Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

A sound left him. “You must really want that trust fund.”

“I want a new start.” Momentarily, she let herself be vulnerable. Maybe because she was already halfway there after making the proposal to August. Or maybe she’d already been sawed open after humbling herself this morning to Corinne. Whatever the reason, she spoke without censure. “I need a new start. I can’t just stay here, living in the shadow of my family. My brother. I might as well still be that seventeen-year-old screwup that everyone just . . . tolerates. I’m better elsewhere. I’m something. I’m someone when I’m not here.”

The sound of his hard swallow reached her through the cool night air.

Damn. Too much.

She’d given him the motherload of ammunition—and since he was obviously not into the idea, she needed to get out of there before he could use it.

“Good luck, August,” she said, backing away and eventually turning, picking up her pace. “It would have been fun making your life hell.”

“Natalie.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t want this man, of all people, to let her down gently. Her pride was all but dismantled, but she could hold on to a scrap. Speed walking down the pathway back to the guest house, however, she wondered how much longer she could maintain her grip.





Chapter Five




August adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror of his truck, grimacing at the sound of a marching band butchering “America the Beautiful.” Across the street, the parking lot of the train station had been transformed by two high-ceilinged tents, royal blue carpet laid down over the asphalt. Waiters in tuxedos carried around trays holding glasses of red wine, others ferried hors d’oeuvres among guests dressed to the nines.

Unbelievable. All of these people had gathered to celebrate a train that served wine. Technically, any train in the world could serve wine, but these snoots in suits looked for any excuse to rub elbows in their loafers and comment on the orange-peel aftertaste of their drink. He’d been looking forward to never hearing the word “bouquet” ever again in his fucking life, but here he was. About to join this stuffed-shirt soiree in his monkey suit.

All because of a woman.

Not just any woman, though. Natalie Vos.

Jesus Christ. I must be out of my mind.

He’d been worrying about the state of his sanity since last night. She’d walked away and he’d gotten in his truck without starting the engine. And then he’d sat there for an hour. Two. With a curse that was vile even by navy standards, he’d started the truck and gone back to the vineyard he’d never expected to lay eyes on again. He’d planned to conduct the sale with a real estate agent virtually while he spent some time back in Kansas near his parents and regrouped.

He’d made his peace with the fact that he’d never make wine decent enough to honor the memory of Sam. He’d been good with the truth—that he’d given this town his best damn shot and grapes simply weren’t his area of expertise. All efforts to be successful were exhausted. He’d left nothing on the battlefield.

Until last night, when Natalie slid a new opportunity across the table.

Now? August could no longer walk away secure in the knowledge that he’d done everything in his power to bring Sam’s dream to life. There was one more try available—so he had to take it or guilt and loose ends would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And the woman. She would haunt him, too.

Natalie needed something—her trust fund. He could help give it to her.

August liked to think he would help any woman who was up against some ancient bullshit contract designed to force her into marriage, but deep down he knew it was just this one. Natalie. Damn it to hell, what was it about her? Every time they were together, a needle sewed itself in and out of his gut. His palms sweat. His dick pleaded with him to be nicer so it might have a chance of seeing the light of day at some point. Or, better yet, the dark of her bedroom. They fought like they hated each other, but somehow, Lord, he’d been ready to drop to his knees in front of her on that sidewalk last night.

I’m better elsewhere. I’m something. I’m someone when I’m not here.

After the shock of hearing that breathy confession had worn off, he’d just gotten mad.

Who the fuck made her feel like that?

How long had she been feeling like crap without his knowing about it?

That second concern happened to be ridiculous, by the way. There were probably endless things he didn’t know about Natalie Vos. Their relationship didn’t exactly lend itself to a lot of quiet heart-to-hearts in front of a fire. Still, he should have known about her insecurity. That she was better off gone. He should have picked up on it. He should have shut his stupid mouth and paid better attention.

As she’d made abundantly clear, it was too late for August to romance her in any way. Attraction might be an undeniable crackle between them, but she wouldn’t touch him with industrial rubber gloves, let alone her bare hands. Still, he couldn’t walk away from Natalie if she needed him. Not when she’d sucked it up and asked for assistance when it clearly had been very difficult to set aside her pride. No, he’d dwell on it forever.

So he crossed the stupid street in his hot, restrictive suit with his molars grinding together, scanning the crowd for the black-haired goddess he would never get to sleep with but would apparently be marrying, because he’d lost his fucking mind. It was so hot under the tent that he immediately started to sweat. Why did these people insist on gathering to celebrate fermented grape juice? Had none of them heard of baseball? Now that was a reason to gather outside in the sun—

Natalie.

Up ahead.

Hot. Damn. As usual, when August laid eyes on the woman, he had to squeeze his thumbs hard in the palms of his hands. She had these incredibly smart eyes and a soft mouth. He’d never felt the need to categorize another woman’s features before. He sort of stopped at registering the color of someone’s eyes and hair. Brown. Blue. Blond. Green.

Easy.

There was nothing easy about looking at Natalie. All sorts of shit was happening on her features at once and for some reason, he wanted to keep up with all of it. Sometimes she might look bored, but she’d rub her lips together over and over, letting him know she was actually anxious and hiding it. Other times, two little lines formed between her eyebrows like she might be concerned about something, but she’d hoist her chin up in the air like she didn’t have a care in the world. Bottom line, Natalie wasn’t a simple combination of colors, she was an ever-changing kaleidoscope he couldn’t seem to stop peering into.

Although today the color purple was front and center, because in a sea of muted colors, her short lilac dress stood out. Cut high around her throat with a low back and a soft, fluttery skirt. Those long, lithe legs had his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down against the starched collar of his shirt. He could see them all tangled up in his sheets. Could see them bending, locking, being pressed open onto the mattress by his hands.

Those images would never become a reality, and yet he’d love someone to try to stop him from fake marrying this kaleidoscopic woman.

On his way across the tent, he finally noticed Natalie was standing with her mother, her brother, Julian, and the blonde whom August assumed was Julian’s girlfriend. They were speaking in low tones over glasses of wine, seemingly unaware that, as the legendary Vos family, they were of interest to every guest in the tent. Classy, sophisticated. A quiet dynasty that had perhaps seen better days but remained legendary.

Maybe it would be fun to mess that image up for a while.

Fun or not, this was happening.

Because if Natalie was desperate enough to ask August to marry her, then she would eventually find someone else—and the very idea of that made his head want to explode. Maybe that ugly thought bubble was what spurred him into acting rash. She’d suggested they have a civilized conversation about their potential marriage while in neutral territory, right? Unfortunately, there was nothing civilized about August and it was going to be fun reminding her. Catching her off guard.

When August was approximately ten yards away, Natalie’s wineglass paused halfway to her mouth, her attention swiveling in his direction. She blinked back surprise and shifted in her white high heels, started to sip her wine, stopped, then glared at him. He would have laughed if he wasn’t about to finally, finally kiss her again.

“Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late,” August said smoothly, cupping her cheek and drawing her in, as though kissing her were second nature. As if he’d made a practice of it, when in reality, her smoke-and-flowers scent had his tongue seconds from rolling out of his mouth. He let himself feel the distinct pleasure of watching her golden eyes widen in shock—and then he couldn’t feel anything at all but relief. Yeah, relief. There was her mouth.

Perfect as ever. Touching his. Jolting, then softening.