Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
After a moment, she mutters something else and then veers off the path, heading toward the section of vineyard that wraps around the winery instead.
"Where is she going?"
I follow, watching the way she stops periodically to run her hands over the dormant vines, the first inklings of sunlight spilling across her face. She seems deep in thought, like maybe she escaped the house just to clear her mind.
Did she sleep any better than I did last night? Probably not. All I could think about was the way she felt on my fingertips and the look in her eyes when she whimpered my name. I wanted to give her exactly what she wanted and make her come. But…I'm a jealous, possessive asshole. I want to hear her say she's mine so fucking badly I can't stand it.
If denying her gets me what I want, I'm willing to play that game. Just so long as it ends with her admitting the truth. But Christ, I want her coming for me like I've never wanted anything before now.
I should feel bad that Connor caught us in the bathroom together. I don't. His reaction confirmed what Ridley suspects. They aren't really dating. If they were, he wouldn't have just stood there with a stupid look on his face. He would have been throwing elbows and fighting for her. Instead, he said nothing. That's not the behavior of a man in love.
Zoya starts walking again, circling around the back of the winery. And then she pauses to examine one of the old mechanical harvesters that's rusting in the field.
I pace toward her on silent feet, strolling right up behind her. I stop when I'm close enough to smell that cherry scent that makes my balls ache.
"I should have known it was you following me," she mutters without even turning around to look at me.
"Maybe I'm just out for a walk."
"Right," she snorts before pointing at the harvester. "What is this?"
"A mechanical grape harvester."
"What does it do?"
"You drive it over the vines, and it shakes them to separate the grapes from the leaves. The grapes drop into little conveyor buckets along the bottom and then are pulled up from there through the hose and dumped into large collection bins that get pushed along beside it."
"Oh." She cocks her head to the side, examining the machine, before glancing over her shoulder at me. "Doesn't that break the vines?"
"Not if you know what you're doing." I grin. "It saves a helluva lot of time, too."
"You just leave it sitting out during the off-season?"
"We don't use this one any longer. It mostly sits out here for photo ops and school field trips."
"Oh." She shakes her head, her lips quirking into a grin. "I can't believe you actually own a vineyard."
"I own part of a vineyard," I correct. "My mom and her brothers passed it down to all of us, so each of my cousins owns part of it, too."
"How did you go from all of this to rockstar?"
"Accidentally," I admit with a rueful laugh. "I always enjoyed playing, but I never intended to do it professionally. I had a buddy in college who needed a guitarist for a show and roped me into it. Things spiraled from there."
"How do you find time for both?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice as she turns to face me, her arms crossed over her breasts, pushing them up in her t-shirt. "This isn't exactly a small vineyard. You guys have a winery, a restaurant, and a whole wine line."
"There's always time for what's important, princess," I murmur, my gaze burning a hole in her.
She blushes, glancing away from me for a moment before her gaze naturally drifts back. It's like she can't help herself. She may not want to admit it, but she feels the same thing I do. I think it pisses her off a little bit that she feels it, but she feels it.
"This is my last tour."
"Really?" She blinks at me, surprise stamped across her face. "You're giving up the rockstar life?"
"I never wanted the rockstar life. I fell into it. It's not hard to give up something you never intended to keep."
"What about your fans?"
"You mean Nadia's fans."
"No." She shakes her head. "I mean your fans. Half the women who come to her shows are there for you and the band, not for my sister. They're obsessed with you guys."
"They don't know me, Zoya," I say softly. "They show up for the illusion, not the reality."
"Is there a difference?"
I narrow my eyes, pacing toward her. "You know damn well that there is, princess. I play guitar because I enjoy it. I'm not defined by it, as much as people like to think I am. The fame that came with it isn't my reality. This place is reality. It's in my blood. It's my heart. This is where I belong."