Chapter 10
Sherry
With a strand of fairy lights in hand, I stood in the middle of the wine cellar, surveying the area. I already hung one strand along the wall of bottles, but it wasn’t giving off the vibe I had envisioned.
“I want charming and rustic not exposed wiring,” I muttered.
“Most people just turn the lights off and call it ambiance.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. The cellar, as rustic and charming as it was, made it all the more likely to be the perfect habitat for ghosts.
I turned toward Ben. His arms were crossed, shoulder propped casually against the stone wall like he had all the time in the world.
The dim light caught on the angles of the sharp cut of his jaw, and amusement danced across his features.
“I can’t turn the lights off on people who are trying to make the perfect spring floral centerpiece. ”
He stepped forward, the cool barrel air settling between us, and his unmistakable scent of man oak, crushed grapes, and spice overpowered my senses. I swallowed as memories of the last time we were down here together flashed in my mind.
“What’s the name of the event again?” he asked, his eyes boring in on me as if they refused to look away.
“Sip and Spark. It’s wine tasting meets DIY chic. Drink some wine and get that creative spark of inspiration to make something beautiful. This month, it’s floral arrangements. Next month, it’ll be a wooden welcome front door hanger.”
“Arts and crafts for adults.”
“Exactly.”
He took the lights from my hand, his finger brushing against mine ever so slightly, but enough to send a ribbon of heat up my arm. “Where do you want these?”
“I can do it myself. Besides, don’t you have work to do?”
“Everything on my to-do list is done for the day, so Wyatt told me to come see if you need help. Clearly, you do.”
“I think I’m doing just fine on my own, thank you very much.”
He nodded toward the strand I hung with a hope and a prayer. “Ten bucks that doesn’t hold for another five minutes.”
I narrowed my eyes at the sagging strand, one end barely clinging to the barrel with a single piece of tape.
“Is that electrical tape?” he asked.
“It was all I could find. It’s called improvising.”
“It’s called gravity, and four minutes and counting until that entire strand is on the floor.”
As if the lights could hear him, they drooped, the sound of the tape losing its grip cutting through the quiet space.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “You can help.”
“You sure you don’t want to place the bet?”
The tape loosened more, the strand dangerously close to falling completely.
“Are you helping or not?”
With a smirk, he grabbed a step stool I hadn’t noticed in the far corner and climbed it with ease, removing the sad piece of tape and wrapping the strand around one of the rafters. Not even a minute later, he created the vision I wanted to achieve.
He climbed down the ladder and stood next to me, crossing his arms, his bicep bulging and pressing toward me. “What do you think?”
“It works,” I said, refusing to give him praise.
“It would kill you to compliment me, wouldn’t it?”
“No.” He hung a strand of lights. It’s not like he created electricity. “But it would physically hurt.”
His laugh echoed off the walls.
“Don’t make me strangle you with the lights.”
“I knew you weren’t vanilla, but I didn’t realize how kinky you liked it.”
My eyes practically rolled to the back of my head. “Is everything about sex with you?”
“Only when I’m around you.”
He said it so casually, as if his words didn’t ignite an already simmering fire inside me. I accused him of making everything about sex, but the only difference between him and I was he said it out loud while I kept it bottled inside.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered as I turned my attention to the table with all the supplies that needed to be divided into baskets and placed around the table.
“Yet, you haven’t told me to fuck off.”
“Would you listen to me if I did?”
“Probably not.”
He moved beside me, reaching for one of the baskets like he belonged here with me, as if setting up for an event together was something we’d done a hundred times before.
“That’s what I thought.” I fought the smile tugging at my lips.
He angled his mouth toward my ear. His breath skated across my skin, sending a scattering of goosebumps in its wake. “Besides, you love having me around.”
I scoffed and grabbed a reel of ribbon, smacking it into his hand. “No, but I am going to love watching you suffer through arts and crafts. Now, be a good boy and make me a bow.”
“Do I get a gold star if I get it right on the first try?”
I blinked toward him with an unamused glare. “What do you think?”
“Gold star is asking too much. What about a kiss, then?”
The way his mouth curved at the corner, I knew it was a joke, but my lips were begging me to seal the deal. My teeth slid over my lip, biting into the skin as I tried and failed to divert my attention away from his mouth.
His gaze swung around the room and settled on the table. “This room. Hell, this table is reminding me how good of a kisser you are.”
Visions of New Year’s Eve slammed into me again. My legs wrapped around him, our bodies pressed together, the sound of the table rocking across the floor as he pumped into me over and over and…
“You’re remembering it, aren’t you?” He had an annoying habit of making me throw my inhibitions out the door. I wasn’t going to fall under his spell again.
I inhaled a steadying breath, busying myself with the wine tasting glasses, pretending like my entire body wasn’t tingling. “You really have no shame, do you?”
He leaned against the table, arms folded, his green eyes locked on mine. “Not when it comes to you.”
I snapped my gaze away and kept my hands moving. “Well, whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not working.”
“Who said I’m trying anything? Maybe I just like to watch you squirm.”
I grabbed a wine bottle and pointed it at him like a knife. “Keep at it, and you’ll be drinking Merlot through a straw.”
“You’re only turning me on more.”
I threw my hands in the air.
“Tell me. Are you more frustrated with my words or the fact that you’re turned on too and can’t act on it?”
“Neither,” I snapped, even though it was a lie “I’m frustrated that you said you were here to help, but all you’ve been doing is running your mouth.”
“I’m multitasking.”
“How about you narrow that focus to one task?” I scooped up the rest of the lights and deposited them into his arms.
He took them, his attention snapping toward me. “I prefer to focus on you.”
“And I wanted a pony growing up. You don’t always get what you want.” I stepped out of his hold, and his laugh echoed around us, loud and warm, causing my traitorous lips to curve upward in amusement.
“Touche. I’ll get started on this.” He held the light up, and I nodded my approval. We worked in silence, but though his mouth wasn’t moving, his presence was just as loud. I tried to focus, but his presence filled the space. I knew when he was closer, or when he moved farther away.
He stepped near me, and my heart beat faster, the air shifted, becoming thicker, charged and impossible to ignore.
I narrowed in on my own task, arranging the wine glasses at each seat, placing the bottles to be tasted as a focal point on the table.
My movements slowed as I caught Ben out of the side of my eye.
He reached over his head, his shirt lifting slightly and revealing the tanned, taut skin of his stomach.
I swallowed as memories of my hands roaming over the hard ridges slammed into me.
I shook my head, trying to force the images away, but they were stubborn.
The last couple of weeks, I managed to keep our distance, fight the urge to be near him, but a few teasing words and a strand of lights undid any attempt.
I placed a tasting menu on each plate, and my eyes drifted toward him again, standing on a chair, perfectly wrapping the last strand of lights around the far rafter. A soft golden glow cast across his features, highlighting his strong jaw and accentuating his charmingly good looks.
“What’s behind that door?” Ben nodded to the dark wood arched door.
I paused, my hand halfway to the chair I was adjusting. No one outside of family and close friends had ever been in there. For a second, I thought about brushing him off and keeping one of my favorite rooms to myself.
Something in his voice, more curious than pushy, made me reconsider.
A small smile tugged at my lips as I pushed the chair into place.
I moved past Ben, my smile expanding despite the flicker of nerves.
“This is one of my favorite places of the entire property.” My fingers wrapped around the cool doorknob, and I pushed it open to a space so undisturbed and sacred it felt like stepping into a memory.
Brick walls, aged and uneven, held a lifetime of private conversations.
Wooden beams stretched low across the ceiling.
A faint scent of cedar, oak and the unmistakable essence of wine lingered in the air.
Rows of dark stained oak shelves lined the walls, filled with bottles from all over the world.
Some labels faded, some written in foreign languages, and others were more current, from friends in the wine community.
Two tufted leather chairs sat in the center of the room, facing each other, the ghosts of the past still in conversation.
“This was my grandfather’s personal collection. His pride and joy.” I ran my finger along the shelf that held all his favorite bottles, preserved just how he left it and how it will stay in his honor.
Ben’s eyes widened as he stepped into the room, scanning the shelves. “This is amazing.”
“I come in here every now and again when I miss him. I can picture him in that chair, glass of wine in hand, leg kicked up on his knee. He used to swirl the glass like it held all the answers, then take a sip and tell me something profound I didn’t fully understand until years later.”