Twice in a Blue Moon (21 page)

His arms came around her, one hand sliding up under her hair to cup the back of her head.

Happy. And hot. And hurried. Wanting his skin under her hands, she pulled at the placket of his shirt, trying to loosen the buttons and pull it out of his pants at the same time.

He broke the kiss and, breathing heavily, leaned his forehead on hers. “Slow, Indigo. No skipping steps this time. We're all alone.” His eyes, so close, seared her with intense emotion.

Exactly what emotion, her nonworking brain couldn't identify.

He rubbed her nose with his. “And we have all night.”

A whimper broke from her throat. “Not when you look at me like that.” His hands stroking her thighs didn't help either. She leaned in and took out her impatience on his willing mouth. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled his granite erection right where she wanted it—almost.

“Damn, woman, that's not fair.” He moaned and ground against her.

She crossed her arms, and with one smooth pull, the bra was gone. “Told you I was going to do what I want from here on out.” She leaned back on her hands and shot him a saucy look.

His appreciative eyes were all over her. “I'm going on record as being heartily in favor of that decision.” He lowered his head to take her nipple in his mouth. When he sucked, it lit a fuse that burned, fast and hot, direct to her core.

The recent days and weeks had drifted up while they took slow steps. She now realized those drifts of days were a mating dance—making what waited at the end that much sweeter. That much more urgent. “We have all night. But I need you now.” She panted in his ear. “Please, don't make us wait any longer.”

His hands tightened on her thighs, and he made a sound deep in his throat. His teeth grazed her nipple.

“Yes, that.”

When he straightened, the tightness in his jaw told her that she wasn't the only one who'd been waiting for this.

She unlocked her ankles from around him and rocked from hip to hip, pulling down her thin spandex pants.

He'd undone only two buttons on his shirt when she grabbed his jeans and unzipped them. “Wasted motion, DiCarlo. Wasted...”

He brushed her hand away, pulled himself free and entered her with one long thrust. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” Her muscles spasmed and heat pulsed, melting her. When she could no longer support her head, it fell back, and he sucked the base of her throat like a starving vampire.

The table was just the right height. He held her hips tilted, allowing perfect access to her pulsing core. She locked her legs around him, her thighs spread in as wide an angle as years of yoga allowed.

He withdrew so slowly it made her squirm. He hesitated, right at the edge of her, so long she had to look up. The dark, smoldering look in his eyes almost sent her over the edge.

“You. Are. Mine.” He slid in, so fast and deep she felt their hip bones touch.

She moaned and raked her nails down his back, frantic with need. He grasped her hair, pulling her head back, his eyes demanding she not look away. “Tell me.”

Just as she felt a twitch deep inside that signaled the knife's edge of release, he withdrew, and even her heels in his buttocks couldn't hold him close.

His cock pulsed at her beginning, but still he held.

“Please.” She whimpered.

Tell me.
His eyes demanded.

She let go, of the fear, the worry, the grief that had held her separate from him—from the world. She no longer needed that wall. She was safe here in his arms. Staring straight into his eyes, she said, “I am yours.”

He thrust, deep and fast, but they were both coming before he got to the end of her, an orgasm that began when she looked into his eyes. They both cried out, and he pulled her off the table to rock her, riding the shockwaves of electricity that pulsed between them, perfectly matched.

When their breathing calmed, he cradled her, whispering small sweetnesses in her ear.

She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder as the last storm-surge wave of emotion leaked onto his shoulder.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

One month later

A
UTUMN
IN
THIS
VINEYARD
is going to be the best.

Danovan walked the row of vines at daybreak, stopping every fifty feet or so to sample a grape's sugar/acid content. The seeds were still green and bitter, but the cool, moist mornings were ideal to set the fruit.

Thank God they hadn't had one of those blazing hot summers that could raisin the fruit on the vine. The rising sun's intensity burned through his shirt, reminding him that it could still happen. They weren't out of the woods yet. He pulled off a cluster, dropped it into a baggie and, with a marker, noted where in the vineyard he'd picked it.

Hard to discern exactly when harvest would begin, but his best guess was the last week of August or the first week of September. The vines would decide. This must be how a woman felt nearing the end of her pregnancy. There was so much to do to prepare. Even more so this year. The new-to-them equipment had been delivered, installed and steamed to sterilization. Sean had cleaned the bottling line, and new bottle shipments were arriving daily, though cases of them already lined the walls of the warehouse. He'd ordered grapes from his Napa contact and had gotten a great deal, even with the shipping costs.

He rubbed the small of his aching back and straightened. Smiling, he took a deep breath of the aroma of ripening grapes.

Life is good.

At the sound of a screen door opening, he turned to the cabin. Indigo, in a silk robe, stepped barefoot onto the porch. Her hair was rumpled from bed, and she had the heavy-lidded look of just waking.

“Hey, sleepyhead, daylight's burning!”

She crossed her arms and squinted into the hammered sun. “Maybe I wouldn't sleep so late if you didn't keep me up all night.”

He let out a self-satisfied chuckle. “I didn't hear you complaining last night.”

“Too sure of yourself, DiCarlo. You've got to work on that.”

“Maybe, but then I'd be perfect, and I'm told that can get irritating.”

After that first night, when Indigo let him get close for the first time, they'd stayed wrapped together, snugged tight. He rarely bothered to sleep in his apartment anymore, unless they both decided not to climb the hill at the end of the day.

She was a constant surprise. Each day he found himself stumbling over new layers of Indigo Blue. He'd known her sadness, but now she showed him her joy, her love of life, her youthful optimism, her soul-deep sparkle. He hadn't known the love of a strong woman would make him stronger.

The past month had been the best thirty days of his life.

He cut through a break in the vines. “Why don't you hop in the shower, Indigo, and I'll make coffee?”

“Oh, for cripes...” She reached for the screen door. “Come on out, Barney.”

The dog made an awkward shuffle down the stairs and hit the dirt running.

He barreled into Danovan's legs. “Ooof.” He bent to ruffle Barney's ears. “I know you slept well. But does it always have to be on my feet?”

Tongue lolling, Barney looked up at him.

Damn dog is so ugly he's cute.
“Come on, Barn. Want some eggs?” He took the steps and set the grocery bag half full of grapes on the weathered boards.

Indigo stood, arms crossed. “I keep telling you, human food isn't good—”

His kiss stopped her.

Then it stopped him.

But the sound of a car pulling into the drive below halted what would have happened next. Annoyed, he looked up to see Natalie's Camry stop in a parking space.

Indigo stepped out of his arms and put a hand to her hair. “Oh, jeez, we must be really late now.”

“Speak for yourself. I was working until a rumpled sexpot walked onto the porch and distracted me.” When she was about to protest, he stopped her with one more kiss.

His phone buzzed from the back pocket of his jeans. “Damned interruptions.” He patted her firm butt. “Hop in the shower. Coffee's coming up.”

On her way to the door, she put an extra roll in her hips that made him want to ignore the phone and chase her back to bed.

And her wink before she stepped in told him she knew it.

“Imp.” He pulled out the phone. “DiCarlo.”

“Danovan, it's Will, from Cedar Cellars. I have bad news.”

His stomach took a high dive. “Don't even tell me our grape shipment is going to be late.”

“Worse. There are no grapes to ship.”

His stomach fell, landing with a splat on the porch. “What?” He put a hand on the rail to steady himself.

“Mildew. We've gotten a lot of rain up here. We've been spraying for weeks, but nothing's worked. I'm facing a total crop failure.”

The pain in Will's voice made it impossible to yell at him. But Danovan still wanted to. “What the hell am I going to do now, Will? It's way too late to buy elsewhere—everything's been contracted.”

“Damned if I know. I've got my own problems. If it helps, I'm more pissed than you are about it.”

“I know you are. I'm sorry as hell for your loss, Will.” He paced the porch for something to do. His mind outran his feet. “Look, I've got to go and figure out plan B. Best of luck to you, okay?”

“And to you, Danovan. Sorry.”

Click
.

I could try Danbury out in Temecula. Or Gray Horse. But the odds of them...
He was halfway down the steps when he stopped short.

Indigo.
She had put the winery up for collateral to handle capacity that they no longer needed. He winced as the weight of the winery slammed onto his shoulders. She'd gone into debt on his say-so. Their grapes looked good so far, but even a bumper crop wouldn't fill all those empty bottles in the warehouse.

He couldn't tell her.

He turned back, mounted the stairs and headed in to make coffee as if the world hadn't just imploded.

Somehow, he would make this right. Fast.

* * *

I
F
THE
CRUSH
is good, maybe next year we'll put in the little stream over there, and the arched bridge that will lead to the gazebo where couples will say their vows.

Indigo sat at her desk, staring through the window at the emerald expanse of golf-course-worthy lawn rolling down the hill to the road. The groundskeepers were doing a great job. If she weren't so busy, or so dignified, she'd go out and roll down it. She imagined Sondra's horrified expression. Maybe she'd find time this afternoon...

Her Cheshire Cat grin reflected in the clean window. The woman staring back at her looked like she had it together. Competent. Accomplished. Happy.

And maybe a bit smug.

Her grin widened. Nothing wrong with a little smug. Being in love with Danovan was like playing. He made what had always been awkward for her, easy. Her reflection frowned. Okay, so she hadn't told him about the love part yet. But it was complicated, what with her being his boss, them trying to keep their affair secret from the staff...

Okay, so she was afraid. She had reason to be. What if telling him changed things between them? He seemed as infatuated as she, but he hadn't said the
L
word yet, either.

“Ahem.”

Only Sondra could make clearing her throat sound cultured.

Indigo swiveled her chair. “Come in.”

The woman shifted from foot to foot in the doorway, her fingers working the tie of her green apron. “I need to take Friday off.” Her chin jutted. “I haven't taken a day off since I returned, and I have an appointment that cannot be rescheduled.”

“Of course. You're allowed a vacation day now and again.”

Sondra's lips pursed. Her gaze roamed the room. She looked like she'd been expecting an argument and, in the absence of one, wasn't sure how to proceed. “Natalie will need help during the busy times. Though Becky is learning, she doesn't yet have the expertise—”

“Of course, I'll keep an eye out and jump in if it gets busy.”

“You?” She said it as if a toddler had proposed doing surgery. “I'd thought that Danovan would assist.”

Indigo's jaw tightened so fast her teeth clicked. “Danovan is busy preparing for the harvest.” She'd be damned if Sondra would ruin her mood. She leaned back and forced her muscles to stand down. “I'm fully capable, Sondra. I may not know everything yet, but I know
our
wines.” Stinging, she couldn't resist a small one-up. “After all, I've signed many local clients. Including the Demure Damsel.”

“I'm not convinced our wines had much to do with that sale.” Sondra managed to appear innocent even while she looked down her nose.

Indigo flushed. From irritation or embarrassment, she wasn't sure. Maybe a bit of both. “Well, that sale helps pay for the vacation day I just allowed you, so I hardly think you're in a position to complain, are you?”

Sondra's spine lost its rigid line, and a haunted look of animal fear flashed across her face before her usual haughty mask fell once more.

“I'll be sure everything is in order before I leave on Thursday.” She turned and stalked out.

What is going on there?

* * *

B
EHIND
THE
CLOSED
door of his office, Danovan leaned his elbows on the desk and dialed one of the last contacts he had.

“Sorry, Danovan. I've got nothing. All my grapes are contracted.”

He wasn't surprised. It was the answer he'd heard thirty times in the past three hours. He'd even stopped wasting time giving his name and his story about the tenth call. “Do you know of anyone who has any for sale?” It worried him to buy grapes from an unknown entity, but at this point —

“Where are you located, again?”

“The Central Valley. Why?”

“Right. Well, somebody at my local co-op told me a guy named Winters down your way had some grapes to sell. Something about a small winery that went belly-up. You know him?”

Danovan flipped through his address book.

“Winter Wines—Reese Winters, owner.”

He'd skipped that name on purpose the first time through. After his failed attempt at an interview at the winery months ago, Danovan knew there was zero chance that Winters would cross the Boldens, despite being sympathetic. And selling grapes to a winery where Danovan was employed would be considered high treason by his former in-laws.

“I do know Mr. Winters. And he knows me. Thanks for the tip.” He clicked End.

He dropped his head in his hands. He'd have to tell Indigo. God, he'd rather clean a Porta-Potty after an outdoor rock concert. In August. With his bare hands.

But she was the owner. His boss. She had the right to know. He put his hands on the desk and, sighing, pushed himself to his feet. It wasn't that she would fire him. He didn't think she'd hold it against him—in their professional
or
their private lives.

And that made it even worse.

He imagined telling her. The sadness would return to her eyes. The grief-stricken waif he'd met the day of his interview would return. Only this time, it would be
his
fault.

True, she'd made the ultimate decision; it was her signature on the loan documents. But he should have known she'd heed his advice. He was her teacher. Her mentor. And he'd told her the risk was negligible. Their previous five-year plan now looked golden. In hindsight.

“Shit.” She was right. He was arrogant, always believing he knew best.

Cleaning a Porta-Potty was too good a job for him.

Some wunderkind he was. His firing from Bacchanal was a fart in space compared to making the walk to Indigo's office to tell her this news. When his knees went spongy, he plopped back into his chair.

Add cowardice to his list of faults. He
couldn't
bring more sadness to her eyes.

There just
had
to be another way.

Winters.

Something about that name sent a buzz of possibility down his spine. There was an answer there somewhere. He felt it. And his instincts were always right.

Well, almost always.

* * *

A
N
HOUR
LATER
, he pulled open the tasting-room door. The plan he had cobbled together would work, if...

If
stood behind the bar, chatting with a customer. When Sondra looked up, he held up a finger and tipped his chin.

She excused herself, wiped her hands on a cloth and walked over. “Yes, Danovan?”

He glanced around. “Is Indigo in her office?”

“She's giving a
massage
.” She said it like
blow job
.

He felt his ears heat. “I don't think—” He bit back the rebuke that wanted so badly to roll off his tongue. “Sondra. I need your help. It's important.”

“You do?” Some of her flint chipped off with the words, and her eyes lit up.

He'd have to be careful—if he stepped on her toes, he was dead in the water. “I'm taking a chance by talking to you. By even asking. I wouldn't do it if it weren't so critical. But I know you want the winery to be a success, so...”

“What is it?”

“I need you to call a supplier and negotiate a contract for a load of grapes.” He glanced around to be sure no one was close enough to overhear. “And I need you to keep this between us.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

He forced himself to meet her stare. It wasn't easy with all the squirming that was happening in his brain. He'd suspected she wouldn't do it without knowing everything. But he'd hoped. “Because the supplier won't sell to me.”

She tipped her head back. “Ah. The Boldens.”

Holding her gaze got harder. “The Boldens.”

“Why don't you have your girlfriend call?”