I smiled and nodded, realizing how very much he was still affected by his father’s judgment of him. I understood it more than most, but for some reason, it made me incredibly sad too. He was looking to earn the love he’d never fully received during his father’s life now that the man was gone. An impossible dream. Grayson took my hand and led me to a door at the back of the room. The air was suddenly cooler and there was barely any light. I followed him down a long cement hallway of sorts. The hallway opened up and there were rows upon piled rows of barrels. The air smelled of damp, pungent wood. I inhaled, drawing the earthy air into my lungs.
“These are burgundy barrels, made with burgundy wood from France,” he explained.
“Hmm,” I hummed. “How long do you age the wine?”
“This wine has been aging five years. It’s almost ready to be bottled. Which, again, thanks to the Dallaire investment, can now happen.” So it was put in barrels right after his father became ill. One of the last things accomplished here at Hawthorn Vineyard. Until now.
“You bottle it here?”
“We will,” he said, “once my new bottling machine arrives.”
“I never knew so much went into the process,” I mused, looking around at the barrels.
“I’ve just shown you how the fruit is processed. Even more goes into the winemaking itself. I’ll show you that someday too.” Someday…and yet, my days here were numbered. Before I could dwell on that, I realized Grayson had moved closer to me. I sucked in a breath, noting the look of intensity on his face. Even in the dim light, I could see the fire in his eyes. I took a step back and pressed my body into the cement wall. He leaned toward me.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured. He was too. The air in this room was so cool, and his body pressed against mine felt especially warm. He leaned back in and brought his lips to mine and then ran his tongue along the seam of my mouth, and with a groan, I opened for him. He brought his hands up to my face, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him so I didn’t slide down the wall. Why did his kiss enflame me the way it did and yet relax every muscle in my body at the same time? His kiss was filled with confidence, his body so solid as it pressed into mine. Our tongues danced and tangled, and I tried to hold back the moan that came up my throat, but it was a wasted effort. I pressed against him, moaning again, my heart beating insistently between my legs, my sensitive nipples rubbing deliciously against his hard chest.
I had kissed men before, but suddenly I realized that no, no, I had never been kissed. Not if this was the way a kiss made you feel. I had never ever been kissed like this. Grayson’s whole body participated in this kiss.
“You,” Grayson said as he broke from my lips, “are so delicious. I can’t get enough of you.” And then, thank the Lord, he leaned back in and kissed me again, his tongue slipping into my mouth as I ran my hands down his lean, muscled back. He was so beautifully built, so broad and tall, so solid. A thrill shot through me at the intriguing feel of the unfamiliar contours of his masculine body. I wanted to know every part of him, every dip and plane. I could feel the hard press of his erection at my hip, and it sent a jolt of arousal through my blood.
He let out a soft groan and it made me bold as I moved my hand down between us and rubbed it over the bulge at the front of his jeans. He jerked, pressing himself into my hand.
“Kira,” he rasped, “I have to stop. God help me, if I don’t now, I won’t be able to.”
I shivered. I felt the same way, almost wanting to beg him not to stop, to take me right here against this cold wall or down on the dirt floor. I almost laughed at my own desperate thoughts. But no, José was right outside the door. He could walk back here any minute. When I gave myself to Grayson, I wanted to have lots of time, and I wanted it to be in a bed.
Grayson stepped away from me, and my eyes wandered down to the evidence of his arousal. The front of his jeans looked strained and full. I swallowed, wanting very much to feel it in my hand again.
Yes, I wanted him, I admitted. I wanted him with an aching desperation that both scared and excited me.
I had thought I could resist him, but I had underestimated the power he possessed when he was not only bent on seduction but when he allowed me to glimpse the tender side of his personality. And now, I had no desire to resist.
“We should get back,” I said, smoothing my hair as best as possible.
He studied me for several beats before using one finger to move a wayward curl of hair off my cheek. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered. “Come to my bed, Kira.”
Fear and want coiled simultaneously in my belly. It would be playing with fire. I knew it would be. And yet…I wanted to. I wanted to know him intimately. I wanted him to make me feel beautiful and desirable like he’d done the night before. I wanted to know the feel of his body as well, what he liked, what made him wild with passion. I might develop feelings for him that would be difficult to get over—in fact, I almost certainly would. I was halfway there now. But I’d manage them. After all, what was life without a few exciting adventures? Wasn’t it worth a little heartache to know a touch like Grayson Hawthorn’s? One that lit me up from the inside out. What if I never knew one like it again? Shouldn’t I snatch this experience up while I had the chance? Even if difficult, I would manage my emotions. And I would never ever allow myself the foolish hope that becoming physical with my husband would lead to feelings on his part.
“Yes,” I said, meeting his eyes.
Happiness filled his expression and he took my hand. We called goodbye to José and then stepped outside into the bright sunshine. We strolled up the hill and when we entered the house a few minutes later, I grabbed my suitcase, which Grayson had placed inside earlier and turned around to return it to my cottage.
“Hey, whoa, where are you going?” he asked.
I turned. “To my cottage.”
“You’re not staying there anymore. I moved you up to the house.”
“You moved me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. I liked my little cottage. I liked having my own space. And if things were going to advance between Grayson and me in…other ways, it was going to be imperative I had a place that was only mine.
“Yes. Part of the reason you were sick is that you were breathing in all that dusty air, taking cold showers—”
“That’s ridiculous. I had a virus. You don’t get a virus from dusty air or cold showers.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You’re still moving into the house.”
The nerve of him. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
We stood in a standoff in the foyer for several moments until Grayson crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall. “You already agreed to stay in my room tonight.”
“Yes, tonight, but that doesn’t mean I’m moving in with you.”
“You are.”
“I’m not,” I ground out. My ire rose. Give this dragon an inch, and he tries to take a mile! The grand staircase caught my eye and I looked at Grayson, an idea coming to me. “I’ll race you,” I said. “Winner gets his or her way.”
He laughed. “Race me? Oh, little witch, you don’t stand a chance in a race against me. You might as well surrender now.”