Chapter 19
(Aria POV)
It started with folding tables. Then catering trays.
Then someone wheeled in kegs of lemonade and iced tea.
By noon the crush pad looked less like controlled chaos and more like a backyard cookout.
Workers were muttering, half amused, half suspicious.
Because Marcus Hale did not throw lunches. He barely ate lunch.
And yet there he was… sleeves rolled up, directing traffic, making sure every plate was stacked high.
“What’s gotten into him?” I whispered to one of the interns.
She grinned. “Boss man’s softening. About time.”
I stared, heat crawling up my throat. Marcus Hale. Mr. Rules. Mr. Efficiency. Mr. Steel-toed boots or die. Throwing a party?
When everyone finally had their food, Marcus stood at the head of the long table. The chatter dropped instantly because when Marcus spoke, you listened.
“Mid-season’s no joke,” he said, voice carrying.
“Long hours, heavy lifting, too many things that can go wrong. You’ve kept us on track.
You’ve kept us sharp. And you deserve to be recognized for it.
” He cleared his throat. “Good work deserves good food. You’ve all busted your asses this season, and I want to say thank you. ”
The men cheered. The women clapped. Someone wolf whistled. Marcus smirked, but then his eyes found me across the table.
“And while I’ve got you all here,” he said, voice carrying over the hum of the crowd, “there’s one more person I need to recognize.”
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
“Aria Bennett, Tom’s daughter,” he said, and my name cracked through the air like a cork popping. Every head turned. My dad’s among them, eyebrows high.
My face went hot. “Marcus, ugh, Mr. Hale…” I started, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at everyone else.
“Her work, what you’ve seen on your phones, what’s bringing people through the tasting room door…it’s not a side project. He looked at the crew, then at Tom. “The numbers don’t lie, we’ve beat all our past sales records,” he went on, calm, steady, commanding as always.
“We’re up. Way up. Not because of me. Because of her.” He pointed, and then, God help me, he beckoned.
The crew parted like water. My legs shook as I stood, walking toward him. My stomach dropped. Oh God.
Every step toward him felt like stepping into a spotlight I hadn’t asked for. When I reached him, he didn’t just point me out. He slid his arm around my shoulders, firm, grounding.
The crew erupted, claps, whistles, and a few cheers.
But I barely heard any of it. Because Marcus’s arm was still around me. Because my dad was two tables down, clapping with everyone else, pride written all over his face.
And because Marcus’s thumb brushed once, slowly against my arm. A touch no one else noticed. A touch meant only for me.
Scandalous. Reckless. Mine.
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(Aria POV)
Sleep wouldn’t come. I kept replaying the afternoon. Marcus even let everyone go home early. A real treat, probably more so than the food and drink.
I lay tangled in the sheets, in total bliss because Marcus had made it about me.
Before I knew it, I was out of bed, sliding on sneakers, keys clutched in my hand. The drive to his house blurred like I was on autopilot. I told myself I was crazy the whole way. That I should turn around. That this was too much.
I didn’t.
The spare key fit smoothly in the lock. No alarm went off, not surprised by that.
The house was quiet, shadowed. My nerves were buzzing, my heart too full.
I curled onto his couch, tugged my pajama top straight, and snapped a quick picture.
My hair messy, bare feet tucked under me with his leather couch in the shot so he would know where I was.
Me: Sleepover?
The text whooshed out. For a long breath, nothing. Then my screen lit.
Marcus: Get up here.
I bit my lip, adrenaline surging. Quietly, carefully, I climbed the stairs.
His bedroom door was open. He was sitting up against the headboard, hair mussed, phone still in his hand. He looked at me once, then flipped the covers back in invitation.
No words.
I slid in, the sheets warm, his body warmer. He didn’t kiss me. Didn’t touch me in any place he shouldn’t. Just wrapped me against his chest, my cheek pressed to his chest.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the dark. “For today. For… everything.”
His chin rested on my hair. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His arm tightened around me, solid and safe, until the pull of sleep finally dragged me under.
For the first time since the season started, I fell into a dreamless, easy sleep.
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(Aria POV)
Sunlight spilled across the room when I opened my eyes. For a second I didn’t know where I was. Then I felt the warmth beside me. The slow, measured thump of a heartbeat under my ear.
Marcus.
I smiled before I even meant to. For the first time all season, I wasn’t waking up alone. I wasn’t waking up worried. I was safe, wrapped in his arms, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When I tilted my head, he was already awake, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“Morning,” I whispered.
“Morning.” His voice was low, rough, like gravel.
I shifted slightly, letting my fingertip trace lazy circles across his chest. Over the rise of muscle, through the soft hair there. He didn’t move, but I felt his body tighten beneath my touch.
“Aria…” His tone was a warning, but not much of one.
“What?” I asked innocently, drawing another slow spiral that drifted lower.
His hand caught mine, stilling it. “Don’t start something you don’t want me to finish.”
My lips curved. I knew exactly what I was doing. And he knew it too.
I let my fingers slip lower, teasing the line of muscle down his stomach.
He groaned, head tipping back against the headboard. “I’m trying to be the better man here,” he muttered, voice strained. “You aren’t making this easy.”
I smiled and snuggled into his chest, thrilled by the crack in his control.
Finally, he caught my chin, tipping my face up to his. “You want it nice or naughty?”
The question sent heat rushing through me. My voice shook when I answered. “Nice.”
He laughed, deep and sinful. “I can’t promise that.” Then his mouth claimed mine.
It started gentle, tender, his hand brushing my hair back, his lips coaxing instead of demanding.
Sweet. Careful. But the longer I kissed him back, the more he let go.
His hand slid under my shirt, down my hip, pulling me closer, deeper, until the “nice” bled away into something hotter, rougher, unstoppable.
And when he finally took me, it was both tender and relentless, worship and hunger tangled into one.
By the time it was over, I was boneless in his arms, trembling, grinning, gasping for breath.
Marcus kissed my temple, whispering against my skin, “You’re trouble.”
I laughed softly. “You like trouble.”
His arm tightened around me. “God help me, I do.”