Chloe Blake - A Taste Of Desire

Exasperated, she opened the back of the car and rummaged through her tote bag for her flip-flops, but found only her blazer and wallet. She’d really misjudged this little adventure. Shoving her keys and phone in her bag, she slung it over her shoulder, stepped carefully around the other side of the car and squeezed herself through an opening between two large palm trees.

Nicole definitely wasn’t in New York anymore. Dead leaves rustled, something chirped overhead and the trees seemed to bend toward her. She freaked, moving forward as fast as she could, following a natural path, dodging twigs coming at her head and swatting at leaves that scraped her arms. She stumbled forward into a clearing, caught herself and then squinted up at her surroundings. She recognized the skeletal remnants of the winery instantly.

She held up the black-and-white picture, locating the main house, and studied the photo before dropping her arm. The fire had taken half of the front building. Rooms were roofless and exposed. She noticed the other vine-covered buildings that were spread out farther back—burned, crumbling and neglected. Behind them in the far distance were rows upon rows of gnarled and broken grapevines. The massive trees in the picture, now decayed chunks in the ground, must have been how the flames traveled from one building to the next.

During her summer in France, she’d enjoyed waking early to help with the harvest, walking between the vines, breaking for a four-course lunch feast with her host family. Love and laughter were served with the pinot noir. This place hadn’t seen that in a long time. It was desolate, scarily so.

She snapped some pictures on her phone, noticing in one the dark sky in the corner. Tipping her head back, she saw clouds race by—some dark and thick, others white as cotton balls—but the sun seemed to scare them away. The surrounding trees swayed hard, then stopped. The air smelled like fall leaves. It was a bluebird day, hot as hell, though. She swore the humidity was getting thicker.

She took in the seclusion of the plantation—a great selling point. Again, the trees rustled and a loud thud startled her, as if something heavy had fallen, and it occurred to her that she was in a foreign country, in the wilderness, alone. She listened carefully for people or, God forbid, animals. Being a city kid, she was tough, but wild things were not her forte.

She turned to go back to the car, suddenly aware of a large shadow rising overhead. Thunder cracked, and the darkened sky flashed with lightning. A droplet, followed by a few more, fell on Nicole’s head and shoulders. She lunged forward to find her path back to the car, catching her heel in the already-soft ground. The sky became darker still, and the clouds unleashed. Her ears filled with the rush of the water within the surrounding trees, and rain pelted her eyes. She again tried to move forward, but her exit path had disappeared in the downpour.

A dog barked from not too far away. Through the rain, she could see its black-and-caramel form standing alert inside the open doorway of a small shack. A shack with a roof!

She wanted to run there, but what if the dog wasn’t friendly? Or had rabies? The dog barked again and took off into the rain. She rushed forward toward the open door, her heels sliding all over the place, but she pushed on. Breathless and soaked, she felt the cool air on her skin as she made it inside the shadowed doorway. She swiped at her eyes, blinking rapidly, and ran straight into a body.

The scream she let out could only be described as bloodcurdling. She shoved her back against the wall and focused on a dark silhouette across from her. The figure moved into a shaft of light.

Her breath caught when she recognized Destin’s concerned blue eyes.

“Destin! Oh, my God, you scared me.”

“Nicole! What the...are you all right? That fallen branch didn’t get a piece of you, did it?” His voice sounded melodic over the pounding of the rain, and it took her a second to register that he had asked her a question.

“I—I don’t think so.” She didn’t even know one had fallen near her.

“May I?” Without hesitating, he stepped closer, his head bent toward hers, and ran light fingers from her neck over her shoulder, carefully scanning for nicks and scrapes. She shivered, but it wasn’t from cold.

She watched his every movement, silently noting his perfectly straight nose and full lips. Michelangelo himself could have carved his cheekbones. His gaze stopped at the V of her soaked white shirt. He looked up and quickly stepped back.

“I don’t think you’re injured!” he shouted as the rain increased.

She slumped against the wall and tried to steady her breathing. Her lungs felt heavy with moist air. “What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to France.”

The thunder crack was deafening, and lightning streaked the sky. Destin shook his head. “Not in this weather. I came to make sure the drains were open—if not, the cellar could flood. What are you doing here?”

“I’m meeting Elliot.”

Destin shook his head rapidly. “I spoke to my brother this morning. He was going to call you to cancel.”

Nicole lifted her phone. Sure enough, a voicemail symbol popped up.

“I’ll leave. Just let me catch my breath. My heart is racing. It’s so humid,” she said, pulling at her shirt, wincing when she saw one of her buttons pop off and hit the ground. Quickly she pinched her shirt over her cleavage. When she looked up, Destin’s gaze darted away. He cleared his throat.

“You can’t drive in this, Nicole. You don’t know these roads.”

Just then, a streak of wet fur came bursting into the doorway, and the dog shook water all over them both. Nicole jumped and let a loud shriek. On shaky legs, she stepped away and heard an audible snap. Just as her heel gave way and her body lurched toward the floor, she was suddenly airborne and hoisted into strong arms.

“Whoa,” Destin said, his lips inches from hers. “I got you.”

Chapter 5

“Welcome to the wine cellar,” he gritted out, quickly descending the stairs with her cradled in his arms. “Let’s take a look at that ankle.” Destin gently set her down on a bench next to a long sturdy table, slipped off her shoe and bent over her already swollen ankle. Her gaze darted around the disorganized room, then landed on her savior—in a black long-sleeved Henley with the top three buttons undone, a light smattering of dark chest hair peeking out, cargo pants and hard-worn boots. His damp hair curled and spiked around his ears. She itched to smooth it down.

He pushed up his sleeves, and she watched his forearm muscles flex. She wondered if he worked out, then mentally shook her head. Those weren’t gym-honed muscles. He was a vintner. A farmer. Working shirtless in the sun. Doing manly stuff like lifting barrels and digging ditches. At least, he used to.

She got a little overwhelmed at how very male he looked squatting in front of her. Then he touched her, his large hands gentle as he ran his thumb around the swelling, testing and pushing at the tender skin.

Any pain was overshadowed by the rush of heat that suddenly strained between her legs. The unexpected sensations had her lifting her foot away slightly. He raised his head but kept hold and lifted his other palm to her calf for support.

“Does this hurt?” His brows were high with worry.

What could she say? No, but could you please run your hands all over my body?

“No, but—” She hissed. “Oww,” she said when Destin bent her ankle inward. She wiggled her toes, testing that it wasn’t broken. And became more and more embarrassed that he was staring at her foot so intently. Thank God her pedicure was still intact.

“Just a sprain, I think,” he said, lowering her foot to the floor. Carefully, he placed her shoe back on and she winced, but not from pain—the heel of her shoe had completely broken off.