Page 58 of Gone With the Wine

“Such a good girl,” I groan as my hand moves faster on my shaft. “You should feel good. You should come on my fingers. My cock. Christ.” My hand pumps harder, tension coiling up from the base of my spine, pleasure bursting, spreading through me. I let out a harsh shout, bracing myself against the shower wall with my other hand, gasping as the water pours down over me.

“Fuck.” I drop my head forward. I’m tired, spent, and yet I’m still thinking of her. I’m still thinking of her as I dry off and stumble naked into my bed.

The alarm goes off early. I drag my ass down to the kitchen. While my coffee brews, I feed Moose and give him fresh water. It’s still dark and when I step outside onto the deck, the morning air cloaks me, damp and chilly. I’m sipping my coffee when Bianca arrives, wearing another pair of short shorts with knee-high rubber boots and a thick sweatshirt with the hood tugged up over her head. I want to smile at the vision this creates—so far from sexy, but so goddamn charming.

Moose greets her with great excitement. She fusses over him with pets and compliments. Then she straightens and looks at me. “Morning.”

“Have you had coffee?”

“No.”

“I’ll get you some. Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Jesus. You have to eat.”

“I know. When I get all caught up in work, sometimes I forget about it.”

“I was about to make myself some eggs. Sit. I’ll make you some, too.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I know, but I don’t want you to collapse from hunger in my vineyard.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She follows me into the kitchen. She’s got her iPad and a bunch of samples from Caparelli. “I told Diego I’d meet him at six-thirty in the vineyard. We’ll get the crew picking again. Make sure they’re picking the right section, not picking any second crop, and leaving out other crap.”

“Other crap?” I hand her a mug, then open the fridge.

“Leaves. Bugs. Snakes. Lizards.”

“Jesus.”

She grins then sips her coffee.

“They probably know what they’re doing.”

“Probably. But I don’t know them and I’m a micromanager.”

“Ah.” My lips twist into a smile at the interior of the fridge. I grab the egg carton.

“And we’ll get samples to get the numbers.”

Now I know what “numbers” she’s talking about—the pH, Brix, and TA.

I whisk together eggs and melt butter in a pan.

“Then we can walk the rows and discuss what to pick next,” she continues. “The forecast is for warm and sunny weather all week, so I expect things to keep ripening. But I think what we can do here is alternate days processing fruit and bottling. We can get busy bottling last year’s wines.”

“Okay, that sounds good.” I can’t help but watch her mouth as she talks. I could do that all day. Except I’d want to kiss that mouth.

“Have you cleaned out the old barrels?”

“Yeah.”

“And you have new barrels?”

“Yep. And more on order.”

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