Romancing the Wine: A Boxed Set of 9 Newest Novellas from Award-Winning Authors

by Jan Moran

  Yes!!!

  I reached for the button on my pants, but she pushed my hands away.

  "May I?" she asked.

  I pushed her hands away, and she pouted. Again, made me hard.

  "Is this what you want?" I rubbed the bulge in my pants.

  God, please say yes! Please say yes!

  She smiled and nodded. It was the first genuine smile I'd seen on her face.

  It looked good on her.

  I dropped my hands to my side. She unbuttoned my pants and pushed them down my hips. She ran a hand over my bulge. I groaned and grunted when she reached into my shorts, pulled me out, licked her lips, and smiled again.

  I was done.

  She was so beautiful and so complex. I couldn't hold back. Enough with the games. I had to have her.

  By the way she stroked me and pulled me into bed, she wanted me, too.

  Chapter 4

  Chai

  I woke up, gasped for breath, and surveyed the room.

  Where am I?

  I reached to my left and the back of my hand connected with a solid muscular frame of ...

  "Ohhhhh," I groaned and pushed off the bed. I didn't want to turn around, but I had to. I had to confirm. Even though the soreness in my body told me what I already knew.

  I had sex with him last night.

  Memories of last night flooded my brain all at once. The way he touched me, so soft and then so rough. The dirty things he whispered in my ear as he pressed his rather large member into me.

  Oh God, you feel so good, he had said.

  More than once.

  He laid flat on his back; the sheet covered his bottom half. His upper body was long and lean, but his chest was broad. I remembered the taste of his skin. His body felt so good on my tongue. I licked my lips. His taste lingered on them.

  I got to run my hand over his bald head, too. Take that, little bar groupie. I had touched it, caressed it, kissed it ...

  I cringed and groaned.

  He rolled over. I jumped back from the bed. The sheet had fallen a little, and his member was on full display. My core clinched as I stared at it.

  While he was inside me, he moved so slowly, in and out, torturing me in the most delicious way. Every time I closed my eyes, he would stop.

  "I want to stare into your eyes when you come," he had said.

  I wasn't sure why, but at that point, I was in no position to argue. And I was so glad I didn't. The orgasm rocked me hard. His gaze had that kind of power over me. It was addictive, and I craved it again.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  I have to get out of here.

  When I opened them, my mind was clear, and my conscience was right. I needed to get out of here.

  I gathered my clothes and pulled them on as I headed toward the door. I should leave a note, but what would be the point.

  This was a one-time thing. Besides, what are the odds that I’ll ever see him again?

  "Bella, what is this?" my father asked and pointed. His Italian accent more pronounced since he returned from Italy a few weeks ago.

  "What's wrong?" I smoothed my green wrap dress down and made sure my cleavage didn't show too much.

  "No, you look lovely." His eyes narrowed. "It's a little revealing, but that might be a good thing."

  "Pappi." I rolled my eyes. He chuckled. He was such a sweet man. He didn't deserve to inherit the disastrous business my grandfather had gifted to him. Our vineyard and winery in Sonoma, California had been in our family for over one hundred years. The wine won awards and was respected in the industry, a good and a bad thing. My grandfather had a vision for Darielle Wines. Year after year, he sank all the vineyard's profits into taking the brand national. It was too much too soon, which led to my grandfather dying too young and my father tasked with saving our family business. The stress would lead him to an early grave too, and I couldn't watch that happen.

  "But I'm not talking about that. Your face." He gripped my chin. "You are absolutely radiant today."

  "Yeah, where is the sad, sulking, little pissy look you've been sporting for the last year," my brother, CJ, chimed in. I ignored him.

  I grabbed my father's hand, kissed it, and squeezed.

  "I just have a good feeling about today, that's all." I pulled out my compact. My face had a strange glow. I couldn't admit where it came from—nothing like amazing sex to clear your skin and your head.

  "Ms. Darielle." I turned toward a short redhead with a headset over her ears. "We're ready for you at the stage."

  I nodded and followed her, my father and brother followed me.

  The stage in the main hall sat in the middle of the vast conference center. Chairs arranged in a semi-circle lined twenty rows back, and most of the seats were full. I swallowed and hoped the sweat under my arms wouldn't seep through my dress.

  The dress fit perfectly, and my black leather peep-toe pumps gave me a few inches and made my ass look amazing. I tied my hair back but let a few pieces fall around my face. When we reached the stage, an attendant helped me attach the wireless microphone.

  "Listen, bella. You just go out there and give the presentation like we wrote and answer the questions as open and honestly as you can," my father said.

  "Okay."

  He leaned over and kissed me on both cheeks. Another thing he picked up in Italy.

  My father scurried to his seat.

  "Don't mess this up. It's only our family’s legacy at stake." CJ cackled. My brother, with his scruffy brown hair and light brown eyes, was a younger version of my father. All the Darielle men were handsome, and they knew it. I channeled their confidence.

  Oh God, I need to throw up.

  "It's my pleasure to introduce you to the COO of Darielle Vineyards, Chai Darielle."

  Too late.

  I can do this. I can do this.

  I paused for another few seconds then took a deep breath. I exhaled and walked out on stage.

  "Good morning. Thank you, Mr. Jansen." The host of the summit leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I walked to the middle of the stage. Sitting in the middle in three larger chairs were the panel of judges. The production assistant had given me tips beforehand on how to make my presentation more dramatic. I ignored her and laid out the facts.

  I regarded each one of them, held my hands out in front of me, and began.

  "Like Mr. Jansen said, my name is Chai Darielle. I'm the COO of Darielle Vineyard in Sonoma, California. My family has run Darielle for over one hundred years. We have twenty acres of the prettiest land in Sonoma Valley. Our vines are full of grapes every season—we plant them, harvest them, and make the most amazing wine in three flavors; Riesling, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Shiraz.

  We hired two women and dressed them in tight t-shirts and short black mini skirts to hand out samples to the judges. The hot guy with the skintight muscle shirt and jeans was my idea..When he flashed the older female judge his million-dollar smile, I knew we had her attention.. I winked at her, and she grinned and turned back to the hot guy.

  My grandfather got that one thing right, our wine got better and better each season. He created a quality product: it was his business sense that sucked.

  "There are samples available for everyone at our booth if you want to invest ..." I paused for dramatic effect. "Your time, that is."

  The judges smiled. I peeked over at my father, and he grinned and nodded in encouragement.

  "Judges, potential investors, we are seeking two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for ten percent equity in our vineyard."

  All three of the judges nodded, and I continued my presentation without a stumble.

  As I concluded my speech, I opened the floor up for questions.

  "What do you think has happened to the business in the last three years? Why isn't it thriving?" one of the male judges asked.

  "We tried to be Beringers." I paused. "But on an amateur, backyard, weekend, winemaker's budget." The audience laughed. "I mean it's all relative. We had some good year
s and some bad years, but we never caught up."

  I paced the stage with my fingers laced.

  "My grandfather had a vision, but the execution was flawed. The business was successful on a regional level because of our personal touch and enthusiasm for our product. Instead of our own sales team, we lumped our brand in the big book with other distributors." I stopped in the middle of the stage and faced the judge. "We got away from our vineyard being a destination and our wine an experience."

  "What would you do with the money?" the older male judge asked.

  "We would hire an in-house sales team and concentrate on re-establishing our brand regionally first." I counted off on my fingers. "California, Oregon, Washington, Nevada, and Arizona. Then I would use the money to make renovations to the vineyard and add a restaurant and eventually a bed and breakfast. I want our vineyard to be a destination for events and great food, and that will sell the wine when our guests return home."

  The attendant signaled for one more question from the audience. When she passed off the mic, my eyes grew wide, and I held my stomach as it did a summersault.

  He flashed me a knowing smile and proceeded to ask his questions.

  "Tell me, Ms. Darielle," Donovan said, "what does the business mean to you?"

  I bit my lip and stared him down. What was he doing here? Why was he asking? What game was he playing now? I exhaled and dropped my hands.

  "It means family to me. I grew up in Sonoma. I played on that land and learned about the wine business from the seasonal pickers to the CEO." I motioned to my dad and wiped the tears from my eyes. "This business gave my family its legacy, and it's my job to protect it and make sure it continues. I will do whatever I have to do to make that happen."

  He nodded.

  "Thank you for your time. If you have any further questions, please feel free to talk with my father, my brother, or me. Enjoy the rest of your conference."

  I walked off the stage and stopped. My heart beat out of my chest, and I couldn't breathe. Why did he ask a question? Why did I cry?

  The murmur of the crowd grew louder.

  I needed some air. I needed to pull myself together.

  I need to get out of here.

  I turned around and walked smack dab into the chest of Donovan Bryant.

  Chapter 5

  Donovan

  "Whoa." I reached out to steadier her, but she stepped out of my reach. She had better reflexes than I did.

  My gaze ran up her body, and it was my first mistake. I waited too long to notice her hands on her hips. She flexed and unflexed her fingers. I took in her heaving chest and the scowl on her face. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked ready to knock me out. I stepped back.

  "What are you doing here?" she whispered and turned away from me. I grabbed her arm. She pulled out of my grip and turned back.

  "Don't," she yelled. She took a breath and, in a more suitable tone, said, "Don't touch me."

  "You weren't saying that last night." My second mistake.

  "Ugh." She turned and headed for the nearest door.

  Okay, maybe I needed to stop being an asshole.

  The door led to an empty, cold hallway that ran the length of the convention center. She leaned against one wall with her face in her hands. She struggled to calm herself.

  "Hey."

  She turned and glared.

  "Last night was a mistake. I was drunk." She blinked rapidly.

  I stepped to the side..

  "Hey, you came to my room," I said and ran my hand over my head. "You weren't that drunk. Please tell me you don't think I ..." My words faded.

  I didn't take advantage of her, did I?

  "Oh, no. God, no." She stepped closer to me. "Last night was great, but that's not me."

  I collapsed against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut. I saw my NFL life flash before my eyes.

  I opened my eyes, and her regret hit me in the heart. It hurt. Last night, she was all sexy and sweet and a little dirty, but today, she was angry and sad. I felt the need to help her, if she'd accept my help.

  I stood in front of her but well out of her personal space.

  "You were really great up there," I said.

  "No, I wasn't. I was emotional and cried like a little girl." She wiped her face. "People don't respect women in business for that exact reason. Why did you ask me that question?"

  "I'm sorry. I thought it would help." I slid my hand down her arm. Goose bumps formed on her arms.

  Her eyes grew wide.

  I withdrew my hand.

  "You're not running a bank or some international corporation." I wrung my hands together. "You run a family business. They needed to see how much it meant to you."

  She shook her head and lowered it.

  I stepped closer, raised her chin, and stared into her eyes. She didn't turn away. The spark we had last night was there.

  I leaned in, but she stepped to the side.

  "I have to get back." She walked toward the door.

  "I want to see you again," I said and didn't care about the note of desperation in my voice.

  She stopped. I caught up with her.

  "Donovan"—I loved the way she said my name—"last night was fun. But that's all it was. I needed to calm my nerves, and you needed someone to have sex with. Let's not pretend it was anything more than that. We have nothing in common." And to pour salt in the wound, she straightened the lapel on my jacket, and patted my chest. "We had a nice time, so let's leave it at that."

  Then she had the nerve to kiss me on the lips. The peck was quick, but I felt it, and from the way her lips lingered after she pulled away, she felt it too.

  But she still walked away.

  "Hey, where have you been?" Calvin said. "I have a couple of people I want you to meet."

  "Just getting some air." I followed him through the convention hall.

  Maybe asking the question was a bad idea; I had been recognized, and now, I had a little following. A few people shook my hand, and others gave me the I know you look. I enjoyed it. My ego could use a little stroking after Chai's rejection.

  We stopped in front of a large green tent with photos of numbers scrolling across computer screens and white boards.

  "Mr. Smith." Calvin shook hands with a short, stocky bald guy in an ill-fitting suit. "Allow me to introduce Donovan Bryant."

  "Nice to meet you," I said as I held out my hand. The guy shook it and held on a little to long. He stared up at me like I was a superhero. Some fans skated a fine line between adoring and creepy. Mr. Smith fell in the latter group.

  "I am a huge fan. Huge fan," he said as he grinned and offered me a seat. Each company had a booth at the conference set up like a mini office or retail shop, depending on the type of business. Mr. Smith's booth bored me. As he laid out his presentation on some highly technical and highly unsexy technology, my eyes wandered.

  Two booths down, I caught a glimpse of Chai. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest. A man stood too close and stared down at her cleavage. First, he skimmed his fingers tips over her forearm. She dropped them and laughed, and his meaty fingers reached for her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Nothing inappropriate, but I didn't like it.

  "Well, we'll take a look at your prospectus and get back to you," Calvin said. He voiced a get your head back in the game tone as he stood up. I missed the entire last five minutes of the conversation.

  "Mr. Bryant"—Mr. Smith held his hands out—"did you have any questions?"

  "No." I shook my head. "I think Calvin just about covered it. Thanks for your time."

  "Oh. Okay." He frowned.

  I knew what was coming next.

  "You mind if I get a photo with you?" The guy was pathetic. I mean oh yeah, my business is in trouble, and I need your money, but you're also my hero, so please let me take a picture so I can tell people we are best friends.

  "Sure, no problem," I said and plastered my widest grin. "Anything for a fan."

  The guy's associate already had
the camera ready. It wasn't a phone either; it was professional grade. I rolled my eyes at Calvin, who smiled and nodded.

  We met with a few more companies. One or two of them held my interest more than Mr. Smith, but the whole thing seemed a little desperate.

  We'd been at the convention long enough that people knew I was here but left me alone. A small crowd continued to follow me around, but they kept their distance and were respectful.

  "So. What do you think?" Calvin asked as we headed toward the door. "Anything stand out to you?" We passed by the Darielle booth,. Chai held court with two older men. She spoke with confidence while her hands gestured. Her passion was evident in the way she stood. I could watch her all day.

  "What do you know about the wine business?" I stopped a few feet away from her booth.

  "It's fickle. Takes a lot of money to make money." He followed my eyes as I checked on Chai again. "Not a wise decision to invest in a company because their COO is hot."

  "What if it's a good investment?" I asked.

  "Donovan."

  "Calvin." I matched his disapproving tone. "Seriously, just look into it for me. I'd like to invest in something I enjoy."

  "You talking about wine or the woman?" He smirked and hit me on the shoulder.

  "The wine." I slapped him on the back and walked toward the little group of fans. I shook each one's hand, took photos, and signed autographs. They appreciated it, and it was fun for me. I loved my real fans—people who only wanted a second of my time and were happy with it. It was a small price to pay because, without them, I wouldn't get paid to do what I loved. Everyone should have the right to pursue their passion.

  I took one last look at Darielle's booth, searching for Chai, but I couldn't find her. I knew I had to see her again. She'd gotten under my skin and I didn't mind. I wanted to know more about her.

  Calvin had asked if I was interested because of the wine or the woman. Well … maybe a little of both.

  Chapter 6

  Chai