Page 38 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
“Sleep well?” His voice is low. Rough. Almost cruel.
“No,” I say without thinking. It’s the truth, jagged and raw.
“Good.” He offers me a mug, as if it’s a peace offering, but he hasno intention of honoring it.
“Good?” I echo, stunned.
“A fitting punishment,” he says, casually brutal. “Don’t you think?” His dominance rolls off him in waves—quiet but absolute.
Not angry.
Not cruel.
Just inevitable.
Like he meant for me to suffer.
To lie awake thinking about him.
To feel every second of the space he left empty.
I wrap my hands around the mug, desperate for something solid.
“And why exactly,” I say, voice low, a little shaky, “did I deserve to be punished?”
His mouth curves. Slow. Dark. A man savoring the slow tightening of a snare.
“You watched me,Elena.” Low. Certain. Dangerous. “You stood in the dark, knowing damn well you should’ve turned away, yet you stayed.”
“I—” My cheeks blaze. Shame and hunger winding tighter inside me.
He steps closer, the space between us tightening like a noose.
“You think you get to establish boundaries,” he murmurs, voice stroking over me like rough velvet, “and then look without consequence?”
My breath hitches.
“You think you get to trespass,” he says, slow and lethal, “into something private, and not feel the weight of it?” The air thickens, sharp and glittering with tension. “You wanted boundaries.” He steps closer, until I have to tilt my chin to meet his gaze.
I nod once, desperate and stricken.
“I’ll honor that,” he says, the words sinking into me likehooks. “I’ll respect your limits, but you should understand something.”
"What?"
“Boundaries go both ways,” he murmurs, the words sinking like a brand into my skin. "If I can’t touch you, then you can’t watch me. You drew a line. I honored it."
I tremble under his unrelenting heat.
His voice drops to a low, lethal whisper—a dark, velvet promise.
“You asked for distance. Respect.” His breath is hot against my skin. “I’ll give it to you.” He pulls back just enough that I see the fire blazing behind his eyes. “For as long as you can stand it. When you’re ready to cross that line,” he whispers, “you’ll have to be the one to do it.”
The ground tilts under me.
A long, aching beat passes between us.
Measured. Merciless.
