Page 70 of The Vineyard Crush

“Hey, you should bring your brother for the festival if he wants,” Emma added as an afterthought, somehow managing to imbue those innocuous words with a deliciously filthy double meaning.

Then she turned on her heel and began walking away, hips swaying in a slow, tantalizing metronome that my eyes instinctively tracked. My mouth was bone dry, a fiery ache already mounting low in my gut at the mere thought of getting her alone after such blatant teasing.

Before I could even process what my next move would be, Avery’s high-pitched voice cut through the weighted tension like the peal of a bell.

“My daddy really really likes you,” she announced with childlike sincerity. “He said so!” Emma halted instantly at the declaration.

The dainty, rosebud mouth fell open in a perfectly stunned ‘o’ as Emma’s cheeks instantly bloomed with a vibrant wash of color. Her eyes instinctively sought out mine, wide and unblinking.

Beside me, James barked out a peal of raucous laughter - the traitorous bastard.The flirtatious sparkle dancing in Emma’s eyes as she lobbed that cheeky response was like a physical caress, sending desire licking through my veins in an instant wildfire. “Well, I really really like him too,” she purred, the husky timbre caressing those provocative words.

My restraint effectively obliterated, I vaulted over the fence in a few long strides, closing the distance between us with purposeful intent. Strong hands seized her hips, yanking Emma flush against the insistent line of my arousal in a way that had her breath stuttering.

“I thought we were being discreet,” I rasped against the swell of her parted lips, tonguing along that lush curve with smoldering reverence. “But those sneaky girls seem to have figured us out already.”

Emma shuddered violently in my embrace at the sinful implication of my words, of Avery’s innocent understanding of our new intimacy. Her palms flattened against my chest, silken fingers toying idly with the top button of my shirt in a way that bordered on agonizing temptation.

“It’s okay,” she breathed out at last, tilting her head back to gaze up at me through a fan of ethereal lashes. The dainty curve of her mouth quirked in a private little half-smile tinged with shy affection. “At least now we don’t have to keep sneaking around so much.”

The gentle statement held the undeniable promise of something permanent beginning to bloom - something boundless and indefinable as of yet, but very much ours. I couldn’t resist dipping my head to trail a path of openmouthed kisses along the elegant column of her throat, reveling in the tremor that licked through her with each scorching caress.

We were so lost in our heated little pocket of intimacy it took a handful of suspended moments to register the familiar lilt of Jyoti’s voice cutting through the moment like a bucket of ice water.

“Emma!”

Without conscious thought, I instinctively pulled Emma impossibly closer, as if the cage of my arms could shield her from the ominous tone of that summons. I watched the way she instantly stiffened, posture going rigid and eyes squeezing shut as tension coiled in every delicate line of her body.

The reaction left a bitter taste of fury on my tongue - fury that her own goddamn mother seemed to inspire such instinctive trepidation. Fury that anyone could make this radiant, open-hearted woman cower, even for an instant.

Cradling Emma’s face in my calloused palms, I swept my thumbs reverently across those downy, flushed cheeks until her gaze fluttered open once more to lock onto mine. Despite the trepidation still lurking in those depthless blue-green pools, I saw bravery, resolve…an unshakeable inner steel I recognized all too well.

“You’re perfect, baby,” I murmured roughly, holding her spellbound with the solemn weight of my stare. “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel less than that, y’hear? Have fun over there - and know that you’ve got the brawniest ranch hand waiting to sweep you off your feet again just as soon as you’re done with all the boring stuff.”

Emma’s lips curved in a slow, sultry smile that made my blood thrum with fresh heat. She leaned up onto her tiptoes, arms winding around my neck as she slanted her mouth over mine in a long, drugging kiss that stole the breath from my lungs.

“I’ll be counting the minutes, cowboy,” she husked against my tingling lips before reluctantly pulling away.

Watching her saunter back towards the commotion surrounding the festival preparations, I was helpless not to rake an overtly assessing gaze over the sinuous sway of those hips, the gentle flare of her waist that my hands knew so intimately now. Emma threw one last coy glance over her shoulder, cheeks still flushed and lashes lowered demurely.

My breath escaped in a harsh exhale, chest constricting around the overwhelming surge of possessiveness, tenderness, adoration that slammed into me like a physical force. Christ…how was I already in so goddamn deep with this girl?

The phantom heat of her mouth still lingered, igniting an insatiable hunger for more that coiled low in my gut. Growling under my breath, I scrubbed my hands over my face in a futile effort to collect myself. Subtlety was going to be an uphill battle with the way Emma had me constantly riding the razor’s edge of restraint.

Somehow, skirting the edge of disaster had never looked so goddamn enticing. James’ raspy voice finally penetrated the haze of molten desire still simmering in my veins. “I’d put a ring on that if I were you, brother.”

Twenty Nine

Emma

Laughter and the enticing blend of crushed grape juice and toasted oak mingled in the crisp morning air, infusing the vineyard grounds with festive energy. The normally serene rows of leafy vines had been transformed—twinkling fairy lights intertwined with vibrant ribbons, creating a whimsical atmosphere in preparation for the annual Grape Stomp Festival.

Excitement fizzed through my veins as I surveyed the bustling activity from the terrace of the main villa. All the cozy guest cabins nestled in the grove stood fully booked and ready to host the influx of visitors from the surrounding valley towns. My breath emerged in faint puffs, chased away by the steadily rising sun peeking over the rolling hillsides.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his hungover presence.”

Ethan’s wry tone snapped my wandering attention toward the wrought-iron bistro set. My older brother sprawled there, an amused smirk curling those lips that mirrored my own as he nursed a steaming mug of what I could only assume was industrial-strength Colombian roast.

Leo lumbered through the terrace’s arched entranced, scrubbing both palms over his whiskered jaw with a jaw-cracking yawn. His tawny locks stuck up in tousled disarray and his wardrobe—a vintage Stanford tee and rumpled sleep pants—suggested he’d rolled straight from the tangled sheets.

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