His hair is soft beneath my fingers. Yes, I let them linger a few seconds longer than I need to. I can’t help myself. Everything about Dale Steel is magnificent.
Except his attitude, of course.
Physically, though? He’s perfection.
“Are you going to?” I ask.
“Going to what?”
“Shake your head. Let that glorious hair tumble over your shoulders the way it’s meant to.”
“I told you. I usually wear it down.”
“Okay. Great. But it’s been held captive in a band for hours. Shake it free!”
He stands still, resisting.
Oh, yes, he’s a major challenge.
I thread my fingers through his blond strands and set them free myself. Then I step back.
My God, he’s perfection personified.
His green eyes sparkle, and for a split second, I think I see something else hidden beneath them. A spark. An attraction.
Obviously I’m imagining it. Dale Steel isn’t attracted to me. I’m not sure he’s attracted to anyone. Still, I want to throw my arms around him and pull him into my body. Hug him.
Me, the non-hugger.
This man needs human contact from someone other than a family member. I feel it in my bones.
I bite my lower lip and then sigh. “I guess I should get back to the house.”
“You no longer want to see the vineyards?”
“Well, sure I do, but—”
“That’s where I’m going. You’re welcome to tag along. Don’t forget your jacket.”
Chapter Eight
Dale
My scalp still tingles from her touch.
Again, I imagine her kneeling before me, taking my cock into her mouth, sliding her lips along my shaft, tasting me.
Then taking all of me, all the way to the back of her throat.
My hair settles around my shoulders. This is how I prefer it. Untamed and wild. I’m not sure why. It gets in the way sometimes, and of course when we’re working in the winery, Uncle Ry makes me pull it back and wear a hairnet—not my greatest look—but when I’m out in the vineyards, or when I’m tasting new barrels of wine, my hair falls free.
Ashley stands in front of me, her bottled blond hair falling over her pert little breasts. Yeah, they’re little. A handful. But what I wouldn’t give to suck one of them between my lips.
That light-blond hair… It works for her.
Though I’d love to see her natural color.
I find myself wanting to see all of her. All of her.
These feelings aren’t new to me. I’m attracted to women. I always have been, since I came here twenty-five years ago. I learned to suppress those feelings, though, because I’m a natural loner. Inside, a lot of me is still a mess. I’m content. I find joy in my family and in my work. But the chaos inside is too much for any outsider to handle.
Even Ashley White.
Especially Ashley White.
“Do you surf?” I ask.
She laughs. “Where did that come from?”
“You just look like one of those surfer girls from California.”
“No, I do not surf. I love the beach, but I never get into the ocean.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like getting sand in my ass.”
I smile. Slightly.
“You’re something,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re trying really hard not to like me.”
“That’s not true.” Though it is.
“Oh, come on.” She chuckles. “It’s so obvious. You want to laugh at my ‘sand in my ass’ comment, but you just can’t bring yourself to. The only thing you laughed at was me wanting to be a sommelier. What was so damned funny about that?”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Then why did you laugh?”
“I laughed at the absurdity. You want to work at a fine restaurant. That’s great, Doctor, but it’s not what we’re about here.”
She gets indignant again. “I told you. I’m not a doctor.”
“Yet.”
“Right. Not yet.” She sighs. “What do you mean that’s not what we’re about here?”
“We’re about creating the finest wines in the country from a boutique vineyard. The finest wines in the world, even.”
“You’re that good, huh?”
“We’re that good. My uncle’s a genius. Everyone says so, and he says I have the gift as well.”
God. I sound so pompous. But it’s true. Uncle Ry is a genius, and I’m damned good myself.
“Then I look forward to learning from both of you,” she says.
“You’ll learn a lot. I’m going to work that cute little behind of yours off.”
Did I really just say that? She’s blushing, so yes, I must have. So not me. I don’t talk like that to women. Not normally, but Ashley White is bringing something out in me. Something better left buried.
I can’t.
I just can’t.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“No offense taken. I’m not the litigious type.”
Damn, I didn’t even think of that. She’s an intern, not an employee, but the standards for sexual harassment are the same. I was out of line.
“And,” she went on, “I’m happy to have my cute little behind worked off. That’s why I’m here. To work and to learn.”
“All right, then. Let’s go see the vineyards.”