by Tessa Layne
I raise my glass to her, then sit back, dropping my gaze, studying her at discreet intervals. She looks… nervous, out of her element. Divorcee? On the rebound from a break-up? I take another sip of my drink, fighting the urge to approach her. I don’t give a shit about protecting anything but my own ass, so why now? She looks strong. Tough, even. But there’s a fragile vulnerability I spot when she looks at her hands, and it pulls in my sternum. Like the one and only time I rescued a mangy, abandoned mutt by the side of the road. Rocco became my constant companion through college, and I got rip-roaring drunk the day I had to put him down. Maybe I do have a compassionate bone in my body. But only one. Women are for pleasure, not comfort, I remind myself harshly, and I’m looking to get laid, not emotionally entangled.
Still, I can’t bring myself to look away, especially when she signals for Miles instead of the bartender. Now, my curiosity is piqued. “Midleton Bluebell, neat?” he asks. He knows her and her drink, which surprises me. Both in the drink choice and the fact that Miles knows her. How is it I’ve never seen her here before? And obviously, she has taste. Top of the line Irish whiskey is a dozen steps above St. Paddy’s swill.
“Yes, thank you, Miles,” she answers, and her voice reverberates through me like a gong, spawning an ache in my balls it will take all night to lose. Her voice is husky. Sweet. And as complex as the whiskey she just ordered. I want to hear it all night. Strike that, I want to hear that voice moaning in ecstasy while I feast on her. I want that voice to surround me, covering my skin like a blanket, invading my senses and blocking out all other thoughts.
As if in a fog, I signal Miles.
“Yes?” he asks quietly, giving me a look that says he knows what’s coming. Miles doesn’t miss a thing.
“I’ll cover the lady’s beverage,” I murmur. “But don’t let her know it’s me.” Everything inside me warns this woman may be out of my league, which is saying something. But I’ve learned through the years to listen to my gut, and my gut says watch out.
Miles’s eyes light briefly, as if he’s amused by my offer. “No need. The lady’s drinks are always on the house.”
I nod and thank him, brain spinning. Who in the hell is she? I have to find out. My curiosity is so strong, I can barely sit still. Yet, somehow, I instinctively know if I get up now, I’ll chase her away. I fight a sigh of frustration, bringing my attention back to savoring my drink. I have to accept that for the first time in my life, I may have just been cock-blocked by my Four Seasons wingman. But the night is young, and there’s an ocean of pussy waiting to be tapped. If not the luscious woman before me, then someone else more willing.
I sneak another look her direction and catch her staring at me. No suspicion in her eyes this time. It’s something deeper, more unfathomable, as if she’s sizing me up. I sit a little taller in my seat, almost preening under her gaze. But it’s time to cut things off, for now. “Enjoy your drink,” I say. “You made an excellent choice.”
“Thank you.” Her voice flows over me like water. “It’s one of my favorites.” And then she flashes me a smile. The weight of it hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s summer sunshine, ocean breeze, and promise wrapped into one. And it’s genuine, too, reaching all the way to her luminous, dark green, nearly hazel eyes. My breath catches in my throat and for half-a-second, I forget how to breathe.
Again, the question pops into my head - who is this woman? And more importantly, when will I see her again? Stupid question, and one I shove away. I don’t ‘see’ women. Dating has no place in my life. I drain the last of my Van Winkle, maybe a little too fast, but the urge to walk away is strong now, before I do something stupid.
I stand. “Enjoy your evening.” I smile down at her with more than a little regret. This woman screams complicated, and even though my balls are heavy with desire, I’ll have to find satisfaction somewhere else tonight. Before I drop into the seat next to her and start asking questions just so I can be enveloped in that husky voice a little longer, I force myself to walk away.
Chapter Four
Veronica shoots me a glare as I enter the banquet hall where the tasting is taking place. I don’t have to look at my watch to know I’m exactly thirty-two minutes late. I timed it that way, heading up to the penthouse suite after I left the bar and pouring myself another bourbon. A little rougher than the Van Winkle 25, but Miles stores my only bottle of that in the safe behind the bar.
Maybe I should have taken a walk, because all I did while I was killing time, was go over every movement the stunning redhead downstairs made. The way her chest rose when she caught me staring. The demure cross of her legs, the strength of her grip on the crystal. The sweep of her lashes when she dropped her gaze. I’m captivated by the memory of her as I stare out over the city. I still hear her voice, ringing in my head like a siren, and if I’m smart, I’ll lash myself to the mast like Ulysses, because I’m quite sure if I hear that husky lilt another time, I’ll be powerless to walk away.
“Veronica,” I murmur, dragging myself back to the present and giving her a kiss on the cheek the way she likes. Fucking diva, acting like royalty. I don’t know how Nico stands it.
She shoots icy daggers at me, the kind that can freeze your balls. “It’s about time,” she snaps. “Did Nico show you who’s on the list?”
“He only just walked up, darling,” Nico answers, clearly pissed.
Veronica turns her wrath to Nico. “And if you’d been doing a better job of keeping tabs on your brother this wouldn’t have happened.”
Declan, my twin, raises an eyebrow and turns his face away before Ronnie can see his smirk. At least I’ll have a conspirator tonight. Dec’s a little more political than I am. He gives all the fucks I don’t, and so far, he’s managed to work that to his favor, both with our parents, and in his life. Shit just seems to happen for him. And I’m happy for him. I have no need to be jealous of his success. He’s driven in a way I’m not. He clears his throat, turning back to Ronnie. “Calm down, Ronnie. Jason’s a sneaky bastard. You can’t blame us for not knowing. We took him at his word when he said he was through with the wine industry.”
“Will someone explain to me what’s going on?” I growl, ready to ditch everyone and head back upstairs. Or better yet, see if Gorgeous Redhead is still hanging around the bar.
Nico thrusts a pamphlet my direction. “Page three.”
I flip it open, and there, underneath the heading “Moonbeam Acres”, is my half-brother Jason’s name. Listed as associate winemaker. I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Dad’s gonna shit his pants.”
“Ya think?” Declan chuckles.
“Okay, so Dad’s gonna freak. But honestly, what’s the big deal?” I glance at the pamphlet again. Prairie, Kansas. “It’s not like Kansas is the Napa of the Midwest.” Even I know enough about winemaking to know that nothing notable comes from Kansas. “If Jason wants to go play winemaker east of Egypt, what’s it to us?”
“The Case family name,” Nico grits. “People expect a certain quality when they see our name. He’s undermining us.”
I snort. “Isn’t that going a little far?” There’s a reason I prefer beer and spirits to wine. It all tastes like grape-juice to me.
“This is a matter of family honor,” he blusters. Beside him, Veronica’s red pouty lips pull deeper into a frown. She’s had it in for Jason ever since she ditched him for Nico, but as far as I’m concerned, they’re all assholes.
I try, but don’t quite succeed at not rolling my eyes. I can’t believe I gave up Reservoir Dogs and a drive along the 101 for this. “Great. So what’s the plan?”
“We work our way around the room like we planned,” Veronica says.
Of course that’s her plan. She wants to see how the other wines stack up against Jason’s so she can use that as ammo. Acid rises in the back of my throat. She really is a bitch, and I have half a mind to go find Jason and give him a head’s up. Once upon a time I worshipped the ground he walked on, but that was before he bailed o
n us. And I’m not about to insert myself in the middle of family drama, because that would make life anything but headache free.
“I have plans later, so if we’re going to taste, let’s get going,” prods Dec.
Plans, huh? Declan keeps an apartment in the city, and I’d bet even money he’s got a plaything in bed anxiously awaiting his return. Maybe two.
I trail after the three, not making any attempt to mask my boredom. Rows of winemakers waiting for a chance to pour their best juice. Hopeful expressions that say they’re hoping to be discovered. And I get that. One good write-up, one social media influencer gushing about so-and-so’s best kept secret, and their stock could be sold out in less than an hour. I should give lots of shits about this, but I don’t.
I smile at a young woman with tits for days and hold out my glass. I should flirt with her, chat her up, but all I can think about is peeling back the black lace dress of a certain redhead. One I’ll likely never see again, I remind myself. I should go for the low hanging fruit, but it suddenly seems less appetizing.
We make our way around the room. I hold out my glass for pours from pretty ladies, but to be honest, aside from sweet or dry notes, it all tastes pretty rank to me. I glance down at the pamphlet. Moonbeam Acres is three away. I hang back, wanting to stay above the fray. Nico, Jason and Veronica together in the same room is like a bad chemical spill, and I want to stay as far away from that as possible. Until I catch a glimpse of fiery hair. It’s her. I straighten and push forward. So she was here for the tasting, too? My day just got a helluva lot luckier. But as I approach, Nico, Veronica and Jason are already at it. Their booth is crammed full of people. The man Jason’s age looks faintly familiar, but I can’t place him. Gorgeous and another blonde, along with an older guy have closed ranks around a third woman with yellow corkscrew curls. There’s definitely a standoff going on, but I only have eyes for Gorgeous, and my feet pull me forward as I catch the tail-end of something Jason’s saying. “Just being an asshole.”
“Who’s being an asshole?” I ask, keeping my eyes locked on Gorgeous. Her eyes flash as she meets mine.
“Your brother,” she spits out in that husky voice that buzzes through me like an electric shock.
“Well aren’t you a sweet, spicy thing?” I shoot back, unable to hold back a smile. I’m skating on thin ice here, but the way her eyes light as she directs her ire at me says she’s ready for a lot more than verbal sparring.
“I don’t let my friends swing in the wind,” she snaps with a glare.
While I don’t have a ferociously loyal bone in my body, Gorgeous here, wears that trait well. So well, arousal pumps through me.
Nico points to the display board. “Take a look at the photos of the vines. I think you’ll be surprised by what you see.”
I flash Gorgeous my most charming smile. “Excuse me, princess.” She carries herself more like a queen, but I’m curious to see how she’ll respond. She seems like the kind of woman who’d take offense to that kind of endearment. “I’d love to stay and chat, but duty calls.”
I’m not disappointed. She trails after me as I join Nico who’s studying a photo of grape vines. “You don’t know the first thing about duty.”
Feisty little thing. I like her passion, and naturally, my thoughts turn back to a more… pleasurable form of it. Is she the kind of woman who mutters filthy things before she comes? Does she scratch? Or bite? Or does she hold it all in and then lets go with the magnitude of a 7.8 earthquake? My balls ache with the desire to know.
Nico hands me a photo. “See that notch in the left lobe?” His voice vibrates with outrage.
I recognize the leaf. It’s our family’s proprietary strain of cabernet franc grapes, and it’s all over our vineyard. I may not pay attention to much where our wine is concerned, but it’s been drilled into me since before I was a teenager how special this vine is. “Where did these come from?”
“Obviously, they were stolen.”
That’s quite an accusation. Even from my brother. And the irony isn’t lost on me that Nico of all people is accusing Jason of stealing something.
“The question is when and by whom?” Nico continues.
Jason’s hand fists, and for a second, I wonder if my brothers are going to come to blows. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us has pushed Jason too far.
But I’m much more interested in figuring out how Gorgeous is connected to this bunch. She can’t be friends with Jason, so she must know the winemaker, which I’m guessing is the curly-haired blonde, judging from the stricken look on her face, and the fact that Gorgeous and the other blonde have gone honey badger on us. But then how in the hell does she know Miles?
“Austin, find Dec. We need to lodge an official complaint,” Nico orders, spinning on his heel. I wink at Gorgeous and follow, but I have no intention of getting embroiled in this fight. Nico can fight his own battles with Jason. That’s one family fight I’m not taking sides on.
Chapter Five
I sense her before I see her, a tingle of awareness racing down my spine. I look up from my châteaubriand, keeping my face neutral. She looks every bit as lovely as earlier, only now, from my seated position, I can fully appreciate the way the black lace hugs her curves. It’s a simple dress, almost modest with its high neckline and barely capped sleeves, but the way she wears it is anything but modest. She screams sex appeal. My cock stirs as awareness rips through my body.
She gives me a sardonic half-smile and trails a finger along the linen tablecloth. “I think you’ll find the ’98 Rothschild Pauillac would be a better match.” She tips her head at my tumbler of Van Winkle.
So that’s her opening move? A dozen responses fly into my head. Everything from Would you care to join me? to explaining why I have no interest in wine. I choose neither. Instead, I stand and pull out the chair to my right. “Nice to see you again, Gorgeous.”
Her eyes shoot up in surprise, and for a fleeting moment I see indecision in her eyes, but then something like grim determination comes over her and she flashes me a smile. Clearly she wants something, and I’m not so naive to think it’s me, although the night is still young. She makes no move into the chair. “What do you have against your brother?”
The question takes me by surprise. In my world women are taught to be beautiful, to move at things indirectly, not stage a full-frontal attack before pleasantries have been exchanged. I laugh and gesture to the chair. “Sit.” There’s no way I’m opening that can of worms.
She slips in front of me and I catch a whiff of citrus and bergamot, almost like the nose of a triple IPA - seductive and effervescent. I bow my head as I push in her chair, wanting one more hit of her scent. As soon as I’ve settled myself, she begins again. “They made a decent wine.”
“With proprietary vines.” I signal Miles who hovers just out of earshot.
“It could help your reputation.”
“Our reputation doesn’t need help.”
She snorts, but I don’t have time to follow up because Miles is standing at the corner now. We both speak at the same time.
“’06 Case Reserve Cabernet.”
“’98 Rothschild Pauillac.”
Miles smirks. What the fuck is going on that he’s enjoying this exchange? He’s supposed to be my fucking wingman for fuck’s sake. “Bring both,” I growl. He disappears, and just as quickly a carafe of water appears, and a waiter pours Gorgeous a glass. “Tell me your name. If we’re going to be discussing my family, I should at least know what beautiful woman has sided with my brother.”
Her eyes snap. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
I peruse her figure. Slowly. By the time I raise my head, her cheeks have flushed pink. “You’re very beautiful, Gorgeous.”
Her mouth drops open, and her tongue slicks the center of her lower lip. It’s sexy as fuck, and I don’t want to be sparring with that mouth, I want to be kissing it, nipping it, coating it with my come. My mouth turns to sawdust as heat rises through me. She ex
tends her hand, and without thinking, I encase elegant long fingers in my own. The shock that races up my arm is powerful, and I involuntarily squeeze. Her eyes widen in surprise as she takes in a sharp breath. Does she feel it too? The heat building between our palms, like a chemical reaction hot enough to melt flesh?
“Macey.” Her answer is breathy and heady as moonshine.
“Austin.” My mouth curls up. “But I think you already know that.”
She nods once, eyes dilated and breath coming shallowly enough I’m aware of the rise and fall of her breasts. I squeeze her hand again, then drop it before I do something stupid like pull her in for a kiss. She reaches for her water, and I shamelessly stare at the column of her throat undulating as she swallows.
Does she realize she’s perfection? “Are you hungry? Shall I order you something?” I know I’m an asshole, but I absolutely refuse to eat in front of someone who has no food.
“I spoke with Miles before I sat down. My plate should be out with the wine.”
“How do you know Miles?”
The corner of her mouth pulls up. Wrong question. I can tell by the look in her eye that she has the upper hand now, and I’m going to have to work for that information. “I’ve known Miles a long time.”