Page 24 of Bordeaux Bombshell
“Whatever. I didn’t come looking for you, but I wasn’t exactly surprised to see you there.” I’d needed an escape from the winery after a long day of listening to my dad make plans for next year and the year after that. Plans that apparently don’t involve him retiring but do involve me being there to do the backbreaking part of the work while he supervises.
But I don’t share because Sydney doesn’t get it. She works for herself, with the freedom to dictate who she works with and what she works on.
“So why are you stalking me, Nate? And don’t make up shit about a truce for Kel’s sake.” Finally pulling her finger away from where she lodged it into my ribs, she crosses her arms and waits, keys jingling impatiently. Head cocked to the side, her blond ponytail swings free, catching my attention.
Transfixed, I reach for it, wrapping the curled ends around my hand. “I was in a mood after work and needed to get away.”
“Was my brother busy?” We’re almost chest to chest again, her elbows brushing against me when she inhales.
I let her hair run between my fingers until it’s free, then graze the side of her jaw with my thumb. When she leans into my touch, I pinch her chin with my thumb and forefinger, pulling her face close to mine. “I didn’t want your brother.”
My heart picks up speed as her lips hover close to mine. When she sighs, all the tension leaves her body. “Fuck.” Arms dropping to her side, she leans forward, pressing her lips to mine. “This is such a bad idea, but I’m too tired to care.”
Before I can respond, she’s turned, silky hair swinging in my face as she unlocks the front door, and I follow her inside.
We’ve done this before. Many times since I’ve been back, but never like this. I’d show up, she’d let me finger her or eat her out, and occasionally, she’d return the favor. But there was never any talking. And absolutely no kissing. It was the one rule neither of us had tried to break.
Probably because we both knew crossing that line would mean we’d have to stop pretending we didn’t care. We could keep up the pretense that we’d moved on and this thing between us was nothing more than stress relief.
As soon as the door closes behind me, Sydney pauses, trapping me between it and her back. “What are we doing?”
Leaning forward, I trail kisses along her nape while I slide her leather jacket off to puddle on the floor. “I’m not sure, but I know I want you. I’m exhausted from pretending you meannothing to me. That I don’t feel the electricity in the air whenever you’re within a mile of me, and I’m just waiting for the lightning to strike me down.” I speak between kisses, and her shoulders tense. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”
“I don’t know how to stop.” Her whispered confession echoes in the silent apartment.
Pulling back, I turn her to face me, cupping the sides of her face. “Be here in the moment with me. Focus on the here and now, not on what was.”
For all that she lets me touch her—demands that I do—she rarely touches me back. She’ll let me strip her bare, touch her, lick her pussy until she can’t hold back from her release, but she holds herself back from me.
If I had the willpower to hold back until she was willing to play ball, I would have done it months ago. But I can’t resist the morsels of attention she doles out. Like a sucker, I eat up every crumb and beg for more.
So when she slides a tentative hand beneath my shirt, her fingers warm against my skin, it’s all I can do not to moan out loud. I take it as an invitation and dive back in to take her mouth.
And even though I was being cautious, Sydney is the one who makes an unholy noise and plasters herself against me. Her grip on my back tightens, and she pulls me into the apartment, our lips never separating.
“Bed?” I suck in a breath as we maneuver through the living room.
“Off-limits. Couch is closer.” Sydney pushes my jacket and flannel off my shoulders, leaving me in my T-shirt and jeans. Her sweater comes off in a swift movement, her full breasts swelling against the lace of her bra.
I overheard her bragging that no man has been allowed in her room since she moved in. Guess that includes me too.
The air is thick with all the things we haven’t said, and while part of me wants her to ease the tension with a smart-ass comment, I mostly want her to prove that she’s here on purpose by staying sincere. The same way I don’t dare say any of the million thoughts running through my mind because I don’t know which one will send her running.
I’m here.
I’m staying.
Even though all my dreams feel like they’re farther away than ever, I’m not letting them go.
Especially not her.
So instead, I pull my shirt over my head, then reach for the button of her jeans. She reciprocates, and we tear the rest of our clothes off, carelessly throwing them aside before tumbling onto the couch.
“You did that on purpose,” Sydney pouts as I pin her beneath me, my thigh pressed between hers.
I grin down at her, the fear that she’s going to change her mind and kick me out beginning to fade. “Can’t run the risk of you escaping.”
“I’m not the one who ran away.” She’s smirking, but there’s a glint of the old anger in her eye. It would be so easy to fan the flames and turn this into an argument.
