Mr. Red

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

AlisonShit. Damn. f**k.

Shit. Damn. f**k.

ShitDamnFuck. The words keep repeating in my brain, faster and faster as I rush down the hall to my bedroom. I canNOT believe that Nicholas f*****g Case is duct taped on my couch. That I duct taped him. That he stared at me like he wanted to lick me from head to toe, like I weighed 110 not 172. He stared like he was visualizing me with no clothes on. Okay, I have no clothes on… well, barely- but I look like a freak. I’m wearing a rose-scented moisture mask and my hair is in rag rollers. I should have thought to grab a robe, but when I heard snoring loud enough to shake the windows coming from the living room, my thought wasn’t about modesty, it was about f*****g survival.

I’m flushed. Heated. Fluttery. And not from embarrassment, although there’s plenty of that, too. I’m aroused. My p***y is slick with want, responding to the n***d desire in Nico’s eyes as he stared at me. Me. Not some praying mantis runway model with legs for days, but me. I shake my head. He must have grappa goggles. It’s the only sound explanation for the way he looked at me like he wanted to f**k me- hard. And god help me, but I want that too. Even if Nico Case is my worst nightmare.

I peel off the mask and drop it into the trash, reaching for a washcloth. Normally my morning ritual gives me peace, helps set my frame of mind. But my skin is hypersensitive. My n*****s are achy and dying to be pinched. And the throbbing between my legs… I squeeze my thighs together, because I can’t take it. I’m strung tighter than a bowstring. I pull my fingers through my wetness and circle my clit. It’s been ages since I’ve been this turned on, this… hungry. I bend over the sink, working faster, alternately pinching and circling my clit. Release comes quickly, and with it, a flood of shame. I just rubbed off a quickie because of Nico Case - instrument of t*****e for two years of my life, and haunting me for many years after. Landwhale, cow, beluga. I hang my head, hand still clutching the sink as the litany of all-too familiar names rings in my memory. The stealing of my glasses, or my textbooks. The snide remarks in class. All of it. I drag in a slow breath. The only place Nico belongs is out of my life and as far away from me as possible. I pull out the rag curlers and let my hair fall in ringlets below my shoulders. When I’ve set the last one aside, I catch my hair up in a scrunchy. I’ll comb it out after my walk. After my phone call to Declan.

I pull on my exercise tights, self-conscious for the first time in a very long time about the way my thighs rub together, about the spread of my hips. It’s the same when I yank my favorite sports b*a over my head- the one that’s supposed to make me feel sexy, strong and capable. Instead, all I can see is how my breasts mash together to form a uniboob, and the way the flesh on my arms wobbles when I reach my hands overhead.

I lace up my shoes, then reach for my favorite sweatshirt with the mesh side panels and zip it up halfway, so the skin below my uniboob is just visible. I stare into the mirror at what was supposed to be my new and improved self. The badass version of me who’s a talented winemaker with a take no prisoners attitude, which my boss happens to love. For an awful, dark moment, I’m swallowed by self-loathing, by all the insults and aggressions that even after so many years, lurk dangerously close to the surface. The affirmations I’ve plastered in bright colored stickies around the edge of my mirror pull me back from the edge.

Fuck it.

I didn’t work hard for all these years to let those thoughts best me.

Fuck him.

I grab my cell phone from the dresser and slip it into my side thigh pocket- one of the features I love most about this pair of exercise tights. I don’t care what time it is in Kansas, I’m calling Declan as soon as I get out of the house. I hurry down the hall, trying- and failing- to avoid looking at the large expanse of sexy, hard man reclining on my couch. “Hey, where are you going?” he calls.

“Out. Make yourself at home,” I add sarcastically. Although, truth be told, he could easily undo the duct tape. It’s not my best work. But it was early and I was scared, and it took me a hot minute to recognize the face of my intruder. Nico’s changed. Not as much as I have, but enough that I didn’t recognize him at first. For starters, he grew a million inches, and he filled out. Extremely nicely, as I discovered while I was taping his wrists and ankles. There’s not an inch of fat on the man’s body- just one-hundred-percent rock hard muscle from top to toe. He was always good looking in a kind of dark and twisty Heathcliff sort of way, but now his face has lost its teenage softness, leaving high cheekbones and a sharp jawline covered in sexy stubble. His mouth is still full, and for a second it distracts me as it pulls into a sardonic smile.

“Toodles,” he says, waving his fingers and winking. f*****g winking. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Heat explodes across my chest, and I turn before I say something stupid, pushing out the door and letting it slam shut behind me. Outside, I gulp the cool morning air. There’s just a hint of dew on the nose, and I can’t help but get a little bit excited to check the grapes this morning. Growing conditions have been perfect for ripening- long warm days, not too hot, and cool, crisp nights, with the barest hint of sea air. Not enough moisture to promote fungus or rot, just enough to keep the plants happy.

I pull out my phone as I cross the dirt expanse between the farmhouse and the outbuildings. Behind them is the best view on the property- southwest-facing vines pitched steeply, surrounded by redwoods and the encroaching forest that comprises most of Mt. Veeder. Fog has settled in the lower elevations, giving up here an almost otherworldly feeling. I can see why the Italians planted here in the 1800s. It must have reminded them of home. But I can’t afford to get lost in my surroundings this morning. I have an intruder to remove. I pull out my phone and ring Declan.

It goes to voice mail.

No way. He’s not not answering his phone. The man is a workaholic. He’s up, and he’s f*****g taking my call. I ring again. And again, and again, and again.

“What?!?” he yells into the phone when he finally answers. “This better be damned good.”

Shit. He’s in a mood. I probably interrupted him while he was having s*x. That would be just my luck. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a Saturday, but this couldn’t-”

“What’s going on,” he barks.

I can tell I’ve pissed him off, and start to stammer. “Do you have a minute? Okay, even if you don’t-” I take a big breath, trying to get a handle on my out of control emotions. “Why is your brother here?”

“You mean Nico?”

Something inside me snaps. Who the f**k else would I mean? “Unless Austin took the redeye and no longer looks like your twin,” I bark back.

His voice immediately changes to concern. “Why is Nico at my vineyard? Is he bothering you?”

So Declan didn’t invite him? I am going to kick his a*s out of here so fast his head spins. “I have no idea, and yes.”

“Yes? He’s bothering you? Tell him I said to knock it the f**k off.”

That will go over well. I can see it now when I tell him that. He’ll look at me with those dark eyes and laugh. “Why is he here, Declan?” Jesus, I really do sound like a lunatic. I can hear the panic rising in my voice, and I can’t do anything to stop it. “He can’t stay here. There’s nowhere for him to stay.”

“What about your couch?”

I swear I can feel neurons exploding in my head, and my voice becomes unnaturally high. “You want him to stay on my couch?” Oh hell no. No, no, no, no. Just… no.

“Sure, why not? He won’t bite.”

But what if I want him to? The dirty thought rises unbidden. In all the best places? I press a hand to my suddenly hot cheek.

“Look. Just for a few weeks,” Declan cajoles. “I’ve got some business to wrap up here, and then I’ll be out for a visit. Was there anything else?” he adds after a pause.

Right. Visit. Business. I have got to get my head back into this conversation and stop thinking about Nico biting the inside of my thighs. I steel my voice. “The barrels in the cellar- do you know anything about them? How long they’ve been aging?”

“No idea.”

I roll my eyes. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve never met a vineyard owner so hands-off. On the one hand, I love it. If I work things right, I’m going to make my mark here and put us both on the radar. On the other? I wish to f**k I had someone, anyone to bounce the occasional idea off of. “No idea what grapes they are? Or if they’re blended?”

“I assume Cab Sauv and Chardonnay?”

My thoughts too, given the grapes in the vineyard, but without a chemical analysis, there’s no way to tell for sure. “Have you tasted them?”

“Have you?”

Hell yes, I have. “They’re f*****g amazing and they need to be released.” I don’t know who barreled them or when, but the person was genius, and the flavor is pure magic. Once I’ve identified what’s in the barrel I want to get these to market as soon as possible. “Immediately,” I add for emphasis.

“What? Can you even do that?”

I slowly count to five, because as much as I love my boss. Sometimes, he makes me crazy. “Look. You hired me to be the winemaker. I’m telling you, these are fantastic wines that we need to get to market. Yesterday.”

“Okay, do it.”

“Don’t you want to come taste them?” I mean, what kind of owner releases something without at least tasting it first? Even if he trusts his winemaker implicitly? This is why I get paid the big bucks, I think wryly.

“Look, I don’t care if it’s Cougar Juice. If you think it will make us money, get it to market.”

Cougar Juice?!? That is the very last straw. “But you need to sign off on labels, on-on names. f**k, Declan, you don’t even have a name for the winery.” My voice reaches hysteria level. So not professional, but how has the guy ended up a gazillionaire with this kind of attitude?

Privilege.

The word settles over me with a dull thud. Silly me. My heart briefly drops to my toes. He gives no shits whether this succeeds or not. Only I do. For the first time since I arrived in this mini-paradise, I feel utterly and truly alone.

“I’m paying you a f**k-ton of money to do this s**t, Alison. I can’t give this my attention right now. I trust you. Just run with it.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, the fight gone out of me. I just want a final confirmation.

“You want that profit-share don’t you? Do you trust your instincts?”

I sigh heavily, and stare down the hill at the undulating layers of fog. Truly? I do. But not this morning. Not while Nico Case is tied up on my couch. “Yeah, yeah. I do.” Nothing like faking it until you make it.

“Great,” Declan says enthusiastically. “Go for it. Look, my coffee’s getting cold. Call if you have an emergency.”

He hangs up. My boss f*****g hangs up on me. No ‘thanks, you’re doing a great job,’ not even a ‘talk to you later.’ I’ve been f*****g dismissed to sort this out on my own. And sort it, I will. I may be stuck with Nico underfoot, but I’ll be damned if I let him get under my skin. I am impervious. I’m f*****g Teflon. I smile grimly as I jog back to the trailer. Nico Case has just met his match.