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)
She took in that information with a deep breath and nodded. Wet her lips. “Okay. That works, too.”
His heart pounded, his arms aching to wrap around her. There was definitely still some new distance between them that he disliked immensely, but their connection was stronger than when she’d opened the door. Right?
He had to test that theory. Or he wouldn’t relax for a single second. He’d be in turmoil.
Propping his forearm on the door, he leaned down very slowly, bringing his mouth within an inch of hers. Turning his head slightly, he nuzzled her nose, brushing their lips together in a way that made them both breathe faster.
“Don’t go to New York, princess.”
Natalie turned her head and their mouths slanted hard over each other, lips opening and seeking, tongues delving. Just once. And then she pulled away, leaving his body hard and his breath coming in harsh pants.
“See you in the real morning, August.”
The door slammed. Again. And he couldn’t help but worry that an emotional one had been locked between them, too.
Chapter Seventeen
Natalie woke up for the second time that day, but now it was midafternoon and she was gritty-eyed and disoriented. Her argument with August in the wee hours of the morning felt like a dream, but the queasiness in her stomach told her no, it had definitely happened. She’d attempted to people before coffee, before her brain fully woke up—and she’d acted like a bozo.
Had she really stormed off in a sheet because he wouldn’t initially explain his phone call? Dear God. This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement. She’d been the one to propose it. And on day one, she’d acted like some kind of jealous lover.
Furthermore, she’d slept in his bed.
As far from a business agreement as one could get.
Nervous energy—and a dire need for distraction—forced Natalie out of the comfortable mess of sheets where she’d fallen asleep around six a.m. Slowly, she creaked open the guest bedroom door and peered out, finding Menace staring back at her curiously from the middle of the kitchen table. But no August. Thank God. She needed to thoroughly wake up and get ahold of her long-lost faculties before coming face-to-face with her husband again.
Retreating back into the bedroom for clothes and her toiletries bag, she closed herself in their shared bathroom a moment later, sighing as the heavy aroma of grapefruit snuck up and ambushed her. Memories rushed in from the last time she stood in this shower, getting pleasure from August. Scenes, naked ones, bombarded her, making her movements clumsy as she twisted the handle, setting the water temperature to scalding.
She went through the motions of showering—only allowing herself one or two itty-bitty sniffs of August’s homemade soap—while contemplating her new role as a fake wife and employee of Zelnick Cellar. Her title didn’t have to be in name alone. She could help this place run successfully. At the very least, she had a whole month to give August a running start.
Natalie turned off the shower, climbed out, and got dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose, long-sleeved shirt. She went back to her room, dried her hair, and left the house with a purpose: find a way to help. She should just stay locked in the guest room and pray for her trust fund to promptly arrive in her bank account. But she’d spent so much time laughing off August’s attempts at winemaking when the cause was a good one. A worthy one.
And maybe she wanted to be a part of it somehow.
Maybe his happiness meant a little something to her.
Natalie stopped in the entrance to the production barn when she saw August standing before the row of barrels, stirring the settled yeast. The temperature in the barn was slightly warm for this time of year and there was every chance it was affecting his process. Granted, he didn’t have the budget for a more advanced facility, but they could certainly find a way to cool down the barrels by a few degrees. Had he tested the nitrogen content of the grapes?
August turned suddenly, his expression going from surprised to slightly guarded. “Sorry, what was that?”
Voicing her private thoughts out loud without being aware of it was a fun new habit. “I was just wondering if you’d tested the nitrogen content. Of the grapes.”
She wanted to go closer. Wanted to peer into the barrels herself and sort through the tools on the nearby table, just to see what he was working with, but August’s stiff shoulder muscles cast an invisible barrier. Or maybe she was imagining that?
Sure, he’d asked her to stay out of the barn. But that was prewedding and they’d been in the midst of an argument. Had his request been serious?
“Um . . .” She squared her shoulders and tried again. “How soon after the first racking did you remove the layer of gross lees?”