Something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition of what he wasn't quite saying. Her green eyes searched his face, looking for something, and Devon let her look. Hoped she’d see whatever she needed to see.
"Devon," she whispered, and the way she said his name—like a question, like a prayer—made his breath catch.
He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "I'm done pretending this is just professionalinterest. I'm done keeping my distance because it's the smart thing to do."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm falling for you. Have been for months. And I'm tired of fighting it."
Her breath hitched. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when Devon responded, pulling her closer, the kiss deepened into something more. She shifted in his arms, her hands sliding up to frame his face, and he forgot about boundaries and professionalism and all the very good reasons they should take this slow.
Her mouth was warm and sweet, and she made a slight sound in the back of her throat when he traced her bottom lip with his tongue. The sound went straight through him.
"Emery," he murmured against her mouth. "We should?—"
“No more should or shouldn’t.” She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Don't tell me we should slow down, or think about this, or be smart. If last night taught me anything, it’s that life is too short not to be honest about certain things.”
"What does that mean?"
"I want this. Want you." Her fingers threaded through his hair. "And I'm tired of all the reasons we shouldn't. I know it’s a risk to both my career and this winery, and if you want to get out of this bed, I’d understand. I’m just telling you I don’t want to play it safe anymore.”
Devon searched her face, looking for doubt, for fear, for any sign this was the adrenaline and trauma of last night talking. But all he saw was certainty and desire and something that looked a lot like the feelings he'd just confessed.
"You're sure?"
"I've never been surer of anything."
That was all the permission he needed. Devon kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring months of suppressed longing into the contact. She responded with equal intensity, her body pressing against his, her hands exploring the planes of his chest through his shirt.
His hands found the curve of her waist, the warm skin just beneath the hem of her shirt, and she arched into his touch with a soft gasp that made his pulse spike.
"I've wanted this," she breathed against his mouth. "Wanted you. For so long."
Devon rolled, bringing her beneath him, caging her body with his as he kissed a path along her jaw, down the column of her throat. She arched beneath him, her hands gripping his shoulders, and laughed—actually laughed—a sound so light and free it made his chest ache.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing. Everything." Her fingers traced the muscles of his back. "I just—this feels right. For the first time in months, something feels completely right."
Devon lifted his head to look at her, his heart hammering against his ribs. Long brown hair pooled around her head, framing her face as she gazed up at him. The intimacy of the moment—her there, looking at him like that—hit him hard. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered.
"That's my line."
His hands found the hem of her shirt, fingers hesitating at the fabric. "Tell me to stop if you need to."
"I'm not going to tell you to stop."
He pulled the shirt up and over her head, and she helped him, laughing again when her hair got caught in the neckline. The sound was intoxicating—joy mixed with desire, trust blended with want.
His lips brushed against her shoulder, following the path his fingers had traced. He tasted the salt of her skin, the sweet hint of vanilla. The scent of her was intoxicating, a heady blend of vanilla and something uniquely her—something that made him want to bury his face in her neck and just breathe her in.
Kissing her again, he explored her in layers of silky whispers and searing touches. Emery gasped at the heat of his mouth against her skin, her fingernails scraping lightly against the back of his neck. The sound turned his blood into a river of fire coursing through his veins. He committed the fervor of her breathless whimpers to memory, relishing the way her body arched towards him like a flower straining for sunlight.
He slid his fingers down her body, tracing a path along the ridges of her ribs, circling her hips. Her skin was warm, silky against his touch, and he could feel the gentle rise of her breathing beneath his hand. A soft sigh escaped her lips as his fingers traveled further south, tracing the elastic band of her panties. She rewarded him with a shudder, her hips bucking up to meet his touch.
