Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
That drew August up short. Frowning, he turned to face Natalie where she still hesitated at the top of the path. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”
She didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t seem to know the answer.
Whatever vitriol lay between them, August was not okay with that indecision. “Natalie, the sight of those scratches on you is absolutely killing me. I’d just as soon put a mark on you myself than I would pursue a ballet career.”
Her mouth snapped shut. She blinked several times and flounced forward, moving past him on the path. “I didn’t know cat people were so dramatic,” she muttered.
“Only when their integrity is in question,” he countered, following her.
“Sorry. I’ll stick to questioning your intelligence.”
“Thank you.”
Her shoulders shook a little bit. With laughter? Why now, when he couldn’t even see her face? “My only hope is that you are better at repairing wounds than you are at making wine.”
“Considering I’ve given myself stitches in a dust storm without painkillers—twice—I’d say I’m up for patching your kitty cat scratches.”
It wasn’t that he was satisfied when her step faltered, it was that . . . well, he was sick and tired of this woman seeing him as incapable and hapless because he didn’t know how to ferment some fucking grapes. Was it important at this stage for Natalie to perceive him as capable? No. He was on the verge of leaving. And yet he couldn’t help wanting that approval from her. More than he had a right to.
They walked in silence to the house. It was a small, California-style two-bedroom with a red tile roof and beige stucco exterior. His temporary home sat on the edge of the property, two barns in the near distance. One he’d been using for poorly attended tastings, the other for production and barrel storage. Spread out on all sides were rows of fragrant grapes stretching up toward the sun. He could still remember the feeling of stepping onto the property for the first time, hearing Sam whisper in his ear that it was perfect. And it was. A vibrant slice of heaven that he never would have been able to imagine during those countless days in the desert. But he wasn’t cut out for the process it took to make the vineyard run correctly.
The woman waiting to be let into his house knew it better than anyone.
He slid his key into the lock and their gazes met, held, the weight of a tire iron dropping low in his belly. This was what it would have been like, taking her home. Getting his hands on her. They would have shook this fucking town.
“I’m just here for medical intervention,” she said, a suspicious scratch in her voice.
“I’m well aware that’s all you want from me.”
“Good.”
“But you’re looking at my mouth pretty closely for someone who just needs a Band-Aid.” He pushed open the door. “No harm in pointing it out.”
Chapter Four
Natalie expected a mess. Pizza boxes and dirty gym clothes and beer bottles. Maybe a couple of suspicious tissues. But she could have eaten off the floor of August’s little house. It was that clean. Spices were lined up on the kitchen counter in front of a cutting board. The kitchen and living area were connected and the space was small, so a king-sized easy chair was his only piece of furniture, angled toward the television. He’d managed to make the scene inviting with a rug and a basket holding a blanket. It was . . . nice.
Actually, it beat her wineglass graveyard of a guest room by a million miles.
“Disappointed that I don’t have centerfolds taped to my wall?”
“I’m sure they’re hidden in the closets, along with the rats,” she said breezily, watching the cat prance off with an air of superiority toward the rear of the house.
August circled around to look at her face and let out a booming laugh. “Look at you. You’re shocked. You really expected me to live in a frat house, didn’t you?” He entered the bathroom, which was behind the sole door in the short hallway leading to the bedrooms, she guessed. Flipping on the light, he gestured for her to follow him into the tiny room. She started in that direction but paused on the threshold, unsure about being crowded into such a small amount of square footage with a man that large. A man she couldn’t seem to stop being attracted to, despite the fact that he was judgmental and rude and seemed to see the absolute worst in her. “Did you really give yourself stitches in a dust storm twice?”
August paused in the act of rooting through his medicine cabinet. His hand, holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol, dropped to the vanity. “Yeah.”
“Where?”
He turned slightly, propping a hip on the sink. “Why? You want to judge my handiwork before you deem me suitable to fix your royal boo-boo?”