Page 34 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
The knot in my chest tightens painfully.
“But…” Dominic steps closer, not touching but crowding me with the heavy heat of his body. “You’re wrong.”
“About what?” I whisper, even though I already know.
“That wasn’t a mistake.” His voice drops lower, fierce and sure. “It was inevitable. Same as the storm outside. Same as the fact that sooner or later… we’re going to finish what we started.”
I suck in a shaky breath, and he watches mefight for composure. Watches me lose it.
“I want you asleep when I come to bed,” he says, rough velvet across my skin.
"Why?"
“Because if you’re awake…” His eyes darken, the glint of restraint fraying at the edges. “I won’t have the strength to pretend I don’t want you. I won’t be able to sleep without touching you.”
The words lash through me—hot, brutal, devastating.
He steps back before I can say a word.
The cold rush of space between us hits harder than any slap.
I still don’t move. Can’t. My feet rooted to the floor, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Dominic’s mouth curves—slow, dangerous—as he steps closer, until the air between us disappears.
“Go,” he murmurs, the words sharp enough to cut. His mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile—it’s a warning. “Before I stop pretending you have a choice.”
The floor feels unsteady under my feet, and the air feels too thin to breathe.
Still, somehow, I move.
I make it halfway up the stairs before instinct drags my head around.
Dominic stands exactly where I left him—arms crossed, body locked tight with tension, watching me with the feral patience of a predator who knows precisely how the hunt will end.
And the most dangerous part?
I want it to end.
Deep down, some ancient part of me already belongs to him. Already craves to be taken. To be owned in a way that will ruin me for anyone else.
When Dominic Mercer finally decides to take me, therewill be no mercy. No escape.
Later, lying in Dominic’s bed—a bed that smells like him, feels like him—I stare up into the darkness and try to remember how to breathe.
The kiss replays over and over behind my closed eyes, vivid and sharp, searing a path down my spine.
The taste of him.
The heat of his hands threading into my hair.
The unyielding way he claimed my mouth like it was inevitable.
The professional boundaries I keep clinging to feel laughable now. Paper shields against a wildfire. The house creaks and settles around me, the storm outside raging harder, wrapping the world in white noise.
The bed is massive. Yet I swear I can still feel the imprint of him beside me—like my body remembers where he should be, even if he’s not there.
Every rustle of sheets sounds like his voice.
