Love Bats Last (The Heart of the Game) (27 page)

“I’m not on fire,” she said as she straightened.

He smiled, but she saw the fatigue and worry in his eyes. And something else. Something that in the dancing firelight looked more than primal. If she hadn’t known him, it would’ve scared her. It was hunger, a hunger she knew in herself and had tried hard to ignore. But in him... Seeing it through his eyes, focused on her, it stole her breath.

She gained it back when he looked away.

He scanned the vines near them and, apparently certain they weren’t going to burst into flames, he toed along the trench they’d extended to the end of the row.

“It’s deep enough. Take a break.” He took a step away, then turned back to her. “Thanks.” He put his hand gently on her arm. “I mean... thank you. For coming.”

“A date’s a date,” she said, smiling. He put his other hand on her arm and turned her to him. Her smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes.

“I took your conditions for a date to heart,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

“If I’d thought you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She took in a breath and shut her eyes. No kiss had ever meant as much.

A shout from one of the men fanning with the wing devices farther down the row shook her back to reality. If the language was Spanish, she didn’t recognize the dialect. Alex shouted back in the same dialect, then turned to her. She thought he was going to say something, but instead he brushed a vine leaf from her hair, smiled and then walked down the row. She watched as one of the men helped him strap on a pair of the wings. He hadn’t invited her to join him, but she followed anyway. She took off her gloves and picked up one of the wings.

They were much heavier than the men made them look.

“Don’t,” he said, reaching to take it from her.

“I’m stronger than I appear.”

He shrugged and helped her lift the wing onto her back. She felt the wetness of his sweat along his forearms as he brushed past her cheek and the hot, hard muscle of his chest as he leaned into her to lever the wing up and tug the straps snugly against her. For a moment, his body once again enveloped hers. Some part of her opened then, the part she’d kept guarded for so long.

He strapped on the second wing and then backed away and waved his arms up and down in a gliding motion. She mimicked his movement and fought for balance.

“Please,” he said, riveting her with a look that was nearly a glare, “tell me if your shoulders tire. You can hurt yourself with these.”

There were so many things one could hurt oneself with,
she thought
.
Right now, as she watched him and copied his movements, she knew that wings were the least of her worries.

He caught the look in her eye before she could disguise it. He stared, without saying anything, then returned to fanning the vines, pushing the warm air toward them.

“This was my father’s first line of vines,” he said. He was winded and his words came slowly. “He hand-carried them from Bordeaux.” He waved toward the fans spinning in the distance. “Can’t get those in here, the rows are too tight together.” He reached the wing over the vine nearest him and fingered a cluster of grapes. “If I don’t save any others, I’m saving these. He never missed a vintage from them. I don’t intend to break his streak.” He shot her a look from under his lashes and flashed a grin. “Maybe I’m superstitious.”

The heat of the rising air drove away the bracing cold, but taking part in Alex’s fight to save the harvest, to save his father’s legacy, blazed a path deep within her, warming her more than any fire ever could. And the very real welcome in his eyes, in his attitude, heated her even more.

She struggled to keep pace with him, but soon the weight of the wings winded her. She had to stop and catch her breath, and she dropped the tips of the wings to rest on the ground next to her feet. As she did, her scientist’s curiosity kicked in.

“Why not just pick the grapes and bring them in from the cold?” she asked breathlessly. She knew immediately from his look that the answer was something basic, but winemaking was something she knew little about.

“The sugar’s not right. If we bring them in now, they’ll be useless.”

A man trotted up the row toward them.

“I think we’re good here, Alex.” He stepped over and motioned for Alex to unstrap the wings. He looked at Jackie. “Her too.” It was a gentle but firm command. “I’ll leave Manuel and Clavo to watch the fire. We got the south fans working. There’s enough fuel to last.” He gazed toward the dark horizon, eyes narrowed, and then turned back to Alex. “You look terrible.”

“Always the bluebird of good news,” Alex scoffed.

“
Happiness
, Alex,” Jackie said. “Bluebird of happiness.” As he regarded her in the shimmering light, she thought that maybe, just maybe, happiness would do.

“Emilio, this is Dr. Brandon,” Alex said.

“Jackie,” she mumbled as Alex lifted the wings from her back. She couldn’t help rubbing her shoulders and upper arms.

“Emilio keeps me sane,” Alex said, wiping at the rivulets of sweat that rolled down his face.

“You’re doing a mighty poor job,” she said, trying for a light tone. But when she saw worry etching deeper in the older man’s face, nothing about the situation seemed light anymore.

“I think this is the worst of the cold,” Emilio said as he helped Alex unstrap the wings he still wore. “It’s stabilizing.”

She couldn’t help but feel that he was trying to ease Alex’s worry, get him to take a break. The look in Alex’s eyes told her he didn’t believe Emilio’s assurances either.

“Let us finish,” Emilio said in a firmer voice to Alex. “We have this covered.”

Alex stoked the fire in the trench and then walked to the men fanning farther down the length of it. Two more men had joined them, and Jackie could feel the cloud of warmth they generated. The old vines surrounding them, and their precious fruits, would make it through this night, at least.

Alex returned to where she stood.

“How about a very early breakfast?”

“You cooking? Like I told you, you wouldn’t want to eat mine,” she said.

“I’ll cook.”

He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him as if it were something they both were used to doing. They walked up to the castle in the beam cast by her flashlight. As they stepped onto the drawbridge—a real drawbridge—the electricity flashed on and the castle came alive. In the gleam of the strategically designed lighting, it really did look like something out of a fairy tale.

“Tell me you didn’t arrange that for effect,” she teased.

“I wish I could have,” he said with a chuckle.

She stared at the lit castle for a long moment before curiosity got the best of her. She started to ask a question, but he must’ve seen it coming.

“Can we talk about it later?” He waved his fingers toward the looming building.

“Sure. You must get tired of explaining.”

“You have no idea.”

But she did. Bringing friends from school home to Trethewen Hall hadn’t ever been easy. Though it wasn’t a castle, it might as well have been. It took time before some of her friends came to feel comfortable in her massive home. Some never did. Crossing boundaries between worlds, whether natural or cultural, was never for the faint of heart.

As Alex escorted her across the drawbridge, she shivered. She’d sweated, and the night air had swept up under her parka, chilling her.

“You’re cold,” he said, taking off the jacket he’d donned when they’d left the fires. With a gentle move, he draped it across her shoulders and tugged it close to her body.

His tender gesture undid her. She reached one hand, then the other, up to his neck. His pulse beat under her fingertips, its pace matching her own. She pulled him to her and stood on her tiptoes to touch her lips to his. His lips tasted of salt and soot. As he opened to her kiss, the deeper, honeyed flavor of him transported her. She drank deep.

She circled her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. He groaned and crushed her lips. A bolt of power from the heavens couldn’t have shaken her more. She wanted him inside her, wanted to be inside him. Wanted him... Wanted... She simply wanted.

When his hands slid up under the layers of her clothing, heat spanned her ribs. He glided his fingers up her torso, his touch lighting a fire in its path. His hand gently molded the curve of her breast, and she gasped against his lips.

She slipped her hands to the back of his waist and tugged his sweat-soaked shirt out of his jeans, slid her palms up the taut planes of his back. Through the fabric of her jeans, she felt him hard against her thigh. She moved one hand down and ran it between them, along the length of him. The rough cloth of his jeans did nothing to disguise his arousal. His breath rumbled low, guttural and warm. As if in answer, her breath caught and she stiffened. He pulled away, scanning her face, then a half smile curved into his lips. He bent and trailed his lips along the curve of her ear, along her chin and to where her pulse pounded in her throat.

She dropped her head to the side and gave herself to him as he tasted her, as he branded her. As he staked his claim.

The breeze blew against her face, but it felt good against the heat there. Wanting to taste him in return, she eventually opened her eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind not walking,” he said as he lifted her. Her cheek pressed against his chest and his heart pulsed hard against it. He maneuvered to twist the knob of a massive door, then kicked it open. Held in his arms, she saw the rough stones of the arching ceilings and the glittering chandeliers that cast a warm light across his face as they passed under them. He didn’t look down. He balanced her against his hip and bent to lever the iron handle of another wooden door.

“As promised,” he said between heavy breaths as he pressed the door open with his shoulder. “The kitchen.”

She’d forgotten all about food.

He used his elbow to sweep something aside on an enormous stone counter, then lowered her onto the polished slab. He kept his eyes on hers as he dragged his jacket from her shoulders and then stripped off her parka. She lifted her arms so he could tug her sweater over her head. He spanned the base of her throat with his hand and then tipped her face to his. The crush of his kiss was like a tiger gorging on prey. Her own hunger met his with an answering, plundering kiss. His hands tugged at her shirt, and she helped him unbutton it. He peeled it away and cupped her breasts. His hands were callused, but warm. And she loved the way he touched her, as if her body was the answer to his need.

He tracked his lips to her already hard nipple and laved it with his tongue. His thumb and forefinger rolled her other nipple, gently, then harder, then gently again. Beyond pleasure, beyond pain, the sensations he aroused flayed her open, firing searing passages along paths of their own making. She gripped his hair, tipped her head and buried her face in the tousled mass of it. The smoky scent of the fire clung there still. Inhaling, she curved her fingers around his skull. Pressed her lips to where his pulse throbbed at his temples. He slipped his hand down and fingered her through her jeans. A moan she tried to temper escaped her. Any moment she would simply melt through the stone and into the earth below.

He leaned away from her.

“Take these off,” he said. More than an order, it was a command, though his eyes met hers and searched for any objection. When she offered none, he flipped open the button at her waist. She arched and let him wriggle her jeans and underwear down her legs. When he straightened, she could see his heart pounding a rhythm against the thin, wet fabric of his shirt.

“You too,” was all she could utter. God, she wanted to see him. Touch him. Taste his skin.

He undid two buttons and tugged his shirt over his head.

Then he crouched and traced a trail of kisses from her nipple to her thighs. She screamed when he used his tongue to draw a hot, direct path between her legs.

He rose and kissed her mouth. She felt rather than saw him undo the button of his jeans, kick his shoes off and shimmy his jeans below his hips.

“Now,” she said as she reached out and closed her hand around his erection. He was full and hard and hot against her fingers. She stroked him and squeezed and stroked again, loving the way his breathing sped up, loving the feel of him. She shifted her hand and traced the curve of his balls, looked up to see the flash of pleasure in his eyes. Any more preliminaries would undo her. She traced back up the length of him, tightened her fingers and drew him toward her. “In me, Alex. Please.”

He pulled back a step, searched her face, and then dragged his mouth across hers in a shuddering kiss.

Heat blazed as he pressed her thighs apart and entered her. He paused for a moment, then withdrew, watched her face and drove in deeper. She bucked against him, closing her eyes, gone now to a place beyond anything she’d ever known. Her blood beat a roaring rhythm and light poured in behind her eyes and yet everything was soft, dark, and hot. When she couldn’t stand it, when she needed to not only feel him but see him, she opened her eyes and watched his face as he thrust into her again. She felt dizzy, light and hot, as if stars had entered her bloodstream and tracked fire to her every cell. She cried out and arched back against the cool stone slab. He pulled her closer to the edge and drove deeper, his fingers circling her exactly where she needed him to touch as he rocked in and out. She was dimly aware of a bowl of lemons beside her head as she arched back against the stone. He wasn’t teasing; he was driving her beyond her capacity to breathe.

“Alex—”

He thrust again, slowly, watching her face. She arched and bucked against him, meeting his thrust and driving him into her core.

“Now,” she gasped. “Please.”

He slid his hand under her bum and pulled her tighter to him. She went breathless.

He thrust, rocking her in a rhythm that was at once tender and fierce. She closed her eyes, lost in the vastness they’d entered, lost in the power their bodies had conjured. A cry broke free as her orgasm engulfed her, and she was truly lost. Then found. Adrift, yet anchored.