The vineyard looks completely different in daylight.
Gone are the pulsing red lights, the ominous shadows, the sense of being hunted through an endless maze. In their place are rolling hills of dormant grapevines, their gnarled branches reaching toward a pale blue February sky. The sun is warm on my face as Luke leads me through the rows, our fingers intertwined.
"The Chardonnay vines are over there," he says, pointing toward the eastern slope. "And the Pinot Noir is on the hill behind the cottage. Marcus said the previous owners won some regional awards."
We've been walking for almost an hour, exploring every corner of our new property. The cottage on the hill is small but charming—two bedrooms, a stone fireplace, a kitchen that needs updating but has good bones. Luke has already started making plans for renovation, talking about knocking out walls and adding a deck with a view of the valley.
I let him talk, content to listen, to imagine the life we'll build here.
Black heart balloons are still scattered throughout the vineyard, caught on trellis posts and tangled in branches.They've lost most of their helium overnight, drooping sadly instead of bobbing with menace. In the daylight, they look almost silly—deflated remnants of last night's elaborate game.
"We should probably clean those up," I say, nodding toward a cluster caught in a particularly gnarled old vine.
"Later." Luke tugs me closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. "I kind of like seeing them. Reminds me of last night."
"Which part of last night?" I tease. "The part where you hunted me like prey, or the part where I drugged you and tied you up?"
"Both." He grins down at me, his green eyes warm in the afternoon light. "All of it. Every single second."
We round a corner, and I stop short.
The trellis post is unmistakable—thick and weathered, wrapped in old grapevines, positioned at the intersection of two rows. Even without the red lights casting it in crimson shadows, I recognize it instantly.
This is where he caught me. Where he tied me with vines and made me come while I was helpless against the rough wood.
Heat floods through me at the memory.
"Seraphina?" Luke is watching me, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "See something you recognize?"
"You know damn well I do." I pull away from him and approach the post, running my fingers over the rough bark. There are still fragments of vine clinging to it—the same vines he used to bind my wrists. "I can't believe you tied me up with actual grape vines."
"They seemed thematically appropriate." He comes up behind me, his hands settling on my hips. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind at the time."
I didn't. God help me, I really didn't.
"You know," I say slowly, an idea forming, "this post has some interesting memories attached to it."
"It does."
"Memories of you in control. You calling the shots. You making me beg."
"Also true." His voice has dropped lower, responding to something in my tone.
I spin in his arms and push—hard. He stumbles backward, caught off guard, his back hitting the post with a satisfying thud.
"What the?—"
I step into his space, pressing my body against his, pinning him to the wood. "I think this post needs some new memories. Don't you?"
His eyes darken, and I feel his cock twitch against my hip. Even after last night—after everything we did—he still wants me. The knowledge is heady.
"Are you ambushing me again?" he asks, but he's not fighting. His hands have come up to grip my waist, holding me against him.
"Consider it a preview." I rise up on my toes to brush my lips against his ear. "Next time, I'm planning the whole thing. You won't know when, you won't know where, and you definitely won't know what's coming."
"Is that a threat, Mrs. Morrison?"
"It's a promise." I bite his earlobe, and he groans. "You've had your fun hunting me. The pumpkin patch, the tree farm, now the vineyard. Three elaborate scenarios where I was the prey."
