Page 4 of Her Supermodel Stalker
That grin, with his white teeth dazzling in the sun, nearly melts me into a puddle right here in the middle of the vines. Shit. Not to mention his deep, low, rough-souding voice.
I had a hell of a time suffering through the meeting, hardly knew where to look because those blue eyes were like light beams tracking me wherever I looked. I buried my nose into my computer, pretending to take notes of the meeting, but really, all I did was to type whatever Mr. Fernandes said so I wouldn’t be going crazy undressing the hot supermodel in my head.
This is insane. I’m fine with the guy in my fantasies, but having him next to me is just surreal. My entire life seems to be a dream now. A nightmare, really, because it drives me nuts to feel the tingles and the tugs between my thighs every minute I’m with him, and not being able to get off.
“Yeah, I look forward to the harvest each year,” I say, pulling myself together. “It’s what we all work so hard for. All the planting, nurturing, trimming…”
He smiles while gazing at me for a long moment. I’m so self-conscious I have to look away, all flushed. Damn. He is hotter than the August sun. I’m going to self-combust if he keeps staring at me with those smoldering eyes. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was interested in me. The way his eyes twinkle makes me feel I’m special.It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.Don’t read too much into it. I remind myself that’s how he looks in every picture of him—the baby-come-to-bed look. Gamble has a reputation of being a lady charmer and has a way to make even a stranger feel wanted by him. That’s why he has millions of followers all over the world.
And yet, with all the rational talking in my head, I still can’t help but daydream, recalling erotic photos he poses with female models. Him holding them possessively, his hand on their derriere, while his face buried in their bosoms. How easily it could happen to me! All I need to do is pretend to trip over as I walk, and he would for sure grab me by his strong arms, and I could just fall onto his firm chest…
And then, as if God hears my dirty thoughts, I trip and stumble! It all happens very quickly before I even know what causes my misstep. And instead of falling into his arms, I fall on my bottom, on the muddy path.
“Jesus, are you okay?” Devin mutters and comes to my rescue. He pulls me up, not the way I imagine, obvious, because of my awkward position, but the way an adult helps a clumsy child. He takes me by my armpits, and then, when I stand up, he does something that surprises me. He slaps my bottom gently. I blush at first. Is he spanking me? For what? For my naughty thoughts? And then it dawns on me that my bottom must be soiled.
I’m so embarrassed I can’t even look at him. “I’m…err, so sorry!”
“Why are you sorry?” He chuckles. “I should be the one that’s sorry. I could’ve grabbed you sooner, but I wasn’t paying attention. I got distracted.”
For a moment, I wonder what distracted him, but I know better than making the inquiry. Damn. Is he so gentlemanly by nature, or is he acting his Devin Gamble way? I don’t even know how to respond, so I just smile gratefully at him.
His blue eyes flicker again, and he pauses before he speaks. “What made you decide to work at the vineyard?”
I blink a few times, registering the changed topic. What should I tell him? That I was trapped here because I got pregnant? No, that isn’t what an employer wants to hear. “Well, I was actually born here,” I say with a smile. It is true, and it is a reason I feel I belong to this place.
“No kidding?”
“No. I came a few days sooner than expected. My mom was picking grapes right here in this plantation, maybe plus-minus a few yards. It could be the anxiety or the excitement, or according to my mom, I didn’t want to miss the harvest.”
“What a wonderful story,” Gamble says, putting a hand on my arm. “Thank you for sharing it with me. That explains why you love it so much here.”
I laugh. “I’m not unique to that respect at all. I know at least one more girl from school, who was also born during the harvest. But she didn’t share my enthusiasm for the vineyard at all. She went to college in Sacramento and recently got a job there, too.” I can’t help sounding a bit wistful because even though I love Sunnywood, it has been my dream to live in a metropolitan city one day. I was accepted to UC San Francisco the summer I started my part-time job here.
Devin gazes at me with curiosity on his face, but he doesn’t ask me questions. Instead, we continue to walk in the fields and climb up to the hilltop where we can see not only the entire vineyard within a glance but the rivers and lakes surrounding it as well.
Devin lets out a whistle that makes me smile. “Breath-taking! Is it your favorite spot at the vineyard?” he asks.
My mouth opens. “It is. How did you know?”
He chuckles. “From the pride on your face.”
“Oh,” I smile. Damn. Am I so easy to read?
We sit down on the slope, in the shade of an oak tree. “I love it here,” he says. “It’s a paradise!”
Wow. It’s the first time someone regards my hometown so highly. I’m proud but also curious. “Are you going to live here or just visit sometimes?”
“I’m going to live here,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve already moved to the house next to the office building.”
“That’s fast.” I didn’t expect the answer. The Fernandes emptied that house before they put the vineyard for sale and moved in with their son. “You don’t like New York?”
He sighs. “Not really. I live there because of work.”
That sounds crazy. I can’t imagine anyone would give up New York for a small valley town.
While I’m marveling, he explains, “Life in New York, or any metropolitan city in the world, is confined. You move from one box to another.”
I take a while to understand by box he means buildings.
