“That was delicious, ladies,” Chadwick Rose says, lifting his wine glass into the air. “Happy Easter to my lovely family, and to you, Ivy, who’ll make a fine addition one day.”
My eyes meet Xander’s and he winks. “Thank you, Chadwick. To the Rose family,” I say, bringing my glass to my lips, unable to take my eyes from their son.
After we drink, the men take a minute to clear the table before Xander returns. “I was hoping you’d accompany me to the winery this afternoon,” he says, taking my hand to help me from my seat. “Would you like to try a tasting?”
I lift my brows, impressed. “Sounds cool.”
He takes my hand and pulls me from my seat, practically dragging me from the room. His parents laugh as I try to wave at them over my shoulder. “You’re going to love it, dear. Have fun!”
“You barely let me say goodbye,” I scold as he drags me across the porch. “They’re going to think I’m some kind of floozy.”
He stops at the top of the steps and cuts his Easter blue eyes my way. “Please tell me you didn’t just call yourself a floozy?”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I won’t call myself that.”
He winks and starts down the steps. “My parents adore you.”
“I adore you.”
Sometime later, I’m seated at a long bar in the winery tasting room. There’s an entire wall of wine bottles stored in neat rows behind the bar, and wooden barrels accent the space. Xander is on the other side, pretending I’m just another customer as he teaches me the art of tasting.
He sets a clean glass in front of me for tasting number six. “This is Masan Classic, one of our best sellers.” He pours us both a half glass and sets the bottle aside. “Okay, do you remember the steps?”
“I think so.” I look into my glass to note the rich red color before lifting it toward the light. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his eyes watching me intently. “Now tilt your glass.” I absorb the soft, authoritative tone of his voice. “What did you see?”
“The color is rich and clear,” I respond, lowing my voice to match the nuance in his. “Swirl now?”
“Yes.” He’s opposite me across the bar, his glass forgotten as he braces his hands on the edge, staring intently. “Any tears?”
My eyes leave him and look to the glass. At this point, I’m over the wine. The mood has shifted between us, and tension fills the air. His focused gaze is impossible to ignore, and my body feels it acutely.
“Some,” I reply, lifting my eyes back to his. “Which means it has a high alcohol content.” His tongue glides across his lower lip, and the urge to toss the glass over my shoulder and jump over the bar surges to life inside me. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Sniff,” he quietly commands. “What do you smell?”
I follow his orders, keeping my eyes connected with his. He’s in is his element. He may have taken a few years off, but this vineyard is what pumps through Xander’s veins. The aromas I smell in this glass—smoke, vanilla, espresso—they circulate in his blood.
I slam the glass to the bar and grab his shirt, pulling his face within inches of mine. Our breaths mingle as my eyes scan across the three freckles that dot his perfect nose and then they move to his defined cheeks bones before falling to appreciate his sharp jaw.
For a moment, I pretend I’m just some woman here for a tasting, and then I realize how absolutely cruel that is … because they can never have him.
He is mine.