He looks at me. “What about you?”
“I drank wine in a box during college. At this point, anything will do,” I answer.
He smirks. “Cas is going to have fun serving them.”
Benedict looks toward the tasting room. “Caspian is in today?”
“Yep, why don’t you let them join him, and you help me in the lab. I’m trying to decide if cider is in the future of Paradise Bay Winery.”
Benedict looks at us. “You guys okay if I leave?”
“Please, like I need you while I’m drinking wine. We’ll be perfectly fine,” Avery says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the tasting room.
I’m curious by nature, and I have to know how Benedict knows these people. Is that why he joined us? “So…Benedict and this Lysander guy are related or something? He seems to know them pretty well.”
Avery’s green eyes crinkle. “Of course he does. I’m pretty sure Ben’s mission in life is to meet all seven billion people living on the planet before the age of fifty. He’s a friendly person.”
She is right. I might not be a fan of him because he’s always the third wheel—and makes me feel like I imposed—but that’s probably an internal issue I have to work on.
The owner is handsome. Tall, a towering six foot three, with dark eyes and a flashy smile. The man behind the counter in the tasting room is just as tall but with piercing grayish eyes and a mischievous smirk that says, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-and-you'll-never-forget-me.
“Hello, ladies.” The baritone tone of his voice sends my pulse to an abnormal speed.
“Hi,” Avery, who’s the extroverted one of the two of us, greets him. “Is the place usually empty on Saturdays?”
“It is during the air balloon festival in Craigtown,” he answers, and his voice continues to make my knees weak. “If you ask me, we shouldn’t be open today, but what do I know, I’m just the server.”
I giggle at his poorly delivered joke.
I giggle.
That’s not me.
His suave smile widens, and he says, “What would you like to try today? We have a fine selection of wine that goes from dry and spicy to sweet and tangy.”
I’ll drink you, I want to say because it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a guy.
Wouldn’t it be nice to break the dry spell with someone like him? I bet he knows his way around the female body.
Avery reaches for her phone, which is in her back pocket, and sighs.
“Is it your brothers?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s Ben. He needs me to taste the best cider in the world.” She turns to look at me. “Do you want to come?”
“My wine is a lot better than my brother’s crappy cider. You should stick around,” he says with a raspy voice that almost makes me come.
If anything, I should record his voice and make it my ringtone.
Avery looks at me expectantly. “Why don’t I stay? If I get drunk enough, I might forget that I’m the third wheel.”
She glares at me. “You’re insane. I’ll be back soon, promise.”
I watch her leave the tasting room, and once the door closes, I hear tall-dark-and-fuckable say, “Well, it’s just you and me. This might get interesting.” He winks at me. “What do you want to taste?”
You?
I stare at him, fidgeting my lips between my teeth.
Chapter Three
Caspian
I might have found a good reason not to pack my shit and leave.
I hate my brother, but if things work out, I’ll keep him alive for another year or so.
Hate might be too strong of a word, but I’m not a fan of him right now. As I always say, he gets a kick out of using my time as if he owns it. Lysander keeps the tasting hours open when I’m around just to fuck with me. No one believes me, but he does.
I was tempted to leave my post and take a swim until the two gorgeous women burst into the tasting room. Both are pretty, but I prefer petite, curvy, shy girls.
This one has long, dark luscious hair, brown doe eyes, and her lips are pouty—kissable.
I want to press my mouth to hers and taste them. She might have come here to drink a glass of Chardonnay, but I’m willing to give her a lot more if she accepts it.
Reaching for the glasses, I ask, “What’s your poison?”
“What do you guys grow?”
With that siren voice, my cock is the only thing growing right now—and getting so fucking hard. I clear my throat, wondering why she’s affecting me so much. I’m usually around women who wear fewer clothes than she is, and I don’t react the way I’m responding to her. I want to remind myself that chemistry only lasts for so long and that once she recognizes me, the shy act will disappear.
She’s staring at me expectantly.
“Grapes,” I answer with a sly smile on my face.
“Color me surprised. For a moment, I believed you were growing weed and hay.” She sits on the barstool across from me. “I was asking the type of grapes. Some vineyards only grow one kind. You seem to have enough land to have at least two or three. The place is beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you. My father chose it to create one of the best wineries in the world. I don’t know if we’ve accomplished that, but we’re working on it.”
She stares at me. “As I mentioned, it’s a great place. What do you produce?”
“I’ll be honest with you, darling,” I say, leaning closer to her. “My jam is to make you drink and sell you lots of wine cases. Whatever is growing outside isn’t my territory.”
She smiles. “Meaning they don’t pay you enough to deal with more than what’s around this room?”
“They don’t pay me shit,” I clarify. “I spend my PTO working for them. Are you ready for your first taste? I’ll give you our boldest and our sweetest wines, and we can go from there.”
I grab a bottle of Syrah and then a bottle of Riesling. I pour them into different glasses.
I push the red wine first. “This is our Syrah from two thousand and five. Dad added a note not to open it until two thousand nineteen. We don’t know his reasoning, but this bold wine is one of the strongest. The range of flavors—the dark fruits, peppers, notes of herbs, and smoke—pair perfectly with a steak.”
She sips it and scrunches her nose. “I’m a vegetarian.”
Well, there goes my idea to invite her to the guesthouse and grill a couple of steaks.
“The wine is nice, but your pickup line needs a lot of work,” she mumbles, drinking the dark liquid slowly.
I rest my arms on the counter and lean forward. “It wasn’t a pickup line.”
“You’re wasting your time with me.”
“Why?”
She waves her hand around her hair. “The alarms are sounding. You’re either a player, a liar, emotionally unavailable, or something like that.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“You’re too pretty.”
I laugh. “Pretty?”
“Sure, look at you.”
I humor her and glance at myself as if I’m studying every inch of my body. “So, you like what you see?”