Her Wicked Heart (10 page)

“Hence the privacy. Obviously.” Unfortunately, I didn’t remember to grab a corkscrew, but I do have that ring of keys. “I hope you like wine, because I’m about to destroy this cork and I refuse to waste a drop.” Even as I say it, I chastise myself. I’m supposed to be
getting rid of him
. Not inviting him to stay and share in my bounty with me. Not stealing peeks at him out of the corner of my eye, marveling in the way the moonlight shines off his hair.

But I don’t say anything. I find a relatively sharp key and dig it into the cork of the bottle with the golden label. It takes a couple of tries to get the bottle open—and, as predicted, the cork is in pieces by the end of the process—but finally I succeed. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a nice long swig.

And almost spit it out.

After all the emotions it churned up, after all the trouble it took to snag it, my precious Le Miel Doré is absolutely disgusting. Seriously. I’ve never been a huge wine fan, but this bottle is
sour.
I might as well have sucked on a lemon.

I must look pretty ridiculous,
trying to fight my gag reflex, because even in the moonlight I can tell Ward’s looking at me like I’m insane.

“Want some?” I say, trying to sound casual.

He takes it but looks down at the bottle without drinking.

“I’m not a big fan of wine,” he tells me.

“Me either. But it’s one of the finest and most expensive of Huntington Manor’s very distinguished collection.”

His eyebrows fly up. “You took this from the cellar?”

“What’s the matter? Afraid we’ll get in trouble?” I grab the bottle back and take another swig.

The second taste isn’t much better, but at least I’m prepared this time.

Beside me, Ward laughs. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

This time he takes the bottle without hesitation and takes a long drink. His face wrinkles up.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “That stuff is nasty. It tastes like sweaty gym socks.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I giggle. Suddenly I’m losing it, and Ward’s laughing, too. We’re so loud that I’m afraid one of the security guards might hear us, but I still can’t manage to choke down my laughter. Finally, I’m forced to take drastic measures. The only way to stifle my hysterics is to grab the bottle and take another sip.

“Can you imagine?” I say when I can breathe again. “This is what fourteen hundred dollars’ worth of sour old grapes tastes like.”

He almost spits out his second sip. “Jesus. Can you imagine having so much money that you’d spend fourteen hundred dollars on this crap?”

Yes, I can.
But Addison Thomas wouldn’t be able to.

“Maybe that’s why all rich people are such evil bastards,” I say airily, playing my part. “They go around drinking this bile all the time.”

“Mm.” He takes another drink. “So logically it follows that if we drink a bunch of this crap all the time, we’ll turn into rich evil bastards?”

I guess I can’t get any worse at this point.

“There’s only one way to find out.” I take the bottle back and let another long swig slide down my throat.

For a while we just pass the bottle back and forth. I don’t care if I vomit it all up afterward—I’m not going to let a single drop go to waste. This is
my
wine. Mine and my father’s. And no Edward Carolson or random tourist is ever going to get a sip. Not that I wouldn’t have loved to watch one of them try to stomach this stuff and pretend it was worth every single dollar.

I bet my father would have liked it, though.
He always had interesting tastes, especially when it came to drinks.

“Your father?” Ward says.

It takes me a moment to realize I must have muttered that last bit aloud. My mind scrambles for a quick explanation. I don’t really need one, though. Ward has no reason to suspect anything.

“He just loved wine,” I say.

“Too bad you fucked up that cork,” he says. “We might have sent him the rest of this crap.”

I let my fingers move across the gold design on the label. No reason to hide it—it won’t automatically implicate me.

“He’s dead,” I say.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He sits back, subdued a little.

A somber silence stretches between us. I’m not used to talking about my father. And I’m definitely not used to using the word
dead.
It’s been more than a year—when does it start to feel real? When does that word become something more than a shadow, a nightmare? My mom died when I was young—far too young to even remember her face or voice. It was simple, in that weird, abstract way, to think of her as
dead
. But my father… I knew my father as something vibrant. Something alive. I’m still having trouble grasping the fact that he’s gone forever.

“How long has it been?” Ward asks.

I pull at the corner of the wine label. “A year and a half in August.”

“People say it gets easier, but it takes longer than they tell you.” He takes the bottle from me again. “My mom died a couple of years ago.”

I look over at him.

“Cancer,” he continues. “She was sick for a long time before that.” He takes a longer drink than usual. “She raised me on her own, so we only ever had each other, you know?”

My stomach twists. “I’m so sorry.” I twine my fingers in the grass beside me. “My father raised us alone, too. My mom died when I was a baby.”

“Us?”

“Me and C—Calvin. My brother.”
Calvin?
Geez, that was a close one. I rush on, trying to bury my little stumble. “I just—I guess I always thought I’d be older when it happened. Or that I’d be more, I don’t know… prepared.”

He shakes his head. “It’s supposed to be hard. That pain is what drives us forward.”

Forward?
I’m not so sure. But it definitely drove me somewhere—right into Ian’s arms. And then Ward’s. And then Ian’s again. The guilt rises up in my throat, as sour as the wine, to fight with the grief. For a minute I think I’m actually going to be sick, but I fight it down. Then I grab the wine and take an extra-long drink, draining the rest of it.

By the time I’ve swallowed every last drop, my eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to make out the strange look Ward’s giving me.

“Is that why you’re out here?” he asks finally. “Something remind you of him?”

“What?” I mean, of course.
Everything
here reminds me of him. But I’m guessing that’s not what he’s talking about. I grab the second bottle and give the cork the key treatment.

He pulls the bottle out of my hand as soon as it’s open. “I mean, most people don’t just randomly steal a fourteen hundred dollar bottle of wine.” He looks at me just a little too long, and goose bumps ripple across my skin. “Or was it something else?”

I’m not sure I want to answer that, so I don’t. But Ward’s just getting started.

“Haymore getting to you?” he guesses.

“No,” I say. “I mean, of course he is. But…”

“But that’s not what’s eating you right now.” He takes a swig from the bottle. “Is it related to work at all?”

“Look, I don’t want to—”

“Trouble with a friend?”

“I really don’t—”

“Guy problems?”

“Just DROP IT, okay?”

“Ahh,” he says, and I realize too late that I’ve given it away.

“Look, can’t we just drink and enjoy ourselves?” I snatch the wine back from him.

His gaze burns into me, sending all sorts of inconvenient sensations through my skin. And no wonder he’s confused, considering all the weird mixed signals I’ve been giving him this past week: throwing myself at him, running from him, throwing myself at him again. I didn’t mean to make things this complicated.

“It’s not about you,” I assure him. “I promise.”

But instead of that settling things, I see something flash in his eyes. He reaches out and drags the wine bottle back over to him.

“And the plot thickens,” he says, amusement thickening his words. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

I can’t tell if he’s being serious. But I’m not going to discuss this with him.

“You don’t know him,” I say. “And it’s not important anyway.”

“Does he know you’re going around sticking your tongue down other men’s throats?” He says it with a laugh, like it’s a joke, but it hits its mark.

“I’m not a cheater, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” I snap. “He and I aren’t… I mean… it’s complicated. But it doesn’t have anything to do with you. And I don’t know why you care.”

Suddenly he’s too close to me, and my breath catches in my throat.

“Maybe I don’t like to share,” he says in a tone that makes my insides turn to mush.

There’s a challenge in his eyes. He wants me to acknowledge what happened between us. Twice. He wants me to admit that there’s something between us.

But I still have
some
control of my wits, despite the wine buzz slowly filling my brain.

“But you’re allowed to fool around with every Gracie who throws herself in your direction?” I say, reminding him of that whole mess. “I don’t like double standards. And I don’t owe you anything.”

I slide back from him again. It’s my turn at the wine, and I take my time drinking. He’s still staring at me, I can tell, but I don’t turn back toward him. If this is a battle of wills, then I’m not letting him win this time.

And then—shockingly—he laughs.

“You are one confusing girl, you know that?” he says. “One minute you can’t keep your hands off of me and the next you act like I’m the one responsible for all of this. Am I that irresistible?”

“Please. I just needed a distraction and you were there.” It’s strangely liberating to admit it out loud. “Don’t read any more into it than that.”

“A distraction, huh? From what, exactly?”

“No. We’re not going back to that. And don’t act like I’m the only one with problems.”

“Whoa.” He throws up his hands and gives another laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That whole Carolson thing.” I wave my hand at him. “Storming out of the luncheon. Acting like rich people are the devil. What’s he ever done to you personally?”

Ward’s humor evaporates in an instant.

“I don’t want to talk about Carolson,” he says, his voice tense. “Can’t we just forget about that asshole for one night?” He yanks the wine out of my hand.

Geez.
I watch him as he chugs from the bottle. I knew Carolson was a sore spot for him, but I never suspected I’d hit quite a nerve.

“Fine,” I say when he finishes his drink. “We won’t talk about him. But only if you stop asking me about my problems, too.”

He makes a defeated sound, but some of the humor has come back to his face. “I was just trying to figure out why Haymore’s assistant would risk her job by stealing something like this. You don’t seem like the kind of girl who goes out looking for trouble.”

“Maybe I’m the kind of girl who likes getting away with trouble.”

“Are you trying to prove something?” he says. “Or is this some sort of self-destruct mission?”

“Excuse me, but I think we said no more talking about that. Besides, I’ve had a little too much wine for this sort of serious talk.”

“I think we’ve had exactly the
right
amount of wine, actually. You’re tipsy enough to be honest, but not so drunk that you’re likely to pass out halfway through your confession.”

“Not talking about it, remember?”

“All right. Tell me something else then. One of your other secrets.”

“I don’t have any other secrets.”

He laughs. “A girl who throws herself at strangers and steals wine? You probably have as many secrets as this house does.”

It must say something about my current level of tipsy-ness that I don’t even flinch at how close he’s come to the truth. Instead, I find myself leaning closer to him. The wine must be messing with my balance.

“What about you?” I say. “Do you have secrets?”

His mouth curls up. In the moonlight, his blue eyes look black, but I can see something gleaming in their depths.

“Of course,” he says, his voice a touch lower than usual.

“Then you go first. Tell me a secret, and maybe I’ll tell you one of mine.”

His grin widens. “Just one?”

“One for one,” I promise. “Just one little confession.”

“All right.”

He looks at me for a long moment without speaking. His eyes catch mine. Even here, in this light, they carry a sort of energy that shoots straight into me, all the way down to my toes. I freeze, and my breath catches on the tip of my tongue.

Ward leans nearer. Not too close—just close enough that I catch a whisper of that delicious scent that belongs distinctly to him. My eyes are drawn against my will to his lips, which part slightly under my gaze.

“My confession,” he says, “is that I really want to kiss you again.”