Page 53 of One Week Wingman

“Sure, fine,” I blurt, my heart still pounding. I can’t think straight anyway. All I want to do is toss Roxy over my shoulder and take her back to our room. Make her tremble like that all night, crying out my name.

I glance over at her. She’s blushing, but gives me a heated look, like she’s thinking the exact same thing.

We follow Natalia back up the stairs, and into the main foyer of the house. “Well, this has been a lovely evening,” I say, remembering my manners, even though I’m pretty much six foot one inches of raging lust.

“Since my father is busy, did you want to take a look at the vineyard books?” Natalia asks. “I know you’ll want a thorough review of the financials before getting into any deal points, but it could be a good starting point.”

“Now?” I gulp. “Actually, I think—"

“That sounds like a good idea,” Roxy speaks up. “Go ahead, honey, I’ll see you back at the room. Night, Natalia!”

She practically scurries up the stairs without a backwards glance, leaving me alone with a night of financial records ahead of me.

I can only hope the books will be dull enough to rid me of this enormous hard-on.

13

ROXY

There’sno way I can sleep after that.

Sebastian’s hands… His mouth… Hishands… I take a shower and lay back on the enormous guest bed for an hour, trying to catch my breath after what was maybe the most thrilling, spontaneous, hot sexual experience of my life.

Not maybe,definitely.

I turn over and yell into a pillow. So much for platonic, the forcefield of lust between was impossibly to deny.

Or resist.

My whole body is buzzing, still high from that incredible orgasm, and I can’t sit still, so I leap up, pull on a robe, and head back downstairs to explore. I remember spying an old piano in the corner of the living room, and sure enough, it’s sitting there in the dark.

I take a seat on the stool and run my fingertips over the keys. An old song pops into my head, something my mom played all the time when I was growing up, and I find myself starting to play.

I lose myself in the music, the same as always. This is what I love about playing, how it can take me out of my own head, but at the same time, make me feel so completely myself, from the very first bar, until when the final notes fade away.

The soft sound of applause comes from the doorway. I whirl around to find that Seb is standing in the doorway, watching me. He’s taken off his jacket and looks even more delicious, his shirtsleeves rolled up; his shirt open at the neck.

I remember sliding my hands up under that shirt, feeling the cords of his muscles…

Sebastian crosses the room and sits next to me on the piano stool.

“Do you play?” I ask him, smiling.

“Of course. I’m a man of many skills.” He gives me a flirty grin, then raises his hands dramatically…

… Before playing the familiar notes of the Chop Waltz.

I laugh, joining him. We play together for a moment in a halting duet, but the only thing I can focus on is the press of his thigh against mine.

What is he thinking? Does he want to pick up where we left off in the cellar, or was that just a one-off thing? The dim light, and the wine, and our overactive hormones…

“How were the books?” I ask instead.

“Pretty much as expected,” Sebastian replies. “They’re barely hanging on right now, but it would be simple to turn things around with a few efficiencies. I’ve been researching,” he admits, “And I’ve picked up all kinds of information, working with my wine reps and touring other vineyards over the years. I have a list of ideas a mile long.”

“Franco would be lucky to have you,” I say honestly.

Sebastian pauses playing and turns. “Do you mean that?” he asks, just inches away from me.

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