Page 20 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
He stole my promotion and told me I wasn’t ready for it. Said my instincts were too raw. That my palate wasn’t refined enough to trust.
Which was laughable, really—coming from a man with the nose of a half-frozen bloodhound.
As for my nose?
Mine is one of the best in the country. Sharp enough to tear a wine apart down to the soil it grew in. Sharp enough to know when I’m being fed a lie.
Never strong enough to…leave.
Dominic doesn’t press. He just watches me, quiet and steady, like he sees more than I’m saying. Like he’s weighing whether or not to push.
The silence hums between us—hot, taut, and full of things neither of us is ready to name.
He bends to unplug a lamp from the wall, the motion pulling his Henley tight across the breadth of his shoulders. Controlled frustration hums through his body, visible in the set of his jaw, the flex of his fingers—but every movement is calm.
Deliberate.
Like everything with him.
“I guess I’m on the couch tonight.” I step carefully over the puddle spreading toward the dresser.
Dominic straightens.
Turns.
His gaze findsmine and pins it there.
“No.”
One word. Flat. Absolute.
I blink. “No?”
“My room has a king bed.” His voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent to it. Flinty. Implacable. “Plenty of space. You’ll sleep with me.”
He says it like it’s already decided. Like there was never another option.
“In your bed,” I repeat, dumbly.
“Yes.” No hesitation. Not even a flicker.
“And where exactly will you be sleeping, Mr. Mercer? The couch downstairs isn’t nearly big enough for you.”
“I will also be sleeping in my bed.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t soften. He watches me.
Steady.
Waiting for the fight he knows I’ll give him—and already certain he’ll win.
“You mean… both of us?” I try for lightness, but the words catch, a breathless hitch I can’t hide.
His eyes flicker. Not with doubt. With something hotter.
Hungrier.
“It’s a bed, Elena,” he says, voice low and maddeningly even. “You won’t be the first woman who’s ever shared one.”
