into bed. The covers shift. The space shrinks. His heat soaks into the space between us.

I hold my breath, every inch of me hyperaware of him. I squeeze my eyes shut. The scent of him—woodsmoke, cedar, male heat—wraps around me like a noose.

For a few seconds, I think maybe—maybe—I’ve gotten away with it. But Dominic doesn’t offer mercy. He turns his back on me, and his voice cuts through the dark.

Low. Gravelly. Brutal.

“I can hear you breathing.” His voice shatters the silence, low and unrelenting.

I freeze, my pulse hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear that too. He shifts slightly, but not toward me.

“I could feel you.” A pause. The air thickens between us, chokingly dense. “The second you stepped onto the stairs… it was like striking a match in the dark.”

My breath hitches.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I press a hand against my stomach, trying to quiet the riot inside me, but it’s useless.

I’m burning alive.

“Go to sleep, Elena.” Final. Commanding. An order from a man who could shatter me without lifting a finger—and knows it. He falls silent, his breathing deepening as he lets sleep take him.

Me?

I lie there in the darkness, wrecked and ruined. Desperate for his touch. Needing the man who refuses to claim me…because I wanted boundaries.

I want to surrender. I just don’t know how.