by Tessa Layne
She cocks her head, eyes narrowing. “Alison.”
“Alison?”
Her mouth thins as if she’s having some kind of inner battle with herself. “Alison Walker.”
“A pleasure to meet you. Alison.” I catch her eyes and let my mouth linger over her name. It’s as sensuous on the tongue as her body would be underneath me. If only we could resolve the small issue of the duct tape.
Something hot flares in the deep dark depths of her eyes, and she clears her throat. “Stay here.”
Like I’m going anywhere. I stare unabashedly as she turns and hurries down the hall, still clutching the frying pan. Her barely-there nighty barely covering the plump curves of her ass as it sways in time with her hips.
Holy. Hell.
Maybe there’s a silver lining in this nightmare after all.
Chapter Three
Alison
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
ShitDamnFuck. The words keep repeating in my brain, faster and faster as I rush down the hall to my bedroom. I canNOT believe that Nicholas Fucking Case is duct taped on my couch. That I duct taped him. That he stared at me like he wanted to lick me from head to toe, like I weighed 110 not 172. He stared like he was visualizing me with no clothes on. Okay, I have no clothes on… well, barely- but I look like a freak. I’m wearing a rose-scented moisture mask and my hair is in rag rollers. I should have thought to grab a robe, but when I heard snoring loud enough to shake the windows coming from the living room, my thought wasn’t about modesty, it was about fucking survival.
I’m flushed. Heated. Fluttery. And not from embarrassment, although there’s plenty of that, too. I’m aroused. My pussy is slick with want, responding to the naked desire in Nico’s eyes as he stared at me. Me. Not some praying mantis runway model with legs for days, but me. I shake my head. He must have grappa goggles. It’s the only sound explanation for the way he looked at me like he wanted to fuck me- hard. And god help me, but I want that too. Even if Nico Case is my worst nightmare.
I peel off the mask and drop it into the trash, reaching for a washcloth. Normally my morning ritual gives me peace, helps set my frame of mind. But my skin is hypersensitive. My nipples are achy and dying to be pinched. And the throbbing between my legs… I squeeze my thighs together, because I can’t take it. I’m strung tighter than a bowstring. I pull my fingers through my wetness and circle my clit. It’s been ages since I’ve been this turned on, this… hungry. I bend over the sink, working faster, alternately pinching and circling my clit. Release comes quickly, and with it, a flood of shame. I just rubbed off a quickie because of Nico Case - instrument of torture for two years of my life, and haunting me for many years after. Landwhale, cow, beluga. I hang my head, hand still clutching the sink as the litany of all-too familiar names rings in my memory. The stealing of my glasses, or my textbooks. The snide remarks in class. All of it. I drag in a slow breath. The only place Nico belongs is out of my life and as far away from me as possible. I pull out the rag curlers and let my hair fall in ringlets below my shoulders. When I’ve set the last one aside, I catch my hair up in a scrunchy. I’ll comb it out after my walk. After my phone call to Declan.
I pull on my exercise tights, self-conscious for the first time in a very long time about the way my thighs rub together, about the spread of my hips. It’s the same when I yank my favorite sports bra over my head- the one that’s supposed to make me feel sexy, strong and capable. Instead, all I can see is how my breasts mash together to form a uniboob, and the way the flesh on my arms wobbles when I reach my hands overhead.
I lace up my shoes, then reach for my favorite sweatshirt with the mesh side panels and zip it up halfway, so the skin below my uniboob is just visible. I stare into the mirror at what was supposed to be my new and improved self. The badass version of me who’s a talented winemaker with a take no prisoners attitude, which my boss happens to love. For an awful, dark moment, I’m swallowed by self-loathing, by all the insults and aggressions that even after so many years, lurk dangerously close to the surface. The affirmations I’ve plastered in bright colored stickies around the edge of my mirror pull me back from the edge.
Fuck it.
I didn’t work hard for all these years to let those thoughts best me.
Fuck him.
I grab my cell phone from the dresser and slip it into my side thigh pocket- one of the features I love most about this pair of exercise tights. I don’t care what time it is in Kansas, I’m calling Declan as soon as I get out of the house. I hurry down the hall, trying- and failing- to avoid looking at the large expanse of sexy, hard man reclining on my couch. “Hey, where are you going?” he calls.
“Out. Make yourself at home,” I add sarcastically. Although, truth be told, he could easily undo the duct tape. It’s not my best work. But it was early and I was scared, and it took me a hot minute to recognize the face of my intruder. Nico’s changed. Not as much as I have, but enough that I didn’t recognize him at first. For starters, he grew a million inches, and he filled out. Extremely nicely, as I discovered while I was taping his wrists and ankles. There’s not an inch of fat on the man’s body- just one-hundred-percent rock hard muscle from top to toe. He was always good looking in a kind of dark and twisty Heathcliff sort of way, but now his face has lost its teenage softness, leaving high cheekbones and a sharp jawline covered in sexy stubble. His mouth is still full, and for a second it distracts me as it pulls into a sardonic smile.
“Toodles,” he says, waving his fingers and winking. Fucking winking. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Heat explodes across my chest, and I turn before I say something stupid, pushing out the door and letting it slam shut behind me. Outside, I gulp the cool morning air. There’s just a hint of dew on the nose, and I can’t help but get a little bit excited to check the grapes this morning. Growing conditions have been perfect for ripening- long warm days, not too hot, and cool, crisp nights, with the barest hint of sea air. Not enough moisture to promote fungus or rot, just enough to keep the plants happy.
I pull out my phone as I cross the dirt expanse between the farmhouse and the outbuildings. Behind them is the best view on the property- southwest-facing vines pitched steeply, surrounded by redwoods and the encroaching forest that comprises most of Mt. Veeder. Fog has settled in the lower elevations, giving up here an almost otherworldly feeling. I can see why the Italians planted here in the 1800s. It must have reminded them of home. But I can’t afford to get lost in my surroundings this morning. I have an intruder to remove. I pull out my phone and ring Declan.
It goes to voice mail.
No way. He’s not not answering his phone. The man is a workaholic. He’s up, and he’s fucking taking my call. I ring again. And again, and again, and again.
“What?!?” he yells into the phone when he finally answers. “This better be damned good.”
Shit. He’s in a mood. I probably interrupted him while he was having sex. That would be just my luck. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a Saturday, but this couldn’t-”
“What’s going on,” he barks.
I can tell I’ve pissed him off, and start to stammer. “Do you have a minute? Okay, even if you don’t-” I take a big breath, trying to get a handle on my out of control emotions. “Why is your brother here?”
“You mean Nico?”
Something inside me snaps. Who the fuck else would I mean? “Unless Austin took the redeye and no longer looks like your twin,” I bark back.
His voice immediately changes to concern. “Why is Nico at my vineyard? Is he bothering you?”
So Declan didn’t invite him? I am going to kick his ass out of here so fast his head spins. “I have no idea, and yes.”
“Yes? He’s bothering you? Tell him I said to knock it the fuck off.”
That will go over well. I can see it now when I tell him that. He’ll look at me with those dark eyes and laugh. “Why is he here, Declan?” Jesus, I really do sound like a luna
tic. I can hear the panic rising in my voice, and I can’t do anything to stop it. “He can’t stay here. There’s nowhere for him to stay.”
“What about your couch?”
I swear I can feel neurons exploding in my head, and my voice becomes unnaturally high. “You want him to stay on my couch?” Oh hell no. No, no, no, no. Just… no.
“Sure, why not? He won’t bite.”
But what if I want him to? The dirty thought rises unbidden. In all the best places? I press a hand to my suddenly hot cheek.
“Look. Just for a few weeks,” Declan cajoles. “I’ve got some business to wrap up here, and then I’ll be out for a visit. Was there anything else?” he adds after a pause.
Right. Visit. Business. I have got to get my head back into this conversation and stop thinking about Nico biting the inside of my thighs. I steel my voice. “The barrels in the cellar- do you know anything about them? How long they’ve been aging?”
“No idea.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve never met a vineyard owner so hands-off. On the one hand, I love it. If I work things right, I’m going to make my mark here and put us both on the radar. On the other? I wish to fuck I had someone, anyone to bounce the occasional idea off of. “No idea what grapes they are? Or if they’re blended?”
“I assume Cab Sauv and Chardonnay?”
My thoughts too, given the grapes in the vineyard, but without a chemical analysis, there’s no way to tell for sure. “Have you tasted them?”
“Have you?”
Hell yes, I have. “They’re fucking amazing and they need to be released.” I don’t know who barreled them or when, but the person was genius, and the flavor is pure magic. Once I’ve identified what’s in the barrel I want to get these to market as soon as possible. “Immediately,” I add for emphasis.
“What? Can you even do that?”
I slowly count to five, because as much as I love my boss. Sometimes, he makes me crazy. “Look. You hired me to be the winemaker. I’m telling you, these are fantastic wines that we need to get to market. Yesterday.”
“Okay, do it.”
“Don’t you want to come taste them?” I mean, what kind of owner releases something without at least tasting it first? Even if he trusts his winemaker implicitly? This is why I get paid the big bucks, I think wryly.
“Look, I don’t care if it’s Cougar Juice. If you think it will make us money, get it to market.”
Cougar Juice?!? That is the very last straw. “But you need to sign off on labels, on-on names. Fuck, Declan, you don’t even have a name for the winery.” My voice reaches hysteria level. So not professional, but how has the guy ended up a gazillionaire with this kind of attitude?
Privilege.
The word settles over me with a dull thud. Silly me. My heart briefly drops to my toes. He gives no shits whether this succeeds or not. Only I do. For the first time since I arrived in this mini-paradise, I feel utterly and truly alone.
“I’m paying you a fuck-ton of money to do this shit, Alison. I can’t give this my attention right now. I trust you. Just run with it.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, the fight gone out of me. I just want a final confirmation.
“You want that profit-share don’t you? Do you trust your instincts?”
I sigh heavily, and stare down the hill at the undulating layers of fog. Truly? I do. But not this morning. Not while Nico Case is tied up on my couch. “Yeah, yeah. I do.” Nothing like faking it until you make it.
“Great,” Declan says enthusiastically. “Go for it. Look, my coffee’s getting cold. Call if you have an emergency.”
He hangs up. My boss fucking hangs up on me. No ‘thanks, you’re doing a great job,’ not even a ‘talk to you later.’ I’ve been fucking dismissed to sort this out on my own. And sort it, I will. I may be stuck with Nico underfoot, but I’ll be damned if I let him get under my skin. I am impervious. I’m fucking Teflon. I smile grimly as I jog back to the trailer. Nico Case has just met his match.
Chapter Four
Nico
She bursts into the house like a fury, face flushed and filled with grim determination. I can practically see her wielding a sword instead of a frying pan. She looks me over, and damn, if I don’t warm under her intense gaze.
I don’t look away.
Instead, I study her now that she’s dressed and not hiding her face under a blanket of beauty product. Her curves are just as enticing covered in athletic wear as they were in barely there lingerie. But it’s her face that captivates me. The way her wide brown eyes spark with intelligence and curiosity. Her plump lips carry the hint of a smile- even while she glares at me. And her skin? Flawless. Like porcelain. Smooth and delicate with a kiss of pink high on her cheeks. I guess those beauty products work. Veronica always looked haggard without her ‘face’ on. I could stare at Alison all day, and still find something new to enchant me, like her perfectly shaped dark brows that add emphasis to whatever emotion is flitting through her head.
She clears her throat and heads for the kitchen, stopping to open a drawer. She returns with a pair of scissors, and for half a second, the thought of losing my balls makes me freeze like a deer in headlights. But the moment passes when she takes my wrists. Her touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who’s bristling with energy. It’s less gentle as she tears the tape from my wrists, catching some of my arm hair in the glue. “Ow!” I pull my hands away as soon as they’re free.
The corner of her mouth lifts on one side. “It would have hurt worse if I’d tried to be tender.”
“I don’t think tender’s in your vocabulary,” I snap, wrists still stinging.
Her brow lifts, mimicking her mouth. “You’ll never find out.”
And suddenly, I want to. Could she be a tender lover, hands softly skating over my skin? Kissing slowly, rolling her hips languorously as I take her fully? Desire surges through me like an electric shock. I shift my hips, because there’s no hiding the erection tenting my jeans like an oversexed teenager.
“Stop squirming,” she orders, yanking on the tape around my ankles.
“Yes ma’am,” I retort, bringing my hands down to cover my junk, but fuck if that pressure doesn’t arouse me further. As soon as my ankles are free, I swing my legs around to the floor, sending her scurrying across the room. “Don’t worry,” I mock. “I only bite when invited.”
Her eyes jerk to mine, and again, I swear I see them stir with a molten heat that makes my blood run heavy and thick, straight to my balls. She props her hands on her hips. “I spoke with Declan.”
I can’t help the triumphant grin that pulls my mouth up. I lean back, clasping my hands behind my head.
Her eyes narrow to dark glittery points. “Don’t look so smug. You might have use of my couch and my shower, but you’ll also be putting in a full day’s work for me. In the fields,” she adds after a dramatic pause. Her expression dares me to disagree.
“I don’t think so.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself. You’ll need to be off the property in an hour, if that’s the case. I’ve got a work crew showing up then and I can’t be bothered to babysit you.”
“You can’t do that,” I sputter, hands fisting and anger rising through me. “I’m an invited guest.” Declan offered me a place to crash and now there are strings attached? So fucking typical with our family. Why am I even surprised?
She heads down the hall, not sparing me a glance. “Suit yourself.” She disappears into her bedroom and shuts the door with a finality that echoes down the hall.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, letting frustration get the best of me. She has me over a barrel and she knows it. Dec, too. I blame him as much as I blame her. Using me for free labor. I force my hands open. He wants to add insult to injury? Fine. Let him. I won’t give him, or anyone else, the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. I may be down, I may be broke, but I am certainly not out. I rise and grab my backpack, fishing for my dopp kit. I brush my teeth in the kitchen sin
k, splash water on my face, and run my hands through my hair. This is as good as it gets right now, as good as it needs to get if I’m going to spend the day in the field.
Alison arches an eyebrow when she returns, looking more like a teenager in her overalls and work boots than a bonafide winemaker. I grudgingly give her props for wanting to be in the field. Plenty of winemakers leave the actual crop tending to their field crew, and swoop in at the end for the glamorous stuff. “Are you sure you want to wear those?” She eyes my Italian loafers dubiously.
I smile grimly. “Absolutely.”
She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like ‘princess’ as she passes by and pushes through the front door. Her comment only strengthens my resolve. No one is going to be more surprised than Alison to discover I’m anything but a princess.
I follow her across the yard to the crushing barn, catching up to her as she reaches the big garage door. “Here, let me.” I step around her and grab the handle, throwing my weight into the pull. Nothing. I try again, grunting from the effort.
“Are you done showing off yet?” She mocks with a note of laughter, as she unlocks the door to our right, and steps inside.
I hear a machine grind to life at the same time I hear the locks release on the garage door. Of course she keeps them locked. Fuck me.
She sticks her head back through the door, eyes twinkling. “You can be Hulk now.” She disappears again and I throw open the wide door, which rolls up smoothly now that it’s not locked. I let out a low whistle. Again, I’m impressed and mildly annoyed that Declan’s scored such nice digs. The crushing pad looks newly renovated, the stainless tanks practically sparkle in the early morning sun.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Alison says with appreciation, offering me a pair of work gloves. “This place is going to be hopping come harvest.”
I make a noncommittal noise, not sure what to say. There’s an air of festivity, of celebration that permeates every harvest, and even though it’s been years since I’ve been close to the winemaking process, part of me still looks forward to the season. But chances are, I’ll be gone long before harvest rolls around. At least that’s my plan.