Chapter 22
Jake
W e’re both quiet as we walk up the stairs together, the fifth one from the top squeaking a little as I step on it. She flashes me a quick smile at the sound, and I make a mental note to take a look at it later.
Much, much later.
Her room is bathed in the golden light of a late summer sunset in the valley, and when she grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it off over her head in one smooth move, her skin turns golden, too.
I have to touch her. My palm skims from her wrist up to her shoulder, then down over the curves of her breast, her breath hitching as my thumb grazes her nipple through the lacy bralette. My hand settles in the dip of her waist, tugging her closer as my mouth descends upon hers.
It’s softer than the other night, gentler, as if the frenzy that gripped us then has mellowed to something almost reverent. She snakes her hands under my shirt and slides them up, up, bringing the softly worn fabric with them. I raise my arms obediently as she pulls it off and tosses it across the room. Then she leans forward and places a kiss right in the center of my sternum.
My breath hitches. I wrap my arms around her and grab the edge of her bralette, tugging it off. Her breasts pillow against my chest, and I hold her close, drinking in the sensation of skin on skin.
I’m almost giddy, which is not an emotion I expected to feel this summer.
I hadn’t expected any of this.
But hot damn, I’m glad it’s happening.
Her hands slide down my back and cup my ass, and she growls “Fucking gray sweatpants” into my ear, which is both a little confusing and makes me laugh way too hard. I lose the sweats, and she strips the rest of the way, too, and we’re finally naked, tumbling onto the bed, both of us still laughing.
She makes me hot, and she makes me laugh. Something squeezes in my chest, and I close my eyes for a moment to get myself together.
“Where?” I ask hoarsely.
Rosa looks at me quizzically. “Where what?”
“Condoms. Where are they?”
“Oh!” She leans over to the bedside table and pulls out the drawer. With a triumphant grin, she holds the still-sealed box aloft.
She doesn’t owe me anything, especially not her fidelity. It’s not like you can break marriage vows when you don’t know they’re still technically in effect. But damn, if something warm and triumphant doesn’t surge in my chest at the thought that the box hasn’t been opened. That she chose, of free will, to go out and buy it. Because of me. Because of the possibility.
And if there’s a similar box, also unopened, in my bedside table down the hall?
Just shows we’re on the same wavelength here—that’s all.
“I, uh, went shopping,” she starts, then starts to laugh again. “God, I’m so bad at this.”
“I don’t think you’re capable of being bad at anything,” I tell her, then stretch over and gently tug the box from her grip. “Rosa. Are you sure?”
She nods rapidly, her hair swaying around her shoulders. “Yes. I am. But only if you are, too.”
I set the box of condoms aside and pull her into my arms again, settling her naked body over mine. My cock strains between us. “Absolutely yes,” I whisper and sink my fingers into her thick brown hair as I kiss her with all the yes and please and now surging through me.
I reach out my hand for a packet, but she shakes her head and opens it herself. “Let me,” she says, her voice low and heated.
Flopping back onto the pillows, I throw an arm over my eyes as she grasps my cock by the base, her fingers warm and tight. Then I lever my shoulders up and look, because in what universe would I not want to watch as she covers me?
Rosa rolls it down my length, her gaze avid and fixed on my cock. A full-body shiver runs through me, and she glances up and bites her lip. “Can I…”
“Anything.” I lean on one elbow. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”
That shiver echoes through her now, and she tilts her head. “Can I ride you?”
In response, I spread my arms wide, lean back on the pillows again, and say, “Please.”
I didn’t mean it to sound like a plea, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She rises onto her knees, swings one leg over my hips to straddle me. Then, holding my gaze, she takes me in hand again and slowly, deliberately sinks down.
We both blow out a breath when I’m fully seated inside her. Every inch of me feels like fireworks, like light and heat are traveling through my body at breakneck speed. I’m desperate to move, to thrust up into her tight warmth, but I hold myself back.
“Rosa.” I slide my hand up her neck, cupping her cheek. She looks at me, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Baby.”
She shudders.
I draw her down for a kiss, then whisper into her ear, “Ride me.”
With a moan, she lifts up, then presses back down, her hands braced on my chest. She does it again, her breasts bouncing a little, and then again. She sets up a rhythm that’s steady and strong and just this side of too much. I feel her everywhere—the smooth skin of her legs gripping me, her hands sliding through my chest hair, tiny puffs of air as she breathes above me. She rises and drops back down, over and over, her wetness sliding over my cock, her pussy surrounding me.
“Jake—I—” She gasps, her movements growing more frantic as she chases her orgasm. I grip her hips, thrusting up into her warmth, my balls drawing up.
“I’m close,” I pant, and she nods, her head dropping onto my shoulder as I fuck up into her.
“Yeah,” she says. “Me, too.”
I can feel her tighten around me, and I speed up my movements. She turns her face into my neck, keening as she falls apart. I thrust up twice more and tumble after her.
Rosa slumps over me, her head tucked into my shoulder, her breasts pillowed on my chest. She rises and falls with the rhythm of my labored breaths. Damn, that was intense.
I trace patterns on her back, my fingers trailing over her heated skin. She smells good. She feels good. This feels right.
This feels bigger, more meaningful, than it should.
Let me, she said.
And I know, despite all my efforts to protect myself, I’ll let her do whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.
Because I need it, too.
* * *
I wake up predawn, my arms wrapped around a naked, warm Rosa. I press a kiss to the back of her head and slip out from under the duvet. She grumbles in her sleep, forehead wrinkled as she burrows under the covers.
I fight back a fond smile as I sneak back to my own room and dress for the day.
God, I am in so much trouble.
I trudge up the road to the vineyard, steam rising from my travel coffee mug. I take a long sip and watch the sun start to peek over the hills.
It’s going to be a hot one.
I visit each section of vines in turn, checking the status of the Merlots, the Grossos, the Chards, the Cabs and Sauv Blancs. They’re all shifting over into veraison, the early stages of ripeness that’s a precursor to harvest. The whites are shifting from green to a translucent yellow and the reds to a gorgeous purple ruby. I measure the Brix levels with my refractometer, then pull a couple grapes from each grouping and taste.
It’s getting closer.
I’m filled with a combination of excitement and dread. Excitement because I love this part of the winemaking cycle—the day-by-day watching and waiting for that perfect moment when harvest time is here. Dread because each day takes me closer to leaving Oak Creek Canyon.
And some small, traitorous part of me wonders if I really do have to go.
Waking up with Rosa in my arms every day wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to me.
In fact, I could get used to it pretty damn easily.
But I’m not the only one who has to be on board with that.
Easier to just stick with the plan.
* * *
Several hours later, I’m weeding in the middle of the Cab vines when Emi calls from the edge of the vineyard closest to the road. “Hey, boss-man,” she shouts over the rustle of leaves and birdsong. “I have a question for you.”
I slide my gloves off and stick them into my back pocket, jogging over to her. “What’s up?”
She points over at the vineyard formerly known as Take Flight, shading her eyes with her other hand. “What are they doing over there? And should we be doing the same thing?”
I take a look at the far rows of vines, as familiar as my childhood bedroom, and see workers busily putting up nets. I frown and dig my phone out of my pocket. Has the weather report changed since this morning?
Shit.
I shove my phone away and call Javi over as well. “Looks like there’s a hailstorm predicted for later this afternoon,” I tell the two of them. “The team across the way is putting up hail nets—good catch, by the way, Emi—and we need to do the same. I don’t care what you were working on just now—this takes priority. Javi, let’s get the nets out of the shed and inspect them quickly. Emi, go grab Rosa. This is an all-hands-on-deck situation.”
We fall into step on the gravel drive, the two of them chattering away with enthusiasm. I’m trying to shove down the sense of dread that has been welling up since I saw the hail warning a minute ago.
We’ve got acres to cover and not enough time—or people—to get it done, if the weather report is correct. I glance over at the horizon and see dark clouds starting to gather.
Shit, shit, shit.
We enter the house through the back door, Emi calling out a greeting to Rosa while I grab the shed key off the board in the mudroom. Javi and I head out to the shed and unlock it, dust spilling out as the door swings open.
It’s a mess in here, a jumble of old equipment and detritus from the years the vineyard was in service to Belmonte. Theoretically, the hail nets could be on the bigger property, but when time is of the essence that wouldn’t make any sense. When you need hail nets, you need them now. We start digging through the piles, the dim light of the bare bulb swinging overhead giving us little to work with.
“I think I found them,” Javi says from the back corner of the building, waving me over. I step over a rake and several bags of fertilizer to join him and bend down to look at the stack of nets he’s uncovered.
My heart sinks, and I swear again.
“Is everything okay?”
I turn and look at the doorway of the shed, Rosa’s worried face barely visible in the backlighting of the midday sun.
Even in a dire situation like this, my breath catches at the sight of her.
“That depends. Any chance you’ve got more hail nets hidden around here somewhere?” I pick up the top one and shake it out, inspecting it as closely as I can in the dim light. “Shit. Let me rephrase that. Do you have any usable hail nets hidden around here somewhere?”
Javi leans over and sticks his hand through the gaping hole in the center of the netting. He whistles low. “Insect damage?”
I shake my head. “Nope. The edges are too clean. This netting’s been cut.”
“What?” Rosa is picking her way across the littered flooring, Emi right behind her. “Someone sabotaged the nets, too?”
“Looks that way.” I pick up the next one, pointing out additional cuts and tears in the fabric. “And that’s only counting the ones that are actually here. We’re about three-quarters short of what we’d need to cover all the vines.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I can see her worry matches mine. “How much time do we have?”
Emi is already opening the weather app on her phone. “Looks like about…two hours?”
A brief silence descends on the shed as we all try to map out the next two hours.
Rosa’s voice is tight and low when she speaks again. “Do we have time to buy more nets?”
I shake my head. “Possibly, but that assumes they aren’t sold out already. Dammit, we should have bought them weeks ago.”
Rosa winces, and I immediately regret saying anything. “Hey, it’s not your fault. I should have thought of it earlier, checked the supplies when we weren’t up against an emergency situation.”
“My budget didn’t help, though,” she says quietly.
“Neither did the Belmonte crew taking the hail nets when they abandoned the property.”
Her gaze narrows. “Uncle Geno.”
I wave a hand at the shed. “There’s not a chance in hell that your uncle didn’t store hail nets here back when he was running both vineyards.”
Rosa looks out the shed door. I can tell her mind is churning as she ponders the situation. “Right.” She claps her hands together. “I guess it’s time to call Uncle Geno.”
“Hey, wait.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”
Emi and Javi are looking back and forth between us, like we’re some conversational tennis match, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Those hail nets, if he’s got them, belong to Caparelli. We need them, they don’t. I’m calling.”
I let my hand drop. “Okay. In the meantime, Javi, take my truck into town and see if there are any nets left at the farm store. Buy any they have, put it on our account.” I shove my keys into his hand, and he nods, already heading out of the shed before I’m finished.
Rosa holds up her phone. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
I nod, and she walks away, already squaring her shoulders for the fight ahead. My heart aches for her, and at the same time, I want to punch someone. This whole thing sucks.
Emi steps forward. “I’ll see if there are any nets worth saving. Maybe I can stitch up some of the holes.”
“Thanks. That’s helpful.” I dig my own phone out of my pocket and start looking up numbers. “In the meantime, I’m going to call in some favors.”
* * *
“Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, man, but I’m a little busy right now,” Wade says as he picks up my call, not even bothering with hello. I can hear muffled voices in the background, footsteps on dirt, wind whistling through leaves.
“I figured you would be,” I say. “So I’ll keep this short. Any chance you have some extra hail nets lying around?”
“Uh-oh.” His voice is clearer, like he stopped what he was doing and held the phone a little closer to his mouth. “Trouble at Caparelli?”
“Yup. Most of the nets are missing, and those we do have are full of holes. Not the type of holes that are supposed to be there, but bigger ones. Deliberate ones.”
“Someone sabotaged your nets? Damn, Jake.”
“Yeah. So if you have any you can spare, we’d appreciate it.”
“Hang on a minute.” The sound from his end of the phone call suddenly cuts off, and I’m hoping it’s because he muted it and not because he’s hung up. I feel itchy, restless, like there’s anxious energy inside me burning to get out. I sit on the picnic table, my boots on the long bench below, and try to figure out who to call next. Time is running out. “Okay,” he says abruptly, sound rushing back. “Give me half an hour and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” I say, relief making my voice rough. “I appreciate it.”
“Later.”
He clicks off the phone, and I scroll through my phone for another number to call.
“Hey, boss,” Emi says. She’s holding up two hail nets, the holes awkwardly stitched together. “These were the only ones with enough material left to fix.”
It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for a start. We’ve got less than an hour and a half.
I heave myself off the table and tilt my head toward the vines. “Let’s get a move on, then.”