by Maisey Yates
No, she thought as she mounted her horse, and the two of them began riding along a trail that she wanted to investigate as a route for the new venture. She would never give in to this just for the sake of exploring her sensuality. For a whole list of reasons.
So you’re just going to marry Donovan and wonder what this could have been like?
Sink into the mediocre sex life that the lack of attraction between you promises. Never know what you’re missing.
Well, the thing about fantasies was they were only fantasies.
And the thing about sex with a stranger—per a great many of her friends who’d had sex with strangers—was that the men involved rarely lived up to the fantasy. Because they had no reason to make anything good for a woman they didn’t really know.
They were too focused on making it good for themselves. And men always won in those games. Emerson knew her way around her own body, knew how to find release when she needed it. But she’d yet to find a man who could please her in the same way, and when she was intimate with someone, she couldn’t ever quite let go... There were just too many things to think about, and her brain was always consumed.
It wouldn’t be different with Holden. No matter how hot he was.
And blowing up all her inhibitions over an experience that was bound to be a letdown was something Emerson simply wasn’t going to risk.
So there.
She turned her thoughts away from the illicit and forced them onto the beauty around her.
Her family’s estate had been her favorite place in the world since she was a child. But of course, when she was younger, that preference had been a hollow kind of favoritism, because she didn’t have a wide array of experiences or places to compare it to.
She did now. She’d been all over the world, had stayed in some of the most amazing hotels, had enjoyed food in the most glamorous locales. And while she loved to travel, she couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t call Maxfield Vineyards home.
From the elegant spirals of the vines around the wooden trellises, all in neat rows spreading over vast acres, to the manicured green lawns, to the farther reaches where it grew wild, the majestic beauty of the wilderness so big and awe-inspiring, making her feel appropriately small and insignificant when the occasion required.
“Can I ask you a question?” His voice was deep and thick, like honey, and it made Emerson feel like she was on the verge of a sugar high.
She’d never felt anything like this before.
This, she supposed, was chemistry. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why it would suddenly be this man who inspired it. She had met so many men who weren’t so far outside the sphere of what she should find attractive. She’d met them at parties all around the world. None of those men—including the one her father wanted her to be engaged to—had managed to elicit this kind of response in her.
And yet... Holden did it effortlessly.
“Ask away,” she said, resolutely fixing her focus on the scene around them. Anything to keep from fixating on him.
“Why the hell did you wear that knowing we were going out riding?”
She blinked. Then she turned and looked at him. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“I have never seen anyone get on a horse in something so impractical.”
“Oh, come now. Surely you’ve seen period pieces where the woman is in a giant dress riding sidesaddle.”
“Yes,” he said. “But you have other options.”
“It has to be photographable,” she said.
“And you couldn’t do some sexy cowgirl thing?”
Considering he was playing the part of sexy cowboy—in his tight black T-shirt and black cowboy hat—she suddenly wished she were playing the part of sexy cowgirl. Maybe with a plaid top knotted just beneath her breasts, some short shorts and cowgirl boots. Maybe, if she were in an outfit like that, she would feel suitably bold enough to ask him for a literal roll in the hay.
You’ve lost your mind.
“That isn’t exactly my aesthetic.”
“Your aesthetic is... I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning?”
She laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But sure. I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning sounds about right. In fact, I think I might go ahead and label the outfit that when I post pics.”
“Whatever works,” he said.
His comment was funny. And okay, maybe the fact that he’d been clever a couple of times in her presence was bestowing the label of funny on him too early. But it made her feel a little bit better about her wayward hormones that he wasn’t just beautiful, that he was fascinating as well.
“So today’s ride isn’t just a scouting mission for you,” he said. “If you’re worried about your aesthetic.”
“No,” she said. “I want to start generating interest in this idea. You know, pictures of me on the horse. In fact, hang on a second.” She stopped, maneuvering her mount, turning so she was facing Holden, with the brilliant backdrop of the trail and the mountains behind them. Then she flipped her phone front facing and raised it up in the air, tilting it downward and grinning as she hit the button. She looked at the result, frowned, and then did it again. The second one would be fine once she put some filters on it.
“What was that?”
She maneuvered her horse back around in the other direction, stuffed her phone in her pocket and carried on.
“It was me getting a photograph,” she said. “One that I can post. ‘Something new and exciting is coming to the Maxfield label.’”
“Are you really going to put it like that?”
“Yes. I mean, eventually we’ll do official press releases and other forms of media, but the way you use social media advertisements is a little different. I personally am part of that online brand. And my lifestyle—including my clothes—is part of what makes people interested in the vineyard.”
“Right,” he said.
“People want to be jealous,” she said. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t spend hours scrolling through photos of other people’s lives. Or of houses they’ll never be able to live in. Exotic locations they’ll never be able to go. A little envy, that bit of aspiration, it drives some people.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes. I think the success of my portion of the family empire suggests I know what I’m talking about.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You know, I suppose you’re right. People choose to indulge in that feeling, but when you really don’t have anything, it’s not fun to see all that stuff you’ll never have. It cuts deep. It creates a hunger, rather than enjoyment. It can drive some people to the edge of destruction.”
There was something about the way he said it that sent a ripple of disquiet through her. Because his words didn’t sound hypothetical.
“That’s never my goal,” she said. “And I can’t control who consumes the media I put out there. At a certain point, people have to know themselves, don’t they?”
“True enough,” he said. “But some people don’t. And it’s worse when there’s another person involved who sees weakness in them even when they don’t see it themselves. Someone who exploits that weakness. Plenty of sad, hungry girls have been lost along that envious road, when they took the wrong hand desperate for a hand up into satisfaction.”
“Well, I’m not selling wild parties,” she said. “I’m selling an afternoon ride at a family winery, and a trip here is not that out of reach for most people. That’s the thing. There’s all this wild aspirational stuff out there online, and the vineyard is just a little more accessible. That’s what makes it advertising and not luxury porn.”
“I see. Create a desire so big it can never be filled, and then offer a winery as the consolation prize.”
“If the rest of our culture supports that, it’s hardly my fault.”
“Have you ever had to want for anything in your entire life, Emerson?” The question was asked innocuously enough, but the way he asked it, in that dark, rough voice, made it buzz over her skin, crackling like electricity as it moved through her. “Or have you always been given everything you could ever desire?”
“I’ve wanted things,” she said, maybe too quickly. Too defensively.
“What?” he pressed.
She desperately went through the catalog of her life, trying to come up with a moment when she had been denied something that she had wanted in a material sense. And there was only one word that burned in her brain.
You.
Yes, that was what she would say. I want you, and I can’t have you. Because I’m engaged to a man who’s not interested in kissing me, much less getting into bed with me. And I’m no more interested in doing that with him.
But I can’t break off the engagement no matter how much I want to because I so desperately need...
“Approval,” she said. “That’s...that’s something I want.”
Her stomach twisted, and she kept her eyes fixed ahead, because she didn’t know why she had let the word escape out loud. She should have said nothing.
He wasn’t interested in hearing about her emotional issues.
“From your father?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I have his approval. My mother, on the other hand...”
“You’re famous, successful, beautiful. And you don’t have your mother’s approval?”
“Yeah, shockingly, my mother’s goal for me wasn’t to take pictures of myself and put them up on the internet.”
“Unless you have a secret stash of pictures, I don’t see how your mother could disapprove of these sorts of photographs. Unless, of course, it’s your pants. Which I do think are questionable.”
“These are wonderful pants. And actually deceptively practical. Because they allow me to sit on the horse comfortably. Whatever you might think.”
“What doesn’t your mother approve of?”
“She wanted me to do something more. Something that was my own. She doesn’t want me just running publicity for the family business. But I like it. I enjoy what I do, I enjoy this brand. Representing it is easy for me, because I care about it. I went to school for marketing, close to home. She felt like it was...limiting my potential.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry. Your mother felt like you limited your potential by going to get a degree in marketing and then going on to be an ambassador for a successful brand.”
“Yes,” she said.
She could still remember the brittle irritation in her mother’s voice when she had told her about the engagement to Donovan.
“So you’re marrying a man more successful in advertising in the broader world even though you could have done that.”
“You’re married to a successful man.”
“I was never given the opportunities that you were given. You don’t have to hide behind a husband’s shadow. You could’ve done more.”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” she said. “Look, my mother is brilliant. And scrappy. And I respect her. But she’s never going to be overly impressed with me. As far as she’s concerned, I haven’t worked a day in my life for anything, and I took the path of least resistance into this version of success.”
“What does she think of your sisters?”
“Well, Wren works for the winery too, but the only thing that annoys my mother more than her daughters taking a free pass is the Cooper family, and since Wren makes it her life’s work to go toe-to-toe with them, my mother isn’t quite as irritated with everything Wren does. And Cricket... I don’t know that anyone knows what Cricket wants.”
Poor Cricket was a later addition to the family. Eight years younger than Emerson, and six years younger than Wren. Their parents hadn’t planned on having another child, and they especially hadn’t planned on one like Cricket, who didn’t seem to have inherited the need to please...well, anyone.
Cricket had run wild over the winery, raised more by the staff than by their mother or father.
Sometimes Emerson envied Cricket and the independence she seemed to have found before turning twenty-one, when Emerson couldn’t quite capture independence even at twenty-nine.
“Sounds to me like your mother is pretty difficult to please.”
“Impossible,” she agreed.
But her father wasn’t. He was proud of her. She was doing exactly what he wanted her to do. And she would keep on doing it.
The trail ended in a grassy clearing on the side of the mountain, overlooking the valley below. The wineries rolled on for miles, and the little redbrick town of Gold Valley was all the way at the bottom.
“Yes,” she said. “This is perfect.” She got down off the horse, snapped another few pictures with herself in them and the view in the background. And then a sudden inspiration took hold, and she whipped around quickly, capturing the blurred outline of Holden, on his horse with his cowboy hat, behind her.
He frowned, dismounting the horse, and she looked into the phone screen, keeping her eyes on him, and took another shot. He was mostly a silhouette, but it was clear that he was a good-looking, well-built man in a cowboy hat.
“Now, there’s an ad,” she said.
“What’re you doing?”
He sounded angry. Not amused at all.
“I just thought it would be good to get you in the background. A full-on Western fantasy.”
“You said that wasn’t the aesthetic.”
“It’s not mine. Just because a girl doesn’t want to wear cutoff shorts doesn’t mean she’s not interested in looking at a cowboy.”
“You can’t post that,” he said, his voice hard like granite.
She turned to face him. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to be on your bullshit website.”
“It’s not a website. It’s... Never mind. Are you... You’re not, like, fleeing from the law or something, are you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
“Then why won’t you let me post your picture? It’s not like you can really see you.”
“I’m not interested in that stuff.”
“Well, that stuff is my entire life’s work.” She turned her focus to the scenery around them and pretended to be interested in taking a few random pictures that were not of him.
“Some website that isn’t going to exist in a couple of years is not your life’s work. Your life’s work might be figuring out how to sell things to people, advertising, marketing. Whatever you want to call it. But the how of it is going to change, and it’s going to keep on changing. What you’ve done is figure out how to understand the way people discover things right now. But it will change. And you’ll figure that out too. These pictures are not your life’s work.”
It was an impassioned speech, and one she almost felt certain he’d given before, though she couldn’t quite figure out why he would have, or to who.
“That’s nice,” she said. “But I don’t need a pep talk. I wasn’t belittling myself. I won’t post the pictures. Though, I think they would have caused a lot of excitement.”
“I’m not going to be anyone’s trail guide. So there’s no point using me.”
“You’re not even my trail guide, not really.” She turned to face him, and found he was much closer than she had thought. All the breath was sucked from her body. He was so big and broad, imposing.
There was an intensity about him that should repel her, but instead it fascinated her.
The air was warm, and she was a little bit sweaty, and that made her wonder if he was sweaty, and something about that thought made her want to press her face against his chest and smell his skin.
“Have you ever gone without something?”
She didn’t k
now why she’d asked him that, except that maybe it was the only thing keeping her from actually giving in to her fantasy and pressing her face against his body.
“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”
“Why not? I just downloaded all of my family issues onto you, and I’m not even sure why. Except that you asked. And I don’t think anyone else has ever asked. So... It’s just you and me out here.”
“And your phone. Which is your link to the outside world on a scale that I can barely understand.”
Somehow, that rang false.
“I don’t have service,” she said. “And anyway, my phone is going back in my pocket.” She slipped it into the silky pocket of her black pants.
He looked at her, his dark eyes moving over her body, and she knew he was deliberately taking his time examining her curves. Knew that his gaze was deliberately sexual.
And she didn’t feel like she could be trusted with that kind of knowledge, because something deep inside her was dancing around the edge of being bold. That one little piece of her that felt repressed, that had felt bored at the party last night...
That one little piece of her wanted this.
“A few things,” he said slowly. And his words were deliberate too.
Without thinking, she sucked her lip between her teeth and bit down on it, then swiped her tongue over the stinging surface to soothe it.
And the intensity in his eyes leaped higher.
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know what she’d done. She’d deliberately drawn his focus to her mouth.
Now, she might have done it deliberately, but she didn’t know what she wanted out of it.
Well, she did. But she couldn’t want that. She couldn’t. Not when...
Suddenly, he reached out, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know how the boys who run around in your world play, Emerson. But I’m not a man who scrolls through photos and wishes he could touch something. If I want something, I take it. So if I were you... I wouldn’t go around teasing.”
She stuttered, “I... I... I...” and stumbled backward. She nearly tripped down onto the grass, onto her butt, but he reached out, looping his strong arm around her waist and pulling her upright. The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she found herself pressed hard against his solid body. She put her hand gingerly on his chest. Yeah. He was a little bit sweaty.