A Rare Vintage (Wine Country Romance)

by Delancey Stewart

The morning sunlight brought Isabella a renewed sense of purpose, though she'd woken with the same heavy heart she'd taken to bed. She went about getting dressed and pulling her hair into cooperation, while admitting that she'd allowed herself to fall in love—or lust, at least—with a man she barely knew.

  A totally inappropriate choice, she scolded herself. She shook her head, thinking about the last man she'd been involved with. Equally inappropriate, she thought. He'd been a teaching assistant during her freshman year at the University. Campus policy strictly forbade their relationship, though he wasn't technically a professor and was just a few years older than she. Under that shroud of impropriety, the relationship had little room to grow and eventually faded. Why am I incapable of making good romantic choices? She asked herself.

  She walked into the kitchen feeling as if she'd built a shield around herself. She would not do anything except work and be friendly. There was no point to anything else. These people had lives here; this was their home. She was a visitor at best, and should not parade her emotions around for everyone to see.

  "Good morning, Isabella," came a deep voice from the table as soon as she walked through the door.

  She pushed down the flutter she felt in her stomach and allowed herself only a glance at the muscled arms and light caramel eyes.

  "Good morning." She walked around the counter to Vicki, said hello and poured her own coffee. She did not need to be waited on. "Can I help?" she asked, indicating the pancakes frying on the grill pan.

  "Sure, if you don't mind giving those a turn," Vicki said, giving her a smile. "You doing okay?" she asked, too low for Jonathan to hear.

  "I'm great," Isabella said, too loud. "I think we should see how those blends are tasting, Jonathan. They've had long enough in the barrel, they should be ready to be bottled once we've got it right."

  "You're right. Wanna save it for the afternoon?"

  There was something in his voice that made her want to look over at him, but she kept her attention on the pancakes. "Sounds good."

  As she carried the pancakes to the table and took her seat, she allowed herself to look at Jonathan. She couldn't help herself; she had to know if he was okay. "How was your visit?"

  He gave her a direct look then, and her insides shook. She wished she hadn't asked. He seemed to be weighing what to tell her, his light eyes thoughtful and intense. She could see a deep well of emotion there, and realized it was too early for her to ask about his son.

  "I'm sorry," she corrected quickly. "It's not my business." She took a swig of coffee and stood abruptly, the low bench scraping the slate floor. "I'm going to head out into the vineyard. I'm still doing some thinning with Roberto and his men. But Jonathan?"

  He looked at her then, the emotion dampened.

  She held his gaze. She could talk business with him without melting into a puddle.

  "Some of these grapes are already getting close. I think we'll be harvesting in early August."

  "That's just a few weeks away."

  "Right—so we need to get the wine that's out there into bottles and make whatever calls are needed to get help with harvest. I'd say we'll begin the second week, maybe even the first."

  "I'll make the calls."

  Isabella stood there a moment longer, fighting the urge to prolong the conversation. "Good," she finally said, and walked out into the already-blistering California heat.

  That afternoon, Isabella let herself into the barn after lunch and began readying some of the blends they'd made for tasting. Jonathan came through the door minutes later, and she had the sensation that he'd been waiting for her, though she hadn't seen him outside. She'd managed, for most of the day, to focus on work only, and had found some relief from her tumultuous emotions in the simple work out in the rows.

  "When we're ready, I've got the bottler on call," Jonathan said, striding across the open floor to where she stood at the tasting counter.

  She turned to look at him and wished she hadn't. The light filtering through the narrow windows at the top of the barn caught his hair, showing golden strands among the dark curls. His muscles rippled and gripped as he walked, noticeable through the thin jeans and plaid shirt he wore. She resisted the urge to run into his arms, to feel the strength of his chest. More than that, she sensed that she wanted to comfort him, take away whatever pain Charlotte had caused.

  "You okay?" Jonathan asked her, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he gazed down at her.

  She hadn't realized she'd been openly staring as he approached.

  "Fine," she said, turning away quickly. She poured a few tastes for them each, from the various blends. They tasted in silence, side by side. "There's a competition that I think we'll want to enter," she said, not looking at him as she spoke after a moment. "It's local, for new blends or pioneering varietals."

  They reached for one of the bottles at the same moment, their hands touching.

  Isabella inhaled sharply, as if she'd been stung. The jolt she felt at his touch was more than she'd been prepared for. She struggled not to allow all of her armor to fall. "Sorry," she whispered.

  Jonathan laughed, a low husky sound. "My fault," he said softly.

  She took the bottle she'd been reaching for. "I think this is our entry," she said, chancing a glance at his face.

  Jonathan was staring at her; the realization sent another jolt through her. The look in his eyes was dark and there was something behind it that made it seem like flames danced in the backs of the amber orbs.

  Isabella's breathing became shallow, faster. She tried to control it, but under his heavy gaze she found her body igniting, as if he was touching her.

  He continued to stare, his own breathing coming heavier. "Isabella," he said finally, his voice like gravel.

  She tore her gaze away from him, busied her hands over the glasses and bottles before them. Don't let yourself get swept up again. He is your employer. He has a baby. You cannot be involved.

  "Isabella," he breathed again, placing a hand on her shoulder that nearly knocked her over, though his touch was feather-light. "I think we should talk."

  She looked at him, afraid of what she'd see there. In a whisper she told him what she'd been telling herself. "Jon, we work together. There can be nothing more than that." She took a deep breath. "Besides, there's Charlotte…and..."

  "The baby," he finished.

  "Yes." She tried not to think about the hand that rested on her shoulder, that was sending fire down her spine, that had created a burst of heat in her stomach, wetness between her legs.

  "It doesn't change the way I feel," he said quietly. He placed his other hand on her other shoulder, keeping distance between them, but sending shockwaves through her body.

  Isabella was finding it hard to think, with his hands on her and her body reacting seemingly of its own accord. It took every ounce of resolve for her to stand still, not to step into his arms.

  He pulled her there instead.

  Suddenly, the warmth of his chest was pressed against her, his arms surrounding her, his hot breath against her ear; her neck. "Isabella," he breathed.

  "Oh, God," she breathed, feeling her resolve vanish, unable to stop the physical response that was pushing her into him like a tornado. She wrapped her arms around his back, feeling the tight muscles there under her fingers. She tilted her head up towards his face, her lips seeking out his mouth.

  Their lips met, and the last vestiges of Isabella's conscious control filtered out of her. She pressed against him, her mouth seeking his, their tongues meeting. The kiss was tentative at first, but the urgency between them grew until they were only plunging tongues, gasping breaths and searching hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jonathan

  He pushed her backwards, still holding her, his mouth still on hers, until she was pressed up against the wall between barrels. He could feel her firm breasts pressed between them, their heat sending fire into his body. Every nerve inside him was firing, and he felt a tightening se
nsation in his lower abdomen as his desire for her increased with each plunge of his tongue into the wet sweetness of he mouth.

  He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted a woman. Something about her—her fierceness, her fire—drew him to her in a way that Charlotte's sweetness never had. Isabella didn't need him. If she ever gave herself to him, he was certain that it would be because she wanted him, not because she needed him.

  Jonathan felt Isabella pressing herself into him, her hands tearing at the fabric of his shirt, pulling at the waistband of his pants. Her breathing was rasping and heavy, and each time she pressed into him, the strength of his own desire grew until it was pressing forcefully against the fabric of his pants.

  He pushed himself against her, feeling the searing heat of her body against his erection. He felt as if he could be driven right over the edge from the sensation alone.

  "God, Isabella," he breathed, surprised at the rocky sound of his own voice.

  "Jonathan," she whispered, pulling back to look into his face.

  Her expression was strained, her eyes glazed, her face flushed. God, she's beautiful, he thought.

  She wrapped a leg around his waist then, and pulled the other one up to join it, her whole body wrapped around him.

  He groaned and pressed her harder against the wall of the barn, his hips pressing his erection into her, the heat and pressure there making him gasp for breath.

  She was moving up and down against him, her tongue plunging into his mouth over and over as she whimpered softly.

  Jonathan moved a hand to cup her bottom, letting his fingers slide around the soft curve of her butt and into the blazing heat between her legs. She moaned then—a deep lustful, guttural sound that pulled at the last vestiges of control that Jonathan had.

  He put her down, unsure how far she really wanted to take this, though her body language was clear. When her feet hit the ground, she unfastened her jeans and pushed them off quickly, her eyes never leaving his.

  He unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down as she wrapped herself around him again. He trembled as he fought to control the desire welling within him, threatening to explode. Her skin was hot against him, every inch of her touching his body. He pulled at her shirt as he held her, longing to remove every scrap between them.

  Her hand was on him suddenly, grasping his erection and guiding him towards her.

  He groaned loudly, unable to control himself. "Are you sure?" he whispered, dreading that she might say no, but knowing that he would have to stop.

  "I'm sure," she whispered, lowering herself onto him, taking his entire length inside herself slowly.

  As he felt the warmth and wetness encompass him, Jonathan buried his face in her soft copper curls to keep himself from crying out. Oh God, oh God, oh God, he thought, trying to control himself.

  He lifted her slowly, feeling himself drawing out of her, then lowered her down again, sliding the full length of his erection into her, feeling the pressure of her body against his, feeling her grasping every inch of him.

  "Isabella," he breathed.

  He moved her slowly up and down, the slowness of it deliciously teasing. He was conscious of nothing in that moment but her body, her wetness, her breathing in his ear—ragged and gasping. He didn't want the moment to end, but knew that his self-control had its limits.

  As he moved her slowly up and down the length of his erection, he could feel her struggling for self-control, too. She was crying out, and the sound of her gasping cries was driving him closer and closer to the brink. There was a rushing sound in his head, his own desire whipping around him like a gale-force wind. Every muscle in his body was operating in single-minded focus, thrusting into Isabella, trying to pull her closer and closer to him. He could feel her gripping him internally, could feel the length of him driving into her, again and again. Each time he pulled out, she flexed hard, grasping his shaft and trying to hold on to him. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced; like she couldn't get enough of him.

  "Oh, God," she cried out, and he felt the tension in her body mounting to match his own. He fought for control, but as he drove into her, harder and faster, his desire completely overshadowed any rational thought.

  "Isabella," he breathed, over and over, his voice raspy and deep.

  As his urgency increased, her grip on him tightened, and with what felt like the last of her strength, she flexed against him, and he felt her body finally give in to the rush of sensation that flooded his own.

  "Jonathan," she cried out, and he pulled her closer.

  He said her name at the same moment, the intensity of everything that had happened between them releasing in that instant, his body rocking against hers with the strength of his release.

  They stayed together like that, their bodies melded and quivering, for what felt like hours. Finally, Isabella slid her legs down, and stepped away from him.

  He pulled his clothes back on slowly, watching Isabella get dressed. She gave him quick looks over her shoulder as she did so, turning her back to him as if she was embarrassed or shy suddenly. They didn't speak as they dressed.

  He felt unsteady on his legs, his body still feeling the shock waves of ecstasy that she had created in him. Once they were dressed, he caught her hand and pulled her to him.

  "Isabella," he said. "I have wanted this since the first moment I saw you."

  A smile crossed her face and then faded, replaced by something darker. She shook her head; the dark coppery curls wild around her face. "No, Jonathan." She looked down. "I mean, yes, I wanted it too. But it's not right."

  "Why not? We're consenting adults."

  "I'm here as your apprentice." She emphasized the last word. "And your life is complicated enough."

  "You mean Charlotte."

  "And the baby."

  He closed his mouth, trying to understand. Maybe the fact that he was a father had changed things in her mind. He surely hadn't come to grips with it himself, but maybe the added responsibility he carried now was unattractive to her. Maybe she didn't like children, didn't want them. "Because of Thomas."

  "Yes," she said slowly, her hazel eyes searching his own.

  He could see her desire still burning in those eyes. There was something more there, he could feel it.

  "Isabella, I need to know—if Charlotte hadn't come back, if Thomas didn't exist—could this be right?"

  "It would be different," she said slowly. "But there's no use speaking in hypotheticals. The fact is," she said, pulling away. "You are technically my employer. And so this isn't right."

  "Can I write it into the job description?" he teased.

  A smile crossed her face again, then faded. She shook her head.

  "Isabella," he said, pulling her near again. "I don't care about that. You'll only work here until we get through the crush in October. After that…"

  "After that I'll leave," she said. "I'll need to find a real job, a future." Her voice was soft, sad.

  "What if you didn't leave? What if your future was here?" The afternoon light was dimming, the air in the barn felt gauzy and thick, dreamlike. "What if you stayed?" Jonathan said.

  Isabella gave him a quizzical look, like she was trying to understand him. She didn't say no.

  "How about we just agree that the possibility is there?" He released her from his embrace, feeling immediately sad at her absence from his arms. "You don't have to decide now. Think about it."

  She raised an eyebrow and sighed. "I will."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Isabella

  After they left the barn and returned to the house, Isabella excused herself to clean up for dinner. As she turned to go into her bedroom, Jonathan just behind her in the hall, he took a quick step forward and pinned her against her door, his hands on her upper arms. His mouth was on hers, softly, sweetly. And then he was gone, walking toward his own room at the end of the long hallway.

  Isabella gathered her things and went to stand under the hot pulse of the shower.

&nbs
p; She didn't know what to think or feel. Her heart did not agree with her head and she wasn't sure how to reconcile the two to make it possible for her to do what she'd come to Château Sauvage to do.

  Silently, she listed the benefits of her time there so far. She was excited about the wine they'd blended, confident that they'd win recognition in the competition coming up. She was eager to complete her first full harvest, to practice everything she'd learned in school. She loved the land and the sun of California—she could see herself staying here.

  As she listed all of the things that mattered to her about her present situation, she tried to ignore the handsome face that loomed in her thoughts, just beyond her consciousness. Jonathan. She couldn't help but be happy about what had just happened. She'd wanted him from the moment she'd met him.

  The water tracked down her body in rivulets, sending a tingling sensation through her, her skin still sensitive from her time in the barn. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his hands on her, his urgency.

  As she turned off the water, she decided to list Jonathan among the benefits of being at Château Sauvage. Complications be damned, she thought, as she wrung the water from her hair.

  Once she was dressed, she went to the kitchen to help Vicki lay out dinner, a tiny smile in the back of her mind. She hummed quietly as she set the table.

  "A good day?" Vicki asked, her blue eyes twinkling.

  "It was," Isabella said, not sure how much she wanted to share. She felt close to Vicki, and had always wanted a girlfriend or a sister to confide in, but she wasn't sure how much Vicki would want to hear. "I think we found an entrant for the upcoming pioneer competition," she concluded.

  "That's great," Vicki said, draining pasta over the sink. "Think we'll have a shot?"

  "A good one," Isabella said.

  "Thanks to Isabella," said a deep voice from the doorway.

  Butterflies erupted into chaos in Isabella's stomach, and she found Vicki staring at her, a smile playing at the sides of her lips.