I reach the back wall of the cellar and find the hidden entrance—an old service door camouflaged by climbing ivy. The wood is weathered but solid, the hinges recently oiled. I made sure of that when I was setting up.
The door swings open silently, and I slip inside.
The back room is small and dark, used for storage—empty wine crates stacked against the walls, old equipment gathering dust in corners. But through the doorway ahead, I can see the glow of candlelight and can hear the soft ambient music I programmed to start when the main door opened.
And I can hear her.
Her footsteps are hesitant, uncertain. She's moving through the space slowly, probably trying to process what she's seeing.I imagine her face—that gorgeous expression of confusion and awe she gets when she’s surprised.
She doesn't know it's me. Not yet. She's probably terrified, trying to reconcile the romantic setup with the masked predator who just hunted her through the vineyard.
I want her off-balance with her mind spinning with questions while her body still hums with the orgasm I gave her.
I move through the storage room and position myself in the shadows just inside the main cellar. From here, I can see her—a vision in red silk, standing near the antique table where I've laid out the wine and grapes. The candlelight plays across her skin, turning her into something ethereal. She doesn’t quite look real.
My girl.
I still can't believe she'smine.
She reaches out to touch one of the black balloons, her fingers tracing its heart-shaped curve. I watch the goosebumps rise on her arms, whether from cold or anticipation I can't tell. Her red hair is wild around her face, tangled from running, and there's a smudge of dirt on her cheek from when I pressed her against the post.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I let her explore for another moment, let her take in the velvet chaise and the wine bottles and the careful arrangement of everything I've built for her.
Then I step out of the shadows.
"Welcome, my love."
She spins toward my voice, her whole body going rigid with fear. Her eyes are huge in the candlelight, darting from my masked face to the door she came through to the shadows behind me, searching for escape routes.
There are none. Every exit from this cellar leads through me.
I pick up the wine glass I left waiting on the table—a deep red cabernet that cost more than most people's car payments—andtake a slow sip. The wine is rich and dark, notes of black cherry and oak rolling across my tongue.
"Did you really think I'd let you escape?"
She backs away from me, her hip bumping against the chaise lounge. "How did you—the door?—"
"Secret entrance." I set down the wine and take a step toward her. Then another. "I know every inch of this place. Every room, every passage, every hiding spot." Another step. "You were never going to escape me. This was always where you and I were going to end up."
Her back hits the stone wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
I close the distance between us slowly, savoring every second of her fear. She's trembling again—that fine vibration I felt when I had her pressed against the post. But her eyes aren't just afraid. It’s darker.
Hunger.
Want.
She wants me, even though she doesn't know who I am. Even though I've done nothing but terrify her since the moment she woke up in this vineyard. Her body recognizes mine on some fundamental level, responding to me with an eagerness she can't control.
That's what makes this work. That's what makes it perfect.
I stop inches from her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. Close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat, to smell the lingering scent of her arousal mixing with wine and candle smoke.
"I don’t understand what you want from me?" Her voice is barely a whisper. “Why me?”
I reach out and cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine. My thumb traces across her lower lip, and I feel her sharp intake of breath.
