Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
B ex knew this was a bad idea. He was drunk. Emotional. Upset. And she was totally taking advantage. Except she’d tried to tell him they shouldn’t. Maybe she should try harder.
Oh, but his lips on hers were so heavenly, the feel of his warm neck beneath her fingertips divine, the scent of him exhilarating—pure Hayden—a smell she hadn’t realized how deeply she’d missed until now. She never wanted this moment to end. And yet, she had to make it stop.
She pushed at his shoulders gently, but firmly.
He looked down at her, the stark desire in his gaze robbing her of thought. “What’s wrong?”
Yeah, what the hell was wrong? With her ? She mentally shook herself. “You’ve been drinking. I know you said you aren’t that drunk?—”
“I’m not really drunk at all, actually. I stopped drinking over an hour ago, and I had a ton of water. You know me. You can tell when I’m shitfaced.” His mouth ticked up into an almost-smile, and her knees turned to mush.
“That’s true,” she murmured. He wasn’t shitfaced. And like he’d said, they wanted each other. They were consenting adults.
He stroked his hand along her spine, from her nape to the small of her back. Then he caressed her there, his fingertips grazing the top of her backside. Every touch brought her further under the spell of the moment. “Don’t you want to know if it’s as good as it used to be?”
She practically melted against him. She’d thought of that very question so many times over the past two weeks. And she absolutely wanted an answer.
“Yes.”
His mouth was on hers before she finished enunciating the S . She was transported back in time to when she’d felt happy and loved. He felt like . . . home.
He pulled away, and she just knew this had been too good to be true. He couldn’t really want her. Not after all this time and everything they’d been through.
He frowned at her. Her chest tightened. She resigned herself?—
“I can’t do this,” he said.
She stepped back from him, but he didn’t let her go. His hands were still wrapped around her waist.
“No,” he said. “I can’t do this here . In my sister’s room.” He stuck his tongue out as if he’d had to eat fried liver. “Come on.” He took her by the hand and led her from the room. They walked down the hallway, and she knew where they were going.
The wistfulness she’d felt intensified the minute she stepped into his bedroom. Everything about it was the same—the bed, the dresser where she’d kept a few items of clothing stashed, the desk, the poster from the beer and wine festival they’d attended. Memories, good and bad, assailed her. But mostly, she just wanted him to touch her again, to take her back to what she realized now had been the best time of her life.
So far.
He’d opened the door for her and now came in behind her. She heard the door close then felt the whisper of his breath against her neck as he pushed her hair aside. “Been a long time since you were in here, Sexy Bexy.”
He hadn’t called her that in forever, of course. It had started out as a flirtation when they’d first dated. Later, after they’d been together awhile, he’d called her that only in bed, and never more than once. She’d later come to realize it had been his shorthand for saying “I love you” before they’d both worked up the courage to actually utter the words.
She closed her eyes and forgot about time and place for a moment. She focused on the heat of his body pressed against her back, the soft press of his lips on her exposed flesh. A shiver tickled her spine and her breath caught. His tongue, hot and wet, traced her nape.
“Just like I remember,” he whispered.
His hand snaked around her waist and held her tight against him while his other hand came up and cupped the underside of her breast. He went slow, his touch gentle, seeking. She kept her hands at her sides though she longed to touch him. For now, she would let him explore, allow her body to respond.
He closed over her breast, bringing his thumb and forefinger together at the tip. It wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes separating them. She pulled up the hem of her T-shirt, but he stilled her hands with his own.
“Let me.” His words caressed her flesh just before he kissed her neck. It was hot and wet and sent shocks of pleasure straight to her core. She stifled a moan as his hands pushed her shirt up over her breasts.
She expected him to pull it over her head, but he left it scrunched up, her bra exposed. He slipped his hands inside her bra and pushed the cups down, freeing her breasts. But not quite. They were sort of trapped there between the garments.
“I always loved your breasts. So soft. Just the perfect size for me.” He caressed her with both hands, rhythmic strokes that set her hips to moving. He pulled at her flesh then used his thumb and forefinger again. But this time was so much better and she couldn’t keep the moan from escaping. “Your nipples are a shade darker. A dusky rose instead of that pink I remember. Do they taste the same, I wonder?”
“You’ll have to find out.” Her answer came out breathy and needy, and she couldn’t have cared less.
He chuckled softly. “Now, that’s a dare if ever I’ve heard one. But then you always were a daredevil. Like the time you broke into one of the offices on campus—I can’t remember which one—so we could make out.”
She recalled that night vividly. “I think we did a little more than make out.”
“Like tonight? Or is this going to stop before it even gets started?”
She pushed back and felt his erection against her ass. “You’re being a real tease, you know that?”
“You like it when I tease you. At least you used to. Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe you’d rather I throw you on the bed and screw you senseless.”
Yes, please.
Pathetic as it sounded, she’d take him any way she could. “We’ve done that, too.” Her voice was thread-thin.
His hands continued their torture, caress, pull, soft pinch. “Which do you prefer? Slow and seductive or hard and fast?” Then a hard pinch.
She gasped. “Both?”
He walked her to the bed, his body gently pushing her from behind. He tapped her back so that she bent down, her breasts swaying. “We could do it like this.” He ran his hand over her backside before slipping it between her legs. His touch grazed over her, neither firm nor light, but enough to make her already quivering body scream for more.
She parted her legs in silent invitation.
“Mmm, yes. But I think I’d rather see your face.” He tugged on her shoulder until she was upright once more then turned her around. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted.
She couldn’t stand it another second. She put her hands on his chest and fisted his shirt. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you do it now .”
She cupped his face and kissed him hard, her lips grinding against his just before they each sought the other’s tongue. Giddiness cartwheeled through her. She’d never imagined she’d feel this way again, that she’d be in his arms. And until last week, she hadn’t realized she’d wanted it. Missed it.
He gripped her hips and rocked against her, his pelvis meeting hers. She clutched at his neck as her joy catapulted into desperation. At last, he pulled her shirt over her head, breaking their kiss briefly. Then he made short work of her bra, tossing it from her body with effortless care. It was like they’d done this before. But of course they had.
She’d kicked her sandals off back in Tori’s room, so she had on only her skort and panties, whereas he was wearing everything. Except shoes. She tunneled her hands under his shirt, her fingertips skimming over the muscles of his back. He definitely felt bulkier—just as he looked. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like shirtless.
With a quick tug, she pulled his shirt over his head, baring his chest. But before she could survey her prize, he held her arms up and lowered his mouth to her breast. He covered her with wet heat, drawing a long moan from her throat.
He let go of her arms. “Tastes just like I remember.”
She dropped his shirt and thrust her fingers into his hair, urging his mouth to take her harder and deeper. He licked at her and devoured her flesh, his hands cupping her.
She realized she’d started repeating his name over and over and stopped before she sounded like she was completely losing her mind. Which she totally was.
He moved one hand down her abdomen, his fingers skidding over her flesh and then finding the heat buried between her legs, beneath her skirt. He fondled her through her clothing, pressing on her clit until she cried out his name. She gripped his head even tighter.
He kissed his way down her stomach as he pulled at the waistband of her skort. With a rough yank, he pulled the garment down her legs then did the same with her panties.
He clasped her hips and knelt, licking a path toward her core. “God, I just want to?—”
He pushed her back onto the bed—not hard, but she was startled. She’d thought he meant to do something else.
She looked up at him as he shucked the rest of his clothing. Yep, his chest and abs were more defined than they’d been five years ago. A sparse trail of light brown hair led her vision south to his cock. That hadn’t changed. She was suddenly overcome with a need so strong, she started to shake. Had he felt the same? Had that been why he’d changed course?
“I can’t wait. I’ve waited long enough.”
His words bored a hole into her heart. She wanted to ease the pain she’d caused him. “I don’t want to wait another second.”
He grinned down at her. “I’m afraid we have to. I need to get a condom.” He turned and went into the bathroom.
Ah yes, that would be good. They’d gone without before . . . she didn’t want to think about that right now. There’d be time for reflection and analysis later. Now, she wanted to live in this glorious moment.
When he returned, he was sheathed and ready. He knelt between her legs on the bed. They locked eyes as he clasped her thighs and kneaded her flesh. He spread her legs a little wider. “If memory serves, you like it when I touch you here.” He softly stroked her outer folds. “But even more here.” He thumbed her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her. “But most of all, you liked it when I touched you here.” He slid his finger inside her. She was slick and he went in easy. He pumped once, twice, and then pierced deep, curving his finger until he found her G-spot. She closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Wait, I forgot about this spot.”
He put his mouth on her breast again, suckling her while he fucked her with his hand. With two fingers, he stroked her hard and fast. She brought her legs up, bending her knees. Her hips rotated and lifted off the bed. Then his mouth found her clit and he sent her over the edge.
Her orgasm obliterated everything but the feel of his hand and mouth and the sound of her cries. She was blissfully broken, and she didn’t think she ever wanted to be put back together again.
Except he did—put her back together again. He brought her back to reality with gentle licks and soft strokes.
“Hayden.” His name tore from her mouth like a plea. She pulled at his hair, urging him to move up. Then she kissed him, openmouthed and hungry. His tongue speared into her as he framed her face with his hands.
His hips ground into hers, and she rose up to meet him. She reached between them and found his stiff cock. The condom jolted her for a moment, and she briefly entertained the idea of taking it off and sucking him bare. She wanted to, but it would have to wait for another time. Would there be another time?
She closed her hand around him and stroked him from base to tip.
“Bex.” He practically groaned her name into her mouth. “I really can’t wait anymore now.”
She guided him to her entrance. His fingers met hers as he opened her then pushed inside. He moved slowly, filling her—not just physically, but emotionally. She’d had no idea how much she’d missed him.
Once he was settled inside, he gazed down at her. “I forgot how well we fit together.”
She clasped his waist and his ass. “So did I.”
“Let’s see how well we move.” He slid out and then in, slowly, methodically at first, and then gaining momentum. She locked her feet behind the small of his back.
“Oh, I remember that ,” he said between gritted teeth. He pumped faster, driving into her. She dug her nails into his ass. “And that. God, that .”
He twined one hand in her hair, pulling gently as he kissed her deeply. His flesh pounded into hers, the delicious friction feeding another orgasm. Her senses exploded, but she didn’t want to fly away. Not quite yet.
She reached between their bodies and found his balls, massaging them and then closing her thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft. She squeezed—not too tight, but just enough to elicit a low moan from deep in his chest.
“Bex!” He battered into her, crying out as he came.
She let go then, and another orgasm engulfed her body. She’d always enjoyed sex with him, but this was something different. Maybe it was because she was older, more experienced, but she felt every sensation in her bones, along her nerves, within her heart.
She was in such trouble.
When their bodies had stilled and their breathing slowed, he kissed her temple before leaving her. After a quick trip into the bathroom, he came back and pulled the covers back. “You can stay, if you want.”
She did want.
She rolled to where he’d exposed the sheets then tucked herself under them, scooting back over. She patted the mattress that they’d shared so many times before.
He climbed in beside her and it was like no time had passed at all. She curled onto her side away from him, and he spooned her from behind. His hand came possessively around her waist. She smiled.
His fingertips fluttered against her. “So was it as good?”
She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
But that wasn’t the truth. No, the truth was that it had been better.
Bright sunlight filtered through the blinds on the windows on either side of Hayden’s bed. He stretched then nudged a foot.
Holy hell. Bex.
He turned his head on the pillow. She lay next to him, her dark hair framing her beautifully sculpted face. There were no dimples now, just smooth flesh, pink lips, and ink-black lashes fanned against her cheeks.
There was a small scar on her forehead—from the chicken pox she’d had when she was five. He stopped himself from touching it, from gathering her close, from making love to her again.
He pushed up and got out of the bed. Hurriedly, he grabbed his clothes and went into the bathroom. His morning wood seemed far more inconvenient today, which was insane since unlike most days, he had a willing partner in his bed.
Would she be willing? Or would she wake up with precisely the same what-the-fuck freak-out that he’d just had?
He went through his morning ritual, but didn’t jump in the shower. He ought to go back and wake her. Tell her that it had been a mistake.
Except he wasn’t sure it had been. Even if he never spent another moment alone with her—which was unlikely given her current job and her apparent closeness with several members of his family—maybe last night was supposed to happen. One last night together. A farewell.
He knew it wasn’t that. It hadn’t felt remotely like a good-bye. More like a new beginning.
And what the hell was he supposed to do with that? He didn’t want to start over with her. It had taken so long to untangle himself from her. He didn’t want to be bound in her web for a single moment.
Wait a second , a voice in the back of his head said. You slept together. Once. It felt good, right? When you left Ribbon Ridge, you said you would put yourself first. And you deserve that. What’s wrong with living in the moment? You’ve been doing it the past year, and it’s worked out great so far.
Yeah, it had. He braced his hands on the counter and exhaled, pushing the stress from his muscles. One of the things he’d promised himself when he’d finally left Ribbon Ridge was that he’d stop overanalyzing. He’d always considered every decision he made so carefully, thinking of everyone and everything so as to make the best possible choice that would benefit the most people. Alex’s death had been the wake-up call he’d needed to pull his head out of his ass.
Pushing away from the counter, he left the bathroom. Bex was up and already half dressed. She was just pulling on her skort and now grabbed her T-shirt. And just like that, she was all covered up, though her hair still looked like she’d just enjoyed a good lay.
“Hey,” he said, tamping down the awkward silence that seemed to envelop the room.
Her cheeks were faintly pink. Was she embarrassed? “Morning.”
Words failed him for a moment. What did you say to your ex the morning after a nostalgia screw? He still suspected it was more than that, but he wasn’t going there. Not today. Not with her.
“I’m, uh, sorry about last night,” he said.
She winced, and he instantly felt bad.
He stepped toward her. “No, not like that. I have zero regrets.” He smiled at her. “I just hope you know that . . . well, it was one night.”
She nodded quickly. Maybe too quickly. Her feelings weren’t his problem. Just like his feelings hadn’t been her problem five years ago.
“I get it,” she said. “I had fun. I hope you did, too.”
Fun. That was probably undervaluing it, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Whatever emotions were swirling around in his slightly hungover brain were better left unexplored.
“It was great. Thank you.”
She nodded, and again the awkwardness in the room seemed a living, breathing thing. And for that he felt bad. They’d developed a good rapport the past couple of weeks. They’d become something he’d never expected—friends. But maybe that was the issue. Maybe they couldn’t really do that. Maybe there would always be a lingering attraction, dormant feelings, baggage.
That was too bad because he’d always liked Bex. Love affair or not, he’d liked her. That was probably another reason why he’d taken so long to get over her.
She moved toward the door. “I need to get showered and get to work. See you later.”
“Yeah, see you later.”
She left, and he immediately turned and went back into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, intent on scrubbing away the vestiges of last night. He could still smell her, like she’d permeated every part of him. Part of him didn’t want to wash that away. But it was for the best.
An hour later, he pulled into the driveway at Quail Crest. He’d called Amos French and asked for a meeting. He parked the car and got out then walked around the house to the backyard, where Amos had said Hayden could find him.
The day was bright and hot, the sky a brilliant blue. Hayden had put on his hiking boots with his shorts because flip-flops were not appropriate vineyard attire. Shorts weren’t usually either, but he wasn’t going to be trimming bushes or anything, just walking. Or hiking, since the elevation here was pretty steep.
Hayden caught sight of Amos’s white hair over near the shed. “Amos,” he called.
Amos turned and waved. “Just you this morning?”
Hayden nodded. “I know you’re looking to list the property maybe today or tomorrow, and I was hoping I could persuade you to hold off.”
Amos was holding a baseball cap and put it back on his head. It was black and orange. Hayden grinned. “You’re a Beaver.”
“Hell yes. You?”
“Hell yes.”
They both laughed, and Amos gestured for Hayden to follow him. “Walk with me.”
They strolled into the vineyard. “These are my oldest vines,” Amos said. “Is it funny that I’ll miss them?”
“Not at all.” In France, the vines were precious. Like family, almost. And why not? You invested your time, your energy, your heart and soul in an operation like this. It was much more than a garden. With a vineyard, you were cultivating something lasting, something strangers could enjoy and fall in love with. There was a poetry in it. Or maybe Hayden was just a hopeless romantic. He’d been called that before. By Bex.
Amos looked over at him, squinting. “Why do you need more time? You guys struggling to get the money together? I would’ve thought you could buy this on your own, what with your name.”
Yes, the Archer name was synonymous with real estate and wealth. “I probably could, but I’m only buying a quarter. It’s not the money.” Jamie and Cameron were ready to sign. Luke was nearly there. Like Hayden, there was something holding him back from committing, but he wasn’t saying what it was. Hayden wondered if there was a woman, but Luke hadn’t said a word. For all they knew, he was as romantically untethered as he’d always been.
Amos stopped and pivoted toward him. “Then what is it?”
Hayden looked out over the valley, at Ribbon Ridge below. He’d lived here his whole life. The past year felt like some sort of dream—both because he’d been doing what he’d always wanted to do and because he’d been away from his family, his home. It was as if he’d been living in a bubble. A great bubble, but bubbles didn’t last.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to come back,” he said finally, turning his head to look at Amos. “I’ve been pretty happy on my own the past year.”
Amos nodded, his gaze knowing. “Spreading your wings.”
“Exactly.”
“You know, you can do that here.”
Hayden opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. He could . . . Just leaving Archer had been a huge step, and no matter what he did, he wasn’t going back to that.
“I can, but maybe it feels like a regression?”
“Only in your head, I think. Families do a number on us—good and bad. I grew up with eight brothers and sisters.”
“Wow, that’s more than me.”
Amos chuckled. “And none of us were twins or anything—there’s quite an age range. My oldest brothers are gone now.” He looked out over the distance for a second then glanced at Hayden. “I know you lost one, too.”
They fell silent. Hayden succumbed to thoughts of Alex and that damned letter he’d read last night. The letter that had led him to Bex. He’d done a good job of banishing it from his mind, instead focusing on the Bex complication and now this. What would Alex tell him to do? he wondered. He realized he had no idea. He thought he’d come to know Alex better than anyone, that they’d developed this close bond. What a load of shit. He’d been no closer to Alex than to any of his other siblings.
Hayden jerked his mind back to the present. Alex didn’t deserve his time. “Maybe I should know this, but are you from Ribbon Ridge?”
Amos shook his head. “No. I lived in Forest Grove until I retired and bought this place. I worked for Intel back in the eighties, retired early.” He waggled his brows at Hayden and gave him a sly smile.
Hayden laughed. “Well played, sir. Was your family close?”
“We were, but we spread out. A few of us are around here—close enough to spend holidays and whatnot together. But my closest brother—we were only eighteen months apart—lives in Florida. We haven’t lived in the same state in fifty years, and yet we’re still thick as thieves. Home and family are a state of mind. Geography’s got nothing to do with it.”
Hayden’s confusion must’ve reflected on his face because Amos clarified. “What I’m trying to say is that regardless of where you go, family’s family. If there’s something causing you trouble, it’s going to be trouble no matter where you are.”
Hayden began to understand. “You’re telling me that I shouldn’t let my family influence my decision.”
“Or whatever it is. I used family as an example because that’s something we have in common.” He cocked his head to the side. “You said it felt like a regression. Why? Answer that and maybe you can figure things out.”
Why was it a step back? Because he’d moved forward, pursued his dream, left his younger self behind. The things that were here now—his family business, his family, The Alex, Bex—were all the things he’d moved on from. But Amos was right. If the next step in his journey was to start this winery, the geography didn’t matter. So what if it was Ribbon Ridge?
Because it would be complicated. He’d be the extra Archer again, the afterthought. And then there was Bex, who shouldn’t have been a problem, but after last night, he had to think extra hard about it.
Amos started walking again. “Looks like you’ve got a lot to think about.”
What had Hayden told himself that morning? That he overanalyzed everything? Screw it. He wanted this vineyard, and he did miss Ribbon Ridge. He’d figure the rest out. Or move up here into this house and ignore everybody except his business partners.
He took long steps to catch up with Amos. “We’ll buy it. Don’t list the property.”
Amos stopped and turned. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Do you want me to give you an earnest-money deposit right now?”
He laughed. “Once you make up your mind, you’re ready to go, aren’t you?”
Hayden smiled. “I’m trying to be.” He just had to make sure Luke was in, and if he wasn’t . . . well, they could find another vineyard manager. But no, he’d talk Luke into it. If he could commit, so could Luke.
Amos offered his hand to Hayden. “All right then. Have to say that I’m happy to see it go to you guys.”
Hayden shook his hand firmly. He still felt a grain of uncertainty, but attributed it to his family issues and Bex. Starting this winery filled him with nothing but excitement and joy.
Maybe if he focused on that, it would spread to the rest of his life, too.