Intoxicating (7 page)

“That paradox again,” she muttered, surprised at how well he seemed to know her. Was she that easy to read? Or was he simply that intuitive?

“You have a hard time admitting that science cannot control everything, that some things are just…magic,” he said, his voice husky and she knew he was no longer talking about wine.

“I don't believe in magic.”

“But you want to.”

Yes, yes, she wanted to believe. She wanted to let herself go, get swept away, be imaginative and spontaneous and romantic like the rest of her family. She wanted to succumb to the madness.

This rampaging urge to kiss Wyatt—oh, who was she kidding—to have sex with him, spoke to her as nothing ever had. Her hormones had never ruled her. In all honesty, that's why she'd fired him, because he unraveled her in nine-hundred startling ways.

As if arranged, they moved toward each other. In
perfect unison, his hands moved to remove her glasses while she reached to pluck the glasses from his face. With his frames dangling from her fingers, and her frames dangling from his, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Wyatt pulled her close, kissed her hard.

His kiss set her ablaze, triggered emotional turmoil, stunned her. What was this? How could she—headstrong, business-minded Kiara feel so befuddled by feminine passion?

Go, go,
urged her body.

No, no,
scolded her mind.

She
deepened the kiss, introducing
her
tongue to his. Yesterday's kiss had opened Pandora's box and she could not close it back. He tasted big. Robust. Rockingly righteous. Better than Decadent Midnight.

Oh, crap. What are you doing? Are you insane?

Insanity. Yes. That's what this was. Some kind of temporary hormonal insanity. It would pass. It had to pass.

He tasted raw and real, but her heart, the stupid heart she'd tried so hard to deny, overflowed with mushy thoughts like—heavenly, magical, electric.

Their mouths mated. Hotly. Wildly. Kiara remember her first ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
This
was a hundred times more dizzying. With the Tilt-a-Whirl you knew the ride would eventually end if you just held on long enough. Would that strategy work here as well?

Battle it. Don't give in. Fight, fight.

Kiara yanked away, dragged in a breath. Extended his glasses to him with a quivering hand.

His hair was mussed. His eyes glazed. He looked…
thunderstruck.

This wasn't her. She didn't do things like this. She never allowed her desires to overrun her common sense.

Well, it's happening now.

He took both their glasses, stuck them on the shelf with the corkscrew and wine bottle, and then kissed her again.

Yes, she was weak and foolish and…and…

It felt so good.
He
felt so good.

Making love to Wyatt would mark her in ways she couldn't imagine. She knew that she would be forever changed. There would be no going back. No undoing this. She understood that. And yet, even though she knew he was a huge risk, she couldn't stop craving him.

She was running on pure emotion and her logical brain barely paused. She felt giddy, out of control, reckless, forbidden. And she wanted him with an all-consuming need.

Kiara surrendered. When he pulled her closer, she did not resist. In fact, stepped happily into his embrace. A bubble of joy beaded up through her, fizzy as champagne, ambushed her. A heady sense of ultimate rightness settled over her, as if by being with him she was finally set free from herself.

His hands went to her shoulders, and he looked deeply into her eyes.

“Kiara,” he breathed.

Her anxious fingers worried the collar of his polo shirt, her eyes held prisoner by his. She was his captive and nothing had ever felt so sweet. In her hands she fisted the hem of his shirt, and began to slowly roll it up the length of his lean, muscled torso.

How odd, but how wonderful it felt to stand here in
the circle of his arms. What could she have if she was willing to let go of control? To trust a little?

He helped her wrestle the shirt over his head. His skin was tanned and dotted with curly black hair. Her fingers skimmed over the honed ridges of his muscles, the pale light a sharp contrast to his sun-burnished color. He was Hollywood handsome. She was a lab geek. A cork dork. An introverted nerd of the highest order. What did a man like him see in a woman like her?

The answer didn't matter, at least not now. All that mattered at this moment was the hot, desperate need speeding through her body and escaping from her lungs on a soft sigh. “You look drinkable.”

“Have a taste,” he invited.

She chuckled. “You smell good too. Not Bretty at all.”

Wyatt's eyes lit up and a smile carved his face. “Good enough to eat?”

“Yum.” And then she did the brashest thing she had ever done in her life. She licked him.

His hearty laugh rang out to roll around the room. His delight delighted her. The sound vibrated up through his chest and into her palms and she caught his joy. “How do I taste?”

“Salty,” she pronounced.

“You, Kiara Romano, are a surprise. I suspected as much all along.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're far more romantic than you want to admit.”

“I suppose you're an expert on romance?”

“I wouldn't say expert…” He trailed off.

“Ever been married?”

“Nope.”

“Have you ever been close?”

“Never.”

“Why not?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“How do you know I haven't been?”

“I asked around.”

She was both pleased and annoyed to learn that he had been asking questions about her. She was tempted to ask him what else he'd discovered about her, but he dipped his head and claimed her lips.

Wyatt swallowed the soft sound of pleasure that escaped her throat. His lips intoxicated her as surely as if she'd downed an entire bottle of Decadent Midnight.

His mouth teased, playful and daring. Tempting her to follow him down a road it might be smarter not to tread. His tongue coaxed, cajoled, seduced.

Oh, the promises his kisses suggested, of pleasures she'd never even dared dream. Kiara kissed him back, as fully engaged as he, pressed her body against his, the material of her cotton dress rubbing against his bare chest.

One hand drifted boldly to his belt buckle.

“Kiara,” he whispered. “Are you sure you want to start this?”

No, no, she wasn't sure. Not sure at all. She knew it was a dumb thing to do—an affair with an intern. Dumb on so many levels and yet, she simply did not care. That shocked her. But instead of answering, she slid her arms around his neck and tugged his head down for more kisses.

He reached for the buttons at the front of her dress, his fingers easing them open as he continued to kiss her.
She was so caught up in the tender thrust of his tongue that she almost didn't hear her cell phone buzz.

“You've got a call,” he said in a pensive voice.

Kiara fished it from her pocket and saw Maurice's name on the caller ID. She switched it over to voice mail and then set her phone on the wine rack beside the corkscrew, the bottle of Bretty wine and their eyeglasses.

“Problem solved,” she said.

Wyatt looked at her incredulously. “You're not going to get that?”

“You know what? I'm tired of being on call 24/7, 365 days a year. Let someone else field the problems for once. Whatever it is can wait.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, Kiara stood stunned unable to believe she'd uttered them. She was always available for the family. Night or day. Another time, with any other person, she would have answered Maurice. Part of her felt guilty. After all, her cousin needed her. It could very well be important. But guilt faded to nothingness in the face of the very real, very raw desire thundering through her.

Wyatt made her feel things she'd never felt before. Made her want things she'd never wanted. Maybe she never knew just how much she was at the beck and call of everyone in her family. Her life wasn't her own, but until now, that had never bothered her.

What was he doing to her? Who was she becoming?

Before she had a chance to answer those questions, Wyatt's mouth was nibbling at her neck. Kiara tossed her head, giving him full access to her throat. The feel of his tender lips at her pulse unraveled a burning heat deep within her feminine core. The pull was irresistible and she relaxed into it, succumbing to Wyatt's mascu
linity. She'd never been an overtly sexual woman, but around him, everything was different.

She was different.

His fingers finished unbuttoning her dress and he eased it down the length of her body. A soft sigh unfurled her lips as he edged the fabric over her hips.

A gentle tug sent the garment plunging to her feet, leaving her standing in front of Wyatt in her sensible sports bra and white cotton boy-cut panties and her hiking shoes. She should have felt vulnerable, exposed, embarrassed, but she didn't.

What she couldn't figure out was why he was staring at her as if she was the sexiest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Wyatt splayed his palms across the cheeks of her butt and leaned into her as he guided them both downward onto the rammed-earth floor. His mouth swept maddeningly slow kisses over the hollow of her throat to the top of her breasts. His fingers worked at the clasp of her bra and shortly, he banished the underwear to some far reaches of the wine cellar.

He cradled her in his arms and kissed her belly while one hand untied the laces of her hiking boots and slipped them off her feet, first one and then the other. Then he methodically disposed of her socks. Her bare toes curled against the warm earth.

“You are so beautiful,” Wyatt pronounced, pulling back to look at her with appreciative eyes.

For the first time, she felt self-conscious. She wasn't beautiful and she knew it. She didn't even try to make herself beautiful like most women did. She rarely bothered with makeup and took no notice of her clothes. Her nails were ravaged by work and the only jewelry
she wore was her simple gold stud earrings. She put on what was comfortable in the offices, the lab and the vineyards.

“You're so real and honest,” he murmured. “There's nothing artificial about you.” He ran a hand down her legs. They were toned from daily walks through the vineyards. His hand settled at the waist of her panties. It was her last barrier on the road to complete surrender.

She quivered, tense with anticipation.

“Wyatt.” She gasped. “I need you.”

“I need you too,” he said gruffly.

He stood and she rose to her knees, her eager fingers yanking at his belt, fumbling for his zipper.

“Wait,” he said, dug a condom from his wallet and fisted it in his hand, then he toed off his shoes, spread his stance and allowed her to shuck off his cargo shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. He stepped from his clothing. Came for her.

Kiara rocked back on her heels. Goodness, but he was magnificent. Much better than she'd expected. Her heart thumped.

Wyatt made a bed of their clothing and pulled her down on top of the pile, all while his mouth was stealing rough, hungry kisses.

They lay down side by side. He caressed her cheek and peered deeply into her eyes as if he saw the answer to the mystery of the ages. Kiara felt herself whisked into a vortex of pure energy. His tongue was light and cool, but it lit a burning fire down every nerve he touched.

In the dark mustiness of the cellar, surrounded by wine barrels and bottles, they were part of the history of
this place, this island. Muted light from the wall sconces cast shadows over their faces. He straddled her body, one knee on either side of her hips, and gazed down at her.

His naked erection hardened and throbbed, and Kiara's nipples beaded tight in answering response. He was so big. So gorgeous.

Kiara reached up a trembling hand to touch her lips.

He looked down at her. She stared up at him, studying his face bathed in contrast. Shadows on one side of his face, light on the other. He lowered his lashes, giving a sultry, bad-boy appearance to his deep-chocolate-brown eyes.

“What's on your mind?” he asked.

“You,” she said. “I'm wondering how you got into my life and turned it upside down so quickly. Three days ago I didn't even know you existed and now it feels as if I've known you forever.”

“I feel the same way,” he admitted.

“What's happened? How did it happen?”

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “All that matters is that it did happen.”

He rolled over to stretch out beside her, propping his head on one arm. He leaned in to kiss her, to caress his mouth over hers in the most perfect kiss anyone had ever given her. Sweet, warm and firm. Full of hope and promise.

A helpless moan rolled from her.

“Yes,” he said. “That's exactly what I want to hear.”

“Less talking, more kissing,” she informed him.

“Yes, ma'am.” He ran his tongue along the outside of her lips, outlining their shape.

She wasn't going to let him get away with teasing her.
He needed a dose of his own medicine. While he was fooling around with her mouth, she explored his most sensitive spots. When she lightly flicked his nipple with an index finger a soft shudder passed through him.

“Wicked.” He breathed. “Who would have believed you were totally wicked?”

Kiara thrilled to his words because she had never, ever in her life been wicked. She was the good girl, the dutiful daughter and, until now, she'd thought she wanted it that way.

He kissed her again and she absorbed his heat. He tasted so good. She could seriously get addicted to his rich, masculine flavor. They played, tongues dueling, teeth nibbling. With each kiss, each touch, each indrawn breath, each tensed muscle, the tension climbed, burning higher, hotter, brighter, reaching fever pitch.