Page 47 of The Vineyard Crush

“You ladies get everything all set up?” I ask, ruffling Avery’s feathery blonde hair as I pass by. She beams up at me with cherubic delight.

“Yep, all ready for Emma and Uncle Ethan!” Lily chirps. “When are they gonna get here?”

As if on cue, there’s a cheerful rap on the front door. My pulse instantly kicks up a notch, which is utterly ridiculous. I need to get a grip on myself. As I pull open the door to that bright, welcoming smile and those soft, intelligent eyes, I can feel the planet itself shuddering off its axis…

FUCK.

Twenty

Emma

Itake a steadying breath as Ridge opens the door, trying not to gawk too obviously at how incredible he looks in those fitted sweats and snug t-shirt. His tousled hair has that delicious just-rolled-out-of-bed look that makes me ache to run my fingers through those havoc-wreaked locks, and the hint of stubble along his chiseled jaw makes me wonder what it would feel like grazing my skin.

“Are you going to let us in or do we have to know some kind of secret code word like in the Mission Impossible movies?” Ethan quips in that easy, self-assured way of his.

Ridge seems to jolt slightly at the sound of my brother’s voice, almost as ifhe’d been trapped in his own private trance. A passing look of…something indiscernible flickers across his ruggedly handsome features before he steps aside with an easy chuckle, ducking his head in what I’ve come to recognize as a disarming tell - like he’s abashed at being caught woolgathering.

“Come on in,” he drawls in that sinfully rumbly baritone, the gravelly timbre sending delicious little licks of heated awareness shivering through me.

I clutch the tin of homemade blondies and cookies to my front like a feeble shield, hoping to conceal the telltale rush of color I can already feel blazing across my cheekbones that occurs whenever Ridge is near.

“We brought snacks,” I manage, holding up the container with what I hope is a friendly smile.

Ridge’s answering grin is enough to make my knees perilously weak. “Thanks,” he rumbles, those warm amber eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that steals my breath.

Ethan hefts the pair of wine bottles he’s carrying with a theatrical flourish. “And drinks!” with a waggle of one dark brow.

Ridge rolls his eyes in patent fashion, somehow managing to look both insanely virile and effortlessly endearing all at once in the simple gesture. “He’s going to be drunk before the opening credits,” he mutters in a conspiratorial aside directed at me, those ridiculously long sooty lashes briefly flickering up to warmly regard me from beneath that dusting of scruff before skating away again.

Ethan immediately bristles like a rooster at the teasing commentary, whirling around with a deeply offended look while somehow still managing to appear unbearably roguish.

“Hey now, I’ll have you know I possess a remarkably high tolerance,” he counters with that signature charming bravado, straightening to his full towering height as he puffs out that sculpted chest in an unmistakably alpha display. “This puny little assemblage wouldn’t even put a dent in my—”

“Yeah, that’s what you keep telling yourself, bud,” Ridge interjects with a fond roll of those twinkling brandy-haued eyes before brushing past my brother with an outright laugh. “With all the wines you have to taste for the vineyard, one would think your tolerance would be ironclad, But nope, - he’s got the tolerance of a child.” He pauses briefly in front of me, those long sextrous lashes lowering momentarily as a tiny half-grin tugs at one corner of that ruggedly masculine mouth—like we’re sharing some insiders’ joke that no one else is privy to. “Thanks for the treats, Emma. The girls are gonna be over the moon about them.”

That deep, rumbly baritone saying my name like melted velvet honeyed brandy somehow manages to absolutely shatter whatever miniscule shred of self-possession I’d been valiantly clinging to up to that point. I chance a look up at Ridge through my lashes, catching the barest flicker of who-knows-what dancing behind those forest green irises before our suspended moment is shattered by Lily bounding into the foyer with a gleeful squeal “Uncle Ten!”

She launches herself at Ethan, all glowing cheeks and pigtails and limbs akimbo. He scoops the little whirlwind up effortlessly, her angelic giggle rebounding off the high ceilings. “There’s my favorite girl,” he rumbles affectionately, smothering her bright face in scratchy kisses until she’s shrieking with delight. “I think a certain little princess and I have a very important movie date?”

Lily bobs her head vigorously, those huge saucer eyes alight with excitement. “Uh huh, we wanna watch Tangled!” She points an imperious finger towards the living room as if issuing royal orders to her loyal subjects.

I take advantage of their departure to slip out of my coat - a deliciously frivolous little satin vintage number that sculpts to my curves in all the most flattering ways. It truly is the perfect shade of pale, dusty rose, the silky-soft fabric clinging to the swell of my breasts and narrow waist before flaring out in a full, flirty skirt. With an impish smile, I drape it carelessly over the foyer table, feeling delightfully unfettered and at-home here.

When I finally drift into the living room proper, it’s to find a scene of absolute coziness. Every surface of the massive sectional is swamped in a veritable explosion of plush knit blankets and throw pillows, creating the ultimate oversized nest fit for curling up and losing entire weekends. Lily is already proudly ensconced in the center mound like a princess awaiting her adoring courtiers.

And with a start, I realize the only remaining spots are directly on either side of Ridge. A zesty sort of tingle goes zipping through me at the sudden mental image of that big, broad-shouldered frame looming in my periphery, all earthy warmth and unmistakable masculinity. Pull it together, Emma.

“Emma, sit here!” Lily pipes up, patting the space beside her.

Well, when the little princess commands, I have no choice but to obey. With an ingenue’s smile, I settle myself daintily into the plush chenille hollow, smoothing my skirt over my lap. The snuggly knit fibers instantly cocoon me in sweet, cloud-like warmth and softness. But even their comforting familiarity can’t override my hyper-awareness of Ridge settling in just a few electrifying feet away, that warm, masculine ember of his natural scent wrapping around me in delicious, smoldering tendrils.

Avery nestles into the middle seat, her baby-soft chortles of pure delight mingling with the low, husky murmurs of her father as he cuddles and nuzzles her tenderly. Without realizing it, I inhale deeply, letting the headily intoxicating combination of saddle leather and woodsmoke and something muskier, darker, purely masculine infuse into my very cells. If I shuffled even a few scant inches, I could be completely cocooned in the radiant warmth emanating from his powerful form.

Ridge shifts, the roughened denim of his thighs brushing up against the sensitive bare skin below the hem of my skirt, and my breath catches in my throat. Slowly, with excruciating precision, his hooded gaze tracks up the length of my legs to linger for a heated moment between my thighs before continuing up to my breasts straining against the thin knit of my top. My mouth abruptly runs dry as the potent heat of that emerald stare seems to sear across every inch of exposed flesh.

Finally, after what feels like an entire age suspended in time, Ridge’s eyes finally lock with mine. His lips glisten obscenely, as if he’s just run his tongue across the plump fullness, and I can’t help mirroring the unconscious motion in a helpless bid for moisture. A single lock of that chestnut silk hair breaks free to skate over the razor-sharp plane of his cheekbone, and the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch, to finally discover if those strands are as soft and silken as they appear, nearly overwhelms me.

“Here.”

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