Chapter 31
LANEY
T he Sterling Westwood I had met that first day in his office when I’d gone to confront him about buying Megan’s shares hadn’t given any indication that he had this guy buried inside him. I hadn’t known he could be like this.
That tension he wore like armor in the city had slipped off somewhere before our first glass of wine.
I’d never seen him so relaxed. With his hands shoved into his pockets and the wind tousling his hair, he laughed softly at the jokes I made while he led me down a row of vines green and fat with fruit.
Over the last few weeks, I’d seen glimpses of the way he was now, but I’d never seen him embrace it quite like this. This was his place. I could feel it in the way he moved through the land, how he knew where every path curved and every grape variety changed.
He’d introduced me to the vineyard manager and a few workers, people who clearly respected him.
They treated him like a man who had gotten his hands dirty on occasion.
Someone who showed up. They didn’t talk to him like he was some rich guy who’d bought a vineyard just to slap his name on a label—and he didn’t act that way either.
And God help me, I like this version of him. Way too much.
We stood in the tasting room in the winery, a place with stone floors that smelled like damp earth in the best possible way, and I nearly melted right into the ground when I tasted one of his personal blends. The kind they didn’t sell and no one but a select few restaurants could buy.
“I think I’m just about ready for the interrogation to begin,” I murmured after savoring my first sip. “If this is the kind of wine you’ve been hiding, I’m really starting to think you have too many secrets.”
He smiled, those blues no longer icy. He pumped his dark eyebrows at me. “Go ahead. I’m a very boring man.”
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes and lifted the glass. “If this is what boring tastes like, but somehow, I don’t think it is.”
He chuckled, and I saw it again—the complete ease. Like all the distance between us had quietly started closing, one small step at a time. “Ask me anything. I’ve already told you, I’m an open book.”
“As long as I know the right questions to ask,” I mused and took another sip of my delicious wine.
Our gazes hooked as I swallowed. Once again, I found myself in a state of utter disbelief that I’d ended up married to a man whose cheekbones would make even the most chiseled superhero jealous.
“What are the right questions to ask, Mr. Westwood?”
“I bet you’ve got a great question already.
” He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up while we’d been walking through the vineyard.
His forearm was now resting on an old wine barrel they used as a table.
The muscles in it rippled slightly as he swirled the wine in the glass dangling between his fingers.
“I would start with why I bought this place.”
Surprised that it seemed he really was letting his guard down, I sipped my wine and tilted my head, eyes still locked on his. “Why did you buy this place?”
He grinned. “Because I got it for a steal.”
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” I groaned but shook my head. “Also, I’m not going to back down so easily. What’s the real reason?”
A faraway glaze entered his eyes for a beat. He shrugged and refocused on me, that gaze as piercing and intense as ever. “It’s like a little part of Italy right here in California. I’ve always liked the Mediterranean climate.”
“So you bought it for the weather ?” My eyebrows swept up. “I don’t believe that, either.”
He chuckled, looking strangely pleased at the statement. “Well, the weather is definitely a part of it. There’s only a very small percentage of the earth’s surface that has that climate, and Napa is part of that small percentage, which is incredible.”
“But?”
“Some of my best childhood memories were made in Italy,” he admitted, sighing before he smiled at me. “Nostalgia made me buy it. Go ahead, laugh at me for being a big softie at heart.”
“I would never,” I said quietly, genuinely touched and maybe even a little bit honored that he’d shared that with me. “I respect you too much for it.”
Sterling’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at me like he’d seen an alien pop out of my head, but then he cleared his throat and drained the last of his wine. “One more question, but after that, we should get to the restaurant. I made a reservation for dinner.”
“Fine. You just shattered the moment though, so let’s go with an easier one. So far, I know you own a vineyard, that place in Malibu, and the penthouse. What else have you got?”
“More properties to list than we have time for right now, but the highlights include a cottage in rural Bulgaria and a villa in France.”
“Bulgaria?”
He shrugged. “If you saw the place, you’d understand. Now, let’s go. That reservation is waiting.”
I nodded and took the last sip of my own wine, then accepted his arm when he offered it to me and followed him back to the house. We freshened up before climbing back into the Jaguar and driving to a charming, upscale bistro nestled into the hillside nearby.
I hadn’t expected the place to be so romantic, but it was all cozy and candlelit with deep red tablecloths and the kind of ambiance that screamed of a million engagements having taken place between these walls.
Tightening my grip on Sterling’s arm, I glanced up at his strong profile, but before I could joke about him asking me to marry him again, a neatly dressed man came over to greet us.
He broke into a wide grin as he approached, opening his arms as if welcoming one of his best friends. “Sterling Westwood, as I live and breathe. It’s great to see you again. You haven’t visited for much too long.”
Even more surprisingly, Sterling returned the guy’s grin, giving him a warm handshake. “It’s good to be back, Sergio. Thank you for keeping my table warm for us. This is my wife, Laney.”
The man—Sergio, apparently—greeted me as warmly as he had Sterling, and as we were shown to our table, it seemed everyone else who worked there knew him too. Not only that, but they treated him like a friend and me as something special just because I was his wife.
It was both surreal and strangely grounding. He really wasn’t just a Westwood here. He was a man. A friend.
As we sat down, he flashed me an adorable, disarmingly sheepish smile. “Would you mind if I order for us again? They serve our wine here and several items on the menu have been crafted specifically to pair with it.”
I blinked too many times for it to be considered natural before I nodded. “Sure, why not? I’d love to try it all.”
Somehow, we really did seem to try it all, sharing everything from plates, to stories, to sips of wine, and when dessert came, I didn’t even hesitate. I stole a spoonful of mousse off his plate and dared him silently to do something about it.
In response, he shrugged and raised a brow at me. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Yeah , I thought, you really do. Don’t you?
Our gazes caught and held again, his expression so soft and open that my heart skipped a beat, but I chickened out and averted my eyes. Something was brewing that I was uncertain about, and I needed a minute before I decided what to do.
Thankfully, he had no more surprises in store for me and we went back to the house after dinner. The night was profoundly different here to what I was used to back in the city.
The stars were out in full force, the gentle hum of crickets in the background. I had a buzz from the wine and I definitely wasn’t ready for bed, so I headed toward the terrace instead. Some fresh air might help clear the wine as well as the haze of whatever had been building between us all day.
Sterling followed me outside as if it was second nature, moving straight to the hot tub I’d seen earlier.
It was built into a natural stone outcropping, surrounded by lavender and climbing ivy.
Someone—I was assuming the previous owner and not Sterling—had strung twinkle lights overhead, and they cast a soft, golden glow over the area.
“What are the odds you actually get in with me?” I asked, already unzipping the side of my dress. This is why I don’t usually start drinking wine in the afternoon, but what the heck… When in Napa, right?
Sterling didn’t hesitate. “The odds? I’d say they’re pretty high, actually.”
I let the dress slide down my shoulders and turned my back to him, quickly climbing into the water with my underwear still on. They were white, so they wouldn’t hide anything once wet, but part of me was thrilled about that.
Letting myself drift to the side, I kept my back to him, propping my elbows on the edge and staring into the dark night with my heart hammering.
I heard footsteps retreating and sighed, instantly accepting that he’d decided against joining me, but before I could even begin to process the disappointment, he was back—with more wine.
A smile curved on my lips as I finally turned to find him submerged in the deliciously hot water. I could only see the top of his bare, broad chest and his shoulders, but it was enough to make the desire to see more course through me.
Wordlessly handing me another glass of wine, he moved closer until there was no space between our knees. Suddenly, I felt like I didn’t know what to do with how much I liked him—my husband.
Thankfully, he seemed as calm as ever, asking me how I’d liked the vineyard and dinner, and eventually, so freaking naturally that it should’ve been impossible, we wound up talking about the baby.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, toying with the stem of my wine glass and taking another sip of liquid courage. “I don’t know if I want to jump straight into IUI. Not unless we have to.”
He tilted his head, watching me with a definite mix of heat and surprise in his eyes. “Does that mean you want to try naturally?”
“I think we need more time.” I glanced at the rich, red ripples of wine in my glass and swallowed past the surge of nerves. “Time to actually get to know each other, but yeah. I think so. What do you think?”
When I looked back up, he was nodding slowly. “I feel like I know you pretty well already.”
A playful scoff fell out of me before I could stop it. “Oh, really?”
He smirked. “Mm-hmm.”
“Okay, so let me have it, then.” I leaned forward a bit. “What do you know about me?”
“You’re loyal, but you’re also terrified of letting people down. You genuinely want to help, even those who don’t deserve it. You’re a lot stronger and more resilient than you think, and you also think those god-awful hiking sandals are a personality trait.”
I faked a gasp. “Those sandals are practical.”
“They’re criminal.”
I laughed, then let the silence linger. It was just enough time for that electric tension to coil between us again, humming like the string of a bow.
“You’re not as unreadable as you think, either,” I said softly. “Even that kiss…”
He arched an eyebrow at me. “What kiss?”
I smirked. “Exactly.”
His eyes narrowed, but his posture and features remained relaxed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if I’d known you kiss like that, I might not have married you.”
Both of his eyebrows swept up and he suddenly looked like I’d challenged him to a duel. “You think that was a bad kiss?”
My breathing hitched as he inched toward me, but I held his gaze, trying to pretend that my heart wasn’t pounding a million miles a minute. “Well, you have to admit it was pretty lackluster.”
“Lackluster?”
“Forgettable,” I said, knowing I was pushing my luck but having too much fun to stop. “Maybe even a non-event?”
Without breaking eye contact, he moved his wine glass to the edge of the tub, and before I even had time to register what was about to happen, he surged toward me.
There was a rush of water. Then his lips crashed into mine.
His hands found my waist in a grip that was firm and commanding—and sent sparks of lust catapulting through me.
Although it hadn’t been true about the previous kiss either, this one certainly wasn’t lackluster or forgettable. It was all heat and control, and it served as undeniable proof that Sterling Westwood didn’t like to lose.
Somehow, I ended up in his lap, my fingers clutching his shoulders and my entire being supremely aware of the heat of him against me. By the time we finally pulled apart, I was breathless.
“Still forgettable?” he asked in a huskier voice than I’d ever heard from him.
I didn’t reply right away. My brain was still somewhere in orbit and my body was refusing to obey my orders to get off his lap, but through it all, I suddenly realized there was something I’d been meaning to ask him for hours. “Why is my suitcase in your room?”
His smile was slow, cocky, and unfairly sexy as he reached up to tuck a lock of damp hair behind my ear, those blue eyes blazing into mine. “Why do you think?”