Bottles & Blades (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #1)

Chapter 33

Thirty-Three

Tiff

Bright green leaves rustle in the gentle spring breeze.

The mid-morning sun is warm on my bare arms as I walk, my face as I tilt it up toward the sky.

I inhale, drawing in the soft floral scent of the grape flowers into my nose, the earthiness of the narrow path between the vines that we’re walking along into my lungs.

It’s…peace.

Soft fingers brush over my cheek, down along my throat, and my eyes fly open.

I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped.

Jean-Mi smiles. “You feel it too.”

We’ve toured Oak Ridge winery’s aging facilities, a huge room sunken into the earth on one side of the rolling hills, kept to a precise temperature for the wine to sit in, waiting for the proper flavors to develop. We tasted several varieties, and though I know what kind of wine I like to drink, what is pleasant to my tastebuds, I had no idea all the complexities that went into creating the bottles I buy at the grocery store.

The chemical reactions, the flavors that are absorbed by the type of wood the wine is aged in, the different factors that lead to changes to the scent, the texture, the color.

Then there is all the work that goes into planting, harvesting, crushing, fermenting, clarifying, and bottling the wine.

And don’t get me started on that —the appearance of the bottle itself, the design of the label, even the cork.

It’s so much more complicated than I anticipated, and hearing the excitement, the pleasure, the knowledge of each step in the process as Jean-Michel described them warmed my heart. I’ve seen him in the office, listened to him interact with his employees. I’ve seen him with Angela, with Chrissy and Rory.

But this is different.

There is passion here.

It lights up his eyes, his words.

“Feel what?” I ask softly.

“Feel the magic here.”

My lungs freeze because that’s exactly what this place is like.

“How can you go into an office when you have all of this?”

He grins and draws me against his side, starts us walking again. “Because the office makes it so I can have this place.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “I mean…”

“What?” he presses when I get distracted by the flowers and the breeze and the peace in these rolling hills.

“The bottles of Oak Ridge wine are expensive, and I just figured that meant the winery is doing well.”

“It is.”

I glance up at him, brows furrowed. “Then why…”

“It was a mess when I bought the vineyard—we had pest damage, fire damage, and had to replant. It takes years for the vines to mature enough for a good harvest. Which meant we needed capital to keep this place moving toward what I knew it could become.”

“And what has it become?” I ask as he guides me to the side and down another row of vines.

“Expensive,” he says, looking down at me, his mouth tipped up at the edges.

It’s a cocky smile.

And it’s exceedingly kissable.

Longing winds through me for a moment. But then I realize I don’t have to sit in that longing.

I can kiss him if I want.

Because…he’s mine.

So, I do.

As we reach the end of the row of vines, I slide to a stop, wait for him to turn toward me again, and then…

I pounce.

“Wh—”

But I’ve already—quite literally—pounced, launching myself into his arms.

He reacts quickly, as I knew he would, grabbing me around the middle then hooking his arms beneath my butt and hefting me up.

One second, I’m straining to reach his mouth.

The next, I’m wrapping my legs around his waist and our mouths are locked.

It’s not gentle, and mostly I think, because I don’t let it be.

This man lights me on fire and he’s made it clear he wants me and…I know how to kiss now. Because he taught me and I’ve been paying attention and I know exactly what he likes.

Our tongues tangle, our lips meld, and because his hands are busy, mine get to do the fun work.

I smooth them over the strong lines of his shoulders, down along his chest, squeezing the tight pecs. Then I shove them between our bodies, beyond his flat stomach, and into the waistband of his jeans?—

Which is when he moves.

I bounce against him as he strides forward, my mouth jostled from his just in time to see a copse of oak trees, a large, flat rock before I’m laid on top of it.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs as he steps between my thighs.

I want him to fuck me like this, staring down at me, eyes hot, mouth curved into that cocky smile, hands gripping each of my thighs. The image is so clear in my mind, so intense, that I shiver. And he notices, his head tilting slightly to the side, his gaze locking with mine.

“What just went through your mind, buttercup?” he asks, bending over me, one hand on either side of my head, his mouth temptingly close.

“You seem to be the mind reader,” I tease, “why don’t you tell me?”

He shifts, grinding the hard ridge of his erection against me, and I shiver again, legs clamping around his waist. “Yeah,” he says, having earned that cocky smile, “I know exactly what you’re thinking, baby. Because”—he drops his mouth to mine for a scorching kiss—“I’m thinking the same damned thing.”

I shudder, my thighs convulsing. “Why don’t you?” I find myself asking with far more courage than I expect of myself.

He gave me that.

He groans softly and straightens away from me, wrapping his hand around mine. “I thought you were an angel—never knew I’d see the devil inside you so soon.”

“Jean-Mi!” I shriek as he drags me up to my feet. “What are we— ack!”

I don’t finish the question because he’s tossing me over his shoulder and carrying me deeper into the grove of trees.

And what I see when he stops has my heart melting.

There’s a blanket spread out on the ground.

A basket beside it.

He shifts and I’m flying forward, sailing through the air.

But I have a soft landing.

Because of course I do.

Because Jean-Michel makes it so.