“Because I—”
She seemed to have lost her reserve, somewhere along the way. She bit her lower lip and batted her eyes, flirting shamelessly.
“Because you what?”
“Because you’re . . .”
He sat down his glass on the island, then took hers from her hand and did the same.
Then he cradled her face.
“What? What am I to you, Heath Sinclair?” she urged. “Tell me.”
The firelight flickered gold in his hazel eyes. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw, and she closed her eyes and leaned into the feeling.
The stroking stopped. Disappointed, she opened her eyes to see that for once, the usual aloofness was nowhere to be found. In its place was something fathomless. Something powerful.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
His hesitancy was driving her crazy. Couldn’t he tell she wanted him? Hadn’t her brazen actions said that loud and clear?
“Come with me.”
“Of course,” she hiccupped happily. “Lead the way.”
Poppy let herself be led out of the kitchen, down a long hallway.
“How come you built a house that’s all windows? Thought you liked privacy.”
“There’s nothing outside. No one can see us but the deer.”
They stumbled into a square room where the outline of a king-sized bed was faintly visible in the glow from the lights strung along the eaves.
They were kissing before they made it to the mattress, the sounds of mouth on wet mouth and heavy breathing amplified in the hushed silence of the empty house, the snowy night.
A dark shape tried to sneak in behind them.
“Guinness. Out,” said Heath, shutting the door behind him with his foot.
Finally, finally, finally! Poppy thought.
Dizzy with the onslaught, Poppy could barely suppress her smile despite her mouth being captive to his never-ending kisses. She had wanted this. Wanted it more than she knew.
* * *
Heath’s hands slid under her sweater, up and over her head. She fumbled with the buttons on his crisp new shirt. Impatiently, he took over and soon cast it aside.
In the half darkness, he could see the gentle curves where her perfectly formed breasts disappeared into the slippery fabric of her bra. They looked deliciously new and yet familiar, and for the very first time, he acknowledged foggy teenage memories of watching them blossom over summers at the Clarkston Pool.
With the back of a finger he traced a line down to her navel. The bedroom wasn’t as warm as the living room, and she shivered in the cool air, or at his touch, or both.
Already aroused, he slipped his finger into her stretchy waistband.
She moaned and raised one leg, wrapping it around his waist.
He planted a hand on that knee and pushed it back down. “You don’t need these,” he said, shoving his hands into her pants and slipping them off, then reaching behind her knee to pull it firmly back into position.
It wasn’t enough. Hungrily, he hoisted her rear end up and she instinctively wrapped her other leg around him. But their coordination was compromised, and he tumbled backward onto the bed with her straddling him, her hair falling around his face like a curtain.
The cloud of her scent surrounding him was more intoxicating than the wine. Adrenaline flooded his system. His jeans suddenly felt as constricting as a prison. He shoved her hips up onto his waist and struggled to break free of them while the warm silk of her panties and the weight of what was in them rocked against his abs.
She’s the girl next door, for Chrissake. How could he want to ravish her like he did?
But he did. Oh, he so did.
Eagerly he reached up to palm her breasts. She bent forward, aiming one at his mouth, and whimpered when he opened his mouth and sucked on the silky fabric, so thin he wondered what frivolous purpose it served.
“Oh, Heath.”
At the sound of his name on her breath, something primal came over him. He flipped her over onto her back.
* * *
Poppy opened her eyes to Heath kneeling between her legs. One hand was planted on either side of her head. His eyes were doing a slow tour of her body. When they returned to hers, the tiny line between his brows was furrowed with restrained passion.
Words weren’t Heath’s forté. But tonight, words were superfluous. She could read his eyes, his body language. They were at a tipping point, and he was waiting for a sign.
“Forget the past, and the future,” she said. “Tonight is ours.”
In answer, he kissed her lips, first gently, then building in intensity.
His mouth forged a new frontier, down her neck to previously forbidden territories and up again, his hands everywhere, tangling in her hair, now gripping a calf, now lifting her hips, shoving a pillow beneath them, angling her to his advantage, and the next time he reached between her legs, the anticipation alone sent her over the edge.
Above all, Heath was a giving man. He gave until she begged him to stop, and then he gave some more.
Only then did he center her on the pillow to take his own satisfaction, and Poppy felt a rush of feminine euphoria when he finally drove into her, filling her. She moved with him until they reached a triumphant peak, Heath’s hoarse cry of release in her ear proof of the joy he took in her.
When it was over, he collapsed onto his back.
“It’s not fair,” she panted.
His head lolled toward hers, looking suddenly worried. “What’s not fair?” Lazily, he reached beneath the sheets, brushing his fingers across her most sensitive spot as lightly as a butterfly’s wing. “Are you . . . didn’t you . . . ?”
She twitched and sucked in a shattered breath. “So many times. It’s not that. What I meant was, it’s not fair that women have two kinds of pleasure and men only have one.”
He rolled onto his back again and threw an arm over his head. “Ah. Good to know our, uh, bonding mechanism works.”
A laugh burst from her throat. “Oh, it works.”
He leaned over a third time and kissed her swollen lips, then fell back and closed his eyes.
In no time, his breath evened into the slow rhythm of sleep.
Tucked away in the woods above the creek, she had never felt so satisfied . . . so serene . . . so protected. Like they were in their own, safe world.
She curled into Heath’s side and, for a moment, watched the snow fall and listened to the steady heartbeat of this man she’d known since he was a child, then she closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter Sixteen
Poppy threw back the covers in a panic.
The room, attractive as it was with its soft gray upholstery in the pale morning light, was strange to her.
Outside the wall of glass across from the bed, a light blanket of snow coated the soft firs, the naked maple and oak branches.
What time is it?
She felt for her phone.
Seven fifteen!
Heath lay on his stomach, his face half-buried in his pillow. Now she knew a whole different side of him—and he, of her.
Passionate scenes came back to her like fast-forwarding through a movie. Never again would she see a boy when she looked at him. He was all man.
She swept her clothes up from the carpet, revealing a threadbare stuffed dog lying beneath them. Wasting valuable seconds, she bent and picked it up, passing a fingertip over its sole button eye. It was very old. It must have been perched on Heath’s bed before they wrecked it in their—what had he called it? Bonding mechanism?
Smiling softly with the memory, she brought the well-loved toy to her nose. The green woods down by Chehalem Creek immediately sprang to mind, followed by a trace of Heath’s worn leather jacket with a whiff of the same laundry soap used on his sheets.
Nostalgia filled her to bursting. She pressed the dog to her heart and looked back at Heath’s sleeping face.
Years of fond memories flashed through her mind.
She
stood on the threshold of a brand-new life. If she was successful, it would mean walking away from all of this.
Stealing was wrong. That lesson had been learned early, the couple of times customers had ducked out on their bills at the café, to her parents’ dismay.
Before her better judgment kicked in she bundled Heath’s special dog into her balled-up clothes and tiptoed down the stairs.
She was exiting the powder room when Heath appeared at the top of the steps.
She jumped. “Morning!” she called, trying to sound as normal as possible, although nothing about this morning was normal.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got at least an hour’s drive ahead of me.” She grabbed her bag from the ottoman, then her eyes scanned the living room. “Where’s my coat?”
His hand was on her arm before she realized he had descended the stairs. “You’re still going?”
The little vertical lines between his brows were deeper than ever.
“Why wouldn’t I be? This is what I’ve been working so hard for for the past three months.”
Spying her coat on a hook by the back door, she strode over and snatched it herself while his hand drifted in slow motion back down to his side. “But—what about last night?”
“Last night was amazing.” She bussed his slack lips as she worked her arms into her coat sleeves and headed for the door. “I’ll never forget it. I’ll call you,” she said, fumbling with the latch.
“But—can’t I just tell you something?”
Despite her urgency, she turned back around.
He’d known her all his life. He’d picked now to open up? Today?
“I have an idea.”
The sight of him standing in his doorway bare-chested, a trail of tawny curls disappearing into pajama bottoms held up by a flimsy drawstring, suddenly made her want to chuck the whole sommelier idea. Run back into his arms and spend the day making love all over again.
“An idea?”
“For my business.”
Her head spun. If his so-called idea had had anything at all to do with feelings, with the two of them, that was one thing. But business?
“I’ve decided to open a bar out front of my brewery. Like a tasting room for wine, but for beer.”
She angled toward the door. “Heath, I—”
“No, wait.” He closed the distance between them. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. Brewpubs as a main place of sales for breweries are way up. They’re a trending business model, and my brewery’s in the perfect spot, right along the main road into town where all the tourists will be sure to see it. Financing’s not a problem. Neither is selling the idea to my team. They’ve been on me to do this for a while. So has Sam, and you know how astute he is . . .”
She was pretty sure she’d just witnessed the longest monologue of Heath’s life. That novelty was the only thing still keeping her there.
“You want to open a bar. That’s great. Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
He reached for her hand with both of his.
“I need you, Poppy.”
Her heart played a cruel game of tug-of-war with her head.
“What craft beer drinkers want is to rub shoulders with the brewer and his team. Interact, ask questions.”
“I still don—”
“I can’t do it alone. I need your help, just like I always have. Like the time you dragged me to Sam’s birthday party, and the way you always made me go to the Clarkston Splash and the post–Memorial Day Hike. If not for you, I wouldn’t have half the friends I have now.”
“But I know next to nothing about beer.”
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know. If a customer’s question stumps you, I’ll be right there to answer it. What can’t be taught is how to be naturally outgoing, like you are. I need a born front-of-the-house person. I need you by my side.”
She turned to face him head-on.
“Let me get this straight. You need me . . . to work for you?”
He shook his head vigorously. “Not as an employee. As a partner. In exchange for your help, I’ll give you a share in the business.”
She threw up her hands, turned, and flounced down the driveway.
“Wait! Aren’t you even going to think about it?”
“Your timing’s a little off,” she hollered over her shoulder. And to think I felt guilty about leaving him! He was completely, utterly clueless.
“Is it the money? Granted, you won’t make as much as you could working for Anthony. At least, not at first.”
For the very last time, she marched back to him. “You think this is about money? Money has nothing to do with it. It’s my self-worth that’s on the line. I studied hard for this test, and I’m not going to blow it for some bar that you just conjured up out of thin air!”
She shook her head, leaving him standing there with a desolate look on his face.
She heard the scrape of car keys across wood followed by the slap of bare feet on concrete.
“At least let me give you a ride,” he pleaded.
“I’ll walk,” she called over her shoulder.
* * *
The snow was already melting as she made tracks back to her house. All she had time to do was change and jump into her car.
Feelings! She should have known. Despite last night, Heath was as out of touch with his feelings as ever.
Good luck with your stupid brewpub.
She couldn’t be late for that test. How could she have drunk so much last night when she knew how important today was?
Out of habit, she checked her phone as she walked. There was a message from her mom, left around midnight. “You’re probably still at Heath’s, but could you please give me a call to let me know you weren’t kidnapped?”
Poppy slipped her phone back into her bag. She couldn’t wait until she didn’t have to check in with Mom and Pop anymore.
And yet . . . More scenes from last night tormented her. For someone so insensitive in the living room, he sure made up for it in bed.
Firmly, she pushed Heath out of her mind and concentrated hard on grape varieties, estates, processes, and characteristics. But everything swam together.
She sucked in cleansing breaths of frosty morning air. But the rawness between her legs with every step was a nagging reminder of her error in judgment. She should never have gone over there.
She couldn’t think about that right now. She had a test to pass.
* * *
Heath watched Poppy scurry down his driveway, already lost in her phone.
How could she let the outside world back in so quickly? Last night had meant everything to him. He’d be lost in the memory for days.
He had been so happy when he woke up this morning with her next to him in his bed. What had gone wrong?
The concept of pairing up with Poppy for the bar was like a gift, given to him as he lay in that groggy onset of wakefulness.
Granted, building a brewpub would be a huge commitment. He’d have to put himself out there with the public on a regular basis. Push past his boundaries.
But with her by his side, there was nothing he couldn’t do. And then, just in time for the reunion, she wouldn’t be the yearbook’s same Poppy-from-the-café. Which meant she wouldn’t feel like she had to move away anymore.
It was the ideal solution to all their problems.
Except that she hadn’t quite seen it that way.
He was faintly aware of Guinness begging for a bone, Vienna winding around his ankles, wanting fed, and Amber wagging at door, waiting to be let out.
He’d let his guard down last night. Let Poppy in. Showed her a side of himself he’d never shown another woman. He’d thought it had meant as much to her as it did to him.
His eye landed on her wineglass sitting on the counter, a dime-sized purple stain in the center. He snatched it and hurled it against the wall.
Guinness skittered sideways at the sound of shattering glass, losing tra
ction on the slippery tile, and then cowered in a corner.
Poor Amber had disappeared, out of sight. Heath scrubbed a hand through his hair and paced the cold tiles, glimpsing from the corner of his eye the tip of Vienna’s tail disappearing at the top of the stairs.
What is it about me that makes people leave?
He crouched next to Guinness, comforting him with a soft word and a gentle hand, a tear stuck in his eye.
At least he had his animals. They were the only ones who loved him unconditionally.
Then he went to sweep up the broken glass.
Chapter Seventeen
Outside the ballroom door of the big hotel where the test was being held, Poppy paused to catch her breath and tuck an errant wisp of hair into her ponytail.
This is it.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inside, the other candidates milled about, waiting for the service part of the test to begin. Every one of them appeared to be smarter than she was. More professional, more confident. She’d bet her last dime none of them had been dumb enough to spend last night in a whirlwind of booze and sex.
But there was no time to dwell on her mistake. Moments later, she was pinning on her name tag and her group was being ushered into an inner waiting room where a proctor gave them instructions on how to proceed.
* * *
An hour later, the service phase of the test was finished.
She hadn’t dropped a tray, broken a glass, or put out any eyes with a champagne cork, but when asked which region of Spain sherry was from, she had drawn a complete blank. Of course, now that the test was over she remembered that it was Jerez.
And when trying to do an even pour of Bordeaux, she had come up short on the fourth and tried to compensate by emptying the bottle to the last drop, which meant some sediment had gone into the glass. Maybe not such a big deal in real life, but the sharp-eyed judge had seen it and marked something on his grading sheet.
And service was supposed to be her strength.
Well. Nothing she could do about it now.
Next came the blind tasting.
Thanks to her good friends—especially Heath—giving up their time and energy to help her practice, she felt certain she’d correctly identified at least four of the wines. She was reasonably sure of the fifth and had taken a random stab at the sixth.
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