Drunk on Love(42)

No. She had to stop this.

She made herself pull away. He immediately stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t going to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. But holy shit.”

She let out a breath and moved farther away from him.

“I wanted you to do that,” she said. “I wanted that. But we can’t do it again.”

“I know,” he said. “But—”

She shook her head.

“Go.”

He looked away from her, finally. He opened the door and walked out of her office.

She almost stumbled to her desk, sat down on her chair, and dropped her head into her hands. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her body, of his lips on hers. And the worst part was, she didn’t want that feeling to go away.





Ten


LUKE LEANED HIS HEAD against the cold tile of his shower, still breathing hard.

Why had he told her to say that?

All he could hear—all he’d been able to hear for the past three hours—was her voice, throaty and hoarse and full of longing, telling him she wanted him.

He’d heard it all afternoon at the winery as he tried to juggle three overlapping appointments, while glancing at the staff door every thirty seconds to see if she’d walked through it. He’d heard it when she eventually did walk through the door, when he was in the middle of checking out a group and all of their wine, and so couldn’t look at her. He’d heard it when he finally looked at her, to find her talking to other people and very definitely not looking at him. He’d heard it when Elliot had walked into the tasting room at five thirty and told him he’d take care of locking up, since Margot had an appointment and had left early.

And he’d heard it the whole way home, where he’d immediately jumped in the shower and let himself think about her with abandon, how it had felt to be that close to her again, how it had felt to kiss her and have her respond so passionately. He’d let himself revel in it, in her smooth hands on his skin, her body against his as his own hands moved faster and faster on his cock. And when he came, too fast, he just wished she were there with him.

Fuck. What was he going to do now? Should he quit?

What, and just find another winery job somewhere, to keep up this pretense with his mom that he was up here to date Avery?

He laughed at himself. That wasn’t the real reason he wouldn’t quit. He didn’t want to quit. If he did, he wouldn’t get to see Margot all day at work. Even though it killed him to see her and not be able to touch her.

And Margot would be pissed if he quit, he knew that. Noble was understaffed right now—if he hadn’t been there today, Margot would have had to cover all of that herself. No matter how much she wanted him, she cared a lot more about the winery than she did about fucking him. If he quit just because he wanted to be able to fuck her again, he probably wouldn’t even get to do that.

Well, he couldn’t tell Avery about this, that was for sure. Avery had already mocked him mercilessly for sleeping with Margot, and there was no way he could claim that he’d accidentally kissed her. No, that kiss had been very purposeful.

Plus, Avery knew Margot, which he hadn’t known when he’d told her about the first time. He couldn’t do that to Margot.

He turned off the water and cringed at himself for how much he’d wasted. He couldn’t find another way to release his frustration, in the middle of a drought?

He got dressed, sat down on the couch, and then immediately jumped up to look in the fridge. No, nothing had magically appeared in there since the day before.

Okay, fine, that was something to do with this night that suddenly stretched out too long and empty before him. He would go find dinner.

He walked down the stairs and toward his car, then changed course just as he reached for the door handle. No, he’d driven enough today. He wanted to walk.

He didn’t even realize where he was going until he stopped in front of the Barrel. He shouldn’t go in. He’d seen her afterward, with that bartender. They were clearly friends. Margot must go there all the time. But . . .

He stood there, his hand on the door for a few seconds, then took a step back and turned away.

“Good decision,” a voice behind him said.

He turned. The bartender. Of course. She was actually the owner of this place, right. She looked at him with an amused, but severe, expression on her face.

He didn’t even pretend not to know what she was talking about.

“Yeah. I guess so. I thought it would be better if I didn’t come in, just in case she was there.”

She kept her eyes on him.

“But you thought about it.”

He sighed.

“Yeah. I thought about it. I—” He shook his head. What was he even doing? “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t be having this conversation.”

She laughed, and opened the door.

“What conversation?”

He turned to walk down the street.

“Luke.”

He looked back. She was out on the sidewalk.

“Go to Fork in the Road—two blocks that way. Great bar, excellent steak, very good burger. Tell them Sydney sent you.”

He felt like he’d won her approval, somehow.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll do that.”