Page 27 of Whiskey Promises
Why did I think any of this was a good idea?
"We're leaving," I growl at Connor, looping my arm through his. "We have something important to take care of. It can't wait."
Jareth tenses, missing a step, and I know he heard me, exactly like I intended. But I don't feel satisfied. I just feel…guilty.
Crap. Am I actually falling for him?
No. No way.
Except…that isn't hatred burning in my chest, is it?
Chapter Six
Jareth
The sun hasn't evencrested the horizon before Zoya slips out the front door, moving like she's trying to avoid being detected. It's cute that she thinks she can sneak away and avoid me. That shit isn't happening though.
I let her get far enough ahead to avoid detection and then slip out behind her, following her path through the vineyard. She strides toward the guesthouse, only to stop halfway there, muttering to herself. She glances back over her shoulder, hereyes narrowed. But I know she doesn't see me. I'm lurking in the shadows like they're my goddamn home.
After a moment, she mutters something else and then veers off the path, heading toward the section of vineyard that wraps around the winery instead.
"Where is she going?"
I follow, watching the way she stops periodically to run her hands over the dormant vines, the first inklings of sunlight spilling across her face. She seems deep in thought, like maybe she escaped the house just to clear her mind.
Did she sleep any better than I did last night? Probably not. All I could think about was the way she felt on my fingertips and the look in her eyes when she whimpered my name. I wanted to give her exactly what she wanted and make her come. But…I'm a jealous, possessive asshole. I want to hear her say she's mine so fucking badly I can't stand it.
If denying her gets me what I want, I'm willing to play that game. Just so long as it ends with her admitting the truth. But Christ, I want her coming for me like I've never wanted anything before now.
I should feel bad that Connor caught us in the bathroom together. I don't. His reaction confirmed what Ridley suspects. They aren't really dating. If they were, he wouldn't have just stood there with a stupid look on his face. He would have been throwing elbows and fighting for her. Instead, he said nothing. That's not the behavior of a man in love.
Zoya starts walking again, circling around the back of the winery. And then she pauses to examine one of the old mechanical harvesters that's rusting in the field.
I pace toward her on silent feet, strolling right up behind her. I stop when I'm close enough to smell that cherry scent that makes my balls ache.
"I should have known it was you following me," she mutters without even turning around to look at me.
"Maybe I'm just out for a walk."
"Right," she snorts before pointing at the harvester. "What is this?"
"A mechanical grape harvester."
"What does it do?"
"You drive it over the vines, and it shakes them to separate the grapes from the leaves. The grapes drop into little conveyor buckets along the bottom and then are pulled up from there through the hose and dumped into large collection bins that get pushed along beside it."
"Oh." She cocks her head to the side, examining the machine, before glancing over her shoulder at me. "Doesn't that break the vines?"
"Not if you know what you're doing." I grin. "It saves a helluva lot of time, too."
"You just leave it sitting out during the off-season?"
"We don't use this one any longer. It mostly sits out here for photo ops and school field trips."
"Oh." She shakes her head, her lips quirking into a grin. "I can't believe you actually own a vineyard."
"I own part of a vineyard," I correct. "My mom and her brothers passed it down to all of us, so each of my cousins owns part of it, too."
