‘Incredible,’ she said, looking out at what would be the view. The location was private, views of the other buildings hindered by a big hill in the distance. From every angle, this vineyard was breathtaking especially as the sun sunk behind the mountains illuminating the vines in an ethereal glow, and a shimmering afternoon mist curled along the ground.
‘I bit the bullet and saw a builder today. She’s going to start construction Monday week,’ Tom said with a self-satisfied grin.
‘That’s fantastic. With everything that’s happened, this is such positive news …’ she trailed off. Today, she didn’t want to go there. While her mood was elevated, she wasn’t going to sink it.
‘Exactly. I need the privacy. Sam, as much as I love him—I can’t keep living with my family at twenty-six years old.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Amy said with a giggle. ‘I’ve actually got good news of my own.’
‘Really?’
‘My restaurant sold.’
The relief in Tom’s features and stance was obvious. ‘That’s so brilliant. What does that mean?’
She knew what he was really asking, if this meant she was staying. ‘It will make my stay here a little easier.’
‘That’s good. Anything to ease the pressure is great news.’
She couldn’t agree more.
He drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head while she wrapped her arms around him and sank against his warm chest. His comfort melted into her bones.
She ignored the voice in her head that said, ‘don’t get ahead of yourself; he’s only a temporary deal.’ Right now, she didn’t care.
After succumbing to their desire Sunday night, she had realised there was no resisting Tom. And besides, a woman had needs too. When a man like Tom was flaunting all his sexiness right in front of her, what more could she do?
Tom grasped her hand. He was much bigger, and she liked that more than she should. Warmth spread up her arm and across her chest to feel his hot skin in contact with hers. His hands were rough, so different from other men’s hands she had held.
She remembered how his big hands felt on her body, the delicious, rough friction.
He walked her to the edge of the hill, and she gazed at the scene before her.
A tender smile spread over Tom’s face. ‘I could never tire of this view.’
Amy nodded, gaze glued to the landscape. ‘I can see why. You’re blessed.’ She breathed in the clean mountain air, eyes closed, face raised to the darkening sky. ‘And so am I because I get to be a part of all this for a while.’
See, if she looked hard enough, even when it seemed impossible, she could always find a silver lining. A survival skill learned while at boarding school, being away so long from home and dealing with nasty students.
This vineyard was the silver lining.
Yes, her career was dead, she was in debt to her neck, Rachel was gone, but then there was this place, and Tom, and being here to help Mitch and Sophie.
The look in Tom’s intense gaze spoke of his intentions. Tugging at her hand, drawing her to him, she stepped closer until their chests almost touched. Tingles returned, spreading pleasurable tendrils further this time, down to her belly, lower.
He was tall and broad and under long black lashes, his rich brown eyes flared with lust. The only thought in her mind was Tom—his lips and his big hard body encompassing her. No room for consequences or doubts. Not when every cell was screaming for this closeness, for his lips to press against hers.
‘Amy,’ he whispered, low and deep, drawing out the syllables, almost a growl. The rough timbre of his voice arrowed to her centre, stoked the warmth there. His face drew nearer; the aroma of soap and deodorant met her, but beneath all that, stroking her on a primal level, was the scent of sun-drenched skin, salty, earthy sweat, and man.
Was there a more potent force of nature?
How far away she was from her regular routine. How quickly her life had changed. How easily this man had reached inside her heart and definitely her hormones, and all and any lust molecules inhabiting her brain, and taken hold.
Amy closed her eyes as Tom’s lips met hers in a lingering, closed mouth press before he drew back, shifted his head to the side and kissed her again. The prickle of his thick stubble met her chin and the palm of her hand as she cupped his strong jaw.
Gripping her hips, he nudged her closer—a solid wall of warmth. She was engulfed by him, the way he had to bend to meet her mouth and his arms wrapped tightly around her body. Ripples of comfort and security eased through her body.
Tom’s lips parted, his tongue sneaking to meet hers. The long, warm lick of his tongue against hers doused her in pleasure. He tasted like sunshine, smelled like earth and felt as though he’d been carved from stone.
He was made of this place, real, rugged, salt of the earth, and Amy imbibed that with all of her senses. With a soft sigh, Tom deepened the kiss. She ran with his cues, met him strength for strength, loving the sensation and taste of his mouth.
Her hands dropped to his waist, and she palmed the taut muscle that sat beneath his t-shirt. Feeling the hard inclines of his back while his tongue penetrated her mouth, made her body buzz.
Tom pulled back and peered into her eyes. A cheeky smile tugged at his lips while something wicked glinted in his eyes. But they didn’t speak—a teenager awkwardness came over her, and she grinned goofily as Tom held her hand again.
It must be the fresh country air giving too much oxygen to my brain.
She faced the view and peered out at the property.
‘Does this mean Rachel was right about us?’ Tom asked after a long moment.
Amy met his burning gaze. She shook her head, but the smile wouldn’t leave her face. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
Tom chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t want to do that now, would we?’
She nodded, gaze tangled with his heated look.
His face neared hers, but his eyes never looked away. ‘I want to try that kiss again.’ A small flicker of a grin touched his lips before they met hers, more eagerly this time.
This, what he was doing with her mouth, the warm wet stroke of his tongue, was more than a kiss. This was …
All thoughts fluttered away as Tom’s hands cradled her face, his fingertips resting on her jaw, and he tilted his head to kiss her deeper.
‘Damn Cupid,’ she muttered between kisses.
‘Hmmm,’ Tom agreed.
Amy’s lips were tingling by the time Tom managed to pull away. Her chin was prickled from his thick stubble.
She peered up into Tom’s brown eyes and those coiled bands of lust that resided in the deepest depths of her belly unravelled and expanded.
Damn hormones.
How could she stop this—whatever it was—as her lips tangled with his? As her fingertips ached to be press against muscle?
Resistance was futile.
Tom, this kiss, the sale of her restaurant, had parted the storm clouds that had settled in her mind and provided her with something she hadn’t been able to feel until this moment—hope.
Chapter 23
Tom’s veins plumped with desire when Amy’s text message chimed. He had been thinking about her all day long.
AMY: I’m going to head over to Mitch’s tonight. I’ll cook him dinner, do some cleaning if he needs it. Help with Sophie. By ‘help’, I really mean ‘cuddle’.
TOM: Want to spend the night at home with me afterwards?
AMY: I was hoping you’d come back to the shop with me. I’d like you to help me with something.
TOM: A sleepover?
AMY:;) Of course.
TOM: ☺ Sounds like fun. See you later.
Harvest was finished—picking and sorting anyway. The vines now bare of fruit. The grapes had been crushed and were poured into the enormous vats and some into barrels that had been at the vineyard since the beginning, handmade by Dad.
He had sighed with relief once the barrels had been sealed off. The rush
of the last few weeks, amidst all the emotional chaos, was now at an end. He and Sam had gone home that night and celebrated—a little too hard.
Last season’s vintages, the Chardonnay and Riesling, were in the thick of being bottled. The reds weren’t quite ready yet. About another month or so, he presumed. Sales were their main priority now, but they had an experienced full-time sales duo who handled most of that side of the business.
Tom had attempted to keep Mitch up-to-date through the entire process, but Mitch didn’t care for details. In fact, the vineyard could have burned to ashes, and he would be none the wiser.
Tom never saw him around the vineyard anymore. He hadn’t come in to see any of the long-term staff. Tom would sometimes see his car leaving the property, but he would arrive back soon after.
After Tom arrived home later that afternoon and showered, he made a quick meal. He didn’t want to go over to Mitch’s too early—preferring to let Amy have a few hours with him. Both their lives had been deeply entwined with Rachel’s, so he hoped they could provide comfort for one another.
The time was seven-thirty when Tom arrived at Mitch’s. Amy was in the living room with Sophie. A baby bath was set up on a tall metal frame, filled with baby-scented soapy water.
Sophie’s neck rested on Amy’s forearm, the remainder of her body submerged under the water. With her free arm, Amy splashed water onto Sophie’s belly, all the while a gorgeous smile shaped her lips.
This scene strummed on his biology in ways he had never known possible, filled him with desires he’d never had before. ‘Hey,’ he said.
Amy’s blue gaze met his, she smiled wider. ‘Hi.’
Tom looked around. ‘Where’s Mitch?’
‘He’s just ducked in to have a shower. Well, I kind of forced him to,’ she said.
Sophie was looking at Tom, her little legs, every now and then, kicking like a frog under the water. ‘Hello, gorgeous girl,’ he said, standing closer to the bath opposite Amy. ‘Don’t you look content in there?’
‘She’s just about ready to hop out. Don’t want her getting waterlogged. Can you pass me that towel please?’
Tom grabbed the fluffy pink towel.
‘Hold it out for me,’ Amy said.
Tom unfurled it and held it lengthways. Amy dunked her hands into the bathwater, pulled Sophie out and pressed her into the towel. He enclosed it around her until she was wrapped up, warm and cradled in his arms.
Sophie was the most adorable baby he’d ever seen. Take it, he’d not seen too many kids, but even if he had, Sophie would win hands down in the cute stakes. That familiar fuzzy feeling of love pooled in his chest like a soothing heat pack.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said looking into her eyes, which were a little browner now than the blue they were when she was born.
‘Hey, mate,’ Mitch said.
Tom looked up to see Mitch, hair wet from his shower, dressed in a pair of sweat pants. He had lost a lot of weight and noticing this had Tom’s stomach tensing with a weird mix of sympathy and anxiety.
‘Hey,’ Tom replied, trying not to look at Tom’s shrinking waist. ‘Did Amy feed you up?’
‘Yeah. She made …’ he stopped, looked at the ground.
‘We had fish and veggies,’ Amy said to save Mitch from needing to remember. She took Sophie from Tom’s arms. ‘I better get Sophie dressed snug in her pyjamas.’
‘You don’t need me to do that?’ Mitch asked.
Amy shook her head. ‘Nope. You just relax for a bit.’
Mitch went to the kitchen. Tom followed.
‘You want a wine?’ Mitch asked, pulling a bottle out of the fridge.
Tom had to drive to Amy’s, so he couldn’t have any alcohol. ‘No, thanks.’
Mitch poured himself a glass, swallowed the ruby vintage deeply, waited for half a second and had another big mouthful.
‘So how’s Sophie going?’ Tom asked.
‘She’s doing great except for waking up three times a night for feeding. Then wakes about five in the morning.’
‘Shit. You must be dead on your feet?’
The word dead reverberated in the otherwise silent kitchen. Tom wished he hadn’t chosen that phrasing.
But Mitch didn’t notice. He nodded and said, ‘Just about. I never could have imagined how much work a baby was.’
Tom wanted to remind him that most new fathers had help from the mothers and weren’t grieving. ‘How about I stay over tomorrow night and do the night shift for you?’ Not that he had the faintest clue what to do but if it gave Mitch some reprieve, he’d work it out.
Mitch shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I don’t sleep well anyway.’ He pressed his palm to his head. ‘Can’t turn the brain off.’
Tom sighed.
Amy came in with Sophie in her arms. Sophie was dressed in a pink suit that had little socks built into it, so her feet were covered. Her thin dark hair was brushed neatly back.
Mitch gulped the remainder of his wine until the glass was bare. ‘She’ll need her bedtime feed,’ he said reaching for Sophie.
Amy handed her over, but said, ‘I’m happy to feed her for you.’
He shook his head. ‘I put her in bed with me for this feed. And we fall asleep together.’
Amy smiled. ‘She’s got her dad wrapped around her little finger already.’
Mitch kissed Sophie’s forehead. ‘And I don’t mind one bit.’
Pressing her hands into her pockets, Amy said, ‘I might head off and let you get to bed then.’
‘Thanks for your help.’
‘My pleasure,’ she said in a childish voice as she gently squeezed Sophie’s foot. ‘I’ll drop in Saturday too. I could take Sophie for a walk, do a little shopping, let you catch up on sleep?’
Mitch nodded. But Tom noticed he didn’t give a definitive ‘yes’ or ‘no’.
Amy pressed a kiss to Mitch’s cheek. ‘If you need me, at all, ever, you’ve got my number. I’ll be straight over. Okay?’
Again Mitch nodded.
‘Me too, mate,’ Tom said.
Amy leaned over and kissed Sophie’s head. ‘Good night, Sophie. You be good for your dad. Let him get some sleep.’
Amy and Tom left together. When outside, Amy reached up onto tiptoes and kissed Tom hello. The fervour in those lush, warm lips of hers and the way his body instantly responded took him by surprise. ‘Hello,’ she whispered against his mouth.
‘Hello to you.’
She teased him with a single arched brow and a sexy glint in her eye. ‘I’ll meet you at the shop?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
As soon as the back door to Sugar Cakes was closed, Tom launched himself at Amy, taking her by the waist and pulling her flush against his body for a long kiss. On the drive here, all he could think about was that unspoken promise in her kiss earlier.
His hands slid down her body to the hem of her shirt, and he started to pull it over her head, but she gripped his forearms to stop him and pulled away.
Breathless, she said, ‘If you keep that up, I’ll get no baking done tonight.’
He arched a brow. ‘Baking?’
A guilty smile tugged at her lips. ‘I’ve had a new recipe buzzing in my head for days.’
Tom took a step back and smiled. His chest warmed to hear that. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘But I need your help.’
‘Okay?’
‘I love cooking for people I care about. So if you’re here with me, it will help my confidence and calm my nerves. I trust you, and I know you’re not going to hurt me with criticism.’
Tom frowned. ‘God, Amy, what the hell have you been through?’
‘Exactly that: hell.’
His heart heaved for her, because he knew the bright, bubbly force Amy was before the restaurant and seeing her now, chipped and fragile, was heartbreaking. And the craziest thing of all was that she had nothing to be unconfident or nervous about. She was a brilliant chef.
The Chris
tmas lunch she had cooked was raved about for months afterwards, and everything he’d tasted of hers recently was exceptional. He hated that critical arseholes had beaten her down. At twenty-six, it still shocked him to hear that such nastiness existed.
‘I’m happy to be here for you,’ he said.
Half her mouth curled into a bashful grin. ‘Thanks.’
Amy pulled out bowls and spatulas, a mix master, and turned the oven on. As she moved around the kitchen, his gaze drifted to the soft curving lines of her body. He tried to keep his mind on task, but Amy was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.
Knowing what it was like to caress those curves and taste that luscious mouth made his plight harder.
She turned and caught his conspicuous ogling. Teeth brushing her bottom lip, she smiled. ‘Are you quite happy there?’
He winked. ‘Yeah. I am.’
She laughed as she shook her head reprovingly. ‘Come over and help if you like?’
‘Sugar?’
‘Are you calling me that or are you going to get some from the pantry for me?’
Shrugging. ‘Haven’t decided yet.’
Amy pulled a tea towel off the bench, twisted it until it resembled a whip and struck him with it on the thigh.
He saluted her, unable to hide his grin. ‘Okay, perhaps Sugar is too sweet a moniker. Captain Hardarse seems more fitting, wouldn’t you think?’
She twirled the tea towel again, one brow arched menacingly.
‘I’m going. I’m going,’ he said, holding his hands up. ‘You need anything besides sugar?’
‘Flour. Baking powder. Cocoa. Salt. Got that?’
‘I sure hope so. Don’t want to provoke a violent punishment.’
He chuckled to himself as he gathered the ingredients from the pantry and rested them on the long work bench.
‘Can you measure a cup of flour for me?’ she asked.
He went about measuring while she handled more technical tasks like melting chocolate, and creaming butter and sugar.
‘A teaspoon of both salt and baking powder,’ she said.
‘I’m on it.’
‘Thank you.’
With a metal bowl in her arms, she stood beside him and dunked her finger into the silky chocolate before lifting her finger to his lips.
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