Page 28 of One Wild Wish

CHAPTEREIGHT

RACHEL

I must have been a glutton for punishment. The whole hour at Crush had been an Olympic effort to avoid Jimmy’s persistent gaze. My attention would slide over, and I’d force it away. I’d catch sight of his hand dragging through his disheveled hair, and my mouth would water. I’d recall his descriptions of orgasms one through six, and I’d cross my legs. Tightly. As soon as our time had been up, I’d lurched out of my seat, only to be leading him into my apartment now.

The space had never felt so small.

Or smelled so good. The air around him was rich with scents of leather and musk, his hair tousled from his motorcycle helmet. His attention was everywhere. On the walls, lingering on the motivational sayings I’d hung, examining my tidy recycling bin, the books organized by color above my desk. Probably judging the pillow at the head of my bed embroidered with the quote, “All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them.” ~ Walt Disney.

Even under his scrutiny, dealing with him in my place was preferable to returning to where my supposed orgasms occurred.

I unpacked our groceries—wine, fruits, vegetables, spices—my hands busy, my heartbeat erratic, my eyes unable to meet his. That’s how it had been since our little acting scene.

I’d never been a drama geek. Standing on stage in front of people resulted in hot flashes, cold sweats, and more words forgotten than remembered. Even earlier, popping a champagne cork, something I’d done numerous times (Ainsley liked her mimosas), had me all thumbs. Because I’d had an audience. Not so with Sophia. For a spell, when Jimmy first spotted her, he’d turned ashen, devastation in the hollow below his eyes. A need to ease his pain had possessed me, and I deserved an Academy Award for my performance: Best Actress in an Awkward Grocery Store Scene.

Problem was, I was having trouble shaking the role.

He tossed his jacket on a stool and whistled at my wine fridge, appreciation in the extended note. “Nice collection.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t glance up, didn’t know what to do with the sight of him in my ordered apartment, all that danger and chaos tied into a delicious package. One I hungered to consume. I washed the fruit and put the blackberries in a bowl, the green pepper on a plate. I lined up the black peppercorns and star anise and chocolate, keeping occupied.

When I wiped the counter for a third time, he gripped my wrist. “Rachel.”

God, his touch. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Last time, at the end of the Pinot Noir tasting, I was a dick.”

“You were.” The apology diluted the tension between us, an acknowledgment I needed to hear. Still, I kept my focus on a small bruise on the green pepper. “Do I get an explanation?”

“When you look at me, you will.”

So darn bossy.

He was on the opposite side of the island, his strong fingers circling my wrist, and I allowed myself a glance. A closer perusal of his ink. Tattoos began above his leather cuff, a swirling mass of ivy and swooping shapes in black and gray. The lines curled around a goblet on his forearm, a horned goat bleating on the inside of his bicep, a prowling panther clawing up from the outside of his elbow. Its head was hidden by the frayed edge of his gray T-shirt, the same one he’d worn the first day of the contest. It read Dare Me.

Boy, did I want to dare him. Beg him to leap over the counter and rip open my blouse. To prove he could undo me with nothing but his tongue. Dare him to make me scream.

Instead I said, “I’m looking.”

His thumb moved to my pulse point, pressing gently. “That you are.” He held us together like that, our eyes searching, his thumb eavesdropping on my restless heart.

Then he released me and slung his leg over the counter stool. “My family owns a winery in the valley, and my father decided to retire—travel and spend time with my mom—which meant passing the business to me and my younger brother, Dimitri.” He scrubbed his hands down his unshaven cheeks. “Except my father and I had a falling out, and I was cut off. Everything went to Dimitri. I haven’t spoken to my family in almost two years, haven’t sipped a drop of our—their wine since then.”

He spoke evenly, but the usual gravel in his voice roughened. The gray in his blue eyes darkened.

“Until the blind tasting?” I asked. “The fifth glass of Pinot Noir?”

“It was the first time I’d tasted the wine in two years.”

I thought back to the exercise. Offshoot Winery. It was an impressive operation, large scale. If I had the chance to run a place like that, I’d plaster myself to the helm and never let go. The revelation also meant Gwen’s intel the night the girls had coaxed me into The Blue Door was accurate. Her sales pitch had involved the bartender’s approval—the fact that he’d vouched for Jimmy and said Bad Boy came from a good family who owned a winery or something. When flirting around our bet that night, I first asked Jimmy to wager a vineyard. He’d laughed off my joke, and I’d assumed Cameron’s information was more “or something” than fact. Apparently I was wrong.

“That’s why you shut down,” I said, more pieces of Jimmy fitting into place. “I’m sorry. It must have been a shock.”

“It was, and that makes two unwelcome surprises in a week, one of which you helped me face, so don’t apologize. My only regret is how I treated you.” He picked up my corkscrew and flipped it between his fingers.

“Inhaling your bike exhaust as you peeled off was unpleasant.” As was the hurt that lingered.

The corkscrew froze mid-flip. He frowned. “I was an asshole and it won’t happen again. I’d like to pick up where we left off.”