Page 52 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
Fear of how badly I want to fall. Fear of who I’ll become if I let go of the last piece of armor protecting me.
Because deep down, in the place I can’t lie even to myself, I don’t want a normal courtship.
I want the caveman. I want the fire. I want a man who will strip me down to nothing but gasping need and never apologize for taking me apart.
I drag in a shaky breath.
Get it together, Elena. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a fantasy. This is business.
It’s supposed to be business.
I can’t afford to fall for a man like Dominic Mercer.
Standing here now, my boots crunching through snow, I know one brutal truth. It wasn’t the sight of him strokinghimself that undid me. It was the knowledge that if he ever turned all that fire on me, I would combust.
The realization hits me with startling clarity: my attraction to Dominic Mercer has evolved beyond the physical. I'm drawn to his mind, his principles, his contradictions. To the quiet vulnerability beneath his strength and the unexpected gentleness in his hands as he tends his vines.
This is no longer chemistry. It's connection. And that makes it infinitely more dangerous to my heart—and to the professional boundaries I'm increasingly struggling to maintain.
Chapter 13
We stumbleinto the house in a flurry of cold and laughter, shedding boots and jackets in the mudroom, both of us dripping snow and breathless from the mad dash inside.
Dominic shrugs out of his coat and boots without a word, steam rising faintly from his clothes as the heat finds us. He runs a hand through his wet hair, shaking out the snow, his movements easy, loose in a way I haven’t seen before. A low chuckle escapes him—real, rich, warm—and the sound slides under my skin like a slow caress.
“Remind me,” I say, kicking off my boots with a soggy thunk, “why we thought a snowball fight was a good idea?” I peel off my soaked jacket, laughing under my breath. “Pretty sure we made Merlot’s year.”
Dominic glances at the dog, sprawled blissfully on the rug, tongue lolling, tail thumping against the floor—a rare smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
I wring out my hair, feeling the delicious flush of exertion and leftover adrenaline still buzzing through me.
“It was fun,” I admit, surprising myself. “God, I can’t remember the last time I did something so… ridiculous.”
“It was.” He shakes his hair like an oversized wolf, droplets catching the firelight. “I think we both needed to laugh.”
I smile despite myself.
There’s no denying the warmth in his eyes as he gestures toward the fire.
“Come on. You’re freezing.”
Dominic crosses to the fire, crouching low to feed more logs into the flames. His broad shoulders flex with the motion, and when he rises, brushing his hands together, there’s something unguarded in his expression.
I follow him into the living room, peeling off my damp sweater and trading it for one of his dry flannels folded over the back of the couch. It’s huge on me, swallowing my frame.
The fire crackles low in the hearth, throwing long shadows across the floor. The heavy scent of woodsmoke and melting snow fills the air, wrapping around me as thickly as the borrowed flannel clinging damp to my skin.
“To an awesome day, playing in the snow.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. A flash of the boy he must have been once, before life made him hard and sharp.
“Cheers to that,” he says, voice low and rough.
My chest tightens, stupid and aching.
He pushes off the hearth slowly, setting his empty glass down. His eyes stay on mine the whole time.
Dominic pours another finger of whiskey for each of us, then sinks onto the rug before the fire, stretching out long legs still clad in worn jeans.
