Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(47)

“Sure,” I said, zipping the pants, which actually fit nicely. “Or some sort of wild game you can take down with your bare hands. Venison or pheasant.”

“I am good with my hands.” Gianni scooped up his gloves and tugged them on, his smile turning cocky. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“You are too.”

His comment surprised me and sent a warm rush through my body as our eyes locked and the memory of last night passed between us. I glanced at the bed, realizing we’d have to spend another night in it together. I cleared my throat. “Come on. Let’s go.”





We bundled up, strapped into the snowshoes we’d borrowed, and traipsed into the woods behind the motel, following a path between the birches and maples and evergreens.

Snow fell around us, but we were sheltered from the worst of the storm, and it was quiet and peaceful along the trail. Soft gray light filtered through the leafless tree branches and needles of the pines. I took deep breaths of air that smelled like winter—woodsy and sharp with cold, a hint of smoke from a nearby fireplace. A few icy breezes occasionally whispered through the trees, but the loudest sound was from the snow crunching beneath our feet. My muscles grew warm.

Neither Gianni nor I spoke for a while, and I surprised myself when I broke the silence with, “I was worried about you.”

He glanced at me. “When?”

“When I woke up and you were gone.”

He laughed, his breath creating puffs of white. “Sorry. I guess I should have told you what I was doing. But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Yeah. I needed that nap.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Are you feeling better?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Because it was only one thing that didn’t happen. Your ultimate goal is to grow awareness of your brand, and there are other ways to do that. You don’t need Fiona Duff.”

“You’re right.” I took another lungful of bracing air. “I’ll brainstorm some new ideas when we’re back.”

“I’d be glad to help you.”

“Thanks.” I snuck a glance at him, and his profile made my body feel hot beneath my clothing. “Look at us getting along. Maybe it is the end of the world.”

“Does that mean we can have sex again tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? Last night was fun, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” I agreed. “But it happened before we were friends. Now that we have a friendship, we’d better not ruin it.”

“I think I liked it better when you hated me. Is there a dunk tank around here? Or some sort of forest pond I can push you into?”

I laughed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He stopped walking and looked around. “God. It’s so fucking pretty here, isn’t it?”

“It is.” I’d gone a few steps ahead of him, but I stopped too, looking around. Then I tipped my head back to catch a few snowflakes on my tongue.

He watched me, then slowly caught up. “I know you’re going to think this is bullshit, but I have to say it.”

I looked at him warily. “What?”

“You’re really fucking beautiful.”

“Gianni, I already said no more sex.”

“I’m not saying it because I want to have sex. I mean—I do, but that’s not why I said it. I said it because it’s true.”

“Stop it. I’m a mess right now.” But I could feel my cold cheeks warming. “No makeup, I didn’t even brush my hair today let alone take a shower, and my nose is probably bright red.”

“It is.” He smiled, and for once it was genuine, not arrogant. “And yes, your hair is kinda messy, but you don’t need makeup, and I’m not close enough to smell you, so the lack of a shower isn’t really an issue. By the way, this isn’t anything new. I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but it really struck me just now.”

“Oh.” Self-conscious, I touched a mitten to my hair. “Well, thanks. Maybe it’s good light out here or something.”

“It’s not the light.”

I met his eyes, and my heart performed a few acrobatic tricks. He was close enough that he could have leaned over to kiss me, and I would have let him. God help me, I wanted him to. I imagined his tongue on mine, warm where the snowflakes had been cold. I looked at his mouth and let my lips fall open.

But he didn’t kiss me.

“Should we go back?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder the way we’d come. “It’s going to get dark soon. I don’t want to lose our way.”

“Sure. Yes. Let’s go back.” Flustered, I tried to pivot in place, but one of my snowshoes somehow caught the edge of the other, and my left ankle wrenched painfully. Crying out, I tipped over sideways in the snow.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Gianni tossed his poles aside and reached for me.

“I’m fine,” I said, although my ankle was throbbing. “I just twisted my ankle.”

“Can you stand up?” He took me by both arms and lifted me to my feet. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s not too bad.” Gingerly, I put some weight on that foot. It was bad, but not excruciating. “I think I’m okay.”