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End Scene

Page 11

by Elise Faber


  I nodded, somehow unsurprised he’d been able to read my thoughts. “It is.”

  His thumb lightly traced my skin, back and forth, back and forth. “Can we just start with dinner?”

  I wanted that.

  I wanted more.

  I wanted with an intensity that made me more than a little uneasy, that had me leaning back, slipping free of his hold, my skin highly sensitized from the contact, and turning to stare out at the ocean. Too dark to make out much more than the squiggle of the horizon, especially with the strands of lights winding overhead, impacting my night vision. But I wasn’t focused so much on trying to see something as I was on what was going on in my mind, my heart.

  Terrifying.

  Sitting next to him, smelling him, touching him was scary.

  Because I’d missed this. Because this—dinner, touching, bantering—was never quite as comfortable with another man.

  But was that all it was? Comfortable? A familiar echo from the past?

  Unable to keep my gaze on the ocean, my eyes found their way back to Aaron. He was watching me, patient expression on his face, and I knew, I knew that this wasn’t just comfort.

  Just live.

  The whisper of a thought. One that had driven me to these shores, pushed me to keep going when I was hurt or sad or scared.

  Just. Live.

  I stared into Aaron’s eyes, trying to ferret out every thought, desire, and fear in his soul, his mind, his body. And I found it in the perfectly calm expression, could see him war with himself to not say anything further, not wanting to influence my decision, even though I could tell he wanted me to say yes. It was there in the slight stiffness of his shoulders, in the tight corners of his mouth, in the careful way he held himself.

  I could hurt him.

  He was that open.

  But I didn’t want to hurt Aaron. I’d never wanted to hurt him, and the central core of me that had never fully let go of what we’d had, what had once been so great, didn’t want to either.

  That part of me wanted dinner. It wanted more. It—

  Just. Live.

  It wanted to forget about the past, about the things that were irrevocably broken, about all the ways we’d hurt each other.

  It wanted to live.

  But could I find the courage to make that leap?

  I considered for a half-second before giving an inner snort. Could I find the courage? Fuck, yes. I could. I always found the courage to push forward. It was what made me so good at my job.

  Now, I just needed to focus that courage onto my personal life.

  And I knew I could find the mettle to do that, too.

  I shifted in my seat, fully facing him, and said, “We’ve already had dinner.” His face started to fall, but I refused to let it go there, refused to allow him to be hurt again. Not when we had so much potential. I slid closer, ran my hand up his arm, leaned close. “How about we take a walk on the beach instead?”

  He was frozen for a single heartbeat.

  Then he paid the bill in record time, took my hand, and led me down the wooden steps that would carry us to the beach below.

  “You never told me how you ended up with an international business when you’d planned on staying in Utah forever,” I said, resting one hand on his shoulder as I used the other to slip off my heels.

  Sand necessitated me breaking my never remove my heels rule, since I didn’t relish sinking up to my ankles with every step. Or the likelihood of breaking one while trying to navigate sand in four-inch heels.

  “It’s a boring story,” he said, his palms dropping to my waist to steady me when I switched feet. There was no denying that I enjoyed him touching me there, that I wanted our bodies to be closer . . . naked and closer.

  “I revel in boring stories,” I joked.

  His teeth flashed, a glimpse of white in the dark sky. “Ice wine was risky to base our income on. When we had enough capital, I suggested the winery in Temecula. It grew Chardonnay, too, which Carlos was already familiar with, and it had a small, but stable crop, with a family looking to sell. The expansion made sense.”

  “More spreadsheets?” I asked, starting to hook my fingers into the straps of my heels.

  Aaron snagged them from me then took my hand, tugging me out onto the sand. “More like cost analysis and risk-benefit ratios.”

  “Boring business stuff.”

  He shrugged. “It’s my job, and I like the boring stuff.”

  “That’s because you’re a smarty pants.” I grinned, leaned my side against him as we walked between several large rocks on the beach, their sheer size lending some privacy in such a public place. Not that the beach was crowded at this time of night, but I liked the way the stones sheltered, how they muffled the crashing of the waves, made it seem like it was just Aaron and me in the world.

  “Smarty pants?” he asked.

  I lifted my hands in a scale-like gesture, tone light. “And here I always thought I wanted to date someone pretty but dumb, so I didn’t have to cross mental swords with him,” I teased, shifting to glance up at him, my breast accidentally brushing his arm when I moved. My breath caught, but I continued the joke anyway. “Yet somehow, I stumbled onto pretty and smart.” I tapped my chin. “What am I going to do with you, Aaron Weaver?”

  He moved so fast that I didn’t even have time for my breath to catch.

  One second he was looking down at me, lips curved at the corners, head shaking at my silliness. The next his mouth was on mine.

  I gasped at the sheer volume of heat that exploded at the contact. It seared through my nerve endings, arrowing toward my nipples, my pussy. Then his tongue slipped inside, and I melted against him, letting the waves of pleasure lap at my body—warm, warmer, warmest, scalding, inferno.

  Rough fingers on the backs of my thighs, teasing under the short skirt of my dress.

  I broke away on a moan, those fingers sliding back and forth, dipping up, feeding that inferno with need and desire until it felt as though I might combust.

  That was when Aaron set me away from him.

  I wavered for a moment, and he steadied me as I found my feet, my body on fire. Then when I was stable, he bent and scooped up my heels which he had apparently dropped to the sand. “Let’s walk before I ignore my better judgment and take you on this beach.”

  My glance went to one of the rocks. It was the perfect height to perch me atop it, to slide my panties to the side, lift my skirt, and—

  Another kiss that left me trembling and shaking.

  “Not fair, Peaches.”

  I leaned heavily against him, trying to ignore the fact that I was seriously contemplating if our difference in height would make it possible for him to spin me around, to press my front to the tallest rock, and take me from behind. Or maybe he could lift me, and I’d wrap my legs around his waist.

  There were so many possibilities.

  I wanted to try them all.

  “It’s dark enough that I can’t see your eyes clearly,” he whispered, voice husky. “So, I shouldn’t know all you’re thinking.”

  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Except you’re thinking the same thing,” I whispered back.

  A flash of white, a nip on my nose, my bottom lip, my jaw.

  “Yeah, Peaches. I’m thinking of all the possibilities.”

  Breath catching, I stared up at him for a long moment, wishing it was light out, that I could allow myself to fall into the depths of his eyes and see everything.

  But I couldn’t.

  Instead, I had to trust in his tone, in the gentle way he held me against him, in his racing pulse and unsteady breaths that matched mine.

  And I found I did trust in all those things.

  But perhaps the thing I trusted in the most was . . . possibility.

  It was there. We only had to reach out and grab for it.

  “Steady?” he asked what might have been seconds or minutes or hours later.

  I nodded and he released me, bending
to scoop up my heels that had fallen again. At this rate, they would be all scratched up, embedded with sand in the seams and buckles and probably ruined by the time we made it back to the car. But though they’d cost me an exorbitant amount of money, I couldn’t summon up the outrage to care.

  Shoes. Aaron. Possibility.

  It was no competition.

  Possibility won hands down every time.

  Thirteen

  Aaron

  The text came as I pulled through the gate leading into the winery in Temecula.

  I ignored the buzz-buzz as I navigated the sedan through the winding driveway. This late in the evening the path darkened and the likelihood of seeing a critter was high. Luckily, I safely avoided any animal interactions, and pulled into the one-car garage next to the studio I stayed at while in town.

  Smaller than the bunkhouse, but with more modern amenities, the guest suite had become my alternate home base. Carlos and I had similar apartments on every winery we owned, Utah aside. It was something that was ultimately cheaper than us having to rent a house or pay for a hotel room or even rent a car (since we shared the vehicles kept onsite), every time we were in town overseeing the business. Utah was the sole difference because I stayed at the ranch and had never built out the former storage shed Carlos had given me when I’d begun working with him into something livable. He had a nice apartment on site, and after the last conversation with Warren, however, I would be staying there until I had my own place situated.

  I turned off the car, grabbed my wallet from the cupholder, snagged my keys, and let myself into the studio. Only then did I pull my phone from my pocket and glance at its screen.

  A breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding slipped free.

  Mags.

  I’d been trying to pretend I didn’t care if it wasn’t her. But that was a lie obviously, and seeing her name on the screen, seeing her message made my heart squeeze.

  This was the right thing.

  We were doing the right thing in grabbing on to the possibility of a future between us.

  I leaned my back against the door as I opened the text, feet incapable of moving until I’d read the words this woman had sent me, heart racing, palms a little sweaty. It was almost like I was a teenager again, the anticipation was so great.

  Turns out I’m a fan of wine nerds. Dinner at my house tomorrow?

  My mouth actually ached from the giant ass grin that broke out on my face. Then I realized I needed to reply, that I wanted to reply with something equally quippy, something that would make her smile.

  And I didn’t know what to say.

  And I’m a fan of tacos, can I eat yours?

  Fucking hell. What was I saying about teenagers a moment ago?

  I’m a fan of short skirts, can I put my hands under yours again?

  Not teenager, but definitely creepy.

  When you kiss me, I feel like I can breathe again.

  Less creepy. Maybe. But definitely too much after one dinner and a walk on the beach together.

  “Shit,” I muttered, dropping my wallet in the bowl that sat atop the table I kept in the hallway as a staging post for all the crap that ended up in my pockets at the end of the day.

  Today, since I’d emptied them before I’d left to see Mags, in the bowl there were several soil samples Carlos had demanded I collect, his way of ensuring the employee we paid for that was doing his job. I’d label and leave them in his suite before heading out, so he could do his independent testing. Along with the containers of dirt were several receipts I needed to save for reimbursement, a few press requests from the marketing team, a lighter, and a peach-scented candle.

  The same candle I’d bought for Mags ten years before, planning on surprising her with it, knowing it was a small thing, but also that it would bring a smile to her face. I’d kept it, put it in my suitcase wherever I went out in the world.

  Fuck. I’d known even before I’d known.

  I tugged off the metal lid, dull from the years that had passed, and ran my fingers along the rounded edge of the glass circle, considering. The wicks were nearly burned to the bottom, even though I’d only lit it judiciously over the years. But I didn’t need the past anymore. I had the future. I reached for the lighter, lit the three wicks, and let the soft, sweet scent begin to fill the room.

  And then I knew what to say.

  Well, lucky this wine nerd has access to plenty of wine. How many bottles should I bring?

  My phone vibrated with a response almost immediately.

  How about one of those huge wooden casks?

  I chuckled.

  Not sure that would fit in my car.

  Hmm. *thinking GIF* Two?

  I was still chuckling.

  I’ll bring three.

  My hero.

  I laughed outright at that, fingers flying across my cell’s screen.

  Chardonnay, okay?

  Perfect. See you tomorrow around six?

  Yes. Mags?

  Yeah.

  Thanks for—

  I stopped typing, backspaced like a mofo, and thought about the best way to put what was in my head into words on a text screen.

  I’m not letting you go this time.

  Hitting send before I could reconsider, I spent the next several minutes as I waited for her to respond alternating between relief that I’d gotten it out there and horror that I’d pushed too far, too fast, too soon.

  When a good five minutes passed, I sighed and dropped my phone onto the table, breathing in the aroma of the candle, getting lost in the scent.

  Yeah.

  Too soon. Too fast. Too far.

  Damn.

  I crossed to the fridge, tugged open the door, and pulled out a beer. Contrary to Mags’ teasing, I didn’t mind alcohol, though—and I wasn’t brave enough to say this anywhere in the vicinity of Carlos—I preferred a cold beer at the end of the day rather than wine.

  Popping the top as I walked back to the living-slash-bedroom space, really just a couch and bed positioned near each other in the large open room, I stifled a sigh and sat down on the loveseat.

  I was bound to misstep, especially after coming to the realization of how much I wanted her. Certain to err after realizing what a mistake I’d made in holding on to that fury, in letting her go in the first place, in not realizing how strong the connection tying us together was. Tonight, I’d discovered it was still as strong now as it had been a decade ago.

  And I knew it was precious.

  I could still feel the burn of my hope bursting into flames, reduced to cinder and ash upon seeing her with Talbot and thinking whatever slim chance I had of making things right, of grasping on to the link between us and moving forward, was gone.

  But even through that despair, I’d still known what I wanted, had some time to get used to the idea over the last month.

  Maggie hadn’t.

  I’d been angry. Now, inexplicably I wasn’t.

  Yes, I’d explained my thinking, what had changed, but that didn’t magically make things right, even if she did throw me a bone by going to dinner, even if she didn’t push me away when I kissed her, even if—

  My phone buzzed, and I shot up from the couch so fast that I nearly dumped my beer everywhere.

  I fumbled, caught it before more than a few drops escaped, then hurried over to grab my cell from the table, heart tripping, fingers fumbling to unlock the screen. Thankfully, the message was short and easy to read.

  Though it didn’t calm my heart.

  That still raced like a freight train, even as relief poured down my back.

  Because her message only said,

  Prove it.

  I’d typed a reply and sent it back before my brain processed the movement.

  I intend to.

  We were sitting on the edge of the pool, my jeans rolled up, our feet in the pool, and enjoying the warm evening air.

  It was cooler tonight, the warm system that had kept nighttime temperatures higher than normal begin
ning to break down. There was even a threat of rain on the horizon.

  I put down my wine glass—see? Even I indulged in the business every once in a while—and lay back, folding my hands behind my head.

  “I’m so proud of you for following your dream,” I said.

  An inhaled breath.

  Then the clink of her glass—although I guessed glass was actually a misnomer because we’d switched to plastic cups when we’d come over to the pool.

  I listened to the rustle of her clothes as she reclined beside me, able to picture the outfit with crystal clarity, even though my gaze was on the night sky. Shorts that had given me plenty of glimpses of those tantalizing thighs, a simple burgundy blouse that highlighted the flecks of gray in her brown eyes, the shining silver bracelet with its peach dangling from the band.

  “I am, too,” she said, and I shifted to my side, unable to not look at her. “I’m good at my job. I work long hours and it can be thankless sometimes, but I have the best clients, and I’ve gotten to travel the world, see so many things I never could have imagined.”

  I ran my fingers down her arm. “Where has been your favorite place to visit?”

  Her face lit up, and she rolled over, pulling her feet from the water. “That’s an unfair question! I’ve been too many cool places.”

  “Nice try,” I teased, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “But muahahah! You must choose one!” I added, affecting my evil genius voice, which admittedly sounded ridiculous, even to myself, but because it made her smile, I knew I would keep doing it.

  “Goof,” she said, sliding closer and flicking her tongue out to caress my bottom lip. “Come on.” She pushed up, snagged her wine, and then took my hand, leading me off the pool deck and toward a set of hedges.

 

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