A Rare Vintage (Wine Country Romance)

by Delancey Stewart

  "My parents asked me to leave," Charlotte told her finally.

  "Why?" Isabella asked.

  "The baby." Charlotte said nothing else for a long minute, her eyes searching Isabella's face. "The paternity test."

  Isabella shook her head. What was Charlotte saying?

  "He's not Jon's." Charlotte began sobbing again.

  Isabella felt as if she'd been slapped. She stared at the baby. He had Jonathan's chin, his eyes. "But, who?"

  The baby caught Isabella's eyes then, and began to wail, reaching for her.

  Charlotte turned to the baby and then toward the empty grassy expanse of the park, as if she might stand up and run away.

  "May I?" Isabella asked her.

  Charlotte responded by handing her the squalling child. He quieted in Isabella's arms, and she stared into his small face. She'd never held a baby this young before, and was surprised that she even knew how to do it. She was also surprised at the strange feeling of peace that came over her, looking into his eyes.

  "If not Jon's, then whose?" Isabella asked, fully aware that it was not her place.

  "There was someone else towards the end. We only slept together once," Charlotte moaned. "It ended terribly."

  "And you just assumed… "

  "Of course!" Charlotte cried. "What were the odds? I really believed, all this time, that he was Jon's. Look at him!" Her voice was rising.

  "Oh, Charlotte," Isabella said, feeling genuinely sorry for the woman. She tried to ignore the spark of hope that the news ignited in her. Then she noticed Thomas's dark innocent eyes on her face and felt immediately guilty. She put a finger into his small palm and felt his warm fingers curl around it. "What will you do?"

  "I have to tell him," she cried. "I just don't know how. And now we have nowhere to go. My parents think I lied to Jon on purpose, that I was trying to trick him. They don't believe that I didn't know."

  Isabella considered her options. Though she thought better of it, she couldn't stop herself from wanting to help Charlotte, and the innocent bundle of boy in her arms. "Look," she said. "Jonathan came into town with me today. He'll be looking for me at any moment. So if you don't want to tell him right now, I suggest you go. Why don't you come by the house later?"

  "For what?" Charlotte moaned.

  "To tell him the truth," Isabella said. "I'll try to soften the blow."

  "You won't tell him?" Charlotte said, her face full of fear.

  "No. That's for you to do."

  Charlotte's face took on the mistrustful look it had held through the past few weeks, regarding Isabella as a rival.

  "Look, Charlotte," Isabella said. "I'm offering to be a friend. I don't see that you have many around."

  Charlotte's snide look departed and her shoulders hunched. "You're right," she breathed. With that, she picked up the baby again and went back to her car.

  Isabella stood and began walking in the opposite direction, back toward the store. How would Jonathan take this news? He had been so happy to be a father…would this be like losing someone all over again? Isabella's heart writhed for him as she saw him standing on the other side of the park, looking for her.

  "Hey," she called.

  "Hey yourself," he said. "Where did you go?"

  "Oh, nowhere. Just needed a minute."

  "Okay," he said, giving her an appraising glance as if he could see where she'd been by some aspect of her clothing or a look on her face. "Ready to go then?"

  "Sure," she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Jonathan

  They climbed back into the truck's small cab, Jonathan shooting inquisitive glances at Isabella as he started the engine and backed out into the street. He wondered where she’d gone so suddenly, felt like his best bet might to just wait for her to explain. She hadn’t been happy about him finding the ring, he was certain of that. Maybe he’d dredged up memories of a broken romance, or reminded her of obligations far away. He was confused and hurt, but without a concrete explanation, he was mostly just curious.

  "Did the contest entry go okay?" she asked.

  "Yeah, it went fine," he said. "I'm excited about this, Iz."

  “Me too,” she said quietly. There was a look on her face that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. She seemed to be lost in though, and he snuck sideways glances at her as he negotiated the truck through the streets of downtown Paso Robles.

  The contest entry had gone fine. He’d entered the market and approached the small festival booth, placing his bottles on the counter in front of a jovial round-cheeked woman with a slate grey bob.

  “Jonny Sauvage? Is that you?” She’d cried.

  Jonathan cringed, recalling this woman from his youth.

  “It’s me, Ethel Rosewood. I was friends with your momma way back when. I didn’t think you were still here. Figured you’d grown up and moved away long ago. And making wine, now?” The woman seemed perfectly happy to prattle on with no input from Jonathan, so he just stood before her, smiling awkwardly.

  “So I have an entry for the Pioneer Competition,” Jonathan began.

  “Oh darlin’, you’ve gotten so big. Your momma would be so proud of you.” She eyed him through beady dark eyes. “I was so sorry to hear about yer daddy. The way he went… it was just…”

  “This is the entry here. Is there paperwork that I’ll need to fill out?” Jonathan wished that Isabella had not run away so suddenly. He had a feeling she’d know how to get this done, prevent this woman from dragging him unwillingly down a path of painful memories about his parents.

  “Yes, yes, just here and here,” she said, finally presenting him with the form.

  As he filled out the required information, the woman had prattled on and on about his sister, about her impending nuptials, about her own children, who Jonathan didn’t even know. He hoped that his form would be legible, given the rushed scrawl that raced across it.

  “Nice seeing you,” he said, turning and walking from the store even as Ethel Rosewood continued her long-winded verbal memory parade.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Isabella

  When they’d climbed into the truck, Jonathan had called her “Iz” again. Hearing him shorten her name again sent an unexpected thrill through her, almost as if he'd touched her. She looked at him, trying to decide what to say. She wanted to explain herself. Since Charlotte's discovery, she felt as if maybe there was a chance, after he'd worked out everything with Charlotte. Maybe, if he wasn't meant to forge a family with Charlotte and Thomas, maybe there could be something between them. But she had to explain the ring. And that meant telling him everything. She wasn't sure that a bumpy truck ride down potholed roads was the right setting. She knew that her story would help Charlotte's impending words find a softer landing with him, but she wasn't sure if she owed the frail blonde that much.

  "Look," she said, watching the trees fly by the windows. "Do you think we could pull over for a minute?"

  "Um," he gave her a confused glance. "Yeah, we can." He pulled the truck off the road, guiding it down a farm lane between the burdened trees of an orange grove. "What's up, Iz?"

  "I want to explain," she started, not sure how to begin. "I want to be honest with you."

  "Okay," he said, his voice coaxing.

  "The ring," she began.

  "No," he interrupted. "Look, it's not my business. You have a life somewhere else, that's totally fair. I should never have…"

  "No," she said, her voice louder than she'd intended. "That's just it. I don't have a life. I don't have anything. Not anymore." She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap, then risked a glance at him. His face was still confused, uncertain. She dreaded the look of sympathy that she knew would replace that look momentarily, then girded herself and plowed ahead. "The ring was my mother's. My father gave it to her when they were in their early twenties. She was wearing that ring in every memory I have of her. She was wearing it on the day she died."

  "Oh," Jonathan said.

 
She looked into his face again, and it was there—the sympathy that had covered the face of every person she'd known in New York.

  "They were killed in an accident last Thanksgiving. My mother, my father, my brother. They were run off a bridge by a drunk driver."

  "God," Jonathan breathed. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

  She couldn't look up at him again, so she just kept talking. "The water was freezing, so they didn't have much time. My father…they said that he was probably killed on impact. He was driving and the other car hit his side, pushing them into the rail and off the bridge. My brother wasn't wearing a seat belt…" Isabella wiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. "My mother…she tried to free herself. She'd gotten her belt off, but she was trying to save my brother. They found her in the backseat with him, her arms around him."

  "Iz…"

  "I waited for hours for them to come to dinner. I cooked a huge turkey. I waited, I kept everything warm. Finally the phone rang…and it wasn't them. It was the police.

  "They gave me her ring, along with a lot of other things. I had just cleaned out their house and sold it before I drove out here."

  Jonathan had been staring at her as she spoke, and now he reached across the space between them, pulling her into his arms across the bench seat.

  Her head was pulled into the warm solidity of his chest, and she let herself melt against him, tears flowing down her cheeks. His hands were caressing her back, holding her neck, in her hair.

  "Isabella," he was saying, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He said it over and over, his voice a whisper.

  She folded herself into him like a child, and listened to the words. She was sorry, too. Finally, she pulled herself away from him. "Family is the only thing that really matters," she said. "And they were mine." She looked up into his face, knowing that he needed to hear the rest. "But not really."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I was adopted when I was six," she said, her voice a whisper as she pulled away from him.

  "My biological parents didn't want me, or couldn't keep me, or…I don't know, I only remember little things about them. They put me foster care when I was four. The DaSilvas took me into their home as a foster child and then adopted me. They never told anyone that I was adopted. My mother told me that it didn't matter who you were born to, what mattered was the family you made for yourself."

  "She sounds like a wonderful lady."

  "She was."

  Isabella let herself rest against his chest again, wondering what might happen between them now, once he learned of Charlotte’s final betrayal. She didn’t want to see the hurt in his face when he found out that Thomas wasn’t his—learned what had led to his birth. But more than that, she dreaded having to watch him lose the baby all over again. She could see how much he loved the tiny boy whenever he was near him.

  As they sat there in silence, his arms around her as she lay against him in the steady hum of the truck's air conditioner, his hands on her back felt as if they were searing her skin. Isabella realized slowly that her breathing matched his in rhythm, and that the rhythm was becoming steadily more rapid. Her heart began to race as her hands moved across the firm muscles of his back.

  He pulled away from her then, keeping his arms around her, a question on his face.

  She answered the only way she could, by tilting her head up and parting her lips.

  He needed no further encouragement. His mouth was hungrily upon her then, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, tasting her, feeling her.

  She savored the chills that he created within her, the tightening of her nipples, the wetness that seemed to gush between her legs, soaking her underwear. She answered his seeking kisses with her own tongue until they were thrusting together, exploring each other's mouths while their hands clenched flesh and clothing.

  She pressed her body against his in a way that left no question as to her intentions.

  "Are you sure?" he breathed in her ear as she pressed her breasts against him, relishing the warmth that spread through her at his nearness.

  "Yes," she answered, her hands in his hair while her mouth found its way to his corded neck. She pulled at his shirt, and he immediately pulled it off over his head.

  She pulled away from him then, and just looked at him. He sat in front of the steering wheel in dark jeans, his tanned chest smooth and muscular. A small tuft of hair grew between his pecs and began a trail that led to his navel and then carried on south into the waistband of his jeans. She felt herself grow wetter as she traced the line with her fingers.

  She pulled off her pants and undies, climbing onto his lap.

  "Oh God," he moaned, his hands clenching her butt and pulling her into him. She could feel the stiff resistance just beneath the fabric of his jeans. She unfastened the button and unzipped him, sliding down into the space between the dashboard and the stick shift, straddling the stick as she pulled his pants down.

  He lay back on the seat, his legs angling toward the passenger side door as Isabella allowed the shaft of the long stick shift to press between her legs while she knelt on the floor of the cab. Jonathan laid there, his penis standing up in the light pouring in through the windows of the cab. His desire for her sent her own heart rate soaring as she ran her hands up the sides of his thighs and then grabbed him under his butt, pulling him toward her.

  She lowered her head, allowing her tongue to just graze the head of his shaft, flicking it tentatively. He moaned and buried his hands in her hair. Encouraged, she flattened her tongue and took the head of him into her mouth, closing her lips around him. The heat that flowed from him caused another surge of wetness between her own legs.

  "Oh my God," he moaned, his hands pulling her head closer to him.

  She teased him with her tongue, making circles around him while her lips slid up and down his shaft. She moved one hand to grip the base of him while the other began to manipulate and tease what lay beneath. He shuddered on the seat before her.

  "Isabella," he breathed.

  She moved up and down along his length, her hand following her mouth and the other hand moving faster and faster, her index finger stroking and pressuring the space behind his balls. She pressed herself against the shaft of the stick shift as she focused on pleasuring him, feeling her own need increasing. He moved against her and she knew that he was close to release. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. He pushed her head back gently and she let her tongue trace a few more teasing circles around him.

  "I want you," he gasped, pulling her towards him.

  She climbed onto his lap then, straddling him but staying well above him. He pulled a condom from his wallet and she took it from him, rolling it down his length. She moved herself above him, letting just the tip of his erect shaft touch her wetness. At the first touch, he groaned. It was a deep guttural sound that nearly drove Isabella over the edge, but she fought for control. She was enjoying this too much. It was something she thought she'd never have again, and finding out that it could still be hers was revelatory.

  She lowered herself just an inch down the length of him and then pulled back up, holding the seat back for support. She did this again and again; feeling her own need steadily increase. She could finish just like this, she thought. But she yearned to feel his length inside her, to feel that fullness, to savor the entirety of their bond. She teased and teased until neither of them could stand it. His hands were on her hips, pulling her down as she resisted him, intent on being in control.

  Finally, she gave in, allowing him to pull her onto him all the way. When he realized that she wasn't resisting anymore, he lessened the strength with which he pulled, lowering her slowly onto him. Each centimeter was an exquisite torture.

  When he was entirely inside her, every inch of him wrapped in the warm wetness of her, she sat up above him, her hands on the ceiling of the cab. She gazed into his face, and allowed herself for the first time in weeks, to really look at him. She took in the angular jaw, stubbl
ed by dark hair. She admired the clefted chin and high cheekbones. She lost herself in the deep liquid of his eyes. As their eyes locked, she clenched every muscle within her, feeling his entirety through every nerve she could recruit. Without moving at all, the intensity of the look and the feeling increased until she could not control herself any longer.

  With palms pressed against the roof of the truck cab, she threw her head back and cried out as her body shook with the intense sensations that being with Jonathan Savage brought her.

  She had the sensation of falling, of losing herself completely, of coming back to herself in confusion and exhaustion in his arms. Somewhere in the foggy memory of the last few moments, she'd heard his voice mingled with her own, and realized that they'd come in unison. She closed her eyes as she lay against his warm chest, feeling his arms around her.

  She realized as she lay against him that she held a secret that still had the potential to tear their happiness to shreds, but it was Charlotte’s secret; not hers. She vowed to keep it as she’d promised and closed her eyes, trying to revel in the few moments of bliss that she had before the news came and she’d have to weather the storm it would bring.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Jonathan

  As he watched her move above him, her hands on the roof of the cab and her head thrown back, Jonathan wondered if he'd ever seen a woman more beautiful. The wild tendrils of her hair were escaping the loose braid, and her mouth was open in her ecstasy. Just looking at her drove him over the edge, and he climaxed with her, feeling his heart fill with happiness.

  He held her afterwards, afraid to move for fear of finding that the moment was merely a fantasy. It'd been just days ago that he'd had to relieve himself of his incredible desire for her, telling himself that he'd never have her again; that he'd never hold her like this or feel himself inside her.

  As she traced circles on his chest with her warm fingers, still holding him deep inside her, he thought about all that she'd told him. She'd known an incredible amount of pain in her life, he thought. Her parents abandoning her, and then losing her family so tragically just a few months before he'd met her. He held her tighter, wishing he could relieve the pain she must feel every moment at their loss. He thought about losing his own family, his mother's death years ago and his father's more recent one. It was an impossible reality to face—having to make your way in a world that was so dominated by the figures of the people who raised you. Knowing that you are alone.