But at least the information I got will be useful if I need it.
20
CANDI
“Can’tthis wait until the sun is up, at least?” I beg.
“No, it can’t. In fact, waiting until the sun is up would mean the death of our wine.”
I fling an arm over my eyes and groan. Armani scared the hell out of me by staring down at me in the darkness of early morning, one hand on either side of my pillow as he shook it to wake me.
“You’re being melodramatic.”
“Hardly,” he says. “Once the sun rises, the temperature will alter the sugar composition and acidity of the grapes. Right now, when it’s nice and cool out, the levels are stable. We harvest now, we get those stable sugars, we ensure consistent, more concentrated product during the fermentation process. That means better flavor, better aroma, better wine. Bellanti wine.”
“Oh my God,” I say, finally sitting up. “You sound just like the winery’s brochure.”
“Who do you think wrote that brochure?” he jokes. Or maybe he’s not joking. “Come on, up up up. This is all hands on deck. We’re picking noir grapes today and you’re going to learn the first steps of how to make proper wine.”
“Proper wine,” I mimic, easing myself off the bed and stretching.
“Damn right. I’ll start the shower for you.”
He bustles off to the en suite, and I trudge over to the dresser to grab some clothes, giving Mr. Sprinkles a quick cuddle on the way.
My body aches sweetly from an epic round of lovemaking last night. Apparently, the quickie in my childhood bedroom hadn’t satisfied Armani completely. The man dives into sex with a fiery passion, but I’ve always sensed there’s more to his desire than what he shows me. A deeper urge behind his self-control, something he keeps tamped down. I think some of it seeped out last night. A quick hand to my throat, fingers digging into the soft skin, his palm pressed against my windpipe gave it away. Before I had a chance to react, he’d pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. But it left me wondering.
And it left me wanting.
I’m still not sure how I feel about my response, as stunted as it was. The longing that flared up inside me…the curiosity of what it would have been like had he kept on in that vein. I’ve never been physically dominated by a lover the way that Armani dominates me. But for all the hair pulling and dirty talk we might exchange, do I trust him enough to let him choke me? Tie me up? A shiver goes through me, a mixture of sexual desire and real fear.
“Shower time. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Armani’s voice is soft but firm. It’s barely after three a.m., but he’s already showered and ready to go. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeve henley with the sleeves pushed up, revealing the edge of the tattoo on his left arm. I’ve never seen him dressed so casually, right down to his lack of belt and the scuffs on his old brown boots. He catches me staring and looks down at himself.
“What?”
I grin. “That’s a good look on you.”
“You’re stalling.”
He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. Squinting against the overhead lighting, I start to undress. Armani watches me with interest.
“What’s so urgent about these grapes, again?” I ask. “You said pinot noir, right?”
“They’re at optimal sweetness,” he says, pulling me against him and cupping my bare ass with both hands. Dipping his head, he whispers in my ear, “Right now, at this very moment. We’ve got to begin harvesting immediately.”
I shiver. I’ve never been so turned on by grape talk. “How do you know they’re at optimal sweetness?”
“Science,” he whispers, nibbling my earlobe. He cuts me off mid-moan to spin me around, slap my ass, and command, “Now get in the shower.”
There’s an edge in his tone I’ve not heard before. Excitement, maybe? Is he genuinely looking forward to picking grapes at three thirty in the morning? Wanting to appease him, I shower quickly, towel-dry my hair, and twist it into a tight bun. The scent of coffee greets me as I exit the bathroom in my jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie. Two steaming mugs sit on the nightstand.
When I sit down to tie my shoes, Armani hands me my cup. “Drink up. Time’s a-wasting. There’s a UTV waiting for us outside.”
“Then I’ll take it to go.”
Armani grabs his own cup, and we make our way downstairs through the quiet, dark house. I’m glad we have the UTV. We could walk, but the utility terrain vehicle will be faster. Plus, even though it’s late August, the pre-dawn temps are below sixty degrees. I’m grateful for the enclosed cab as I climb inside.
