Page 31 of Taken in the Tree Farm

"Okay, okay." She holds up her hands in surrender. "I'll wait. But you better make it worth the suspense."

"Have I ever let you down?"

"No." She cups my face, her expression softening. "You never have. Every fantasy, every surprise, every moment—you always make it perfect."

"That's the plan for the vineyard too." I kiss her palm. "I promise, Mrs. Morrison, February is going to be unforgettable."

"As unforgettable as last night?"

"More." It's not a boast, just a fact. I've been planning the vineyard scenario almost as long as I planned the tree farm, and the ideas I have are even more elaborate. More intimate. More intense in different ways.

But she doesn't need to know that yet.

She studies my face, looking for more clues, but I've had years of practice keeping my expression neutral during business negotiations. She's not going to get anything from me that I don't want to give.

"Fine," she says finally. "Keep your secrets. But I'm going to make you tell me eventually."

"I'm counting on you trying."

We settle back into our comfortable position, her head on my shoulder, my arms around her waist. The fire is burning low now, and outside the snow has gotten heavier.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "For last night. For this morning. For the vineyard, even though I'm going to spend the next two months driving you crazy asking for hints."

"Thank you for trusting me." I kiss the top of her head. "For asking for what you want. For letting me be the person who gets to give it to you."

"Always." She tilts her face up, and I kiss her properly. Slowly. Sweetly.

When we break apart, she yawns, and I realize how exhausted she must be. We barely slept.

"Come on," I say, shifting her off my lap and standing. "Let's get you to bed."

"It's barely noon."

"And you need rest. We can stay here all day, sleep when we want, eat when we're hungry." I pull her to her feet and guide her toward the bed. "No schedule. No obligations. Just us and the snow and recovery time."

"Recovery time." She laughs. "You really did wreck me."

"In the best way."

"Definitelyin the best way."

I tuck her into the bed, the red silk sheets now rumpled and marked with evidence of our night. She snuggles into the pillows with a contented sigh, and I slide in beside her, pulling her back against my chest.

"Luke?" she murmurs, already half-asleep.

"Hmm?"

"I love you. So much."

"I love you too, sugarplum."

She makes a small sound of happiness at the nickname, and within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep.

I lie there holding her, watching the snow fall through the windows, thinking about the vineyard waiting in Napa Valley. She thinks the tree farm was intense? Wait until she sees what I have planned for February.

But that's a surprise for another day. For now, I'm content to hold my wife, listen to her breathe, and feel the satisfaction of a fantasy fulfilled.

We'll explore more of the tree farm later this afternoon. Maybe play again in a few days, once she's healed. But today, and for the rest of this snow-covered afternoon, we're just Luke and Seraphina Morrison.

Two months until Valentine's Day. Two months until I show her what I've been building in that vineyard.

She wanted to be chased through a tree farm, and I made it happen.

She doesn't know what she wants for Valentine's Day yet.

But I do.

And it's going to be fucking perfect.

Until next time…