Zoe Brennan, First Crush

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Laine leads me down toward the reception, already bubbling with guests and laughter, to the high-top table where the events team is huddled. It’s surreal, walking quietly hand in hand with Laine toward them now. I’ve been worried about seeing the events team all week, anxiously waiting for the moment where I can win them over for good, but now, all I can think about is the feel of Laine’s hand in mine. The promise, whenever you’re ready , she made directly to my trembling heart.

The hopeful feeling blooming inside me has more to do with Laine than the showcase, and that’s scarier than all of it together. The soft hope turns sharp, though, when I hear Erica’s irritated tone rise above the reception’s hum.

“ Yes , I concede that it’s lovely here, but there’s more to the showcase than views, Marisol.” Erica swirls a glass of red in her hand with clear disdain. “Like wine? Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, don’t be such a snob. I quite like all the regional white varietals and blends they have. Sweet isn’t always bad, you know.”

“And the reds?” Erica pins Marisol with her gaze. The menfolk watch this exchange silently, their opinions unnecessary in this regard. My stomach clenches as Marisol’s defensive expression drops noticeably.

“They’re not a strength, I agree.”

“Are you really willing to put Everyday Bon Vivant ’s stamp of approval on such substandard wine?” Erica huffs. “Into the Woods is a better choice, and you know it.”

Through all of this, Laine’s grip on my hand has steadily increased in pressure. Before I can slink away, regroup, and come up with a contingency plan for how to change their minds, Laine drags us both forward with sudden conviction. All four pairs of eyes widen at once.

“Marisol, Erica!” I greet them warmly in full actress mode. Gonna play this off like we didn’t just hear them trash our wine. “Good to see you! You, too, Preston and Matthew.”

“We heard everything you said,” Laine blurts.

Well, fuck.

Marisol looks stricken, but Erica turns to us, a smug challenge on her face. Some people just aren’t happy unless they’re telling you the truth, which to them, usually means whatever nasty opinion they have about you. “And? You’re Napa-trained. You worked at Le Jardin. What do you have to say about Bluebell’s red offerings?”

Laine breathes deeply through her nose, her eyes darting to me. With an apology lacing her words, she says, “Poorly executed, basic, and clumsy at best.”

My nostrils flare. It’s not that she’s wrong, but can’t she be less right? I wriggle free from Laine’s grip, but she catches my hand again before I can pull away. She mouths big vintner energy , then trust me .

“Ha!” Erica spins to Marisol. “See? Their own vintner agrees with me.”

“But,” Laine interjects, pulling me closer, “there’s a reason for that. Julie Brennan was chief vintner here and was known for her complex, beautiful reds. And if you knew Cosimo, you’d see how heartbroken he is over Julie to this day. He’s never been able to handle reading Julie’s wine journals, and because of that, he’s never been able to carry on her work in that area.” Laine stops, a tentative smile on her face. “I can, though. I’ve read everything she wrote. And she’s a genius—more inspiring and insightful than anyone I worked with in California, that’s for sure. And I’m making her wines .”

Erica’s challenge slides from her face, replaced by reluctant intrigue. “You are?”

“I’m working through the blending process now. They’re intended to be young reds, so they’ll be ready by the showcase. The whites, too. We’ll have our popular offerings, but I’m bringing back some of Julie’s creations there, also. With my own spin, of course.”

Marisol’s eyebrows rise. “There’s a story there, Erica—you have to admit it.”

“My mother’s story,” I finally speak up, my voice rusty. Maybe it’s seeing River and Hannah so happy or all those hours I spent alone under Mom’s tree, whispering memories of her to myself, but this feels right . “We’re finally ready to tell it.”

Marisol shakes her head, a delighted smile on her face as she looks past me to the lantern-lit paths winding through the vineyard. Their honeyed light spills against the lavender skies and hazy blue mountains beyond, a beautiful dream made real. “Julie and Cosimo’s love story, set here in these breathtaking vineyards, with a fresh slate of wines representing a fusion of California winemaking principles with Georgia grapes and heirloom recipes …”

Marisol looks at Erica pointedly. Erica’s mouth goes flat, recognizing a clear nudge from her boss to admit she’s wrong. “It definitely sets a scene.” Erica sighs. “A compelling one.”

“Thank you,” I say, truly meaning it. Everything else in my life may be on fire, but as long as Bluebell Vineyards is safe, I feel safe, too.

“Would you consider working with Into the Woods, though?” Erica asks abruptly. “Collaborating somehow? You’re right next door to each other. That way, your wine offerings could be bolstered by—”

“No.” The word comes out heavy and loud, like an anvil splashing into a river. Perhaps it will drag me down to the bottom with it, but Rachel doesn’t get to benefit from our work after being so cruel to us.

Matthew hmm s. “Funny, Rachel Woods said the same thing when we asked her.”

“Let’s just say there’s a story there, too. One that only gets told after shots of tequila.” I smile to dispel any lingering tension .

Marisol laughs. “Well, sign me up for that when this is all behind us.”

“In the meantime, how about we take you around the property so you can see how we set up for big crowds?” Laine slips an arm around me, her fingers pressing against the soft space between hip and ribs. “Zoe’s completely outdone herself with this wedding.” Laine smiles down at me. She’s only a few inches taller, and I fit so neatly at her side that my body believes this story of us, my heart fluttering, skin prickling with chills at her touch. My brain knows better than to put stock in stories, though, and what’s a body without a brain?

A bag of dumb meat. Her fingers caress my back, and my pulse quickens.

Stop it, meat bag!

“We’d be delighted,” Marisol says.

We take them from spot to spot on the property, finding renegade parties broken off from the main group at each location. I have a feeling the revelry for River and Hannah will continue late into the night. I’m certainly not going to kick any of these people out. We even have the barn stocked with snacks, water, ibuprofen, and sleeping bags for guests too blitzed to drive, a giant sleepover just waiting to happen, as long as they don’t mind Baahlzebub’s occasional bleat.

By the time we get to the ceremony area, Marisol looks resolved, Matthew utterly charmed, Preston a little drunk, and Erica weirdly impatient.

“Finally, the restroom!” she exclaims when she spots the bridal tent.

“No!” I try to stop her, but she’s already through the tent flap before I can tell her that’s definitely not a bathroom.

She freezes, her body parting the tent flaps. “ Dear god! ”

Just over Erica’s shoulder, I see the beautifully carved chair decked with flowers that River made for Hannah, which he calls her throne. I also see Hannah’s head thrown back against it, her long neck exposed, one golden brown hand tucked inside the bodice of her gown, gripping her breast. The rest of River is on his knees before her, head buried between her legs splayed wide.

Hannah’s head whips up, her eyes dazed with pleasure. “Oh, shit! ” She scrambles to sit up, but River doggedly yanks her back to his face. He deigns to give the group of stunned onlookers a casual glance over his shoulder, with the purest example of I-don’t-give-a-fuck energy I’ve ever witnessed.

My eyebrows disappear into my hairline, and perhaps, space.

“O-kay,” I exclaim, “let’s give the newlyweds some privacy!”

We usher a stunned Erica toward the actual bathrooms. The crickets trill loudly as we stand in the darkness, waiting for Erica to return, when Laine busts out a single, booming laugh.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” She wipes at her eyes. “That must’ve been part of his—his vision !”

Marisol tilts her head to the side and considers for a second.

“That was a good vision.”

And then, we lose it. We lose it . Preston’s laughing so hard, his glasses fall off. Marisol appears to have an incurable case of the giggles. Matthew’s crying, and I am, too. Crying and laughing so hard, it feels like an exorcism. When we finally see the events team off for the night, rumbles of laughter still rolling through our group, Marisol pinches my cheek lovingly.

“This vineyard really does run on romance.” She winks at me, and my heart lifts on fluttery, happy wings. “We’ll be in touch.”

The moon is almost directly over the meadows, like a lone light bulb hanging over the dark world. It’s nearly midnight, but the band’s still playing though it’s long past the end of their paid gig. Couples are dancing, swaying softly to the music.

“Excuse me, boss, can I have this dance?” Laine appears to my left, startling me where I stand at the edge of the dance floor. She’s half in shadow, half in golden illumination, but her eyes shine brightly all the same.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

The corner of her mouth curves up, showing her dimple. “I’m starting to think coming to Bluebell Vineyards is the best idea I’ve ever had.”

She extends her hand to me, and though I’ve been holding it half the night, I can’t get used to the warm strength of her grip, her confident touch. My breath catches as it tugs me into the light.

“That’s not what I asked,” I say to her back as she leads me into the crowd. I study the muscular line of her shoulders, the dip of her narrow hips, the solid ass and strong thighs gliding through this world like nothing’s too difficult for her. Not this dance, not this life. Not even me.

I wish I felt that sure, too. That optimistic.

“It’s what you wanted to know, though.” She turns, and I start to lift my arm to hold her hand when she slides her arms around my waist instead.

I swallow, draping my own arms around her neck. “So, we’re going high school prom here, huh.”

“That all right, Chop Chop?” Laine smirks, and maybe it’s my imagination, but the heat in her fingertips seems to kick up a notch, as they find the divots in my hips and hold on tight.

“Okay, Beave,” I say through my rapidly drying throat. Does she fluster me like this on purpose? “Still your boss.”

“Right,” Laine says. “About that. I have a confession to make.”

My heart skips a few turns at, you know, keeping me alive. “What?”

“The red blends I’m working on are great,” Laine says, her eyes fully latched onto mine. “If you like the taste of old shoe.”

I huff out a laugh, which turns into a groan. “But you swore to the events team that they’re amazing!”

“They will be amazing. They’re just not there yet.”

“How do you know?”

Laine’s face softens. “Because of you, Zoe. You’re the reason I believe in what I can do again.” Her hands slide around my hips to the small of my back, holding me there. “It wasn’t easy, trying to make something new after”—she releases a deep breath—“after my wine project at Le Jardin tanked. I felt so adrift, but you’ve helped me find my way back.” The corners of her mouth twitch. “My guiding gay light, if you will.”

I groan again, this time burying my face in her shoulder. “I’m gonna kill Mattie.”

“Please don’t,” Laine says through a smile, using the opportunity to wrap her arms around me tighter. “Your friends are amazing.”

We sway together, my head on her shoulder, her hands anchoring me to her beneath the full moon. The whole town will be talking about us after tonight, but I don’t care. They’re used to seeing the arc of my romantic exploits, the initial interest building until something inevitably punctures the balloon, and it fizzles out, leaving me holding nothing once again.

No one , once again .

“Tonight’s been hard on you, hasn’t it?” Laine murmurs into my hair.

“Yes.” I don’t explain, and she doesn’t ask me to.

“For me, too,” she whispers. Her hands bring me closer until our hips meet, her head dipping toward mine. My fingers ache to touch her hair, the memory of it like suede in my mind. “I know you’re a fighter, boss, and I love that about you. But it’s time for you to stop fighting us.”

Her full lips kiss my forehead gently in that little space between my eyebrows, where lines form when I’m thinking too hard. Like I’m doing right now.

“Laine,” I breathe. “I don’t—I can’t—”

“You’re scared.”

I pull back so I can meet her dark hooded eyes. “Yes.”

“Listen to me, Zoe.” Her hands slide up to cradle the back of my neck. “I’ll never leave your vineyard high and dry. I won’t. No matter what happens between us, I will give Bluebell everything I have until you no longer need me.” One hand drifts along my jaw, her thumb light upon my chin. “But if you don’t let me kiss you right now, I think I might die.”

Her words strike my heart like a mallet to a gong, its reverberations ringing through me. I search her eyes and see the truth of her promise reflected there, and the dam of my resolve comes crashing down. My hands tighten around her neck, and I pull her to me, my fingers snaking up into her hair, pulling there, too, as our mouths crush against each other. She moans into me as I taste her, tipping her into my mouth so I can drink her up, licking, lavishing, and sweet Jesus, having her, all to myself.

Laine, Laine. My Laine.

“Yours,” she whispers back, and only then do I realize I murmured the words aloud.

The kiss may begin with our lips, but it flows through me like a rich, ruby wine, warming my insides with its fullness and heat, tweaking the buds of my breasts before puddling deep in my core, pulling deliciously between my legs like a finger, like a hand, beckoning me to come . She said she’d stay until I no longer needed her, but does she realize that until may never come? In this moment, I’m convinced I’ll need her for the rest of my life. And that maybe, I always have.

I break away from her mouth, panting, but my fingers refuse to relinquish their grip. Her face fills my frame of vision, her lust-blown eyes starry and sparkling. Her lips are parted, bee-stung from the crush of my own, and I can’t stop myself from diving in once more, taking her bottom lip between mine, sucking, scraping it lightly against my teeth.

“ Fuck , Zoe,” she says, her hands still cradling my head.

“Yes, let’s.” I breathe her into me. “ Now .”

I pull Laine by the hand through the glow of the lanterns until night envelops us. My cottage appears ahead, the porch light a beacon, promising relief from the unrelenting desire as soon as I get her inside and onto my bed. My couch, my floor, the kitchen counter. It’s negotiable.

I thrust the key into the lock and have the door half open when Laine spins me around, pinning me against the door with her body. Her mouth leaves a treasure map of kisses down my throat, my collarbone, the hollow between my breasts.

“Zoe,” she murmurs, running a hand down the front of my dress and cupping my pussy through the gauzy layers, making me clench. “I want you so bad .”

“I want you, too.” Inside preferably, but frankly, that’s also negotiable. “But some one won’t let me open the door.” I smile, lips parting as Laine slides down my body, pressing her hot mouth to my core through my dress and wrenching another moan from me. “How—are we going—to make this bad decision—if you won’t—”

“This isn’t a bad decision, boss.” Laine curls her fingers around the backs of my knees, making them weak. “This is the best decision,” she breathes the words into my dress, purring against my aching pussy. “ Mmm .”

“You’re right,” I pant, canting my hips toward her lush mouth, holding her there with my hands. “I should’ve added casual sex to your job duties ages ago.” Her chin is pressed firmly against my clit, each movement bringing me closer. I think I could come like this, if she would just—

Laine’s hands stop their slide midway up my thighs, and she looks up at me. “What if I want more than that?”

“Laine. You can have anything you want right now.”

But she doesn’t move or smile wickedly or rip my panties off or any of the things I desperately want.

She frowns. “Zoe, this isn’t just casual sex. I like you.”

I blow out a frustrated breath, my ass wriggling in her grasp as if to say, come back! “Okay. It’s not casual sex. Just please, come inside.” Maybe it’s not dignified to beg, but now that I’ve made this bad decision, I want to reap every last orgasm I can from it. I wriggle some more, but Laine’s hands are not persuaded to resume their advances. Instead, she runs one over her mouth, eyes squeezing closed, before standing before me.

“I can’t come in.”

“What?! Why? ” I say with all the chill of someone screaming fire in a crowded theater.

“Because you’re trying to write this off as some fling, and I won’t let you. You think that us fucking will get me out of your system.” Her eyes fall to my mouth, pouting and completely pissed, and frames it between her strong fingers, stroking the corner of my lips hard with the pad of her thumb until they part for her. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” The damning confession comes out in a whisper. But come on, we could never have a real relationship. Laine told me her first day here that she won’t relocate to Georgia, and Bluebell Vineyards is my home, my job, my identity—I can’t leave. Sex is what we can have, and I want to have it. Now. Then maybe I could think clearly for the first time since she showed up at my vineyard. For a second, I think her ridiculous decision to blue bean us both might crack as she runs her thumb along the smooth, wet rim of my lower lip, a strangled sound of want emerging from her own mouth.

“Well, I’m going to do more than just fuck you, Zoe Brennan.” The words nearly send me to my knees, but Laine’s eyes flash up to mine, pinning me there, utterly under her control. “I’m going to court you.”

I blink. “ Court me? What is this, the 1950s?”

“You don’t believe that I’m crazy about you, and you need me to prove it. So, I will.” Her smile is amused and indulgent, but her hand’s still grasping me firmly by the chin.

“You know what’s very convincing? Coming inside.” I reach for her waistband so I can yank her against me.

With one swift movement, she pins both my wrists above my head. My nipples tighten viciously as she presses her chest against mine, holding me against the door. I legit growl. The feeling of being trapped here, in her thrall, desperate to fuck her yet watching her withhold that from me is so hot it’s utterly infuriating. “God dammit , Laine! Court me in bed, then!”

She slides one hand free, running it down the inside of my arm to caress my cheek while her other one keeps me pinned in place. “You deserve more than that, Zoe, even if you’re afraid that’s not true.” She runs her thumb over my flushed cheekbone. “You’ve made me confront my fears. Now it’s time for you to confront yours.”

With that, she lets me go. My jaw burns with the imprint of her heat my arms collapsing to my sides, freed from her grip against my will. I stare at her, furious, as she steps backward into the night, her eyes never leaving mine. I rush to open my door and step inside before I do something humiliating, like beg her to change her mind, again.

“Good night, boss,” Laine says softly, though it’s clear right now who’s really in control.

“Good night .” The voice doesn’t even sound like mine. Angry, breathy, needy . Is this who she makes me become?

I slam the door behind me. She wants to court me? After she systematically removed each of my defenses until I crumbled riotously horny into her arms, she tells me she’s going to court me ? God, the power she wields over me—it’s terrifying.

I stand before the window, looking out into the vineyards, but my lights are on, and all I can see is my reflection overlaid upon the black night. I don’t know if she’s out there, still lingering in front of the fruit-heavy vines. The grapes round and plump, getting sweeter every minute they spend in the sun before they’re ready to burst.

So, I don’t know if she sees me unzip the back of my dress she marked with her mouth so fiercely, letting it slip off my shoulders and fall in a heap at my feet. When I dip my thumbs beneath my panties’ waistband, I see only myself as I slide them slowly down each hip, turning so the curve of my ass is the first thing exposed as I pull them gently off. I don’t know if she sees me slip a finger between my split, warm and wet and aching from an evening spent resisting the pull of the energy between us.

But the thought that she might be standing there still, those burnished bronze eyes watching me through the window, sends chills licking across my body. I face the window fully now, watching myself give me what I want, even if Laine won’t. My clit tightens, swells, and I lift one leg to give myself more access, propping it up against the windowsill and working faster. Laine, cupping my pussy and telling me no. Laine, pinning me down, watching me squirm with heat dripping from her eyes. Now I can’t see my face, obscured by the fog of my hot breath against the glass, but I see the rest of me, trembling beneath my roving hand from the threat of oncoming release. I don’t know that she’s out there, wanting me back, I don’t.

But I feel that she is.

I come hard , one hand braced against the glass while I press the other against where I ache most, clenching and releasing with short bursts of breath until my orgasm peaks and finally, finally tapers off, a heavy splash transformed into ripples traveling across the surface of a lake.

I step back from the window, run my hands down my face, exhale into my palms.

Laine might be powerful, but goddammit, so am I .