Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

August’s smile was brittle. “Can’t wait to never look back.”

“The wine gods are certainly rejoicing this day.”

“You would know, since the wine gods are your parents.”

“Please. They’re not wine gods.” Natalie started to hand the cat into his outstretched arms, but the feline’s claws were dug into the black sweater material of her dress. She tried again. No luck. Menace wasn’t letting go. “Oh! I don’t want to hurt her claws.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “She’s punishing me.”

“She’s showing favoritism to your least favorite person. I’m beginning to think you’re not exaggerating about this cat’s diabolical side.”

Natalie Vos was far from his least favorite person, but he kept that to himself. In fact, up close like this, her smoky floral scent was taking jabs at his brain, making him forget what he ever had against her in the first place. Who could hold a grudge against a woman this beautiful and soft looking, and so much shorter than him that he started to feel like an ogre? At least until she said, “Are you going to help me? Or just stand there with your hairy knuckles on the ground?”

“My apologies, princess. You’re used to people snapping to attention to assist you.”

“Oh shut up, August. Not today.”

Worry snuck in and took hold. “Why? What happened today?”

Before she could answer, a car approached on the road, maneuvering its way around Natalie’s vehicle, which was still idling in the lane headed toward Vos Vineyard. Of course, Menace didn’t hear the approach of the oncoming traffic, so when she caught the unexpected movement from the corner of her eye, she tensed, digging her claws into Natalie’s chest.

Natalie cried out in pain.

August experienced panic the likes of which he hadn’t seen since combat, his throat dropping down into his stomach so he couldn’t swallow.

“Jesus, princess. Okay.” His hands were useless objects, reaching for the cat’s paws and tugging, but somehow making it worse. “I’m a dog person. I don’t know what to do about this.”

“Soothe her.” Natalie gasped when the cat clung harder. “Calm her down.”

“She’s hard of hearing. And petting her is really a mood-based activity. Sometimes she likes it, sometimes she becomes possessed by Satan. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Oh, come on, you’re loving this.”

“I’m not loving this, Natalie.” No longer able to stand the sight of the claws digging into Natalie’s body, he pulled the cat off her, unfortunately tearing her dress in the process—and revealing several bleeding scratches below her collarbone. “Christ.”

She looked down at the injuries and winced. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” He stormed toward her car, seeing the claw marks every time he blinked. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t order me around.”

August ignored that while throwing open the door of Natalie’s car, a growling—yes, growling—Menace wedged beneath one arm. Thanks to the height difference, he was jammed up against the steering wheel until he slid the seat all the way back. He threw the vehicle into drive and pulled it onto the shoulder, trying and failing not to notice the way her scent laced the air. What was in those shopping bags? The contents were wrapped in tissue paper, meaning her purchases had to be fancy. Of course they were.

So why was her car the most basic of rentals?

Couldn’t she afford a Mercedes or something equally high-end?

Telling himself to mind his own business and focus on the task at hand, August removed the keys from the ignition, took one last whiff of the air, and climbed out.

“What are you doing?” Natalie demanded to know, her arms crossed over her ripped dress. “I need to get home.”

“Not until I put something on those wounds.” He walked past her with the hissing feline. “Let’s go.”

“No way. Give me my keys back.”

“Not happening.”

“You expect me to go through the woods and into your home with you? Alone with a man who would have nominated me for the Salem witch trials in a heartbeat?”

That drew August up short. Frowning, he turned to face Natalie where she still hesitated at the top of the path. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

She didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t seem to know the answer.

Whatever vitriol lay between them, August was not okay with that indecision. “Natalie, the sight of those scratches on you is absolutely killing me. I’d just as soon put a mark on you myself than I would pursue a ballet career.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She blinked several times and flounced forward, moving past him on the path. “I didn’t know cat people were so dramatic,” she muttered.

“Only when their integrity is in question,” he countered, following her.

“Sorry. I’ll stick to questioning your intelligence.”

“Thank you.”

Her shoulders shook a little bit. With laughter? Why now, when he couldn’t even see her face? “My only hope is that you are better at repairing wounds than you are at making wine.”

“Considering I’ve given myself stitches in a dust storm without painkillers—twice—I’d say I’m up for patching your kitty cat scratches.”

It wasn’t that he was satisfied when her step faltered, it was that . . . well, he was sick and tired of this woman seeing him as incapable and hapless because he didn’t know how to ferment some fucking grapes. Was it important at this stage for Natalie to perceive him as capable? No. He was on the verge of leaving. And yet he couldn’t help wanting that approval from her. More than he had a right to.

They walked in silence to the house. It was a small, California-style two-bedroom with a red tile roof and beige stucco exterior. His temporary home sat on the edge of the property, two barns in the near distance. One he’d been using for poorly attended tastings, the other for production and barrel storage. Spread out on all sides were rows of fragrant grapes stretching up toward the sun. He could still remember the feeling of stepping onto the property for the first time, hearing Sam whisper in his ear that it was perfect. And it was. A vibrant slice of heaven that he never would have been able to imagine during those countless days in the desert. But he wasn’t cut out for the process it took to make the vineyard run correctly.

The woman waiting to be let into his house knew it better than anyone.

He slid his key into the lock and their gazes met, held, the weight of a tire iron dropping low in his belly. This was what it would have been like, taking her home. Getting his hands on her. They would have shook this fucking town.

“I’m just here for medical intervention,” she said, a suspicious scratch in her voice.

“I’m well aware that’s all you want from me.”

“Good.”

“But you’re looking at my mouth pretty closely for someone who just needs a Band-Aid.” He pushed open the door. “No harm in pointing it out.”





Chapter Four




Natalie expected a mess. Pizza boxes and dirty gym clothes and beer bottles. Maybe a couple of suspicious tissues. But she could have eaten off the floor of August’s little house. It was that clean. Spices were lined up on the kitchen counter in front of a cutting board. The kitchen and living area were connected and the space was small, so a king-sized easy chair was his only piece of furniture, angled toward the television. He’d managed to make the scene inviting with a rug and a basket holding a blanket. It was . . . nice.

Actually, it beat her wineglass graveyard of a guest room by a million miles.

“Disappointed that I don’t have centerfolds taped to my wall?”

“I’m sure they’re hidden in the closets, along with the rats,” she said breezily, watching the cat prance off with an air of superiority toward the rear of the house.

August circled around to look at her face and let out a booming laugh. “Look at you. You’re shocked. You really expected me to live in a frat house, didn’t you?” He entered the bathroom, which was behind the sole door in the short hallway leading to the bedrooms, she guessed. Flipping on the light, he gestured for her to follow him into the tiny room. She started in that direction but paused on the threshold, unsure about being crowded into such a small amount of square footage with a man that large. A man she couldn’t seem to stop being attracted to, despite the fact that he was judgmental and rude and seemed to see the absolute worst in her. “Did you really give yourself stitches in a dust storm twice?”

August paused in the act of rooting through his medicine cabinet. His hand, holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol, dropped to the vanity. “Yeah.”

“Where?”

He turned slightly, propping a hip on the sink. “Why? You want to judge my handiwork before you deem me suitable to fix your royal boo-boo?”

No. She was trying to delay the moment when they would be standing close enough to touch, because he scrambled her brain to the point where she started to debate the merits of sleeping with him even after over a month of insults and teasing. “It’s a good practice to ask for credentials.”

“Even if those credentials are high on my inner thigh?”