Page 2 of Pour Some Vino On Me

Bon told me all about his family's winery, but he has yet to tell me about this hidden treasure. Maybe she's an artist passing through. Bon said they have a variety of singers and musicians that stop by the winery and play a set or two. She does seem awfully familiar to me.

The winery lights flicker on as a voice calls out, "Crue, you made it. Your agent called and said the rest of the group is stranded in New York." The man walking toward me with his hand outstretched is one of my idols. I'd based my career around his success. Meeting him should be one of the greatest moments of my life, but all I can think of is my little songbird and the look on her face when Bon walked in. "I see you've met my daughter, Kyrie. It's so good to hear you singing again, honey."

Shit, my little songbird is my idol's daughter, no wonder she looks familiar. I can't believe I didn't see it when she first turned around. I've been studying Bon and his family for years. Maybe it was the dark room with only the afternoon sun shining through the window that made it difficult to see her features clearly, or maybe the instant connection I felt when our eyes met blocked out everything except the beauty standing in front of me.

All I know is she's mine.

Kyrie

Sweet Child O' Mine

Crue.

Of course, this sexy devil would have a name like Crue. And, of course, my dad would have to bring up the fact that I don't sing as much as I used to. Singing is one of the things I stopped doing after the media circus surrounding my famous singing of the National Anthem at a pro hockey game.

I didn't want to lip-sync, but the production company providing the audio for the game insisted on having me pre-record my vocals and then lip-sync live in front of thousands of people. When the pre-recorded audio malfunctioned, I was called out as a fraud and a phony—even though it was still my voice on the audio track.

The gossip sites had a field day with the Golden Child, as they liked to call me, failing. It has been over three years since it happened. Even though the rest of the world has moved on, I can't. Opening the winery has been the only bright spot in my life during this time.

"Hey, Dad." I try to focus on my dad and not the sexy man in the tight jeans and even tighter T-shirt, hugging all of his muscular body standing next to him. "We haven't officially met." I reach my hand out to Crue, and the moments he takes my hand are moments I wish I hadn't had.

Electricity like I've never felt before shoots up my arm. I try to pull away to give myself some breathing room, but Crue tightens his grip on my hand—not painfully, but more in ownership.

It's not going to happen, buddy. I swore off rock stars a long time ago. There's no way I'm going back on the road for anybody. I yank my hand free. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get the winery ready to open for business."

"Actually, Kyrie, Crue, and his band were planning on meeting with me today, but since his band is stuck in New York, I was thinking he could stay at the Inn until everyone arrives for the meeting."

Ugh, of course, Crue is in a band.

Wait, that's a good thing. I've sworn off any romantic relationships with anyone who is in a band or a musician—I can do this. I'll show him to one of the rooms at the Inn we have on the vineyard property, and he can stay there until the rest of his band shows up.

It's perfect. He'll be out of my hair, and my life will be just fine without this six-foot-three, muscular, tattooed, bearded man wreaking havoc on my libido. As if trying to prove me wrong, my clit pulses, and my panties dampen at the thought of what I want to do to every inch of that body.

Crue raises an eyebrow and gives me a wicked little smile, "That sounds like a great plan, Mr. Vince."

The pulse of my clit against my jeans intensifies, and if I don't do something soon, I might burst into flames. Maybe I'll have time to stop by my room for a little alone time with my vibrator before I go back to the winery—I've got a new one I was planning on trying out this weekend anyway.

"Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying." I quickly squeeze my thighs together, hoping it will relieve a little bit of the pressure building there. Unfortunately, it does nothing, and I'm left with a case of lady blue balls as I stomp my way to the Inn with Crue following close behind me.

***

"What do you mean that's the only room left?" I blink at my mom in confusion.

"Sorry, honey, but we just got a call from the Ladies of the Eighties Wine Club. They'll be here in a few hours and plan to stay the whole weekend." Mom looks at the computer screen and then shrugs, taking a step back to let me look at it.

This was supposed to be a slow weekend for the Inn—a low-key weekend where I could unwind and relax. Normally, we host wedding rehearsal parties, company parties, and, of course, wine club tours, but they are all booked in advance, not on the same day.

"Let me see that." I step in front of the computer, willing there to be some kind of malfunction because there is no way the only room available is the one right next to mine with a connecting bathroom.

I pull up room after room, only to find they all have been marked occupied, when an idea hits me, "I'll move the Benson family to the north side, then the wine club will fit nicely on the east side, leaving the room twenty-four available."

"Sorry, Kyrie, but you know the Benson Family always stays in that room—besides, they've already checked in." The look on my Mom's face suggests she's anything but sorry. "The only room available for Crue is the one that connects to yours."

Crue

Talk Dirty to Me

The black leather pants and extra-tight black T-shirt might be a little much for a Friday night at a winery, but I want to show Kyrie what she's missing out on.

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