Page 29 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner (Angel’s Peak #6)

I nod, unable to form words for the swirl of sensations and emotions coursing through me. With my hands still bound, I'm completely at his mercy, and yet I've never felt safer.

My soul is wide open.

"You’re beautiful like this," he murmurs, thumb brushing my lip. "Surrendered. Open."

The kiss that follows is unlike any we've shared before—deeper, more commanding. I yield to it completely, letting him dictate the pace, the pressure. Without my hands to touch him back, all I can do is receive.

He lowers me gently to the rug. When he finally unties my wrists, my arms fall limply to my sides, muscles relaxed in a way I can't remember feeling before. He massages them gently, restoring circulation; his touch now nurtures rather than provokes.

"Lie back," he says, guiding me down onto the plush rug, the fire warming my side.

What follows is unlike any sexual experience I've had before. Without the blindfold or restraints, it's not technically different from conventional sex, and yet it's transformed.

Having surrendered control so completely, having trusted him with my vulnerability, every touch feels magnified. Every kiss, every caress seems to reach past my skin to something essential within me.

Dominic maintains that edge of dominance—guiding my movements, setting the pace, occasionally using his strength to hold me in place—but always with an awareness of my pleasure that borders on reverence.

There's play in it too, moments of lightness amid the intensity that remind me this is exploration, not obligation.

When release comes, it's shattering in its totality—not just physical but emotional, leaving me trembling and clinging to him as if he's the only solid thing in a world suddenly turned liquid.

After, he holds me against him on the rug before the fire, one hand stroking my hair in a soothing rhythm.

"Now you understand," he whispers.

And I do. I understand that what happened between us wasn't about pain or control for their own sakes, but about trust. About the freedom that comes from completely letting go, knowing someone else will hold what you surrender safely.

"Is it always like that?"

He smiles against my skin. "No. It’s different every time. This... was just the beginning."

"Of power exchange?" I recall a term I’ve read but never fully comprehended until now.

"To possibility," he corrects. "To what happens when we stop performing and start playing." He tips my chin up to meet his gaze. "When was the last time you truly played, Elena? Not competed, not achieved, not impressed—just played for the joy of it?"

"I didn’t know sex could be like that."

"Sex is our only real playground."

"If that’s so, then I want to spend all my time in your playground.

" I curl into him, firelight warming us both.

My palm on his chest, his heartbeat steady and sure.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel completely present, entirely at peace.

"Thank you," I whisper, not quite able to articulate everything I'm grateful for—the experience, the insight, the gift of temporary surrender.

His smile brushes my temple.

"Anytime, Elena. Anytime."

As evening approaches, we gather the scattered papers, smiling at the crumpling of certain documents. Over dinner, the conversation inevitably turns to what comes next, for the business relationship and whatever is developing between us.

"You could stay," Dominic says finally, the casual delivery belied by the tension in his shoulders. "Not just a few more days. Longer term."

"Stay?" My heart stutters.

"To consult on the expansion plans. The experimental program." He sets down his fork, meeting my eyes directly. "See if what we've started here might be sustainable beyond a snowstorm and business negotiations."

The offer takes my breath away—not because it's unexpected, but because it articulates exactly what I've been afraid to want. Before I can formulate a response, my phone chimes with an incoming email. I would ignore it, but Dominic nods toward it.

"Go ahead. It might be important."

The message is from Catherine Halsey, the senior female partner I mentioned to Dominic during our strategy session about Davis's plagiarism. The subject line makes my stomach drop: "Concerning Your Position and Recent Developments."

I open it with trepidation, scanning quickly before reading aloud:

" Ms. Santiago, Concerning recent developments with our wine program and your extended absence, the ownership group has reviewed your contributions and Davis's recent presentation.

While we value your expertise, we have concerns about team dynamics and your apparent prioritization of external relationships over company needs.

" We are prepared to offer you a renegotiated position focusing exclusively on wine acquisition and education, removing management responsibilities which would remain with Davis as Partner. Please advise when you plan to return so we can discuss this transition in person. "

The message lands like a stone between us, its implications crystallizing the choice before me with brutal clarity.

I can return to San Francisco to a diminished role, my authority undercut by Davis's machinations.

Or I can stay here, exploring this unexpected connection with Dominic and the professional possibilities it presents—walking away from the career I've spent years building.

"A compromise position," I say flatly. "All of the work, none of the recognition or authority."

"What are you thinking?" Dominic's expression is carefully neutral, though I can see the tension in his jaw.

"I'm thinking this shouldn't be such a difficult decision," I admit. "Professionally speaking, it's insulting. They're offering me a demotion disguised as a specialized role."

"And non-professionally speaking?"

I meet his gaze across the table, allowing myself to acknowledge the truth I've been avoiding.

"Non-professionally, I'm terrified by how tempted I am to walk away from everything I've worked for because of what's happening between us. It's been less than a week, Dominic. That's not a rational basis for considering life-changing decisions."

"No," he agrees softly. "It's not rational at all."

The understanding in his voice nearly undoes me. He recognizes the weight of what he's asking—and what I'd be giving up.

"I need time to think," I say finally.

He nods, reaching across the table to take my hand. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

And therein lies both the comfort and the challenge. Dominic is rooted here, committed to this place and his vision. If I want to explore what we might become together, it will require compromise, and most of that compromise would need to come from me.

We clear the dishes together, moving around the kitchen in that effortless synchronicity we've developed. I’m torn between conflicting desires.

The professional ambition that has driven me for years pulls me back to San Francisco, urging me to fight for the recognition I deserve.

Yet something newer, deeper, tugs me toward this mountain, this man, this unexpected future neither of us planned.

For the first time, I don't have a clear path forward.