Page 42 of Love on the Vine
Jake’s lip twitched. “Occupational hazard.”
“You didn’t drink anything,” I said finally, giving into my curiosity about why someone who’d made wine his whole career—his whole life really—didn’t seem to enjoy it. “Actually, I’ve noticed that you don’t drink much at all.”
He shook his head and turned onto a smaller road. “No.”
From the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel and his voice took on a crisper edge, I knew that we’d reached the end of that discussion. I’d drop the subject for now, but I was determined to get to the bottom of it before this trip was over because I was convinced it was a major piece of the Jake Vos puzzle.
At the end of road, we pulled up in front of a large two-story farmhouse where we were greeted by a frantic German Shepherd. He ran up to the car barking madly as I tried to peel myself from the leather seat.
“Whoa, King,assis!” A sharp woman’s voice came from the direction of the barn, followed shortly by the woman herself—a blonde in her mid-forties wearing jeans and a striped T-shirt. Her short hair and mischievous grin gave her an impish appearance that contrasted with her raspy voice. She was clearly overjoyed to see Jake, enfolding him in her tan arms and thumping him on the back as she kissed his cheeks. Hereyes widened with surprise when she saw me, and she smiled, revealing a large gap in her front teeth. “My goodness, Jin. How you’ve changed!”
“Jin had to fly to Shanghai. It’s a long story,” Jake explained as he introduced us. “Clémence, this is Olivia. She’s helping us out this summer. Clémence and her sister, Claire, run the Domaine des Deux Collines.”
“Welcome, Olivia. I hope you had a nice trip.” Clémence embraced me warmly, placing two kisses on my cheeks. “My sister will be back shortly. Would you like coffee, tea?”
“Coffee would be wonderful,” I said as Jake gathered our bags from the trunk. “Oh, are we staying here?”
“Of course! Jake is like family. We wouldn’t hear of him staying anywhere else.” Well, this certainly put a hitch in Operation Seduction. So much for late nights and hot sex in roadside inns. Yet, my temporary disappointment was tempered by my pleasure in staying at a working winery and getting to know Jake’s friends.
We followed Clémence into a wood-paneled kitchen. It obviously hadn’t been redone since the 1980s, but with its low ceiling and terra-cotta floors it felt cozy and familiar, as if I had just walked into my grandmother’s kitchen. The dog wound around Clémence’s feet as she put a kettle on the gas stove.
“Your English is incredible, Clémence,” I said. “You have hardly any accent.”
“That’s because I spent six years studying agronomy at University of Davis.” Clémence placed a bowl of fresh cherries in front of me. “I love California, but I don’t think I could live in the US now. Like you, Jake.” She leaned over and pretended to whisper. “He’s very happy not having a full-time home.”
I wondered if that was true. He didn’t seem all that happy to me.
“Now, don’t take this the wrong way, Jake, but you look like you could use a rest. Go upstairs. I put you in your usual room,” ordered Clémence as Jake finished his coffee while absentmindedly caressing King’s head. The big German Shepherd had been practically glued to his side since we came in.
“Yeah, I think I will. I’m not used to driving so much anymore.” His chair grated across the floor as he rose from the table.
“Too used to your chauffeurs in Shanghai?” Clémence teased.
He smiled sheepishly and excused himself, leaving a forlorn King staring after him. I patted my knee, and he came over to my side, tail wagging. “I know the feeling, buddy,” I whispered in his ear.
“Mais quelle pute, toi.” Clémence admonished the dog and slid into the chair next to me. “So, Olivia, tell me all about yourself.”
Chapter 13
JAKE
Aburst of feminine laughter woke me from a deep sleep. I blinked at the ceiling, disoriented. The room was almost completely dark, only a thin shaft of light came through the gap in the curtains. Christ, had I slept all night?
I rolled over and groaned as the sheet brushed over my throbbing cock. Fuck me. My entire body was tense. I’d been dreaming about that goddamn kiss. About her mouth, the way she tasted. When I closed my eyes, I ran my fingertips up the soft flesh of her inner thigh, tracing my thumb along the seam of her panties until she was wet and moaning into my mouth, then slowly pushing them aside and sinking my fingers inside her . . .
Fuck!
I ripped the covers back and stalked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. Jin was right; I needed to get laid. This dry spell was messing with my head, and I couldn’t think straight. If I could, I’d have enough self-control to stop fantasizing about someone who was completely inappropriate for me.
The cold water wasn’t helping, so I adjusted the bulge in my briefs and tried to conjure up as many unsexy images as possible: a blowfish, Queen Elizabeth’s corgis, Richard Nixon. Finally, after solving some quadratic equations in my head,my body relaxed, and I could pretend that dream had never happened.
Just like I wanted to pretend that that goddamn kiss hadn’t happened in the first place. I’d been relieved that morning when she hadn’t brought it up. It had been a huge fucking mistake. One that kept me up most of the night.
Then, as the day went on, I wouldn’t say I’d forgotten about it, but I’d tucked it away in the back of my mind. It was fine. We’d laughed about it. I’d even enjoyed our conversation that morning, which had made the time in the car fly by.
Hell, I enjoyed most of our conversations. She was easy to talk to, and more than once I’d found myself on the brink of confessing something to her that I’d never told anyone—like the problem I was having with my taste buds. By the time we’d rolled up to the farmhouse, I’d been sure I had everything under control.
And then I had to go and dream about her.
