Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

Yes. Was this jealousy? She couldn’t remember. Hadn’t felt it since high school. Not about anything that wasn’t job related, at least. “I’m not admitting that out loud.”

“The murder in your eyes did it for you.” With their breathing shallow and steam clouding every corner of the shower stall, bodies glossy with condensation, August added a third finger. He swallowed her moan with a kiss, working high, higher, until he found this . . . this place that she was positive had never been so sensitive, and he toyed with it using the pads of his blunt fingers. And oh no, oh no. The palm of his hand pressed down on her clit, tighter, tighter, until her butt was flattened against the shower wall. “I can’t even fucking remember what it’s like to want anything but this pussy, princess. Yours. I don’t look right or left. No exceptions. Got that?”

That sounded dangerously close to a vow of faithfulness—and she really shouldn’t have been relieved or gratified to hear it. Not in this setting. Alone in his shower, where they were the only ones to witness it. That made the exchange real. Not a farce. Furthermore, she shouldn’t be lifting up onto her toes and sealing their mouths together, kissing him as if to reward him, those fingers simulating sex between her thighs. Picking up the pace along with their kiss until she could no longer concentrate on both and her head fell back on her shoulders, a gasp of his name tripping over her lips as the orgasm crested—

“August, Jesus. Yes. Yes.”

“Good girl. I’ve got you.”

Got her? Right. Because her knees had buckled, as predicted, and she didn’t even have the room to be miffed or embarrassed about the bracing left arm he’d circled around her back to keep her upright. She was too busy shaking through the most intense orgasm in recent memory. And he knew how to get her through it. Knew to stop advancing and hold firm, wedging his right palm tight to her pulsing flesh and twisting, groaning against her mouth like a satisfied beast as if he were the one getting relief instead of Natalie.

So hot. His being so turned on by her pleasure was so stupidly hot.

And unexpected.

This whole encounter—and August himself—was turning out to be unexpected.

As soon as Natalie’s climax started to cool, her open mouth on his shoulder became scarily intimate. The lazy coasting of his lips over her temple and into her hair was decidedly . . . affectionate?

Whoa. What had just taken place here? Getting physical with August was not part of the plan. They were supposed to be in a fake relationship.

But their wet, tangled limbs felt the furthest thing from fake.

They were getting married so she could secure her trust fund. So he could get a bank loan and put it toward a second attempt to run this fledgling winery. They were doing this for money. What did it mean if they sealed their union while in an actual relationship? Did that make the marriage real? Legitimate?

A true love match between her and August Cates.

That was the most insane possibility she’d ever heard.

For one, she had to get back to New York. Her life was on pause until she picked up the broken pieces of what she’d built. Two, they would end up murdering each other.

And three, she was fresh from being booted by her fiancé without warning, literally left out on the curb like yesterday’s trash. The idea of opening herself up to this man as a follow-up? This man who made a sport out of pinpointing her flaws? No. She might as well hand him her diary and a megaphone.

All right, they were physically attracted to each other. No tiptoeing around that fact.

She’d gotten it out of her system, right?

Yes . . .

Yes.

Totally.

Unfortunately, August was still hard against her belly, his mouth moving dangerously close to hers again. His eyes clouded with need. If he kissed her, she’d sink down again and forget the commonsense pep talk she’d just given herself. There could be no having a crush on her phony husband. That would only lead to entanglements. Ones that could potentially keep her in St. Helena, where she would never, ever feel like more than an inept and unwanted teenager.

She needed to get the lust out of August’s system, too, though, didn’t she?

Otherwise the itch scratching would be one-sided. The rebound would be left . . . unbound.

He’d have something to hold over her.

Going up on her toes, she slanted their mouths together, her fingertips skating down his stomach—and once again, he trapped her wrist at the very last second. “You don’t have as much of a poker face as you think you do,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’d rather leave my cock hard than let you stroke it just to return the favor.”

A finger of panic swept through her middle. Partly because this man seriously didn’t let her get away with anything, which made her feel naked in more ways than one. And partly because . . . there was a genuine urgency inside her to give him the same pleasure he’d provided for her. “Isn’t returning favors how sex works?”

He shook his head. “That’s not how it’s going to work with us.”

“Us?” That panic was going off like fireworks now. She’d really muddied the waters here. Especially considering that traitorous little pop of satisfaction she got over the word “us.” You need to stop. “This is a marriage in name only, my dude.”

August visibly judged her steadiness before removing his arm from around her waist, slapping that newly freed hand onto the tile above her head. “Guess you weren’t thinking about that when you climbed into my shower in nothing but panties.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

Dripping wet, hair stuck to the side of her face, Natalie propelled herself out from behind the curtain and started snatching clothes up off the floor.

“Hold up. Can we rewind a second?” August said behind her, cursing under his breath. “I’m not good at arguing while my dick is in eggplant form. By the way, this was never a problem until I met you. My whole fucking system is out of whack.” He whipped a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist, then raked frustrated hands through his hair. “I just . . . Look. I’m a little touchy about . . . pity. Being pitied over Sam dying. You know? I have a hard time accepting it from anyone. But especially you.”

Natalie paused in the act of fastening her bra. “Why especially me?”

“I don’t know. I grew up working for everything I had. I was taught to be proud of making ends meet. Grinding. The affluent Napa crowd looks down on that.”

“And I’m a great big representation of this place to you.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “Shit. I need to shut up until there is some blood back in my fucking head. I just keep making this worse.”

“You think I can’t grind? You think I can’t work hard?” Stop, girl. She really needed to quit talking. She had a goal and was working on securing the means to achieve that goal. There was no room for side trips or rabbit holes. Still, she’d had it up to her eyeballs in implications from this man that she was a pampered princess who didn’t know the value of a day’s work. Especially right on the heels of that phone call with Dalton. “I could turn Zelnick Cellar into an operational winery with a decent vintage with one hand tied behind my back.”

His muscles stiffened. “Look, the loan is one thing. But the hands-on stuff? That’s mine. For Sam. I didn’t ask for your help making his wine.” Then he added quietly, almost contritely, “Please. Just stay out of the barn. Okay?”

Out of everything they argued about, why did his rejecting her aid seem to hit the bull’s-eye?

“I need to be an official employee at Zelnick Cellar to fulfill the other condition of my trust fund,” she reminded him, trying to keep the sting of his denial out of her voice. “And employing me, having my name tied to your wine, helps get you a loan. I don’t like being a member of this dysfunctional team any more than you do, but let’s not go through this for nothing. Use my knowledge as well.” She gave him a meaningful look, yet she knew he probably wouldn’t understand the importance of her being allowed to help. “I won’t ask again, August. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Sure about that? You’ve called me a dumbass at least ninety-four times.”

Yup. Her words had gone in one ear and out the other.

“There are exceptions to every rule.”

“Good. Especially if there is a rule against kissing my fake wife.”

“As it happens, there is.”

His jaw flexed. “Can’t wait to break it.”

“I’ll break your ugly nose before that happens,” she snorted, stepping out of the bathroom into the hallway, sandals cradled to her chest.

“Wait. I thought we were going to talk about wedding stuff,” August boomed, following behind her, his giant, wet feet slapping on the floorboards. “What time are we meeting at the courthouse on Saturday?”

“We’re not.”