Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

“Really?” She laughed. But her throat was suddenly so tight, the word emerged a little choked. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” Her future husband watched her closely. Like he could see everything going on in her head and it fascinated him. Probably squirreling information away for later so he could pull it out and use it during their next argument, which, at best, would likely take place in the next five minutes. “He cares about you, Natalie. Your mom cares about you, too. But it’s like you’re all trying to keep your love a secret. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” she said, half defensive, half . . . honest. She didn’t know. “Did your family go around making big professions of love all the time?”

“Not exactly. Not all the time. But it was said. In birthday cards. Or when my mother had too much to drink on New Year’s and got sappy and started sharing memories.” He accepted his beer from the waitress and took a long gulp, staring at an invisible spot over her shoulder. “But I think my parents put more importance on telling me they were proud of me. I worked a summer job so I could afford a beat-up Honda Accord. When I signed the paperwork, my parents said they were proud of me. When I joined the navy, they were proud. Looking back, I think maybe that was more their way of saying ‘I love you’ than the actual words.”

It unnerved Natalie how much she wanted him to continue talking about his family. But wanting to know the background of the person she was fake marrying was healthy and normal, right? “Which is more important to you? Love or pride?”

He studied her face. “You answer first.”

Was it crazy to be having this deep conversation in the middle of a loud bar? Probably. For some reason it didn’t feel strange, though. There were no formalities with this man. Just jumping in with both feet and being pulled along in the current. “I guess . . . pride is more important to me. Pride is something that can be kept. Love is too often squandered when you give it away. People might be careless with your love, but they can’t touch your pride. Or put it on their shelf like a trophy. It’s yours.”

Something about his demeanor changed. Sort of a swelling of his shoulders and lifting of his chest, as if he was preparing for a fight. On her behalf? “Your ex was careless with you.”

Not a question, a statement.

Flustered by her willingness to share so recklessly with this man, she reached for her drink and stared into its depths. She took a sip, cooling her throat, feeling his rapt attention on her the whole time. “Your turn. Love or pride?”

“Love,” he answered without hesitation.

Why did something inside her bloom like a rose over his answer? “Really?” Her voice was more uneven than a middle schooler’s. “You just told me that whole story about Honda Accords and your family valuing pride.”

“I know.” He appeared thoughtful. “But love seems more important now.”

Don’t ask why. “Why?”

“Because I can tell you don’t believe in it. And I want you to.”

She definitely shouldn’t ask why to that question. Or try to read between the lines for something that wasn’t there. “That’s very generous of you,” she said quickly, feeling a rare ramble coming on and too flustered to avoid it. “I mean, the two are very closely related at the end of the day, right? Love means letting go of your pride, after all.”

He looked at her as if she’d just said something really smart. “Holy shit. Does it?”

“I don’t know, August. I’m not an expert.” He continued to stare at her. For so long that she started to fidget. “What?”

“I want to know exactly what happened in New York.”

Natalie shook her head. “No.”

“Who is up for some axe throwing?” Hallie sang, coming along beside them, face flushed, a very cocky looking Julian sauntering up behind her. “We can do teams. Couple versus couple.”

“Screw that.” Natalie set down her drink and hauled Hallie against her side. “Men versus women.”

A smile threatened the corners of August’s mouth. “Who am I to object?”

“Battle of the sexes.” Hallie flexed a biceps. “Let’s do this.”

Julian and Hallie left to secure their foursome a lane, leaving August and Natalie sizing each other up in the middle of the growing crowd. “Care to make it interesting?” he asked. “Not that I haven’t already won just getting to watch you throw an axe in that short-ass dress.”

“I’m going to get you sexual harassment training as a wedding gift.”

His expression brightened. “Are we getting each other gifts?”

Natalie opened her mouth with the intention of calling him a bonehead—again—but the group to her back surged forward without warning and she stumbled, pitching forward. August moved like lightning, catching her around the waist with his free left arm, spilling not a single drop of his beer in the process. She successfully avoided falling, but her nose buried itself in the middle of his chest, smack dab between his pecs, and the smell of grapefruit soap and shaving cream momentarily made her brain fuzzy. And it grew fuzzier still when he pulled her closer. Protectively. Giving the people behind her a dark look. “Okay, princess?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She inhaled—discreetly—a final time.

Or maybe not so discreetly, because his lips twitched.

Finally, she managed to pull back, smoothing the front of her dress, wincing at the breathlessness in her tone when she said, “You were saying something about a wager?”





Chapter Eleven




It is a universal truth that people don’t make the best decisions while drinking alcohol. In fact, people came to places like this with the express intention of making questionable decisions. To stop being responsible for a while and let fate stir the pot. Case in point, axe throwing in a bar. As a man who’d undergone extensive weapons training and knew how shit could go wrong in the blink of an eye, he wanted to carry Natalie out of there over his shoulder. The fact that she was anywhere near several blades was unsettling him to a degree that couldn’t be ignored.

The increasing protectiveness he felt for his fiancé told August . . .

This wasn’t temporary.

They weren’t.

Sorry, princess. Sucks to be you.

This woman standing in front of him was his destiny. Part of him had known it the night they met, when she’d made him laugh and made him horny in the same breath. Jesus, she looked beautiful tonight with all that dark, smudgy makeup around her eyes and her hair . . . it kind of looked like sex hair. Like she’d been rolling around in the sheets. Was that intentional? Fuck. He would give up watching baseball for a decade to sink a fist into it right now. Move her head right to left, tug it back so he could get a look at that mouth up close.

Don’t get me started on her legs.

If someone brandished an axe within ten yards of those pins, he’d throw them out of this place through the plate glass window. And her face. Man, he loved looking at those kaleidoscopic features as they brightened and dimmed and shifted. They were the reason he’d gotten severely off track.

Bottom line, he knew in his bones that in fifty years, he’d still want to look at her face.

Pretty sure he’d be starved for the opportunity.

He was protective by nature—and by trade—but the way he felt about Natalie’s safety was on a whole other level. It wasn’t just her physical safety he seemed to worry about at all times, it was the safety of her feelings. Her heart. I’m responsible. But just like any operation, he needed to get in there and find out what he was dealing with. He needed intel.

That was where their path from temporary to permanent needed to start.

And if Natalie knew he’d taken the loan from his CO and was marrying her purely because he wanted her to achieve her goals—and fine, because he couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again—she’d stab him to death.

So he’d just leave that a secret for now. At least until she stopped hating him.

Love means letting go of your pride, after all.

Those words circled around and around his head. Was he ready to stop trying to win their ongoing battle of wills? Maybe not completely. Totally letting his guard down around Natalie might lead to his balls being amputated. He could damn well begin making inroads, though.

“August.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Battle of the sexes. The wager.”

“Wager. Right.”

If the men win, you agree to grow old with me.

Too much.

“If the men win, you tell me what happened in New York.”

Also too much, but his big trap had already released the challenge—and damn, he really did want to know what had driven her back to Napa. If he was being forced to pry the information out of her, it couldn’t be good.

Natalie’s expression had grown shuttered on the heels of his throwing down the gauntlet, but almost immediately, she straightened her shoulders and pinned him with a look. “Fine. And if I win, you have to let me help you with your wine production.”