Page 3 of The Vineyard Crush

The scene was so idyllic, so quintessentially wholesome, that I nearly turned away, reluctant to disturb the moment. But then movement near the old shed caught my eye, and the breath stalled in my lungs.

Emerging from the weathered structure with the unhurried gait of someone in no particular rush was a man—no, a force of nature given human form. Even silhouetted against the slanting rays of late afternoon sun, his sheer physicality was impossible to miss. Broad shoulders strained against the confines of a well-worn henley, hinting at tightly leashed power coiled in those bulging muscles. Each prowling stride emphasized the aggressive V of his torso tapering to a narrow hip, every sinuous movement radiating an aura of coiled intensity.

With the casual grace of someone well-accustomed to handling precious cargo, he cradled a tiny bundled form protectively against the wall of his chest. One of his massive hands dwarfed the bundle completely, callused fingers gently brushing over the soft fabric in soothing strokes. And my heart was thudding an unsteady staccato against my ribcage just looking at the scene. An unfamiliar warmth blossomed low in my belly, slowly suffusing outward until my skin prickled with a dizzying flush of pure, molten awareness.

Each prowling stride the man took across the sun-dappled grass, his rugged features seemed to sharpen into clearer focus, like a camera lens finally finding its mark. Chiseled features seemed carved from granite, from the straight slash of his nose to the sharp jut of his jawline dusted in a careless five o’clock shadow. High cheekbones threw his rugged, lived-in countenance into stark relief while tousled ebony locks peppered with silver at the temples framed that beautifully brutal visage.

But it was his eyes, visible even at this distance, that seemed to single-handedly steal the breath from my lungs.

Shielded by thick fans of sinfully long lashes, they were a tempest of green and blue and cloudy jade, swirling with layers of unreadable depth that snagged my stare and refused to relinquish it. Intense, all-consuming, as though that penetrating gaze could bore straight through to the most sacrosanct corners of a person’s psyche.

The man was undeniably striking from a purely genetic standpoint. But the genuine softness that transformed his harsh features in the presence of that swaddled newborn transcended mere physical perfection. In that singular moment, this stranger achieved a state of true beauty I’d never witnessed before—rugged and powerful yet infinitely gentle, like the most glorious statue rendered in contrasting elements.

I should have looked away, averted my eyes from such an intimate scene a stranger had no right to witness. But I found myself utterly transfixed, rooted to the spot and unable to look away if my very life depended on it. The rest of the world could have ceased spinning in that instant and I wouldn’t have stirred. All that mattered was drinking in every nuance of the rawly masculine yet shockingly tender tableau unfolding just on the other side of the glass.

Without conscious thought, my palms flattened against the warped wood as I leaned in closer, as though by some cosmic force I was being pulled into that spellbinding orbit.

“Daddy…” the little girl exclaimed, scampering over to him and wrapping herself around his leg. He smiled down at her, his large hand gently stroking her back, tenderly.

“Morning, Lil. You’re up early,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff, sending chills down my spine.

“Scooby woke me up,” she replied, and I had to suppress a sheepish grin. If I was being honest, that dog had woken me up too, with his rambunctious antics interrupting my restless slumber. But I couldn’t bring myself to be annoyed, not when it had led me to this captivating sight.

“Oh, my poor little Lily, want me to tuck you back to sleep?” the man said, his tone soft and soothing.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I imagined him offering that same gentle care to me. Would he hold me close, his strong arms enveloping me, his touch igniting a fire within me? What the hell am I thinking? You don’t even know the guy Em get yourself together. I forced myself to look away, closing the window in a futile attempt to regain control of my rampant thoughts.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already 6 am. Three hours of sleep – more than I’d had during my first year of college, but still not enough to shake the lingering effects of my restless night. With a resigned sigh, I decided a shower might help to clear my head.

As I made my way to my brother’s house, I found Ethan already out on the porch, lacing up his boots. “Hey, Ethan,” I greeted him, plopping down on the swing beside him.

“Hey, Emmy. Excited for your first day?” he asked, flashing me that familiar, infectious grin.

“You know I am,” I replied, my voice tinged with enthusiasm. And it was true – I was thrilled to be here, to be a part of this family venture. But there was a part of me, a growing, persistent part, that was distracted, preoccupied with thoughts of the man next door.

Ethan’s voice sliced through my dazed musings, all business once more as he rapidly typed commands into his computer. “There, I’ve granted your login full administrative access to the company databases and financial records.”

He punctuated the statement by rotating the monitor toward me with a casual swivel of his wrist. Sure enough, rows of neatly organized file folders filled the screen, each one neatly labeled with an innocuous heading—payroll logs, vendor contracts, manufacturing specs. The inner workings of the empire he’d built, now lying prostrate before my tentative authority.

“Go ahead and poke around, get your bearings.” Ethan made a vague gesture of permission as he began extracting himself from his leather desk chair. “If you have any questions, I’ll be just a holler away.”

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. Torquing his solid frame halfway toward the door, my brother paused and raked a hand through his tousled blond waves. A rueful half-smile played at the corners of his mouth as our eyes met and briefly held.

“There’s been some issue with the new centrifugation equipment.” His voice pitched lower, adopting that gruff timbre I recognized as his shift into problem-solving mode. “I’m going to go check on the latest hang-up myself before anyone in processing operations can completely botch the transfer sequence.”

I couldn’t help but return his wry grin with one of my own as he pivoted on his polished oxfords and strode toward the door with his usual easy confidence. Even now, having ostensibly handed over the reins of his life’s work into my inexperienced hands, Ethan refused to loosen his firm grasp on the day-to-day operations. Probably because that’s his favourite thing about these Vineyards.

There was no sugarcoating the fact that Aimer Les Vins was a multi-million dollar operation, with tendrils spanning multiple states and a corporate umbrella of satellite interests and investments. But now that I am here he plans to turn the Vineyard into a Resort which I am very excited about.

Squaring my shoulders, I inhaled a fortifying breath and centered the cursor over the first file folder with my name on it.

Better to dive in headfirst and start getting my feet wet….

Two

Ridge

The same exhausting routine, day in and day out. Wake up at 6am, feed the animals, give my employees their marching orders, then rush to get Lily and Cody out of bed and ready for school. Breakfast, packed lunches, the whole nine yards. It’s a never-ending cycle of chores and responsibilities, with barely a moment to myself.

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