The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(3)

Manolo drank then. But all the while he worked her wine around in his mouth, he didn’t take his eyes off her.

The tasting room grew uncomfortably warm, despite the chilly April air. Lieutenant Manolo Santos had a politician’s command of the room. Even the guys quit horsing around in anticipation of what he would say next.

“Soft and supple, yet structurally complex. I like that.”

The breath Junie didn’t know she’d been holding whooshed out through her broad grin. This vintage was her most ambitious effort to date, and that was exactly the response she had been going for!

“It’s good in a wine, too.”

While the guys cracked up, Junie’s smile ebbed and her cheeks burned even hotter.

Manolo raised his glass. “To—Junie, was it?”

She glared daggers at him. He may have played her once, but she wouldn’t let it happen again. Thanks to her experience with Daryl, she knew better than to trust guys like him.

“Could we, ah . . .” Sam motioned to the still-empty quartet of glasses.

Only then did she remember the bottle of rosé she still clenched by the neck.

After she set them up again, her usually levelheaded, sweet friends surrounded Mr. Big Shot.

“To Junie!” he exclaimed, eyes aglow with a fire that disconcerted her, despite her resolve.

“To a promising future,” said Sam, with a nod of appreciation for her skill as a winemaker.

The others echoed with woozy tributes of their own.

Testosterone-fueled shoulder bumps were followed by more enthusiastic clinks. “One more?” Heath asked, holding out his empty glass.

More laughter, more rowdy toasting.

Then Junie shrank at the sound of crystal shattering.

“I’ll get the broom.” She hurried back to her office, adding the cost of replacing the broken stemware to her long list of expenses.





Chapter Two


Manolo reached behind the tasting room door to relieve Junie of the broom handle she clutched. “I’ll get that, ma’am.”

“I’ve got it,” Junie snapped. The flame in her eyes would melt steel.

Dammit, he was trying to be a gentleman. He meant well. His behavior leading up to this mess was just his way of warning an attractive woman that he wasn’t cut out for the long haul.

His hands flew open to grant her wish, but she wasn’t expecting it. The long handle teetered on its bristles, then toppled over in slow motion, drawing their eyes downward.

He caught it mid-fall. But not before he saw the crimson ink on the statements scattered beneath the scarred old desk. What’s more, she saw him looking.

Back out in the tasting room, Manolo made short work of the broken glass.

“Where’s the trash?”

Mutely, Junie reached under the counter and held out the can. He dumped the shards, then snatched a length of paper toweling off the roll on the bar.

She leaned over the counter to see where he was wiping the last streaks of blood-red wine from the floor. “You don’t have to—”

“Done.”

“Sorry.” Sam winced. “Can’t take these guys anywhere.”

“Yeah, sorry, Junie,” aped Keval, looking genuinely remorseful.

“Having too much fun,” added Rory.

“No,” Manolo said, wondering how he was going to make up for his lousy first impression. She must think I’m a complete assjack. “This is my fault. I take full responsibility.” He jutted his chin toward the others. “Pulling these guys out of work so I could do a little day drinking.”

Sam slapped Rory on the back. “Just wanted Manny to get to know my homies, here.”

The woman wiped her palms down the sides of her slim thighs and tightened her lips against a retort.

Manolo put the broom back in the office, then strode behind the bar, lathered up, and offered her his freshly washed hand. “Please accept my apology.”

Junie hesitated. Even after she grudgingly took his hand, she kept inventing ways to avoid eye contact. She blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and, when that didn’t work, shook back her whole shaggy mane . . . chewed her lower lip . . . looked at anything and anyone but him. Finally, she lifted her pointed chin and glared at him defiantly, as if she saw straight through his pretext.

Blue eyes. No, blue-green, like the turquoise drops dangling from her ears. Thankfully, that earlier wildfire in them had simmered down to a slow burn. Below the plane of the bar, her hand felt capable and strong, pressed against his. He brushed his thumb lightly across the base of hers. While he drew lazy circles on Junie’s skin, he recalled the phone conversation when Sam had first told him that the pool of local vintners he’d started was crowding him out of his own house. He needed a real building. Sam’s news had only confirmed the buzz back east: that this corner of the Pacific Northwest was fast becoming America’s new capital of pinot noir.

From inside the bubble Manolo imagined surrounding them, Junie used her left thumb and forefinger to methodically pry his digits off her right hand, one by one. Short of being under enemy fire, nothing got Manolo’s blood pumping like actually having to fight for a female conquest. For the sake of cover, he kept up their light banter while drawing out their private little game of handsies as long as possible. She had succeeded in peeling his grip away once, only to have him immediately retake his lost territory. One honest tug was all it would take to free herself from his covert caresses, if she really wanted to.