Page 34 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

I toss my bucket of popcorn to the side, kernels flying everywhere as I swivel toward her and wrap a hand behind Sophie's head, lightly gripping her soft braid.

Her eyes widen as she realizes my intent, but surprisingly she doesn't pull away. Instead, her plump lips part and her lovely hazel eyes dilate. This is not going to be a polite little peck. I'm determined to make an impression.

The crowd roars as my lips slant across hers, possessing her mouth. Sophie's hand grips the back of my neck as she purrs a soft moan into my mouth, and she shivers as my tongue traces along her bottom lip before I dive in. She's intoxicating and oh, so responsive.

It’s official—I can't wait to get Sophie into my bed.

Suddenly, I start to wonder… Who is possessing who?

Chapter 3

Sophie

Iarrive at the winery early this morning, my mind still whirling from the night before. That kiss. I mentally sigh… That kiss was something else.

It had surprised me how much fun I'd had with Alex. He'd been the perfect gentleman—for the most part, anyway—laughing, debating, and joking with me, even helping me heckle the visiting team. I’d actually relaxed, which lately was a rare feat.

Then that kiss-cam had found us, and he hadn’t hesitated.

I touch my lips, which still tingle from the impression his lips made on mine. That moment had been electric and thrilling in a way I’d never felt. It had instantly seared into my brain, and now I can't stop thinking about it.

Fucking hell. I’m hisboss,for crying out loud!

I have to get my shit together. Hooking up with the hot apprentice goes against all ethical codes hammered into me by my father. You never mix business with pleasure, and younevertake advantage of an employee. Plus, I am certain Brennen Murphy wouldn’t approve. As scattered and distracted as my boss seems, I certainly don’t want to get on his bad side.

The fermentation room door opens, and in saunters the subject of my thoughts. Alex is every woman’s ideal with that million-dollar smile, thick broad shoulders and chest, and that relaxed, easy-rolling glide of his. It's obvious that life goes his way and molds itself to his every whim. It is something I am unfamiliar with and one hundred percent envious of.

"Morning," he drawls, an inviting grin on his handsome face. He holds up a coffee cup. "I made a strategic choice. Coffee, black, right? You didn’t seem like a pumpkin spice kinda gal."

My brows shoot up. How did he know exactly how I liked my coffee?

"Yes, that's perfect. Thank you." I bite back a grimace at the huskiness in my tone. "I was so focused on getting here early that I forgot my morning coffee."

He cringes. "Forgot coffee? How does that even happen? Sounds like a nightmare."

I giggle.

Did I just giggle, for cripes sake? What the hell is wrong with me?

"It does, doesn't it? My mind was on filling those fermentation tanks you cleaned out yesterday," I lie. I got here early because I needed some time in here without him in my space where I could think. But now here he is and so are the butterflies in my stomach.

His dark eyes brighten with interest. "That soon? What varietal are you thinking?"

"Not a varietal but rather a blend. The coastal white I'm about to bottle turned out so good, I decided to do a full run of it. It's a nice white blend, high acidity, slightly sweet, perfect for a picnic or just by itself."

"That sounds delicious. I'd love to try it if you think it's ready."

“Sure." I wave him over to the large storage tank I have ready for bottling and pour a small sample. He holds the glass up to the light, twisting and turning it as he swirls the wine around against the glass. "Nice light legs, good color."

I narrow my eyes as he evaluates my latest experiment, my heart in my throat. After years of having my ideas and creations lambasted, I've become sensitive to criticism. It’s an area of improvement I need to tackle.

Alex sticks his nose in the glass and pulls in a deep breath, a hum rumbling at the back of his throat. I shiver, feeling that sound in my bones. He swirls the glass again and repeats.

"Great bouquet. I'm getting a mix of banana and melon, and maybe a pinch of peach. Interesting." He sips the wine and aerates it, then swallows. I'm on pins and needles, praying he likes it.

I know the wine is amazing because I've been trained to know a great wine when I taste it. But this is my baby—my first real wine created entirely on my own without my father or brothers hanging over my shoulder, controlling my every move. They'd scoff at this light wine, proclaiming it beneath their talents, but I don’t care. I know it’s good.

I know this wine will sell, and that's what the Celtic Knot Winery needs right now—a blockbuster consumer wine that will fly off the shelves.

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