Page 44 of Sweet Escape

“You’re determined.”

“I prefer tenacious.”

Licking my lips, I think it over, knowing I need to get back to the restaurant to help, especially since Wes is on leave for a family thing and still in San Francisco.

“How about this,” she says, seeing the obvious conflict behind my expression. “If you find that you have time tonight ... no matter how late ... stop by the Firehouse.”

Vivian steps forward, her hand reaching out and hooking through one of the loops holding my belt. She tugs me toward her, bringing our bodies flush.

Then she bumps her nose gently against mine.

“Maybe we can have some more ... ice cream.”

She kisses my cheek and backs off, giving me a flirtatious little wave before walking out the door.

Desire skitters along under my skin, commanding that I call her back. That I make good on the picture I had that first night I met her of the two of us on the tasting room couch. That I make it so her cries of pleasure bouncing off the stone walls are a reality instead of an imagined sound in my mind.

But I tamp that desire back. I now have a very real opportunity to make it happen in the future.

Before, the idea of hooking up with Vivian was a lark. An improbable thing that I never would have made a plan for. Then, it became a one-time reality that I quickly wrote off.

Now, though, it’s going to be a tease that lingers on the tip of my tongue, at the edge of my subconscious, barely within my grasp.

And knowing I can reach out and take it whenever I want—whenevershewants.

God, if that isn’t a delicious sensation.

It’s after midnight when I finally send the text.

Me:What would you say if I told you I’m parked outside?

After the tour and her flirtatious proposition earlier, I did exactly what I’d planned to do for the rest of the evening. I went to the restaurant and rotated between managing and busing tables, basically roving around and stepping in wherever it seemed like I could help. With Murphy and Wes gone, it was definitely needed.

No job on this vineyard is too small or too unimportant. My grandfather always said, “There’s no such thing as a job that is beneath you.” It’s something that has guided me for years, especially during the times when it felt like my only contribution was too small to matter.

So when shit needs to get done—whether it’s busing tables or laying mulch or suckering the vines—I’m always willing to get my hands dirty.

By the time we wrapped for the night, I was set on heading back to the house and crashing, my early day tomorrow an exhausting reality in the back of my mind. But as I stood in the shower, rinsing away the sweat from the day, I realized I wasn’t as tired as I thought. Instead, I felt rejuvenated. Almost amped up.

It only took me ten minutes to shower, change, and hit the road.

Though it did take me a few extra minutes to muster up the courage to text her once I realized how late it was. If there was ever a text that said “this is a booty call,” it was this text.

Ultimately, my desire for her won out.

Vivian:I’d say give me five minutes. Room 301

My pulse races at her response, and when I glance up to the third floor, I see a light flip on. It’s definitely her, and I can only imagine what she’s doing up there right now in the five minutes she requested before I come up.

Eventually I head inside and up the stairs, thankful that there isn’t anyone at the front desk to spot me sneaking up to a room in the middle of the night.

When I knock, I hear the soft pad of her footsteps before the door opens.

Her hair is up in a messy bun at the top of her head, and she’s wearing a pair of peach-colored silk boxers and a white tank top that is see-through enough for me to see her nipples.

She’s sexy as hell. I shamelessly drink her in.

“Hey,” she says, pulling the door wide and stepping back to invite me in. “I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you.”

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