Page 56 of Inflame

I swallow over her words. Something about the wordcheatmakes me flinch. That’s what I want her to do, right? Cheat. Yet, when the word touches her lips, a sadness washes over me. It stabs at my heart. I never really cared before. I would plow through life and women at the same rate.

“I’m sure Mason can adapt any recipe. It’s not any trouble to have options,” I reassure her. I want to support her personal goals, and I want her to be comfortable with whatever those may be. Her perseverance is one of the things that draws me to her. She already has an asshole boyfriend dulling her sparkle, so the last thing she needs is to stress about something as simple as food.

Claire shakes her head. “It’s fine. Really. Thank you, though.”

Her hand brushes against my arm, making my grin turn into a full-blown smile. She is not one to voluntarily touch me. Even though the contact is innocent, my cock stirs over just the simplicity of a single touch.

Mason guides us to the other side of the kitchen, pointing out features as he goes. “Go ahead and take a seat at the table,” he directs, pointing to a metal island with cushioned chairs arranged around it.

It is U-shaped and allows for Mason to take up the hollowed-out section for his cooking demonstration. We all watch as he washes his hands and has his sous-chef keep us company while he gathers all of the ingredients he needs to make our lunch memorable.

The hostess returns with four long-stem glasses and uncorks twelve bottles of wine from a cart, lining up each along the other end of the table.

“The owners opened Desert Rose approximately forty years ago when they saw a need for a winery in an area of the United States that many would think would be an impractical location,” she explains. “But they had a dream and a vision of success. Despite what many would think, grapes can grow even in the driest of climates—with some extra nurturing, of course.”

“Wow,” Angie exhales. She mutters something that I cannot make out to Claire, causing her to chuckle.

“The first wine is going to be paired with Chef Brunson’s baby portobello mushroom cap appetizer that he is preparing now.”

The hostess gives us a smile, allowing her eyes to linger on me for a few seconds longer, then passing the torch completely to Mason. We sit and watch the chef meander about the kitchen working his magic, anticipating the first bite of what he is preparing.

The chef is adding commentary where he finds necessary, while whipping up dishes for the oven and stove in record speed. He plates up the stuffed portobellos and pours us each a sample of the wine that pairs well with the creations. He does this twelve times, ending with a decadent chocolate mousse layered cake that is served with a sparkling Moscato.

“I’ve never made my tummy this happy before,” Claire moans, rubbing her hands over her stomach.

“Hey now, I get some credit, right?” Mason asks, chuckling at her.

I can’t tell if the chef is being friendly with Claire or if he is actually trying to flirt. I want to stake some claim to her, but I keep my actions platonic because of the company we are in. Plus, the last thing I need right now is to make a scene—and for what reason? I am not trying to win Claire over so she will date me. I don’t date. I destroy.

“Everything was delicious,” I comment, “especially the filet mignon with the blue cheese reduction.” I try my best to wrap this up and get on with the next activity.

Claire finishes her last sip of wine and places the napkin from her lap back up onto the table. “I loved the chilled asparagus soup.”

“I am shocked at how good a vegetable can taste,” Angie agrees. “But the dessert was the showstopper.”

Graham kisses her on her neck, making her smile.

We spend the next two hours exploring the vineyards and learning about winemaking. The trip ends with a bottling activity where we design our own blend in a makeshift laboratory. It is gimmicky but still fun.

“Thank you for planning these fun activities,” Claire says, smiling up at me. “I may be a tadsy bit drunk.”

She holds up her two fingers to try to show a small amount, but ends up just merging them together. Her eyes are starting to get bloodshot, and I gently intercept the glass that she is trying to bring to her mouth before it spills all over her outfit.

“We better switch this out for grape juice,” I tease.

She wiggles her eyes at me. “With some alcohol added.”

I laugh over her carefree spirit. I love her like this. Unfiltered. Happy.

16

CLAIRE

“Not going to happen,” Graham says bluntly. He paces along the space in front of the couches, intertwining his fingers behind his neck.

“It kind ofisgonna happen.” I stand my ground. I am used to not backing down. “We are doing this, Graham.With or without your approval. You can control the wedding and the honeymoon and the stock markets.But this? This is all mine.So start getting your head wrapped around the idea of some strippers and equip your soon-to-be-wifey with a wad of cash. Because this is her last chance to change her mind, do a size comparison analysis, and enjoy some male attention that isn’t sourced from you.”

Since coming back to the hotel, I have sobered up and am ready to endure the fit Graham is throwing over the whole stripper night thing I have planned. We have had our fair share of arguments over the course of their relationship; however, this is our first one since they have been engaged. Just when I think he couldn’t get any more intense, he takes it up a notch and surprises me.

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