Chapter 16 #2
"You didn't have to do that," she whispers, opening her eyes to look up at me.
"Yes, I did," I say, still brushing against her cheek. "I couldn't just let him get away with that"
She's quiet for a second, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read, before nodding. "Thank you."
"Come on," I say, dropping my hands reluctantly, already missing the warmth of her skin. "Let me walk you home."
We start down the stone path that leads away from the main building, past the terrace where we had that first dinner service what feels like a lifetime ago, past the gardens that smell like rosemary and lavender in the night air, the scent mixing with the cooler evening breeze coming off the vineyard.
Neither of us says anything for a while. The only sounds are our footsteps on the stone, the rhythmic crunch and scrape, and the endless chorus of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the vineyard, calling out into the darkness.
The path transitions from stone to packed dirt as we enter the vineyard, and our footsteps are quieter here, muffled by the soft ground, almost silent.
The grapevines stretch out on either side of us, row after row disappearing into darkness, the leaves rustling slightly in the breeze, creating shadows that shift and move.
We're maybe halfway to the cottages when Isabelle stops walking abruptly. I turn to look at her, and she's standing there in the middle of the path.
"What's wrong?" I ask, taking a step toward her.
"I'm a bit mad at you," she says.
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift, trying to figure out what I could have possibly done wrong in the last five minutes. "For threatening Olivier? Because I—"
"What? No, I'm not upset about you threatening Olivier!" She waves a hand dismissively. "The opposite. That was hot. Obviously that was extremely hot!"
I stare at her for a second, trying to catch up to whatever's happening here. "Okay, well, I'm very glad to hear that. But then I have absolutely no idea why you're mad at me."
She rubs her face with both hands, her fingers pressing into her temples like she has a headache. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. Why did you have to go back in there and defend me like some—some—"
"Knight in shining armor?" I offer helpfully.
She glares at me. "I was already fighting so hard not to come to your cottage tonight. I had a whole plan. I was gonna go over the menu for the NYC restaurant, then check over the seating chart for tomorrow night's service, then take a nice cold shower and not think about you at all."
"That's your plan for sexual frustration? Menu review and seating charts?" I can't help the amusement in my voice.
"Yes, that is my plan," she says defensively, her chin lifting.
"They're distracting and practical and they usually work.
But now it's completely ruined because you had to go and nearly punch someone for being an ass to me.
Do you know how hard it is to stick to a plan when someone does that? When someone defends you like that?"
"I can't say that I do," I admit. "And I'm flattered that—"
"Don't be flattered," she cuts me off. "I'm trying to be smart about this. I'm trying to focus on my career and not complicate things and keep my father from destroying both our futures. And then you go and do something like that and all I can think about is how much I want to—" She stops abruptly.
"You want to what?" I ask, taking another step closer.
"I want to hate you. See! This is exactly what I'm talking about.
" She throws one hand up in frustration.
"You can't just— I mean— if we slept together again or dated or whatever this is, I can't control if my father decides to ruin your career, no matter how much I fight it, he will.
And I'm going back to New York, and I don't even want a boyfriend, and I really fucking hate you for making me want one. "
She's breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling with it, her eyes bright in the moonlight. Her hair has half-fallen out of whatever she'd done to keep it back, strands loose around her face and moving in the breeze, and she looks furious.
I have never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life.
She shifts her weight, looking away from me and then back. "You do know what I mean, right? I mean, you said you were flirting with me, so if you didn't mean what you said, if this was all just some weird mind game or whatever, then I need to know now before I completely humiliate myself by—"
"Of course I meant what I said," I say, closing the last of the distance between us with one stride, unable to stay away from her for another second. I reach for her and pull her in and kiss her.
She makes a small surprised sound against my mouth, her papers crinkling between us, and then her hands are in my hair and she's kissing me back, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling hard enough that it stings, and fuck if that doesn't make everything better.
Her papers fall to the ground, scattering across the dirt path, and neither of us cares.
I back her up until she’s pressed against one of the wooden posts that marks the edge of the vineyard, and she gasps against my mouth.
Her hands move from my hair to my shoulders, gripping tight, nails digging in through my shirt.
When I pull back slightly to look at her she's flushed and breathless.
"I meant every word," I say. "I like you. I've liked you since you yelled at me about fish delivery on day one."
"That's a terrible metric for attraction," she says, her hands still gripping my shoulders.
"Maybe," I say, leaning in closer, my mouth inches from hers. "But it's the truth. And yeah, your father might pull my funding. And we live on opposite sides of the country. But I'm standing here anyway because I'd rather risk all of that than not do this."
She's quiet for a moment, her eyes searching my face. "You're serious."
"Completely serious."
"You're insane then," she says.
"Probably," I agree, and I slide my hand up to cup the back of her neck, my fingers threading through her hair. "But you like me anyway."
"I really do," she sighs. "That's the whole problem."
"That's not a problem," I say. "That's actually great news from where I'm standing."
She laughs, short and breathless. "You make everything sound so simple."
"It is simple," I say, leaning in until my forehead rests against hers. "You want this. I want this. Everything else we can figure out as we go."
"That's not how I operate," she says, but her hands are sliding up from my shoulders to the back of my neck now, fingers threading through my hair. "I plan things. I don't just—"
I kiss her again, cutting off whatever she was about to say, and she melts into it with a sound that goes straight to my dick, a breathy little moan that makes my entire body respond.
Her mouth opens under mine and I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting her properly for the first time in days and it's not enough, will never be enough.
When I pull back she's smiling, just a little, her lips curved. "You keep doing that."
"Doing what?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means.
"Kissing me when I'm trying to make a point."
"Is it working?" I ask.
"Unfortunately yes," she says, and then she's pulling me back down and kissing me with an urgency that makes my head spin, makes every thought in my brain scatter except for her, her mouth, her hands on me, the way she tastes.
I kiss her deeper, my hands running up and down her body, touching her everywhere I've been wanting to touch since we slept together.
I can't get enough of her soft skin, the curve of her waist, the way she feels pressed against me.
I slide a hand under her shirt and up her back, feeling the warmth of her skin and the bumps of her spine, and she arches into my touch with a gasp.
Her hands are everywhere, restless and demanding. She tugs at my shirt, pulling it free from my jeans, and when her fingers find bare skin at my lower back her touch is electric.
I get my mouth on her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that made her gasp last time, and she does it again, the sound breathy and desperate. She leans back against the wooden post, gripping my shoulders for balance, her head falling to the side to give me better access.
"Alex," she breathes, and there's something in the way she says my name that makes my chest tight and my cock harder.
Her hand slides down between us, bold and confident, palming my cock through my jeans. I groan, thrusting into her hand involuntarily, unable to stop myself. She grips me firmly through the denim, stroking slowly, and I can feel myself getting harder, straining against the fabric.
"My cottage or yours?" I manage to get out, pulling back for only a second even though it feels like it'll kill me to stop kissing her, to put any space between us.
"Mine is closer," she says. "Take me there. Now."
"Gladly," I say, and I pick her up in one motion.
She squeals and wraps her legs around my waist, holding on tight, her arms around my neck.
I walk the short distance to her cottage while kissing her.
The feel of her legs wrapped around me, the weight of her in my arms, the way she's rocking slightly against me with each step, grinding her pussy against me—I'm not going to make it to the cottage at this rate.
We make it to her porch and I set her down carefully, my hands steadying her, but the second her feet hit the wood she's pulling me in again, backing up until she runs into the porch post. I press against her, one hand braced on the post beside her head, the other on her hip, and kiss her hard, pouring everything I've been feeling for days into it.