Page 66 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
Whatever happens when the roads clear and reality intrudes, I will leavethis mountain changed in ways I never anticipated. The question is whether those changes will strengthen or break me when I return to the world I've worked so hard to conquer.
Chapter 17
I wake slowly,cocooned in warmth—Dominic's body curved protectively around mine, his arm a heavy weight across my waist. The fire has died to embers, but I feel no chill, only a pleasant ache in muscles unused to both cross-country skiing and the more intimate exertions of last night.
I study Dominic's sleeping face, softer in repose than I've ever seen it. The perpetual furrow between his brows has smoothed, making him appear younger and less burdened. Unable to resist, I trace my finger lightly along his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against my skin.
His eyes flutter open at my touch, focusing on me with immediate recognition that sends a thrill through my chest. No morning-after confusion or regret shadows his features—only a slow, devastating smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
"Morning," he murmurs, voice sleep-rough in a way that stirs something low in my belly.
"Morning." I should feel self-conscious, tangled nakedwith him beneath the blankets, but instead I feel strangely at home.
His hand slides up my back, drawing me closer. "Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in years," I admit, surprised by my own honesty.
He hums in approval, fingers playing along my spine with casual intimacy. We lie like that, touching, exploring, trading lazy kisses that gradually deepen until we're both breathless. There's none of last night's urgency—just a slow-burning pleasure that builds like properly aged wine, complex and unhurried.
After, as we lie facing each other with limbs still entangled, I'm struck by how natural this feels. How right. Dangerous thoughts for a relationship born of a business trip and a snowstorm, with a clear expiration date looming.
"Coffee?" Dominic finally suggests, pressing one last kiss to my forehead before disentangling himself.
"Please." I watch appreciatively as he stands, unselfconscious in his nakedness.
We move around each other, passing coffee mugs, stealing touches and kisses like we've done this for years rather than hours. Merlot watches us with what I swear is canine amusement, tail thumping against the floor every time we draw near each other.
The radio on the counter crackles to life just as we're sitting down to eat.
"Mercer, you copy? It's Donovan."
Dominic crosses to the radio, shooting me an apologetic look. "I'm here, Sheriff. What's the update?"
"Good news, folks. Road crews made better progress than expected. Main pass is cleared, and they'll be working on your access road by this afternoon.Should have you folks able to come down the mountain by tomorrow morning, if not sooner."
The news lands like a stone in my stomach. Despite my earlier eagerness to escape our enforced isolation, the thought of leaving after last night fills me with unexpected dread.
"That's great news," Dominic responds, his eyes meeting mine across the kitchen. "Thanks for the update."
"Thought your guest would be happy to hear it," Sheriff Donovan remarks, his tone suggesting he's enjoying being the bearer of good news. "Weather's supposed to hold clear for the next few days, too. Perfect timing."
After signing off, Dominic returns to the table, a new tension evident in his shoulders.
"So," I say, attempting lightness, "freedom is imminent."
"Apparently." His tone is carefully neutral, giving nothing away.
"We should probably discuss the business side of things," I suggest, forcing myself back into professional mode. "I'd like to formalize our agreement before I head back to San Francisco."
Something shutters in his expression, the open warmth of moments ago replaced by a cooler reserve. "Of course. That's why you're here, after all."
"Dominic—"
"No, you're right." He cuts me off, rising to clear his barely touched breakfast. "We've gotten sidetracked. Let me grab the distribution paperwork I've been considering."
It should surprise me that this reluctant wine maker drafted his own distribution paperwork, but somehow it doesn’t. I even think I knowwhenhe did it. That day, he retreated to his office.
As he disappears, a hollowness fills my chest. The shift is so abrupt that it gives me conversational whiplash—from lovers to business associates in the space of a radio call.
