The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(65)

He’d kept his promise. He’d more than made up for his urgent first performance, pleasuring her again and again until she’d begged him to stop.

Time was his enemy. The time he had left with her was too short. Once he was gone, the time it would take to forget about her would stretch out endlessly.

She snuggled closer to him. “What are you thinking about?” she asked in the husky tone of a woman thoroughly satisfied.

After a pause, he said, “You. How you’re so strong and resilient. How, no matter what happens, you always land on your feet.”

She giggled. “You sound so serious, all of a sudden.”

“This, coming from the most industrious woman I know.”

“Thought you said your sisters and your mom were the most industrious.”

“They don’t count. They’re not women, they’re my relations.”

She laughed sleepily. “What’s your idea of the perfect woman?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Humor me.”

He considered. “Soft, yet strong. Smart. Independent. One who has interests, whose life doesn’t revolve around me.”

“That first day you came to my run-down tasting room, I had you pegged as a man who needed to be the center of attention.”

“I’m pretty selfish. And a flight risk. I like the freedom to pick up and go at the drop of a hat. I warned you about that the day we met. And did I mention I’m selfish?” There was one thing good about the dark—Junie wouldn’t be able to see his face when he said what he was about to say.

“But no one can whip up a mean omelet from old cheddar and expired eggs like you can,” she said.

He huffed a soft laugh. The circles her finger drew on his belly felt way too good. He didn’t want to start something he didn’t have time to finish. Gently but firmly, he removed her hand and tangled his fingers with hers.

“When I stay in one place too long, I feel trapped. Then I leave, and someone gets hurt. That’s why it’s best not to form attachments.”

“What happened to you, to make you like that?”

“I was the only son. It was taken for granted that I’d take over the family business. But I wanted to be a builder. I told my dad I wanted to go to college to be an engineer or something. It wasn’t a matter of not being able to afford it. He wouldn’t even consider it. So I left. I’m just like your brother.”

“That’s not why Storm left. Storm didn’t have any ambition. He was looking for something to do with his life that didn’t take a lot of effort.”

“Our family didn’t even take vacations. We couldn’t leave the restaurant, because it never closed. I wanted to explore the world beyond Hoboken.”

“Well, you’ve fulfilled that goal. Didn’t you say you’ve been to almost every continent?”

“Five out of seven. It’s unrealistic to think I’ll ever make it to Antarctica, but Australia? I’d do just about anything to go there. Even have a head hunter working on it.

“My next assignment’s not too shabby though,” he said as lightly as though he were talking about the weather.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Well. Aren’t you going to tell me where it is?”

“Ever hear of Belize?”

He felt the comforter shift as she propped herself up on an elbow. “As in Central America? That Belize?”

“There’s only one, so far as I know.”

She laid down again, withdrawing her leg from where it had been wrapped around his.

He felt like a spark plug that had lost its contact point.

“Good timing,” she said brightly.

By the sound of her voice, she’d turned her head to the wall. “While I’m bundled up in my hoodie in the next few months, you’ll be wearing board shorts.”

Manolo lay on his back with his arms at his side and tried to pretend that he wasn’t a world-class cad. It wasn’t like he was breaking any promises. She’d known the rules of the game going in.

From the other side of the bed, he heard a single sniff.

Junie said, “Your lease is up soon, isn’t it?”

“You remembered.”

The covers rustled. “Did you honestly think I could forget?” came her voice, now closer to his ear.

He rolled onto his side, his hand inadvertently brushing across her breasts. Delinquent that he was, he couldn’t restrain himself from stroking their gathered tips with his knuckles.

The thing that really got him was, she let him.

“How soon?” she whispered.

He rolled onto his back, interlocked his wayward fingers across his chest, and stared up at the ceiling. “I leave tomorrow.”

The light had subtly changed without him noticing. He was able to make out the shadowy corners where the ceiling met the walls.

He turned to search for her face, expecting to see tears, but there were none.

“This is tomorrow,” she said in a voice that did not crack.





Chapter Thirty-nine


Mid-September, Belize





Manolo shuffled his feet as he walked in the warm sand, the gentle trade wind ruffling his hair. To his left was the white-crested Gulf of Honduras. To his right, a woman in a bikini.