Page 33 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
Spoiler:I don’t want to.
The blanket slips from our shoulders and pools at our waists, forgotten.
I’m not cold anymore.
I’m burning.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I’m disoriented—drunk on sensation rather than wine. Dominic's eyes have darkened to amber, his expression a mixture of desire and surprise, as if he's as shaken by the intensity as I am.
He rests his forehead against mine, his breath ragged, his hand still cradling my head.
“That was…” he starts, voice shredded.
"A mistake," I finish, though every cell in my body disagrees. "We're supposed to be establishing a business relationship."
“Is that what you think?” His thumb traces my lower lip, sending shockwaves through my system. “That this was a mistake?” His thumb drags across my lower lip, and my body shudders at the contact.
"It has to be." I pull back slightly, trying to regain some semblance of professional control. "I'm here to represent your wines, not?—
"Not what, Elena?" He uses my first name deliberately, and the sound of it does strange things to my resolve. His eyes burn into mine, molten gold and unrepentant.
“We’re supposed to be building a business relationship,” I choke out, aching with the distance now yawning between us. "Not complicate things." I stand, putting necessary distance between us. "We're trapped here for three days. We need to maintain boundaries."
"Boundaries," he repeats, the word somehow both a concession and a challenge. "Of course." Dominic rises, the firelight casting him in bronze and gold.
I turn away, needing the space even if it feels like peeling off my own skin.
The electricity flickers back to life overhead, the harsh overhead lights snapping back on, floodingthe room in sterile brightness.
The intimacy fractures.
But the heat?
It lingers and burns. It promises things that no amount of distance will ever extinguish.
I’m trembling—not from fear, but from the raw want still vibrating through my blood.
Dominic watches me, the firelight carving his features into something sharp and unrelenting. He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches me, a slow, measured inhale expanding his chest.
The same chest I had my hands all over a minute ago.
Then, quietly, inexorably, he says,
“Go to bed, Elena.”
The words shouldn’t land the way they do.
They shouldn’t pulse through me like a tether yanked tight.
I turn, blinking at him. “Are you… coming to bed too?”
His mouth curves, slow and dark, but there’s no humor in it.
Only something hotter. Harder.
Something that makes my knees feel suddenly less reliable.
“No.” His gaze sweeps over me, a caress I feel everywhere. “You asked for boundaries. I’ll respect them. I won’t touch you again without permission.”
