Page 25 of Taken With You
He said, “I can give you space.”
“Space?”
“Time away from me. To douse the flames. Re-set our working relationship.” Was he imagining it, or could he smell the mineral scent of the cave on her skin?
She said, “I do need to focus on the harvest. At least for the next few weeks.”
“I’ll keep out of your way.” He glanced out the window to hide disappointment and physical frustration. “I have a trip to New York planned.” Or he would once he booked it tomorrow.
“Garrick.” Her voice compelled him to meet her pleading gaze. “If this issue comes up again, my mind is at ease knowing we can discuss it like rational adults.”
He nodded, though he didn’t feel very rational right now, in the darkness of this room, with the scent of her in his head, and a yearning he didn’t understand stretching his control paper-thin.
“You’d better go upstairs, Amanda.”
She stepped back, unsettled. “Good night, Garrick.”
“Sleep well.”
He mentally nailed his feet to the floor as she headed upstairs, but he couldn’t stop his mind from following her through the hall to her bedroom. Her door clicked closed, but his imagination raced with what they could be doing behind those doors, in the darkness, their limbs tangled together.
Sweet dreams, Amanda.
His wouldn’t be sweet at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ahectic week later, Amanda shoved up the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt as she crossed the living room, averting her gaze from the area in front of the bay window. Since the middle-of-the-night conversation with Garrick, that space had taken on an odd, electric charge. Heat sizzled through her as she neared Garrick’s office, as she remembered what had almost happened between them that night—and worried about what wasaboutto happen, when after a week’s separation they finally locked eyes again.
She knocked on the door, trying to school her face into friendly professionalism. Her feelings kept stretching taut in one seductive direction, only to snap back to a more rational one. After so many sleepless nights, she was wrung out by work, by indecision, and by a persistent, clawing urge to get to know Garrick better. He called for her to enter. She poked her head around the door’s edge to find him talking on the phone. He leaned forward in an ergonomic chair, dressed in a faded tank that left his muscled arms bare.
A tremor shot through her. She leaned her cheek against the door. Absence had definitely made her libido grow stronger. His forehead rippled as he glanced up at her. His smile was brief, but his voice didn’t even hitch as he continued his phone conversation.
“My plane landed four hours ago,” he said into the phone. “Have Luke handle this fire—and direct him off that South American venture. When I’m on the West Coast, I need him in the New York office, not tied up in Brazil.”
Amanda’s spirits sank as Garrick continued to shoot orders across the country in full business voice. She’d told herself she would act the consummate professional, but her heart had clearly hoped for a different greeting. For the past week, Garrick Kane of Kane Enterprises clearly hadn’t obsessed over every word he’d uttered to her in the starlight. The almost-kiss they’d shared had been nothing more than a small personal tangle in a wide and varied life.
Well. That was that. She had no one to blame but herself.
“Amanda, you look like a crime scene.”
He tossed his phone on a pile of papers and focused on her like a thousand-watt spotlight.
She stretched a faint smile as well as the hem of her splattered sweatshirt. “We just started harvesting the pinot noir grapes. If you think this is bad, you should see the floor around the crusher.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Right. She’d all but banned him from any more bare-chested shoveling.
Probably for the best.
“The harvest is coming along well,” she said, staying on a safe topic and keeping a safer distance. “Barring major equipment failures, we should have a cave full of barrels for the first vintage.”
“Great news.” He tilted his head, his brow rippling. “But we’ve got other business to talk about, though. Have a seat.”
She glanced at the leather chair, only a desk away from all that muscled glamour, and shook her head no. “I’m covered in grape juice. Sticky all over.”
“The chair doesn’t mind.” He gestured to it, lifting a brow. “And neither do I.”
