Page 10

Jareth

T he sun hasn't even crested the horizon before Zoya slips out the front door, moving like she's trying to avoid being detected. It's cute that she thinks she can sneak away and avoid me. That shit isn't happening though.

I let her get far enough ahead to avoid detection and then slip out behind her, following her path through the vineyard.

She strides toward the guesthouse, only to stop halfway there, muttering to herself.

She glances back over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed.

But I know she doesn't see me. I'm lurking in the shadows like they're my goddamn home.

After a moment, she mutters something else and then veers off the path, heading toward the section of vineyard that wraps around the winery instead.

"Where is she going?"

I follow, watching the way she stops periodically to run her hands over the dormant vines, the first inklings of sunlight spilling across her face. She seems deep in thought, like maybe she escaped the house just to clear her mind.

Did she sleep any better than I did last night?

Probably not. All I could think about was the way she felt on my fingertips and the look in her eyes when she whimpered my name.

I wanted to give her exactly what she wanted and make her come.

But…I'm a jealous, possessive asshole. I want to hear her say she's mine so fucking badly I can't stand it.

If denying her gets me what I want, I'm willing to play that game. Just so long as it ends with her admitting the truth. But Christ, I want her coming for me like I've never wanted anything before now.

I should feel bad that Connor caught us in the bathroom together.

I don't. His reaction confirmed what Ridley suspects.

They aren't really dating. If they were, he wouldn't have just stood there with a stupid look on his face.

He would have been throwing elbows and fighting for her.

Instead, he said nothing. That's not the behavior of a man in love.

Zoya starts walking again, circling around the back of the winery. And then she pauses to examine one of the old mechanical harvesters that's rusting in the field.

I pace toward her on silent feet, strolling right up behind her. I stop when I'm close enough to smell that cherry scent that makes my balls ache.

"I should have known it was you following me," she mutters without even turning around to look at me.

"Maybe I'm just out for a walk."

"Right," she snorts before pointing at the harvester. "What is this?"

"A mechanical grape harvester."

"What does it do?"

"You drive it over the vines, and it shakes them to separate the grapes from the leaves. The grapes drop into little conveyor buckets along the bottom and then are pulled up from there through the hose and dumped into large collection bins that get pushed along beside it."

"Oh." She cocks her head to the side, examining the machine, before glancing over her shoulder at me. "Doesn't that break the vines?"

"Not if you know what you're doing." I grin. "It saves a helluva lot of time, too."

"You just leave it sitting out during the off-season?"

"We don't use this one any longer. It mostly sits out here for photo ops and school field trips."

"Oh." She shakes her head, her lips quirking into a grin. "I can't believe you actually own a vineyard."

"I own part of a vineyard," I correct. "My mom and her brothers passed it down to all of us, so each of my cousins owns part of it, too."

"How did you go from all of this to rockstar?"

"Accidentally," I admit with a rueful laugh. "I always enjoyed playing, but I never intended to do it professionally. I had a buddy in college who needed a guitarist for a show and roped me into it. Things spiraled from there."

"How do you find time for both?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice as she turns to face me, her arms crossed over her breasts, pushing them up in her t-shirt. "This isn't exactly a small vineyard. You guys have a winery, a restaurant, and a whole wine line."

"There's always time for what's important, princess," I murmur, my gaze burning a hole in her.

She blushes, glancing away from me for a moment before her gaze naturally drifts back. It's like she can't help herself. She may not want to admit it, but she feels the same thing I do. I think it pisses her off a little bit that she feels it, but she feels it.

"This is my last tour."

"Really?" She blinks at me, surprise stamped across her face. "You're giving up the rockstar life?"

"I never wanted the rockstar life. I fell into it. It's not hard to give up something you never intended to keep."

"What about your fans?"

"You mean Nadia's fans."

"No." She shakes her head. "I mean your fans. Half the women who come to her shows are there for you and the band, not for my sister. They're obsessed with you guys."

"They don't know me, Zoya," I say softly. "They show up for the illusion, not the reality."

"Is there a difference?"

I narrow my eyes, pacing toward her. "You know damn well that there is, princess.

I play guitar because I enjoy it. I'm not defined by it, as much as people like to think I am.

The fame that came with it isn't my reality.

This place is reality. It's in my blood. It's my heart. This is where I belong."

She swallows hard, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her gaze drifts across my face like she's trying to figure me out, but doesn’t quite know where to start. I don't like whatever she decides, though. It has her taking a step away from me, her expression almost…wistful.

"Well, good luck with that," she murmurs. "I should go."

I thrust my arm out in front of her, halting her. There's not a chance in hell that I'm letting her run off on me again. Not until she tells me what that look is about.

"Jareth…"

I ignore the warning in her voice, crowding her up against the side of the harvester. "What did I say that upset you?"

"Nothing. I'm not upset."

"You're a terrible liar, baby."

"I'm not lying." She rolls her eyes at me. "I just think your life is not like mine, that's all."

I process that for a minute, not entirely sure what she means. I don't think my life is like anyone's, frankly. But that doesn't mean she and I are all that much different. I'm not my job. I'm not the vineyard. I'm just a motherfucker trying to secure his future. With her.

"Why are you so determined not to like me, princess?"

"I'm not," she lies.

"Yeah, you are. You've convinced yourself that I'm chasing after you for the hell of it, like it's something I do regularly." I crook a finger under her chin, forcing her to see me. "It's not, Zoya. I don't fuck around."

"Good for you." She licks her lips, her gaze darting away again. "That has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you, and you know it," I growl, my chest brushing her tits as I lean down over her. "I don't want other women. Never have. But you? You're different."

"Well, too bad. I have a boyfriend," she mumbles.

"Right. And where is he again?" I make a show of looking around. "Because, gotta tell you, princess, you've spent more time away from him since you got here than you have with him."

"That's not your business. We don't have to spend every waking moment together," she growls. "Maybe I like my independence."

"Yeah, maybe." I pause, my lips hovering over hers. "Or maybe you're full of shit."

She growls at me, her eyes flashing with irritation.

I cut off whatever hot retort she's about to spit at me by slanting my mouth down over hers.

Like usual, she doesn't fight me. She doesn't even try to push me away.

She makes that sound in the back of her throat—the one that makes my blood steam in my veins, and then thrusts her hands into my hair, pulling.

"We both know you want me, not him," I growl, pinching her nipple. "We both know I'm the one you were thinking about in your bed last night. Did you touch yourself, Zoya?"

"Jareth," she moans.

"Did you whimper my name into your pillow when you came?"

She shakes her head, trying to deny the truth, but I know it because I know her. Because I felt how goddamn wet she was last night. For me. I know she didn't go to sleep like that. She took care of herself, fucking her fingers right down the hall while I jerked off, imagining that scene.

"Tell me the truth," I order her, biting her bottom lip as one hand slips down her body. "Tell me that you came all over your hand last night, wishing it was my hand."

"Yes!" she sobs in frustration, pulling my hair hard.

I groan, burying my face in her neck as I pop the button on her jeans.

I don't bother with the zipper before shoving my hand inside, desperate to feel her on my fingertips again.

She trembles against me, moaning my name when I flick her panties aside, cupping her hot cunt in the palm of my hand.

She's dripping for me, so fucking needy.

"Christ, princess," I growl, attacking her throat with my lips and teeth. "I want to hear you say my name like you did when you were alone last night. How many fingers did you use?"

"T-two."

"Like this?" I roll my thumb across her clit before slowly sinking two fingers into her up to the knuckle.

She's tight as hell around them, her inner muscles fluttering and clenching.

I pump them quickly, fully aware that anyone could walk around the corner and catch us.

Ask me if I give a fuck. At this point, the fucking Pope could catch us, and I don't think it'd stop me.

"Is this how you fucked your fingers last night, Zoya? "

"Jareth!"

"Tell me," I demand, curling them up to stroke her G-Spot.

"N-no," she stutters, her eyes glazed with lust. "It was harder, Jareth."

Ah, fucking hell. Maybe I'm not the only one who doesn't play fair, because that little confession lands like Kryptonite, weakening my knees.