Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

“Both of them?”

“One of them.” He turned away and hoisted up his T-shirt, baring a profusely muscled back, devoid of ink, unlike his arms, one of which proudly bore the navy insignia. Not that she would have noticed a tattoo when his right shoulder was split in half by a puckered, painful-looking scar. “Here’s the other. Not my best work, but I didn’t have a mirror at the time.”

“Yes.” She tried to swallow. Couldn’t. God, he was a human bulldozer. She’d have to hold on for dear life in bed with him. Sounded terrible. Just awful. “Best for you to stay away from mirrors.”

He dropped his shirt with a snort. “Don’t act like you weren’t ready to climb me like a ladder, princess.”

No lies detected. That was then, however. This was now. “Shame you had to open your mouth, isn’t it?”

August dragged his tongue along his full bottom lip. “You would have loved my mouth.”

Her skin was the temperature of the sun. “Can we get this over with or are you hoping I bleed to death?”

In the space of a heartbeat, his expression went from arrogant to concerned. “Sorry. Come here.”

The apology caught her off guard. So much so that she kind of lurched into the bathroom, too stunned to do anything but release the ripped edges of her dress and watch him apply rubbing alcohol to a cotton ball, trying not to notice his fresh, fruity scent while he did so. “Why do you smell like grapefruit?”

“It’s this handmade soap I use,” he said absently, brow furrowed while he dabbed at her claw marks, his slow, warm breath stirring her hairline. “The one and only person who ever liked my wine is too broke to buy it, so she trades me soap for a bottle here and there.”

“How did she lose her sense of taste? Hot sauce accident?”

“Funny.”

“Who is she?” The question was out before she could wrangle it back in her throat. She sounded like a jealous girlfriend, kind of like August had earlier when she’d lied about being on her way to a date. Good thing this man was leaving town, because their dynamic grew more confusing by the day. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“No. It’s not,” he drawled, ripping open the wrappers of two Band-Aids at once. “But I’m going to tell you anyway, so you don’t snap off the countertop.”

Natalie’s gaze flew down to where her hands were death-gripping the ledge of the vanity, releasing the white marble as quickly as possible. “The rubbing alcohol stung.”

“Uh-huh.” Bottom lip fixed between his teeth to trap an obvious laugh, he laid the first Band-Aid on her chest. Slowly. Smoothing it ever so gently from top to bottom with his thumb. And her stupid, duplicitous hormones perked up like a houseplant after being watered. Natalie had to resist arching her back while he applied the second Band-Aid, taking his sweet time, almost like he was enjoying her confusing distress. “She’s a mother of triplets—the one who trades me soap. I’m pretty sure anything that gets her buzzed after bedtime tastes good.”

“Oh. Teri Frasier? I saw her in town last week pushing them in a stroller as big as a tank. She and I went to school together.”

“I know.”

Her nose wrinkled. “How do you know?”

August appeared to be silently kicking himself. “You two seemed about the same age, so I asked her.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. Did his face deepen with color slightly? “Just making small talk.”

At some point during the thrust and parry of their conversation, he’d moved in closer. The sink dug into the small of her back. That part of her that he’d excited months ago, but never fulfilled, was requesting payment in full. His jeans would feel so good on her naked inner thighs. He’d pull her hair in those big fists and she could finally, finally, get this oaf out of her system. What harm could it do? He was leaving, wasn’t he?

Natalie looked up at August through her eyelashes, her right hand lifting with the intention of exploring those hard muscles through his shirt. “I was thinking—”

“She mentioned you spent most of your time drunk back then, too.” He chuckled.

Ice crystallized on her skin, her hand dropping like a stone.

He caught it, frowning. Searching her expression. “Wait. Whoa. What were you going to say? You were thinking what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Disguising the uncomfortable weight in her chest with a saccharine-sweet smile, she scooted out from between his huge body and the vanity, fleeing the bathroom. But not before throwing a parting shot over her shoulder. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out of town, August.”

“Natalie,” he growled, stomping after her. “Wait.”

“Can’t. I need fresh air. Your stupidity is obviously contagious.”

“I have your car keys.”

She halted with one hand on the doorknob, turned, and held out her hand. “Give them to me.”

He made no move to take them out of his pocket. Instead, he jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “You were going to touch me in there.”

“As you pointed out, my life has been a series of bad decisions.” If that look on his face was regret, she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to explore why he was regretful, because there was already a notch in her throat and pressure between her shoulder blades. “Look, I’ve had a pretty rough day, so if I was pondering a move on you, it would have been purely out of the need for a distraction.”

She expected him to pounce on that last part. To try and persuade her to spend the next few hours distracted in one of those back bedrooms. To her surprise, he didn’t. “Why did you have a rough day?”

“I’m not giving you that kind of ammunition.”

“What does it matter if I’m leaving?”

He had her there.

And damn, Natalie was suddenly desperate to get the weight off her chest. She refused to interrupt Julian and Hallie’s freakish happiness with her problems. All of her friends were in New York—mostly surface-level acquaintances who also worked in finance. To their credit, when she’d made the bad trade and the firm requested that she step down, they hadn’t abandoned her. But their emails and texts had thinned over the last few weeks, a gradual ghosting that left them with a clear conscience and her with no one to call.

Could she vent to August?

Despite the acerbic nature of their relationship, she couldn’t help but feel like . . . they knew each other. He was not a stranger.

She shook off the comfort it gave her to acknowledge that.

No. Whatever. She’d talk to him because it was a free chance to unload. He was leaving and wouldn’t be able to use any of the information to make fun of her.

“I, um . . .” She crossed her arms protectively over her middle, wondering why he watched the action so closely. “You’ll be gleeful to know that I humbled myself this morning by asking my mother for money. I asked her to release my trust fund and I was denied.”

His brows knit together as he processed that. “Trust fund. Shouldn’t that be released when you become a legal adult?”

“In most cases, yes, but my father made certain . . . requirements.”

“Such as?”

Was she really going to tell him this? Yeah. Why not? Nothing could make today any worse. Not even his ridicule. “Not only am I obligated to be gainfully employed, I am required to be married in order for the trustee to release the assets. Julian, too.”

A full five seconds ticked by. “You’re lying.”

It wasn’t an accusation. He was . . . satisfyingly shocked. “Nope,” she said slowly, hoping she was reading him right. “My father lives in Italy now. Basically, he’s inflicting his will on me all the way from the motherland and his rules are circa 1930 old-school. Both my mother and I would rather stick our feet in a lake full of piranhas than reach out and ask him for a favor after a four-year silence. Imagine if he said no and we sacrificed that final shred of pride for nothing?” She shrugged. “Also, I think there is a part of my mother that enjoys Napa being my only option for a while longer.”

“Your only option for what?” He reared back a little. “You’re not . . . broke.”

“Not broke broke. But not flush enough to . . .” She paused to wet her dry lips. “I’m starting my own hedge fund in New York along with a colleague of mine, and we need capital to appear appealing to investors.”

“That’s what you were doing before. Wall Street shit?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. You know, the shit that powers the economy.”

He snorted, waved that off. “You’d rather be in an overcrowded city than your family’s vineyard in Napa?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like you’re complicated.”

“I’ll take complicated over simple.” She held her hands out for the keys, wiggling her fingers, but he ignored the gesture. “August.”

“One second.” He folded his arms over his powerful chest, cleared his throat. “You don’t have any marriage prospects, right? You wouldn’t marry just to get that money, would you?”