Читать книгу I'll Be Yours for Christmas - Samantha Hunter - Страница 8

THE NEXT DAY, ABBY was busy from the moment she woke up, barely able to keep up with everything she had to get done, even though it was a weekend. Weekends—Saturdays, anyway—were busier than weekdays for her, and today was no exception.

She’d waited all morning only to be stood up by an electrician who was supposed to show up during the week, but had rescheduled and then stood her up again. Some overhead lights kept flickering intermittently in the main room of the winery, and she needed it fixed yesterday.

Today they’d had three tastings and tours offered at ten o’clock, noon and two, and in between that she was fielding online orders, wedding prep and Christmas decorating that should have been done two weeks ago. The guests were fewer than they had been over the summer, or on holidays like Valentine’s Day, when they did their wine-and-chocolate parties. Still, they’d had a respectable showing for each tour.

Right now she was in the middle of the last tasting, and while she was exhausted, her mind running in a million directions, she focused on smiling, explaining the type and origin of each wine and its story.

All of their wines had stories, background about how old the vines were, where they came from, who planted them and anything fun or anecdotal that happened while the wine was being made. It personalized the experience and made people aware that the wine they sipped wasn’t just any generic wine, but a drink with a specific history, made by real people.

“This peppery Baco Noir,” she said, finishing her presentation, “is called ‘Just the Beginning’ and it is one of our classic vintages. One summer night almost forty years ago, two lovers walked over the fields behind us, and the man asked the woman he was with to marry him. They didn’t have enough money for rings, but he handed her a small plant, the beginning of the Baco vines from which these grapes still grow. Those people were my parents and, yes, eventually he did buy her a ring,” Abby said warmly, smiling as she did every time she told the story.

A chorus of appreciative comments and chuckles about the ring followed. She discussed nuances, taught newcomers the basics of wine tasting and then moved to the desk where people purchased their wine and other goodies from the small gift display.

It was a good day, and she’d enjoyed her guests. By six, though, she was ready for bed. Her other employees were gone for the day, and they rarely had guests staying in their few upstairs rooms, used mostly for wedding parties in the winter. So, she closed up shop and thought of what needed to be done next.

She did need to get the trees decorated—three gorgeous Fraser firs that graced the tasting room, the entry to the winery and the first floor of the main house. Her home, a private residence, was built off the central rooms where they hosted tastings, receptions and sold their wines. In the back of the property, above the vineyards, were the animal barns and the building where they made and stored the wines. Their specialty was Baco Noir.

The trees were set up, the lights were on, but they needed ornaments, all of which had to be pulled out of storage at the house and carried over. She also needed to take care of her horses for the night.

They no longer had the petting zoo, unfortunately, but Abby could never part with her horses. Riding them along the lake was one of her favorite ways to relax. Her parents had given her these two colts when she was fifteen. As she headed down to the barn and looked out over her land, the sight always took her breath away in any season. Today, there’d been a light snow all day long, and it was shining like diamonds in the moonlight.

This was hers. It was home. Like her parents, she’d love to travel more, but she’d never really wanted to live anywhere but here.

All of the stress and work that went with it was hers, too. Lunch with Hannah yesterday had left her with a lot of food for thought and a lot of worry for the future.

Inside the barn she was greeted by soft, muffled welcomes, and she grabbed feed buckets, hay and fresh water and took care of business, which included much brushing and stroking.

“Hey, babes,” she crooned, feeling guilty that she hadn’t done more than put them out in the field that day. “I promise tomorrow you’ll both get some good exercise. I’ll get Hannah and we’ll see you both early in the morning for a nice ride.”

After long moments of petting warm muzzles and feeling more relaxed than she had when she walked in, she locked the doors and said good-night, turning back toward the house. Her gaze drifted down over the landscape to the Winston property. She noted some lights on in the house, although the winery was dark. Was Reece really going to sell?

She shivered, pulled her thick wool coat tighter around her and stared at the upstairs light. Reece? In his room? Was he there alone? She shivered for a different reason.

She’d been all fired up yesterday, having fun with Hannah, but she was crazy to think she could seduce Reece into … what? Not selling his land? No doubt he would think that was very funny; she was still out of his league, always had been.

But she was going to talk to him. She had no idea what she’d say to try to convince him to hold off, but if he didn’t rush into a sale with Keller, maybe she could help find someone who would buy in with her. It was a huge gambit, but not impossible. Not entirely. She had money saved, and she’d have to mortgage her home to the hilt, but what other choice did she have?

She had to do whatever she could to protect her home and business. Keller would ruin the entire area.

The little hamlet that had sprouted up around the wineries a few miles up the lake from the city of Ithaca offered a coffee shop, a few quaint boutiques, a gas station and a convenience store, and all of her friends were here. Unlike Reece, who had gone away as far as he could as soon as he was able, she’d gone to college locally, at Cornell, and she went down into the city a few times a week. They sold many of their wines in local stores, as well as all over the region.

She wished she could go inside, open a nice bottle of wine, make some dinner and sit in front of the fireplace in the living room, then finish decorating her trees without it feeling like work.

It would be even nicer to not have to do it alone.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to. Biting her lip, she walked faster toward the house and didn’t think too much about what she was contemplating. If she did, she’d lose her nerve.

Entering the warmly lit kitchen that hadn’t changed too much since she’d grown up, she went carefully down the cellar steps to the room where they kept their private stock and grabbed a bottle she had been saving for a special occasion.

Back upstairs, she pulled two glasses from the shelves and a wedge of brie and a few other goodies from the fridge.

The trees could wait. Her talk with Reece could not.

If she didn’t do it now, she’d could lose her chance as well as her nerve. Setting aside her doubts and worries, she started out walking across the land between their homes, a windy half mile, her eyes focused on the lit windows. The snow and moon illuminated everything, making it easy to walk, and she covered the distance quickly. As she neared the house, her eyes focused in on a form in the upstairs window.

Her mouth went dry and she dropped the bottle of wine, which didn’t break, thank goodness, but landed softly in the snow.

She picked it up again and walked closer. It was Reece. He hadn’t pulled a shade or a curtain, thinking—rightly—that no one would be looking in his windows from the field side of the house.

He was nude. Completely. Stretching his arms up over his head, and then bending at the waist, she couldn’t see everything, but she saw enough to make her heart slam against her rib cage as he did something that looked very much like yoga.

He was strong. Muscled, but graceful in his movements.

Gorgeous.

She forgot to move forward, entranced, but then as she realized where she was and what she was doing, she averted her eyes—though she couldn’t erase what she’d seen. How could she? The strong line of his back, the muscles of his shoulders and arms were stunning. She could imagine running her hands over him and wondered what it would be like to have those slim, strong hips settling in between her legs….

“Oh, no,” she said to herself, breathless with lust, her hands trembling as she almost dropped the wine again.

She hovered for a second on the porch. Reece was home, alone and naked, and she was standing here at his front door with a bottle of wine. Her courage flagged. Maybe she should talk to him another time, like during the light of day, or at a bar with a lot of other people around.

Don’t be a coward, Abby, she scolded herself. She sucked in a deep breath and pressed the doorbell before she could change her mind.

REECE STEPPED GINGERLY out of the shower, wrapping a large towel around his waist, wincing from the pain in his left leg, where pins and needles shot back and forth along his thigh, causing weakness in his stance.

Each pinprick was like an individual jab, reminding him that he couldn’t get in a race car again and do the thing that he loved most. Headaches had come back earlier that afternoon as well, and he’d spent most of the day on the sofa with an ice pack.

What if this never went away? What if they never signed off on letting him race again? At this point, doctors gave him a fifty-fifty shot, but he had to be one hundred percent, his reflexes perfect, completely reliable before he could race.

The betrayal of having his own body prevent him from doing what he loved most was utterly unacceptable. He’d gotten through the worst of it, and he’d defeat this, too. There was no alternative other than … what? Staying here?

Not an option.

Crossing the hall, he walked into the guest room and dried off. His mother had long ago, with his blessing, turned his old room into a place where she did her sewing and other crafts. He came home for holidays and a few short vacations but not often enough for his parents to have preserved his room. At the moment, he was glad they hadn’t. He’d been feeling strangely sentimental about the old place, and that wasn’t like him. He supposed it was because of the close call with his dad. Almost losing someone—as well as almost losing your own life—made you see things differently.

He loved his family, but this was just a house, he reminded himself. A building. One he couldn’t get away from fast enough when he’d been a teenager looking for something more exciting.

He started going through the stretching routine that he’d been taught by his last physical therapist to relieve the pins and needles. Focusing on his breathing, his form, he drove away unwanted thoughts. The hot shower had helped loosen him up, but it still hurt like hell at first to push through the moves and hold them, though the symptoms lessened after a few repetitions.

He felt better as he relaxed, going through the rest of his exercises for good measure. He’d talked to his neurologist earlier in the day for the umpteenth time, and he had been reassured yet again that it was all normal.

Easy for him to say.

Reece turned to grab a pair of jeans when the ring of the doorbell caught him by surprise. Who would be here now?

Surely not Charles with someone to see the house. No one had called.

Pulling on his jeans and grabbing a shirt, he rushed down the stairs and pulled open the door, unable to believe his eyes.

“Abby?”

He took in her pink cheeks and tousled hair, and stepped back, inviting her in as the frosty air nipped at his bare toes.

“C’mon in. It’s freezing out there,” he said.

“Thanks, it is,” she said, moving quickly. Her eyes flew to his chest. He hadn’t had time to completely button his shirt.

“Oh, sorry … just got out of the shower.”

Her cheeks turned even pinker and she didn’t meet his eyes. He wondered why she was here holding wine, two glasses and some other foods.

Reece prompted her again. “What’s all this?” he asked, looking down at the stuff she still held in her arms. One glass was tenuously dangling from her fingertips.

“Let me take that for you,” he offered, and reached forward to take the flute. When his fingers caught with hers around the stem, her hand jerked away and they fumbled the glass, nearly dropping the fragile crystal.

Reece frowned. “Are you okay?”

She finally smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry to intrude on your evening, but I saw your lights on and felt like some company. You said you wanted to have a drink, so …” She shrugged, holding up the bottle. “Unless this is a bad time?”

He remembered saying something about having a drink when he’d seen her at the restaurant. This wasn’t exactly what he meant, but maybe it was better.

He’d had a rough day, and having a bottle of wine with a pretty woman might be exactly what he needed.

“It’s a perfect time, actually. I’m really glad you decided to stop by,” he said, smiling and taking the rest of the things she was holding so that she could shuck her jacket. “You walked all the way over, in the dark?”

“It wasn’t that dark, with the snow and the moon. Very nice, actually,” she said lightly, handing him her coat just as she met his eyes and a spark flared as his hand touched hers.

She shifted uncomfortably, looking away and turning pink again. Reece didn’t remember her being so … wait.

She’d come across the field on the side of the house where the guest room was. Where he’d been doing his stretching, with the curtains open. With no clothes on. He never closed the drapes, since no one was likely to be lurking out in the fields

Silence hung at the end of her comment, and he had to smother a smile. She had to have seen him. Reece wasn’t shy and had to resist the urge to tease her about it.

So Abby was bit of a voyeur? It didn’t bother him. He’d be happy to let her look all she liked, he thought, his grin breaking loose as he turned away to hang her coat.

Maybe this evening would go even better than he thought.

“Grab that bottle and we can go put the food together in the kitchen, then sit by the fire,” he said casually, though he wasn’t feeling casual at all. All of his worries were pushed back by a surge of unexpected lust, and it felt great. He wanted to hold on to it, ride it and see where it took him.

“Oh, that would be nice,” she said, walking with him to the kitchen. Dressed in jeans and a sweater that accentuated her curves, he leaned forward and pulled something from her hair. He could swear she sucked in a breath when he did, becoming perfectly still.

Hmm.

He presented a straw of hay to her with a smile. “Been down with your horses, I take it?”

She rolled her eyes and snatched the hay from his hand, but couldn’t hold back a laugh, which made her even prettier. He’d always thought she was pretty, even as a little girl, but now … she was incredible. She always looked so natural and fresh, and he wondered what her skin tasted like.

“Yes, I was closing them up for the night when I saw your lights on my way back from the barn.”

“Do you still have just the two? Buttercup and Beau?”

She paused, looking surprised that he remembered. He was a little surprised, too.

“Yes. Wow, you know their names,” she said bluntly, taking the plate he handed her to open the brie so they could heat it up in the small toaster oven he pointed to.

“Why so surprising? We went to the same school, rode the same bus,” he said. “Must’ve just stuck in my mind, I guess.”

“Huh. I didn’t think you knew I was alive unless you were poking at me about something,” she said, and it was his turn to be a little surprised.

“I always liked you. I teased you, sure, but did you feel like I picked on you? Really?” A small frown creased his lips. He didn’t like thinking he had hurt Abby’s feelings or been mean to her.

Taking the food, they made their way to the main room and set the dishes down on the coffee table, placing a platter with green grapes, crackers and apples and the warmed brie between them. All perfect to go with the Baco, but Reece waited for her answer before moving to the fire.

She looked him in the eye and sighed lightly. “Well, you have to admit, aside from teasing me or pulling my hair, you didn’t give me reason to think you knew I existed, let alone that you would remember details of my life.”

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin slowly. “I remember some things very clearly,” he said with a teasing wink.

“You can’t even resist now, can you?” she said accusingly, but a smile twitched at her lips.

She remembered what happened between them that night at the lake as clearly as he did, he’d bet. And, no, he wasn’t sure he could resist, or wanted to. But there was time. He backed away, letting it drop for now.

“Let me put a few more logs on the fire and we can eat. Suddenly I’m starving.”

He was, though he wasn’t sure the food on the plate was what he had a taste for, but it would have to be enough for the moment.

They spent the next two hours eating and talking in front of the crackling fire, when Abby suddenly looked around the room.

“You don’t have a tree or any Christmas decorations up,” she observed.

He shrugged. “There hasn’t been any time, or much point, I guess. I’m the only one here, and Charles, the real estate agent, thought it was better to show the place without a lot of decorations. Let people imagine their own lives here and all that.”

“Oh,” she remarked, her expression turning serious. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said carefully.

“Christmas decorations?”

“No, that you’re selling. I was hoping—”

Reece put a hand up. “Abby, I’d be happy to sit down and talk business with you at some point. But not right now, okay?”

“But—”

“It’s been kind of a tough day. I’d really like to relax, catch up with an old friend,” he said.

He geniunely didn’t want to talk business with Abby. He knew she’d want to convince him not to sell, or something like that, and he didn’t want to discuss that with her. It was a done deal, and that conversation was sure to put a damper on the heat building between them.

She bit her lip and looked reluctant, but nodded. “I can understand that,” she said, looking down at her wine. “I know things must have been hard for you this year,” she said vaguely, inviting him to say more, but he didn’t want to talk about any of that, either. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but he needed a night off from all of it.

“Yeah,” he said, and changed the subject. “But how about you? You live in the house alone now?”

Nothing like discreet fishing before you tried to seduce an old friend, he thought. Hopefully there wasn’t another guy in the picture, though looking at her, it was hard to believe they weren’t lined up.

She shook her head, and his relief was immediate.

“Nope, just me now. Sarah retired, and Mom and Dad are traveling all over the world. I still have a small part-time staff, of course, to help me get things done, but I handle most of it myself.”

“They don’t come home for the holidays? Your parents?”

“It would be difficult. They send gifts, and we video conference on the computer a lot. Last year they were in India, helping local people build a school. This winter, they’ve been helping down in Haiti.”

“Really? I thought they were tourists now?”

“They mix their pleasure travel with activism. It’s just their way, and they have always been more like explorers than tourists.”

He nodded, smiling. “I remember.”

“I know what they’re doing is important, and I’m a big girl. We’re busy enough through the holidays that being alone at Christmas gives me a quiet day or two to relax, read, sleep in, that kind of thing.”

“Your parents were always so progressive,” he said admiringly, but really he was thinking about Abby sleeping in, under the covers, warm and soft, curled up in something slinky with a book. Then he imagined taking the book out of her hands and slipping the lacy bit of nothing from her shoulder….

“Reece?” she said, and he realized he had gone blank, lost in his fantasy. “Are you okay?”

She seemed worried, and it bothered him. Of all the people he didn’t want worrying if he was healthy and ready to go, she was first on the list at the moment.

“Sorry. You just made me remember that summer when your parents decided to try to add selling goat cheese to the winery business, and all of the goats got loose one weekend and ate some of my dad’s vines,” he lied, unable to look away from her face. Her eyes had landed on the scar behind his ear—the skin graft had healed, but it was visible. Did it bother her?

The definite sparkle of interest in her eyes said no, he assumed.

She laughed then, breaking the bond. “He was pretty nice about it, considering.”

Her honey-brown hair was soft and slightly curled, pushed back in a haphazard way that made him want to reach out and weave his hands into it. She didn’t wear makeup, which he found refreshing. She didn’t need to. Her skin was flawless, her cheeks pink and kissable. And those lips …

“Did you ever wonder?” he heard himself ask.

Her cheeks turned rosy again, her lips parting slightly, as if she knew exactly where his mind had gone.

“Wonder what?”

He paused. They’d had a nice evening, two old friends talking over high school times and getting reacquainted. Did he really want to step into other waters? He was only back for a month or so, or however long it took to sell the winery. And the faster, the better. Abby wasn’t one of his pit stops.

The women he knew in Europe were aware of his commitment-free lifestyle, his focus on his racing. They knew the score. They also had their own agendas, liking to be seen with a well-known driver, having their picture show up in the next day’s entertainment news.

Abby had no agenda. She was just … Abby.

He still had to ask the question.

“What it might have been like if we didn’t stop that night at the lake?” he said and noted the slight catch in her breath, but she didn’t look away.

“Sure, I wondered,” she said simply.

“I was about to ask you out, back then, when you took off,” he admitted.

“You were?”

“Yeah. I wanted to know what it would be like to be with you, for real,” he said. “I always liked you, Abby. A lot.”

“Oh” was her only response, sounding slightly breathless. He took that as a good sign and plunged ahead.

“Still want to find out?” he said, in spite of every bit of better judgment he had.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she stood suddenly, setting down her wine, her movements fluttering and nervous.

“I should go. We’re just tired. There’s the fire and the wine, and it’s easy to be caught up in old times, but really … I should go,” she repeated, and walked to the door.

Reece shot up, moving after her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, catching her arm, turning her to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

He wasn’t sure if he was talking about eight years ago or two minutes ago. He was sure he didn’t want her walking out the door.

They were close, and she looked up at him, her eyes somber.

“Listen, Reece, as much as I might be … curious, too, it wouldn’t be a good idea—”

“You’re curious?” His mind selectively honed in on the one thing he wanted to hear and he stepped closer. “About me?”

She licked her lips nervously, making his cock jerk, semihard already, against the rough fabric of his jeans. In his hurry, he hadn’t even pulled on briefs, so all that held him back was a bit of thin fabric.

“I—” She had started to say something, but he saw the pulse beating hard at the base of her throat, the desire in her eyes.

“What else are you curious about, Abby? I seem to remember you liked the excitement of being there, by the hedge, in public. Are you still up for that kind of adventure?”

He remembered how aroused she had been, and it had been just as hot for him, too. Did she still want that?

Reece liked risk, too. Hell, it defined him. He also had fantasies that not all of his lovers had satisfied.

What kind of sex was Abby into? He knew about her fondness for public places. Bondage, maybe? Something more creative? Role-play, perhaps?

He wanted to find out, imagining Abby tied to his bed or dressed in black leather. What if she wanted him tied up?

He could probably live with that. He was open to anything short of real pain or multiple partners—Reece wasn’t sharing Abby with anyone.

“Let’s just see, Abby, what it could be like between us,” he said, needing to know and pulling her to him, his hands traveling up her back and into her hair, as he’d thought about.

It was like silk. He wanted to feel it trailing over his stomach and his thighs, her mouth on him.

The thought made his kiss less introductory, less tentative, than it might have been otherwise. He took her soft lips and opened her wider, invading and rubbing his tongue against hers with a deep moan. She felt so right, like she had before, but better, the flames leaping between them.

Her arms went around his neck, and she rubbed back with her tongue, her lips and the rest of her body as she strained against him.

Green flag, he thought, but resisted accelerating, instead maintaining the steady heat of the kiss, learning her taste, her touch, until neither of them could take it any longer.

When her hands started undoing the buttons on his shirt, he walked her back against the wall by the window, pressing his hardness against her, moving his hands up to cover her breasts. She was firm and soft in his palms, the nipples budding hard.

Touching wasn’t enough, he needed to taste.

Moving his hands up under her sweater, he set the flimsy lace of her bra aside and bent to take one tight, beaded nipple in his mouth. He drew on it hard, murmuring encouragingly as she arched away from the wall, her hand at the back of his head, keeping him there.

He replaced his lips with his fingers, rolling the warm buds between his thumb and forefinger as he kissed her again, wanting to be everywhere at once.

He stood back, staring down into her flushed face, her passion-drenched eyes, raising a finger to touch lips that now looked like crushed cherries.

“Abby, I want you, but …” He let the question hang. He wanted her, but he’d back off now if she wanted him to, no matter what.

“Yes, please,” she said, her breathing short and hard.

She was incredibly sweet. He planned to take his time with her, he thought, and pressed her back, sliding a thigh between her legs, pinning her to the wall. He wanted to make her come as many times as he could before he got inside her, because once he was, he knew he wouldn’t last long. Not this first time.

He took her lips again and massaged those pretty breasts with both hands, moving against her until she was whimpering and grinding against him. Without warning, she arched, coming hard, moaning into his mouth as she rode it out. And he didn’t even get her clothes off yet, he thought with raw hunger, wanting more.

He pulled back, taking in her bemused expression, the surprised satisfaction he saw there making him swell harder.

He thought she might be shy, embarrassed, but she linked her arms around his neck and leaned in, nipping at his lower lip.

“More” was all she said as she looked him in the eye.

“Oh, honey,” he choked out. “There’s plenty more.”

Swinging her up into his arms, he turned to take her back to the fireplace, planning to dim the lights and strip that sweater off in the warm glow of the flames, when he stopped, his gaze drawn out the window.

He stared, uncertain what had caught his eye, but a bad feeling overcame him and he let Abby slide to her feet. He walked closer to the window that looked out over the field.

“Reece? What is it?”

Sirens screamed in the distance, and the glow in the air over the field that had attracted his attention was not a figment of his imagination. Her winery was on fire.