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“Yep,” I say proudly, as if being a certified red wine drinker were an achievement. Closest to a Pinot Noir, according to Enzo, Angel Red islight to medium body with an aroma reminiscent of black or red cherry—his exact words.
“Impressive.”
He’s had an effect on me in more ways than one. So much so that I sometimes struggle to remember what life was like pre-Enzo. Boring but with a lot fewer tugs on my heartstrings, some not entirely enjoyable. Like the sinking feeling that came with every new weather report on Thursday into Friday, until it became obvious Enzo wouldn’t be able to safely travel home this weekend.
“When we first worked on that,” he says, referring to my wine, “Hayden insisted on that particular formula for the red. He said it was the most romantic of all the wines.”
“How can a wine be romantic?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“He said it packed a powerful punch, kind of like falling in love.”
The word seems to hang over us—me in my home and him in his—maybe because neither of us has said that word to each other. I just can’t be the first to do it. Enzo has to know, given our history, I’m totally in love with him. And if he’s not ready to profess his love to me, there must be a reason.
Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.
“You should know something else.” He looks over his shoulder, as if someone might be watching. Highly unlikely since it’s ten thirty at night and he’s in bed too. I catch a glimpse of his bare chest, my eyes lingering, and I think Enzo notices. The look in his eyes takes a decidedly more intimate turn.
“What should I know?”
His lips part. I swallow, glad I’ve locked my bedroom door. Whatever he was about to say before seems to have changed.
“I’m hard as a rock thinking about you in this bed with me.”
Yep, that’s what I thought.
“Are you now?” I say, my core clenching in anticipation.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” His liquid brown eyes pull me in, but it’s Enzo’s voice that clutches me and refuses to let go. The warmth in it wraps around me like a blanket. “But we had reservations for tonight at Chateau LeMonte. Dinner and a room.”
My eyes widen.
“For real?”
Chateau LeMonte is a five-star restaurant in a neighboring town. It’s housed in a historical building, surrounded by luxury cabins. They’re always booked, even in the winter, and though I’ve passed the place a hundred times, I’ve never stayed there. My mom and Devon and I did eat there twice, once for each of our high school graduations, but it’s not the kind of place you just book for a random Saturday night.
Unless you’re Enzo DeLuca.
“How is that possible?”
Enzo’s shoulder dips. Is he . . .
“For the right price, anything is possible.”
Oh yes, he is. I can’t see it, but I can easily imagine him grasping himself while looking at me. I reach my own hand down too, slipping up the hem of the satin nightshirt I really only wear when chatting with Enzo. Usually it’s just an oversized T-shirt for me.
“Is that so?”
We’ve done this before, but there’s something about not talking about it, pretending to carry on a conversation but knowing it’s really only a front . . .
“Well.” His eyes close momentarily. “Most anything. A few things can’t be bought.”
I’ve slipped a finger inside. Normally that wouldn’t do much to get me off, but this is a special circumstance. I’m staring at my gorgeous boyfriend, who’s clearly pumping himself more rigorously now. And the look on his face . . . I just don’t know if I can continue the conversation.
But I try.
“Such as?”
He moans, his shoulder dipping down in a steady rhythm that I match, slick and ready to come even though I’ve only just started.
