I sighed in torment and relief as he licked up the juice. As his tongue swirled and lapped at me, the pleasure was so intense I practically vibrated with it. I squirmed, panting out his name. He suddenly came over me again, my cool skin warmed once more by the cover of his heat. He took himself in his hand and rubbed his swollen head on my entrance as I tilted my hips toward him in open invitation.
“Yes,” he breathed, thrusting inside.
My breath caught at the now-familiar feel of him filling me. Nothing more wonderful. Nothing. Except, yes, there was.
He began to slowly thrust.
I let out a high-pitched gasp at the sudden, intense pleasure and ran my hands down his back to end at his ass, relishing the hard feel of his working muscles under my palms. We moved together, the pleasure building higher and higher, until there was nowhere else to go except over the edge. I cried out, blissful spasms wracking my body as, distantly, I heard Grayson grunt his own climax, his hips making two last clumsy thrusts as he came, shuddering and then breathing harshly into the crook of my neck.
The world was suddenly still as I floated back to earth, Grayson’s ragged breath slowing against my skin. I blinked at the clouds floating lazily above, registering the sounds of birds singing in the surrounding trees, and my husband’s heart beating against my own. And it felt as if the world was only filled with beauty.
“What other lessons can I look forward to as a winemaker’s wife?” I asked breathlessly as Grayson pulled his body from mine and laughed against my skin.
“Oh, I have lots of teaching to do. That’s only the very beginning.” He rolled off me and kissed me once more, smiling against my mouth. I shivered slightly in the crisp air, and we sat up and pulled on our clothes.
Grayson took out a thermos of coffee, Charlotte’s cranberry orange muffins, and a plastic container of strawberries. We ate our picnic breakfast together, laughing and chatting. If there’s happiness greater than this, I thought, I can’t imagine what it is.
* * *
The next afternoon, the rain came down. It drummed on the window, painting the outside world in misty watercolors. I sat in Grayson’s office, staring out at the oak trees and the front gates beyond, the printouts of accounting records spread out on the clean desk before me. I’d organized his office, and now everything had a place, whether it was in a file folder labeled neatly in his bottom desk drawer or in one of the stacked paper trays sitting on top of his desk. As I stood up, Sugar Pie chuffed at my feet and then yawned.
“Stay here, girl,” I soothed. “I’ll be right back.”
I found Charlotte and Walter in the kitchen, sitting next to each other at the large dining table, a cup of tea in front of them both.
“Oh hello, dear. Would you like to join us for a cup? The temperature has certainly dropped today.”
“Sure. But I’ll get a mug. You stay there,” I told Charlotte distractedly when she began to stand. I sat down at the table, holding my cup toward Charlotte as she poured from the pot already on the table. “Thank you,” I murmured as I put my hands around the warm mug and let the heat seep into my skin.
“Is everything okay with you and Gray?” she asked, a note of worry in her tone. “It seems like—”
“Yes, everything’s fine with us. Better than fine.” I smiled but it quickly dropped. “It’s something else.” I looked back and forth between Charlotte and Walter, not wanting to put into words what I suspected but knowing I had to.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked. She and Walter had seemed to become very still.
“I’ve been inspecting the old accounting records, and it seems…well, it seems as if Ford Hawthorn purposefully ran this vineyard into the ground. Is that even possible?” I whispered.
Charlotte and Walter glanced at each other, their expressions grim. “You mustn’t tell Grayson what you’ve discovered,” Charlotte said. “I’m not generally in favor of withholding the truth, but…he’s suffered enough at his father’s hands and this…it would destroy him. Maybe someday…I think we’ll know when the time is right, but not now. He’s only just begun to heal.”
I exhaled a large breath. “It’s true,” I choked out, a shudder running through my body. “Why? Why would he do that?”
“It was his last message to Grayson,” Charlotte said, her eyes tearing up. “Walter tried to undo as much as he could, tried to preserve anything possible, but when Ford found out he was sick, and Shane and Jessica said they didn’t want anything to do with this vineyard, he realized he could only leave it to Grayson and he set about destroying it. Thankfully he had less time than he thought, but he did enough damage even in the short time he lingered.”
I felt ill, nausea roiling in my stomach. “He hated him that much?” My body suddenly felt chilled to the bone, despite the warm tea in my hands. I realized I was squeezing the mug and released my grip.
“He hated himself,” Charlotte said, and for the first time since I’d known her, I heard heated anger in her voice. “And he channeled that into his relationship with his son. He meant to leave a worthless piece of nothing to Grayson as his final slap across his face. It was cruel and ugly and vindictive and—”
“It’s a lie,” Grayson’s voice came from the doorway.
We all startled, hot tea sloshing onto my hands as my body jerked.
“Grayson,” I breathed.
“No,” he said, but his voice broke as he sagged against the doorframe.
Charlotte, Walter, and I all stood quickly and rushed to him.
“Gray,” Charlotte said, reaching out to grasp his hand, her expression deeply pained.
“Tell me it’s a lie, Charlotte,” he said, his gaze beseeching her.
Her face registered deep grief, but she lowered her eyes. I could see that she couldn’t lie in response to a direct question, not to Grayson. The damage had been done. Grayson turned and walked stiffly out of the room, heading for the stairs.
Charlotte and Walter went to follow him, but I put my hand up. “Let me talk to him,” I said. “Please.”
They both nodded, Charlotte wringing her hands, looking anguished.
“If you need us, we’ll be right here,” Walter said.
“I know,” I said, putting my hand on his arm and giving him a gentle squeeze.
I climbed the stairs, disbelief still pummeling my heart. How was this possible? As I’d meticulously gone through the records, I’d been deeply suspicious, but I had had a hard time believing it could actually be true. Why would anyone do that to something they’d spent so much of their life on? For spite? Could anyone be that evil? Could anyone hate that much at the end of their time on earth? That was the legacy he chose to leave? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Was it because Grayson had gone to prison, shaming him further? Never doing anything right in his eyes? Confirming that he was the mistake his father saw him as? The one his wife—Grayson’s stepmother—had never forgiven him for?
I entered the master bedroom Grayson and I shared and found him standing before the window, staring out at the rain. “Gray,” I said tentatively, moving closer. He turned to face me and the look of stark devastation on his face stopped me in my tracks. I sucked in a breath.