Page 65 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
Doesn’t rush.
He just holds me.
Like I’m something precious.
We stay like that, tangled in the wreckage of each other, the fire hissing quietly beside us, the worldshrinking down to nothing but the slow, rhythmic glide of his hands over my skin.
Fingertips tracing circles on my hips.
The backs of my thighs.
The vulnerable curve of my spine.
Each touch anchoring me deeper into the space between us.
“You’re shaking,” Dominic murmurs after a while, his voice hoarse with concern.
“I’m fine,” I whisper back, but my body betrays me, shivering violently despite the heat of the fire and the thick quilt tangled around our legs.
Dominic makes a low sound deep in his chest, half-growl, half-soothing murmur.
Without a word, he eases out of me with agonizing gentleness, the sudden emptiness making me whimper before I can stop myself.
He shushes me quietly, sliding one arm under my knees, the other behind my shoulders, lifting me effortlessly against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he says, fierce and low.
Dominic carries me through the house, the long shadows of the fire flickering over the walls as he takes the stairs two at a time.
The cold air bites at my skin, exposed and flushed and raw, but it doesn’t touch me.
Not with his body wrapped around mine, sheltering me from everything but the way he feels—solid, immutable, mine.
At the top of the stairs, he nudges his bedroom door open with a shoulder, then crosses to the massive bed and sets me down with terrifying gentleness.
The covers are still rumpled from when he tucked me in earlier, the sheets faintly holding the ghost of his warmth.
Dominic kneels briefly, dragging the heavy quilt up over my naked body, tucking me in like something precious he’s not ready to let go of.
Without a word, he slides into the bed behind me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
An arm slings heavy around my waist, hauling me back against his chest, anchoring me in the circle of his body like he’s reeling me in against a tide.
I let out a shuddering breath, the last of my resistance bleeding away as he pulls me closer, his bare skin branding every inch of mine.
For a few seconds, he holds me.
Then, low and rough against the shell of my ear, he gives the only command I’ve been waiting for.
“Go to sleep.” His hand tightens at my waist, the weight of it an unspoken promise that he’s not done with me yet.
I close my eyes against the sting of sudden tears and let myself sink into him.
Reality seeps in as the adrenaline fades. This started as a business trip. Dominic is supposed to be a potential supplier, not a lover. The boundaries we've crossed can't be uncrossed, and the implications for my professional integrity are significant.
I don’t regret a thing. Whatever complications this creates, the connection between us feels too rare, too valuable to dismiss as a mere lapse in judgment.
As I drift toward sleep, my thoughts swirl. Elation at this unexpected connection. Fear of its inevitable complications. And beneath it all, a terrifying realization. In three days, this gruff, passionate, complicated man somehow slipped past defenses I've maintained for years and cracked me wide open.
