by HELEN HARDT
“What sense of humor?” I can’t help myself. “She is a dog.”
“You know exactly what I meant. What breed is she?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. I got her at the rescue.”
“You can do one of those DNA kits on her.”
“What for?”
“So you’ll know what breeds she comes from.”
“Why does that matter? She’s a great dog, and I love her. I don’t care who her parents are.”
Ashley lowers her gaze. “Oh.”
Yup. She got it.
I’m adopted. Even though I did know my mother, I never knew my father, and my parents love me anyway, not having a clue where I came from.
“I’m sorry,” she says, stroking Penny’s soft head. “I didn’t mean…”
“Sure, you did. I accept that you didn’t mean the words to be hurtful, but you did mean them. You think it’s important to know where someone comes from. I don’t know who my real father was. The surname I had before I was adopted was Robertson, my mother’s name.”
“And your brother…?”
“Is my brother.”
“But does he have the same…”
“Father? Yes, he does. My parents had that checked out after we were adopted. Our DNA showed us to be full siblings, though one look at us and you could have guessed that.”
“I see.”
“But it didn’t matter to me then, and it doesn’t matter to me now. Donny is my brother, regardless of DNA, just like Diana and Brianna are my sisters.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Touchy subject for you.”
I say nothing.
“If it helps, I got the same spiel from Dee during our drive. She considers you her brother, no matter what.”
I still say nothing.
“I guess it’s a failing of mine. I don’t know any adopted people. A friend of mine has a rescue dog, and she did the DNA thing. It was really interesting to find out what breeds are in him, see which characteristics he has from each one. You know?”
Again, I say nothing.
She huffs, standing and placing her hands on her hips. I try not to think about how pretty she looks in her indignation.
“If we’re going to be working together, you’re probably going to have to speak to me on occasion.”
“Is that your real hair color?” I ask. Then I want to slug myself. Why the hell does it matter? Her hair is gorgeous. Hell, she’d be gorgeous with no hair at all. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
Her eyes nearly pop off her face. “Excuse me?”
“You’re just really blond. I’m just wondering.”
“You’re pretty blond too. Is that your real hair color?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Does she actually think I would color my hair?
“So I lighten my hair a little,” she says. “So what? I’m a natural blond underneath too. Just slightly darker.”
“I figured. No one has hair that blond. Except maybe a few Scandinavians. Or an albino.”
Her hair isn’t as light as an albino’s. I have no idea why I said that. Why I’m being such a dick.
“You know what?” She shakes her head. “I’ll just see the vineyards tomorrow. I can’t believe I actually thought…”
“Actually thought what?”
She shakes her head again. “Never mind.”
I’m being an ass. I know it, but I can’t seem to stop myself. The truth is, though, that I’m attracted to Ashley White.
I don’t want to be, but I am.
I have to hold that part of me in check, but it doesn’t excuse being an ass.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Let me just tell you the truth.”
Chapter Seven
Ashley
“The truth?”
“Yeah,” he says. “The truth is that I don’t think we need an intern. We have a huge staff of talented people, none of whom have a”—air quotes—“doctorate in wine.”
Yeah, he’s still being a jerk.
“Is that the problem you have with me? My education?”
“No. I have no problem with you personally. My issue is you’re not needed here, and I don’t have time to train you.”
“Then don’t train me.”
“It’s not that simple. My uncle thinks I need to improve my people skills.”
I can’t help myself. I burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“You can’t improve your people skills if you don’t have any in the first place.”
His full lips straighten into a line.
At least he’s not frowning.
“I have plenty of people skills,” he says. “I use them when I need them. I just don’t think wasting three months on an intern who’s going to take what I teach and go work in some huge California winery merits any use of them whatsoever.”
“Wow,” I say.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning…wow. You’ve got one big-ass chip on your shoulder, Mr. Steel.”
“If you—”
Then he shuts his mouth. Abruptly. As if a battery that controls his mouth went dead.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“For your information, I’m not planning to work in a winery. I want to be a sommelier at a Michelin three-star restaurant.”
He erupts in laughter.
And oh, it’s a glorious sound. The luscious Syrah red coats my mind.
He’s making fun of me, but I could drown in his laughter. In his delicious dark-red laughter.
Finally, he gets hold of himself. “Why, then, are you here? You don’t need to learn about harvesting and winemaking. You’re only concerned with tasting.”
“It’s all related, Dale. You of all people should know that.”
He doesn’t reply.
Yup. Got him. I’m right, and he knows it.
“Besides,” I add, “I’m getting credit for the internship.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You keep calling me a doctor of wine, but I’m not. At least, not yet. I still have several credits to go before I graduate.” I smile, resisting the urge to wink. “Technically, I’m just a master of wine at the moment.”
His lips quiver.
He’s trying not to laugh.
If he’d only just let go! Allow that glorious laugh of his to take him over! It’d do us both a world of good.
“How’d it feel?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“When you broke out in laughter a minute ago? How’d it feel?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I walk toward him until only about a foot separates us. “You need to do some serious loosening up.”
No response. Not that I expected one.
I close the distance between us and pull the leather strap out of his hair. “You can begin by letting this gorgeous hair down.”
“A lot you know,” he says in monotone. “I don’t usually pull my hair back. My mother asked me to this evening.”
“Shake your head, sweetie.”
“Huh?”
“My mom is a hair stylist in LA. That’s what she says to her clients. Boy, I bet she’d love to get her hands on your mane.”
His hair is soft beneath my fingers. Yes, I let them linger a few seconds longer than I need to. I can’t help myself. Everything about Dale Steel is magnificent.
Except his attitude, of course.
Physically, though? He’s perfection.
“Are you going to?” I ask.
“Going to what?”
“Shake your head. Let that glorious hair tumble over your shoulders the way it’s meant to.”
“I told you. I usually wear it down.”
“Okay. Great. But it’s been held captive in a band for hours. Shake it free!”
He stands still, resisting.
Oh, yes, he’s a major challenge.
I thread my fingers through his blond strands and set them free myself. Then I step bac
k.
My God, he’s perfection personified.
His green eyes sparkle, and for a split second, I think I see something else hidden beneath them. A spark. An attraction.
Obviously I’m imagining it. Dale Steel isn’t attracted to me. I’m not sure he’s attracted to anyone. Still, I want to throw my arms around him and pull him into my body. Hug him.
Me, the non-hugger.
This man needs human contact from someone other than a family member. I feel it in my bones.
I bite my lower lip and then sigh. “I guess I should get back to the house.”
“You no longer want to see the vineyards?”
“Well, sure I do, but—”
“That’s where I’m going. You’re welcome to tag along. Don’t forget your jacket.”
Chapter Eight
Dale
My scalp still tingles from her touch.
Again, I imagine her kneeling before me, taking my cock into her mouth, sliding her lips along my shaft, tasting me.
Then taking all of me, all the way to the back of her throat.
My hair settles around my shoulders. This is how I prefer it. Untamed and wild. I’m not sure why. It gets in the way sometimes, and of course when we’re working in the winery, Uncle Ry makes me pull it back and wear a hairnet—not my greatest look—but when I’m out in the vineyards, or when I’m tasting new barrels of wine, my hair falls free.
Ashley stands in front of me, her bottled blond hair falling over her pert little breasts. Yeah, they’re little. A handful. But what I wouldn’t give to suck one of them between my lips.
That light-blond hair… It works for her.
Though I’d love to see her natural color.
I find myself wanting to see all of her. All of her.
These feelings aren’t new to me. I’m attracted to women. I always have been, since I came here twenty-five years ago. I learned to suppress those feelings, though, because I’m a natural loner. Inside, a lot of me is still a mess. I’m content. I find joy in my family and in my work. But the chaos inside is too much for any outsider to handle.
Even Ashley White.
Especially Ashley White.
“Do you surf?” I ask.
She laughs. “Where did that come from?”
“You just look like one of those surfer girls from California.”
“No, I do not surf. I love the beach, but I never get into the ocean.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like getting sand in my ass.”
I smile. Slightly.
“You’re something,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re trying really hard not to like me.”
“That’s not true.” Though it is.
“Oh, come on.” She chuckles. “It’s so obvious. You want to laugh at my ‘sand in my ass’ comment, but you just can’t bring yourself to. The only thing you laughed at was me wanting to be a sommelier. What was so damned funny about that?”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Then why did you laugh?”
“I laughed at the absurdity. You want to work at a fine restaurant. That’s great, Doctor, but it’s not what we’re about here.”
She gets indignant again. “I told you. I’m not a doctor.”
“Yet.”
“Right. Not yet.” She sighs. “What do you mean that’s not what we’re about here?”
“We’re about creating the finest wines in the country from a boutique vineyard. The finest wines in the world, even.”
“You’re that good, huh?”
“We’re that good. My uncle’s a genius. Everyone says so, and he says I have the gift as well.”
God. I sound so pompous. But it’s true. Uncle Ry is a genius, and I’m damned good myself.
“Then I look forward to learning from both of you,” she says.
“You’ll learn a lot. I’m going to work that cute little behind of yours off.”
Did I really just say that? She’s blushing, so yes, I must have. So not me. I don’t talk like that to women. Not normally, but Ashley White is bringing something out in me. Something better left buried.
I can’t.
I just can’t.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“No offense taken. I’m not the litigious type.”
Damn, I didn’t even think of that. She’s an intern, not an employee, but the standards for sexual harassment are the same. I was out of line.
“And,” she went on, “I’m happy to have my cute little behind worked off. That’s why I’m here. To work and to learn.”
“All right, then. Let’s go see the vineyards.”
We leave the guesthouse and walk to my truck. It’s an old pickup that I’ve had for almost ten years, but it runs great and I love it. No need for a new one until it dies. I have a dark-green Dodge Viper for when I drive off the ranch, but it lies dormant in the garage most of the time.
I open the passenger side door for Ashley, and because it’s a high step, I help her inside.
That’s the only reason I help her.
I get in and start the engine. “Settle in. It’s about a half-hour drive to the vineyards.”
“This place must be huge,” she says.
“An understatement. When I first came here, I couldn’t believe how big it was. My brother and I had been living in a tiny cracker box in North Denver with our mother.”
And after that, in a dark room where we feared for our lives. But I’ll keep that tidbit to myself.
“It must have been a big adjustment.”
“It was.” For reasons she’ll never know.
She clears her throat. “I’m sorry about… You know.”
I hold back shock. She can’t know about my past. Dee doesn’t even know. “What?”
“Your mother. I mean, your real mother. Diana told me.”
I stare straight ahead at the road. “Jade is my real mother.”
“I know that. I only meant—”
“I don’t talk about that.”
“I’m sorry. You just said you’d been living in a tiny house with your mother, so I thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
Yeah, I’m being an ass again. She’s right. I brought it up. I stop the truck on the side of the road with a jerk.
Then I turn to her. “Look. This is only going to work if you understand something about me.”
Her eyes are wide as she nods.
“I’m a closed book, okay? I prefer my own company to anyone else’s. That’s just who I am, and it’s served me well for thirty-five years. I’m not going to change for anyone.”
“I never asked you to—”
“I know that. But it’s little things. Like you asking why I didn’t do a DNA test on Penny. Or talking about my biological mother.” Or talking about all the other things I keep trapped inside.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I said I know. I’ll help you through this internship. I’ll do my part. But I don’t want to get personal.”
She sighs. “I don’t understand. I saw you with your family. You’re at ease with your dad. With Diana and Bree.”
“I am. I’ve had twenty-five years of practice with all of them.”
“What about your uncle?”
I huff. “Ashley, I just asked you not to get personal. That includes asking me about my family.”
“But—”
“Oh my God.” I riffle my fingers through my mass of hair. “You’re not hearing me.”
“How can I not hear you, Dale? Your voice is all I hear. It’s all I see. It’s a deep red pouring over me as long as I’m in your presence. Trust me. I fucking hear you, okay?”
Right. Her synesthesia. I don’t get it.
“Though I only heard it for the first time a few hours ago,” she continues, “your voice is like a drug to me. Even when you’re angry. But God, when you laughed… I swear I felt the high.”
I still don’t get it. And the fact that my voice is a drug to her doesn’t affect me at all.
At least I wish it didn’t.
“I’m sorry if my voice bothers you.”
“Now you’re not hearing me. It doesn’t bother me.”
“You said it’s like a drug.”
“Yeah. Like a good drug.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come on, Dale. Haven’t you ever gotten high?”
“No,” I say. “I haven’t. Never had the desire to do any kind of drugs, other than the occasional drink. I enjoy a good bourbon, and of course I love wine.”
“I don’t do drugs either,” she says, “but I’ve experimented in the past. The best high, though—for me, at least—is after a long hike to the top of a mountain. Muscles burning as I see the beauty of the scenery. That’s when my mind rests and the colors are finally silent. Rather, that’s the second-best high.”
“What’s the first, then?”
“I just told you. The sound—and color—of your voice.”
Chapter Nine
Ashley
His green gaze burns me.
Have I gone too far? I just met the man, and I have to spend the next three months working beside him.
Maybe I should have saved that “your voice is my drug of choice thing” for another time.
His lips are so full, and he parts them slightly.
I want to kiss him. I want to feel his lips slide over mine, his tongue touch mine.
I squirm. God, I’m tingling all over, and especially down there.
I have a massive sex drive. Massive. But even I don’t get there just from a look.
But damn, I’m getting there now.
Already I know I’m wet.
Does Dale know?
Does he have a clue what he does to me?
Do I have any effect on him at all?
I fear the answer is no.
Until—
He moves toward me. Not deliberately. Indeed, his actions seem almost involuntary, right down to his lips parting farther.
They brush against my cheek, a soft whisper, and then—
They find mine, and he probes his tongue at the seam of my mouth. No thought required. I open for him, let him in.