by Kenzie Reed
I swirl the Syrah in its glass to release the scent and flavor, then bring it up to my nose to inhale deeply, drawing in the scent of smoke, spice and dark fruit. Then I take a sip. It starts with dark fruit flavors, which linger on the tongue, and finishes with a peppery, almost meaty taste that floods my senses. I stifle a groan of pleasure.
“So good.” I take another sip and stare into the ruby depths of my glass. “Mmm, baby. You and me are great together.”
“Jeez, Donovan, if you love it so much, why don’t you marry it? Why don’t you have babies with it? I mean, seriously. Get a room.” But her pleased smile shows me how much she still takes pride in the vineyard, even though she left all that behind years ago.
“I will,” I inform her. “And our babies will be named Kay, and then twins named Syrah and Syrah.” She stares at me. “So at the playground I can yell out, Kay, Syrah, Syrah! Get it?” I grin in triumph.
She lets out a groan of dismay. “I’m trying not to.”
Bad puns hurt her. I file that away in my mental “weapons against the Ribaldis” folder.
We dive into our dinner, the rich marbled fat of the steak caressing my taste buds. I’ll have to punish myself for it tomorrow.
By the time we’ve finished, the sun has plunged below the horizon. She sets down her fork and stares at me in wonder.
“Holy tamales,” she says, eyes open wide. “I’m married to you. We are married. To each other.” She drains the last of a second glass of Syrah.
“Weird, huh?”
“The weirdest. And I still want to know why.”
I just smile mysteriously without answering, because I know it will annoy her. Score one for Donovan, in the game that has no winners. But if it did it would be me.
We throw away the paper plates and stand side by side washing the salad bowl, glasses and silverware in the outside sink, and carry them in.
Sienna’s saved a bunch of chopped-up steak for Aceto, which she dumps into his bowl.
“Isn’t that his second dinner?” I ask, which earns me a vicious hiss and an angry tail-lash. Savannah wags her finger at me chidingly. “You are not doing yourself any favors there.”
Then she saunters off to the bathroom to change. I brush my teeth in the kitchen sink and make my way to the bedroom. There’s a queen-sized sleigh bed, a red plaid flannel bedspread and matching pillowcases, a chest of drawers, a freestanding wardrobe, and not much else.
Sienna comes in a few minutes later. “So. Obviously we’re not sleeping together. There is a bedroll up in the loft area. There’s also the barn. Or, you know, the back seat of your car.”
I could be a gentleman. I could let her have the bed.
Or not. Her earlier words – “I’m the one who has to play wifey all summer” – ring in my ears and bring a sour taste to my mouth. I smile, my eyes gleaming with malice. “Dealer’s choice, sweetheart. Sleep wherever you like.”
She turns away with a scowl. “Dick.”
“Yes, I have one. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking peeks.”
She makes an insulted huffing sound but doesn’t try to deny it.
I strip my clothes off in front of her, with deliberate slowness, and she practically breaks her own neck twisting her head around and not looking at me.
“By the way, I sleep naked.”
Lie. I normally sleep in boxers and a T-shirt, but if I sleep naked it’ll rattle the hell out of her.
Without a word, she climbs into bed and turns her back on me. I lie tossing and turning late into the night, reflecting on how much fun I’m having winning this round.
I’m hard as a rock, aching with desire for her, and she’s fallen asleep and is snoring lightly. Aceto has crept in, and he’s curled up on the pillow watching me from yellow eyes narrowed to slits.
So, so much fun.
Chapter Eight
SIENNA
The jabbing of an impatient finger to my shoulder drags me from a heavy sleep.
Alarm ripples through me. What finger? Who’s here with me? Why hasn’t Aceto killed the intruder?
Oh, right. The finger jabbing at me belongs to my husband.
What a wedding night. My whole body aches with frustration, there’s a throbbing pooled exquisitely between my legs, and my head is foggy with sleep. I open one eye. Aceto is crouched on Donovan’s chest, staring at him, and Donovan’s poking at me.
“Wurrrshpnning?” I yawn, scrub at my face with my hands, and try again. “What’s happening?” The room’s mostly dark. We’re up way too early.
“Aceto’s got me pinned down. Call off your hell-cat.” Donovan looks at Aceto, who’s crouched on his chest, staring intently into his eyes. “Don’t kill me,” he says to Aceto. “And if you have to scratch me, remember, my face is my fortune.”
I snort in an indelicate fashion. “Or Aceto could test the theory that beauty is only skin deep.”
“Oh, babe. My gorgeous goes all the way to my marrow.” He sighs dramatically. “It’s a curse, I tell you. I can’t find a woman who’ll just love me for my sparkling personality.”
“Imagine that,” I say sourly.
I consider lying there for an hour or two and leaving him to his own devices, but Donovan would probably keep jabbing me in the arm. So I sit up and gently shoo Aceto off Donovan’s chest. He leaps from the bed and stalks off, tail lashing indignantly.
Donovan sits up and grins, hair adorably rumpled, looking way too happy for this hour of the morning. He yawns and stretches, and I let myself sneak a peek at his flat washboard abs and broad chest, with a light dusting of brown hair. As long as I’m stuck with the Son of Lucifer for the next four or five months, I might as well enjoy the view.
“Morning, glory. We’re due at the park in forty-five minutes. You’re going to want to hydrate.”
Oh, hellfire and damnation. Yesterday comes slamming back to me, in all its nightmarish horror. Not the ‘fake marriage to my lifelong nemesis’ part. Not Jonathon getting caught with his dick in my maid of honor.
No, this is much, much worse.
I agreed to jog.
Donovan’s got some kind of training regimen planned out for me, which involves us going to Greenvale Park every other day. They have a popular jogging trail there. It’s where the Greenvale Fall-fest will be held, and where they hold the relay.
Pamela’s also going to be there this morning, but the fact that my lifelong best friend is a loon doesn’t mean I have to jump on the crazy train.
“What kind of monster are you? Does your evil know no depths?” I glare at Donovan. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to this.”
“I can’t believe you’re making us sleep in the 18th century.” He looks at me speculatively. “However, I am a fair and reasonable man. If you agree that we can move into the guest house on my family’s property, I will let you off the hook for this marathon.”
I throw off the covers and leap nimbly out of bed. “So, exactly how much hydration are we talking? Is a sixteen-ounce bottle of water before the run sufficient?”
Without waiting for an answer, I hurry to the bathroom for a quick shower. I shed my clothes, toss them in the hamper, and step into the stall. I turn the water up full blast.
A minute later, I see Donovan through the glass door. He grabs the door and tries to pull it open. The nerve.
“We’re in a hurry!” he calls.
“Personal space! Get out!” I yell. I hold firmly on to the door handle as needles of hot water blast my body and clear the mists of sleep from my brain.
“Fine! Hurry up!” He turns and walks away, and I peer through the fogged glass door to ogle his retreating backside. What an absolutely bang-worthy body. Broad shoulders, tapering waist, perfectly sculpted butt cheeks…
Outside the house, I hear the sound of tires on gravel. What the… Oh, double hell. Tonya said she’d be here this morning, didn’t she?
“Get in!” I yell. I fling open the shower door.
He spins around.
“Really?” he says, surprised.
“Really. Hurry.”
“Well. All right then.” He flashes me a ridiculously pleased smile, with more than a hint of gloating.
I step aside as he joins me in the shower. I refuse to look at his thick, erect cock pointing straight up at the ceiling, its head purple, jutting from a thick nest of dark hair…
“What changed your mind?” The smugness in his voice jerks my attention up to his face.
Oops. I guess I was looking.
He reaches for my waist and grasps me firmly, pulling me towards him. A nuclear explosion of arousal detonates in my belly. His eyes shine with a hunger that I ache to fulfill.
I crave this so hard. I want it on a cellular level. No, an atomic level. My protons and electrons want to do the dirty with Donovan.
But this is Donovan. Liar. Betrayer. Witlocke.
I put my hand on his broad, wet chest and push him back. The look of shock and confusion on his face makes my stomach do a little twist of unhappiness.
“Yoo-hoo!” Tonya calls out. She’s come in to the house uninvited – just like I knew she would. That works for today, but after this, we’re going to have to invest in some locks.
At the top of my lungs, I yell out, “Come here!”
“You did not just tell her to come in.” Donovan looks appalled.
“I know what I’m doing.”
A moment later, the bathroom door flies open. Tonya and Carrie barrel in, spot us through the shower door, and shriek. I shriek too, as if they’ve caught us by surprise.
They both flee, and the door slams behind them.
“Be right out!” I yell.
I smirk as I turn off the water. “Tonya’s a bigger gossip then every issue of the National Enquirer put together. She’ll tell everyone in town about this. Now nobody can say the wedding is fake,” I murmur so they can’t hear me.
“Right,” Donovan says tersely. He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, and I pull on my fuzzy pink bathrobe.
When we emerge, Tonya’s face is bright red and Carrie’s eyes are like saucers. They both keep their gazes very firmly directed away from Donovan.
“You said come here!” Tonya protests.
“No I didn’t, I said we’re here. I didn’t say come here.” I turn to Donovan. “Right, honey?”
He manages a clenched smile. “Of course you didn’t say come here. Why would you say ‘come here’ when we were right in the middle of marital relations? I mean, really, why?”
“Seems like there’s a lot of these funny little misunderstandings happening with you guys,” Carrie says, her eyes two glaring beacons of suspicion. “And, for your information, my hearing is excellent. I heard what I heard.”
“Why are you coming in without knocking, yet again, on our honeymoon weekend?” Donovan demands.
Tonya waves a sheaf of paperwork at me. “I told you I was coming over with some paperwork for you to sign,” she huffs.
I point at the kitchen counter. “You can leave the paperwork on the counter and we’ll look over it. I’m pretty busy the next couple of days, but I can talk to you on Monday.” I glance at Donovan. “I mean, we can talk to you.” I fake an embarrassed giggle. “So hard to get used to that!”
“Okay, I understand why you’re here, but why is she here?” Donovan inclines his head at Carrie.
“I talked to Pamela this morning, and she mentioned that Sienna was training at the park. We’re both training too. And we thought we’d offer her a ride to the park today, in case she wanted to go into town separately.”
More like she wanted to interrogate me. “Well, you know, I do have my car here, and Donovan has his car, so…we’re not short on cars. We’re riding in together. Of course.” I put my arm around Donovan’s waist and snuggle up against him. It’s like snuggling a plank. He’s stiff and hard, and not in a good way.
“Anyway.” Donovan stares at them. “I’d appreciate a phone call before you come by next time. Honeymoon and all. God knows what you might be interrupting next time.”
“Certainly,” Tonya says tightly. “I’ll see you two happy honeymooners at the jogging trail.”
They stalk out, muttering to each other and twisting around to shoot skeptical looks over their shoulders.
He looks annoyed, and steps away from me, out of my embrace. “You can stop pretending.” He walks to the kitchen, grabs an apple, and takes a bite. “Carbs. Eat some, but don’t eat too much before you run.” His voice has gone brisk and businesslike.
I follow him, and he turns his back on me in a very deliberate fashion. I grab a granola bar from the wooden bowl on the counter and start nibbling. He doesn’t turn around.
Did I actually hurt his feelings?
For some reason, that bothers me. Angry Donovan is funny. Donovan upset…I guess, not so much.
“Listen,” I say to his back, “I didn’t mean to lead you on about the whole shower thing. I just didn’t have time to explain it to you. And it wasn’t all fake. I do find you physically attractive.” I swallow hard. “I always have.”
He turns around, takes another bite, chews and swallows before he answers. “Likewise.” His voice is neutral now rather than hostile.
My heart thumps painfully in my chest. “But obviously, nothing can happen between us. It wouldn’t end well.”
Instead of instantly agreeing with me with great gusto and mockery, he looks at me quizzically, arching an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”
He has to ask? “History.”
“Yes, we have history. We’ve grown up a little since high school, I’d like to think.”
Is he actually arguing that I should have sex with my husband? Namely, him?
“We have a very long, bad history, and whenever I believe a word that comes out of your mouth, I get burned.” I stare up at him, wanting to swim in those gorgeous green eyes. To drown in them. In the past, I almost have. “You have a habit of not keeping your promises to me. Exhibit A, prom night. For weeks beforehand, you acted like you wanted to reconcile, you were all sweetness and charm, I was stupid enough to believe you, and then you ghosted me the day before. And showed up with a date. That was fun.” I ended up going with one of Pamela’s older brothers, who got permission from his then-girlfriend, now-wife, to be my emergency standby date. He’d already graduated, so he didn’t care. Pamela had pre-arranged the whole thing because, as usual, she was smarter than me when it came to Donovan.
He winces, looking chagrined. “Yeah, I know. That was an absolutely dick move. I was working up the guts to tell my father that I wasn’t going to Oregon State and I wasn’t going to work at the vineyard, and I was freaking out. Things were terrible at home, and I just didn’t have the cojones to go through with it. I’m really, truly sorry for that. I was eighteen. I was a different person then. How can I make it up to you? Would you like to punch me?”
“Back then, I would have liked that. Very much.” I shrug, as if it didn’t matter at all. It did. It hurt for a long, long time. “Exhibit B, all the times that you harassed me in grade school and high school.” The two of us would spend months ignoring each other, and then he’d do something to reignite the feud. In grade school, he put tacks on my seat. The next day I broke into his locker, stole his lunch, filled his lunchbox with cow manure, then sat there at my table with my friends, eating his lunch and looking him right in the eye. As the years went by, we matured, but our pranks never did.
“You harassed me right back! In fact, half the damn time you started it! You and your terrifying girl gang. After…” He trails off.
“Yes. The harassment war started after…Exhibit C. Your tenth birthday party.”
I wait for an explanation for that one.
“We should get dressed,” he says, and spins on his heel and walks to the bedroom.
Chapter Nine
DONOVAN
As we drive into town, I’m mentally smacking myself upside the head for my clumsy approach. When it comes to business
deals, I’m the ultimate smooth operator. When I try to talk to Sienna about something important, my tongue decides to tie itself in knots like a kid playing cat’s cradle.
What was I even asking her for? What do I want from her? Do I want her to forget all our history and…what? Suddenly decide she’s my wife for real? Not going to happen. Not overnight, anyway.
Do I want casual sex? Well, hell yeah, except sex with Sienna could never be casual. Not for me.
We pull up in the public parking lot at the beginning of the jogging trail. It’s a gorgeous trail, winding through the woods right next to downtown, with several trails that branch off of it so you can run various distances. It’s a mild, sunny Saturday morning, and dozens of cars are parked here already.
Sienna’s wearing a Ribaldi Winery T-shirt and pink jogging shorts, which hug her booty in a way that makes me jealous of the fabric, and crappy pink sneakers with ankle socks.
“What?” she says defensively when she sees me frowning at her shoes.
“What size shoes do you wear?”
“Seven wide. Why?”
“I’m going to buy you a proper pair of running shoes today. You’re not going to use shin splints or a twisted ankle to get out of running.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re the Marquis de Sade of running.”
I grin fiercely. “Mess with the bull, get the horns.”
“Eww.” She scrunches up her face in adorable distaste. “I’m married to a man who actually says that.”
“Quit stalling. The jogging is going to happen.”
Resignedly, she falls into place beside me.
We walk through the parking lot to the grassy area where people are warming up. Pamela waves at her and comes jogging over, with her husband Angus by her side. He’s a lawyer at her firm.
“Where’s my favorite baby?” Sienna asks.
“Oh, mom’s watching Amelia. That means I’m going to get my daughter back in an outfit that’s covered in hideous pictures of cartoon leprechauns, which I will promptly burn, but it’s a small price to pay for free babysitting.”