Luckily, I’m able to make up for lost time in the bucket by chatting plenty with the people waiting around for the event to finish. I meet a few other winery owners, some of whose names I recognize from my parents’ extensive dinner party invite lists. We trade tips on distillation techniques, and I learn about a new grape picking machine from one couple whose advice sounds really reliable. I trade more than a few business cards, and by the time the last person has had their turn in the stomping bucket, and we’re all gathering our things to head over to the field showers nearby, my optimism is back. I’m feeling good about my productivity level, excited to continue getting to know these people this weekend, and full of new ideas to share with my parents when I call them with my nightly update later.

I’m still chatting to one of the older guys, around my father’s age, about his favorite processing techniques, when we reach the little building with the outdoor showers. He didn’t take a turn in the bucket, though, so he waves me goodbye at the entrance to the showers, and I continue inside alone.

There, I quickly realize I’m one of the few who decided to rinse off here first. Most people must have just gone straight back to their hotel rooms. Still, there’s a couple here and there, clustered near the showers along one wall. It’s a co-ed building, with cold-water only showers, so most people are just using them to rinse the worst of the grape juice off their legs and squeeze the remaining pulp out from between their toes before they head back up to the hotel for real showers.

I take a spot at the far wall, near the only shower with a door. It’s occupied of course, so as I wait, I turn on the nearest cold tap and rinse my legs, running my hands down my calves and scrubbing with the soap provided in an attempt to remove the worst of the purple stains.

In fact, this freezing cold water might be just what I need right now. Because here I am again, subtly scanning the room around me for any signs of Darius. That irritating part of my brain that won’t let me forget how good it felt when he touched me, is now eagerly pointing out that if he does stop in here to rinse off, I might catch a glimpse of him shirtless. From the tiny glimpse I caught in the barrel, I have a feeling those abs of his could fulfill several of my biggest fantasies all on their own. Washboard is an understatement.

But there’s no sign of him, so I focus on my legs and feet instead. This is the hardest part of grape stomping, because that juice is staining. It takes a lot of soap to get the worst of it off, and even so, there’s still a hint of purple around the edges of my toes, as if I’ve gone and bruised every single one somehow.

I’m just reaching for my towel, which I slung over a bench nearby, when someone hands it to me.

“Looking for this?”

I straighten to find Darius in front of me, and my brain short-circuits for a few seconds. Because fucking hell. He’s shirtless, wrapped only in a towel around his waist. I was right about those abs and then some. My eyes snag on the sculpted masterpiece that is his chest, from his pecs all the way down to his abs and the V pointing directly to his groin that makes me want to do nothing more right now than tug that towel of his the rest of the way off.

I swallow with difficulty and drag my eyes back up to his. “Following me, Bantham?” I say as I reach out to pluck my towel from his fingertips.

He smirks. “Could you blame me if I was?”

“Pretty sure I could, yeah,” I reply as I lean down to towel off my legs one at a time. But I can’t resist sticking my ass out just a little as I do it, and sure enough, when I straighten, I’m rewarded with the sight of Darius dragging his gaze away from my ass, the same way I just had to yank my eyes from his body. “Should we go find that Instagirl again?” I ask. “Ask her to take some photos of me for you to ogle this time?”

“Oh no,” he replies, and my eyebrows shoot upward, my pride momentarily deflated. Until he adds, “The kind of photos I’d want to take of you are strictly for private consumption,” he adds, grin widening. “I’d want to take those myself. And then selfishly hoard them where nobody else would ever see.”

My mouth feels somehow simultaneously dry and too thick at the same time. “I see. So you’ve still got dirty thoughts on your mind, then.”

He steps closer, and suddenly the heat in the bathroom doubles. “Around you, Holly? Always.” He bends down, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I react without thinking, tilting my head back, my lips parting slightly in anticipation as I tilt my face toward his…

And then he gently cups my earlobe with one finger, rubbing it along the edge. When he pulls it away, I spy a little hint of juice on his thumb. He winks at me. “Missed a spot,” he says.

Then he cups my face in his hand, tilts me toward him, and his fingertips trace the edge of my jaw, all the way back until his hand wraps around the nape of my neck to draw me toward him. I can’t help it. It’s like obeying gravity—inevitable. I lean toward him, and our lips collide.

His tongue parts my lips, traces along the edges of mine, and I open my mouth a little wider to let him. He kisses hard, but slow, a deep kiss, like he’s savoring a taste of fine wine. At the same time, his hands slide around my hips, my waist, circling around my back to pull me against him, and I lift my hands without thinking, run them across that sexy, gorgeous chest of his, my fingers tracing every muscle from start to finish. The heat from his skin sears my palms, and I wish I could spend all day here touching him, exploring every inch of his body.

When we break apart again, we’re both breathing a little faster, and my eyes are glazed with lust. I dare a peek around the bathroom, but thank God, it seems to have completely cleared out. I don’t spot anyone else in here. Even the single shower stall with a functional door beside me is empty now, whoever had been hogging it before long gone.

How long were we kissing for? I don’t even know. Time seems to slow in weird ways whenever Darius starts talking to me.

“I have to give it to you, Holly,” Darius murmurs, his mouth so close that our lips continue brushing as he speaks against my mouth. “I really thought you’d break sooner.”

At that, a spark of anger flares up. “Oh, you know me so well?” I shoot back. But my voice gives me away, trembles slightly at the end of that sentence. At the same time, my mouth remembers the taste of his lips, and my hands are still pressed to his chest, palms flat on his warm body. He tightens his own hands at the small of my back, draws me up and into him again, and this time, when he kisses me, it’s the edge of my neck, the underside of my jaw. I tilt my head back, drawing in a sharp breath as his teeth graze my skin lightly, just hard enough to add a faint sting to the pleasure washing through me.

“I guess I have some idea, don’t I?” Darius murmurs, mouth still pressed to my neck, his lips tracing down my collarbone now.

I breathe in another gasp, and he laughs, his breath tickling my chest.

“Or am I wrong?” he asks, and suddenly he leans back, breaking our contact. My hands are left gripping empty air, and it’s infuriating how badly I want to reach for him again. “Do you want me to stop?”

His dark eyes sparkle with humor even as he says it. He knows damn well that I don’t. But he’s teasing me. Pointing out how badly I’ve caved in to his desires. Just like he told me I would.

It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. The same way I reassured myself about France when he brought it up. It’s just hormones.

But I’m not a teenager anymore. And Darius definitely isn’t that same gangly kid I remember from the countryside. He’s filled out, grown up. Gotten sexy as fuck.

“You know I don’t,” I finally reply through gritted teeth. I swear, the cocky grin Darius shoots me then could probably light a whole vineyard on fire.

Just then, a sound echoes from a far corner of the bathroom, and before I can react, Darius grabs my hand and tugs me toward the now-empty shower stall next to us. I let him pull me inside, giving up on any semblance of resistance that I might have still been holding onto. He slams the door behind us and presses me up against it, bending to catch my mouth in his again, kissing me hard as his hand slides down my side to grip my ass. I lift my leg without thinking, and he catches my thigh, lifts my leg until it’s wrapped around his waist. Then he leans in and arches against me, and fuck, I can feel every inch of him through that towel. His thick cock is already rock hard, digging into my belly where he has me pinned against the door, and it takes every ounce of my concentration not to reach down and yank his towel away from between us right now.

I pull away from the kiss, glare up at him with my eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t change anything, Darius,” I hiss, in a low whisper just in case there is someone else in the bathroom who might overhear. “Our families are still enemies, you realize. And I’m still going to do everything in my power to ensure Spring Valley wines get onto the map this year, where they belong. I came here for work, not pleasure.”

“I’ve always found a combination of the two to be the most preferable,” he answers, his hands sliding down my hips, tracing every inch of my curves. Driving me wild. “But when it comes to you, Holly, trust me, I can separate. This is all about pleasure.” His hand arches over my hip. Slides down to cup my pussy through my jeans, his fingers pressing hard enough that I gasp, able to feel them even through the thick fabric. “And if we happen to be in competition otherwise, well, then may the best vintner win. And I have to admit…” He leans in close. Whispers against the edge of my ear. “Watching you demolish your competition only makes it that much hotter to know that at the end of the day, I’m going to take you back to my hotel room and fuck you senseless.”

My lips part, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for a response. My brain seems to short circuit on those last words. All I want to say now is yes, please fuck me. Especially when his hand remains where it is, his fingers curling to stroke my mound ever so lightly, a teasing hint of what’s to come. Finally, I manage to answer, my voice thick with desire. “Who says I want to wait until we get to your room?” I lift an eyebrow challenging.

His smirk widens, accepting that challenge. “Now there’s the Holly I remember.” He slides his hand up then, under the hem of my T-shirt, up, up until he reaches my bra. He strokes my breast through it, his fingers finding my nipple easily and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until it starts to harden, and I swallow a gasp under my breath.

“You must have a long memory,” I reply before I arch up on my toes to kiss him again, harder this time. I wrap one hand around the back of his head and bury my fingers in his hair, dragging him toward me, my lips parting so I can bite down gently on his lower lip, just hard enough to make him groan into my mouth, in a way that sends a vibration down the length of my whole body, all the way into my toes. When we break apart again, I’m the one grinning, and he’s gazing at me glassy eyed as though he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

Then again, I can’t blame him. Neither can I. If you’d told me just a couple of days ago that I’d be locked in an empty shower stall with Darius Bantham, so turned on that I feel like I could rip both our clothes off with one hand right now just to get more of his body pressed against mine, well…

I would have told you you were nuts. Now, though…

He grips my hips with both hands and arches against me, that thick, hard cock of his dragging along my belly as he moves. My pussy practically pulses, my clit swollen and eager with want, and Darius, damn him, can surely tell. He tugs me forward, slips his hands under my shirt and up over my belly, his bare palms leaving trails of fire along my skin. I shiver under his touch.

“I’ve waited so long to touch you again,” Darius murmurs, his mouth beside my ear now, breath hot on my skin. He turns to kiss my neck, then the soft spot just below my earlobe. Down my neck farther, toward my collarbone. “I’ve wanted to kiss you again ever since France, Holly.” He pulls back just far enough to meet my gaze and smiles, not his usual smirking grin, but something more sincere now. “Ever since you gave me my first kiss,” he says, and my belly suddenly drops as though I’ve just stepped over a cliff’s edge.

“Ever since what?” I ask, eyes widening, eyebrows shooting high over my forehead. But he’s already closing my mouth with his, kissing me again, so hard I barely have time to register his words.

Yet as we kiss, the implication sinks in. I slide both arms around his back, underneath his shirt. I press my fingertips into the hard, firm muscles of his back, and let myself sink into memory, just for an instant, even as my cheeks turn bright red, and I’m grateful Darius can’t see my face right now.

I didn’t know I was his first.