Chapter 5
(Aria POV)
The barrel room was always my favorite part of the winery. Tonight, it was quiet, the crew long gone, the courtyard outside glowing faintly with lanterns left from last week’s party.
I stayed late after my shift, helping wipe down glasses, pretending I wanted to learn inventory.
Really, I was waiting for him. What he did at dinner that night stuck in my head.
God, he was bold. I couldn’t imagine any boy I ever dated or slept with trying something like that when my dad was in the next room.
I’d replayed that scene over and over again in my bedroom after he left. I hadn’t meant to pleasure myself but I couldn’t help it. I was so wet I didn’t even need my vibrator. Plus, I wanted it to feel like Marcus’s hand even though it was mine.
Why is it that you can look at some men and just know they know how to make you come? I could tell Marcus was one of those guys. And I was going to do my best to find out.
I had a sneaky suspicion he was in the barrel room. I was right, I could feel his presence even before I stepped inside.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without looking up.
“You say that a lot.”
“Because it’s true.”
I trailed a hand along the curve of a barrel, feeling the faint dust, the coolness beneath my palm. “It’s quiet in here. Peaceful.”
“It’s work.” He set the clipboard down.
I stepped closer, my boots crunching on stray gravel tracked in from the pad. “Peaceful doesn’t have to mean boring.”
“Aria.”
“Marcus,” I echoed softly. “Strike three. What if I want it?”
His eyes snapped to mine, sharp and dark, like I’d hit a nerve. For a second, neither of us moved. Then I closed the space, standing so close I could smell the charred barrel mingling with the soap still clinging to his skin.
My hands grabbed his shirt, and I tilted up, pressing my mouth to his.
The kiss was fire and oak and every warning he’d ever given me. His breath caught, then he answered, crushing me back against the barrel, lips hard, desperate, his hands gripping my waist like he’d been starving for this. My gasp vanished into him, swallowed whole.
I kissed him back, reckless, hungry, tasting the edge of something I’d only dared dream about. His tongue slid against mine, rough and hot, and my knees buckled from the sheer force of it.
And then…
The door banged open. Jesse’s voice cut through the shadows: “Marcus? The glycol chiller is kicking alarms again…”
We broke apart so fast my head spun. Marcus shoved me back a step, jaw clenched, chest heaving.
Jesse froze, brows pulling tight at the sight of us, suspicion thick in his eyes.
“I’ll handle it,” Marcus barked, clipped, controlled, “Out.”
Jesse hesitated, eyes flicking between us, then ducked out, the door swinging shut behind him.
The silence left in his wake was louder than the alarm.
Marcus turned back to me, voice low, vibrating with fury, at me, at himself, I couldn’t tell. “You got your strike three. Fuck.”
I swallowed hard, my lips still swollen, breath still ragged. “But you kissed me back.”
His eyes burned. “And that’s exactly why it can’t happen again.”
He snatched up his clipboard, movements sharp, deliberate, like order could cage the chaos still sparking between us.
“Go home, Aria,” he said without looking at me. “Now.”
I walked past him, skin still trembling.
That kiss. That forbidden, reckless kiss.
And both of us knew it wouldn’t be the last.
==========
(Marcus POV)
She kissed me. Or I kissed her.
Either way, the truth followed me out of the barrel room and sat heavy in my chest through the chiller repair, through the paperwork, through the drive home.
I’d been in tighter corners before. Fires, floods, equipment failures that threatened whole vintages. I’d always known what to do. But this was a line I couldn’t let myself cross.
Not with her. Not with Tom’s daughter. My little rubfest the other night was just for play. I fantasized how far she would go. Apparently, much farther than I gave her credit for. But I needed to put a stop to this.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, staring at the glass of water on my kitchen counter like it might talk sense into me.
Sleep didn’t come. When it did, it brought her with it, legs bare against my desk, lips parted in the glow of my lamp, voice whispering Marcus.
Those damn panties. Those damn shorts. The want in her eyes, her voice, her body. Jesus Christ, that body.
By morning, I knew what I had to do.