“Ugh.” I coughed a bit as my face twisted involuntarily. “It wasn’t just the first one. This one is intense, too.” I pushed the glass his way. “What does being from a line of alphas have to do with buying a winery?”
“Can we have the next samples, please?” Austin asked the woman, and though the phrase seemed like a polite request, his tone conveyed a command for obedience. He pointed to the ones he wanted, two reds. The woman’s previous methodical, unhurried gliding fell away, and she quickly got to work opening the next bottles.
“I’m assuming you don’t care what ends up in your glass?” he asked me, his voice back to calm and breezy.
“I do, but in this case I’m not sure it’ll really matter.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t remember the wine being this bad.”
“I think that’s the root of the problem, right there.” He nodded and glanced out the window at the shining day beyond, as though contemplating the meaning of the universe.
“Also, should we be saying ‘alpha’ in public? I know you don’t care, but…”
He turned back to me. “To properly run a territory, an alpha needs to invest in local businesses, to have a personal say and stake in the local economy. To help sway the decisions that are made for the benefit of the people. If the territory prospers, the alpha typically prospers. If the territory suffers, so does the alpha. Does that make sense? And yes, we can say ‘alpha’ and ‘territory’ because those are words that Janes and Dicks know, even if they don’t quite understand them in the way we’re using them.”
“So you’re from a long line of prosperous alphas?” I surmised, eyeing the glass of red now sitting in front of me. I wasn’t so sure about day drinking at this establishment. It might be more painful than pleasurable.
“That’ll be all for now,” Austin told the woman as she opened her mouth to give her spiel about the wines. Under his steady gaze, her eyes tightened, creasing at the corners.
“Of course.” She turned, busying herself with wiping down dustless bottles.
“Maybe lighten up a little,” I murmured, swirling the contents of the glass. “You’re going to give the woman a complex.”
“If it pleases milady.”
His tone was light and teasing, his eyes sparkling and bright. I couldn’t look away, my heart speeding up at the raw intensity I saw lurking just beneath the surface. The world around us seemed to slow, and then it dropped away entirely—his focus applied solely to me, and mine to him. Heat blistered through me before pooling down low, pounding. Aching. Manifesting from those suddenly intense, beautiful cobalt-blue eyes.
“I never did take you on that perfect date we talked about,” he said softly, his sweet breath dusting my lashes.
Only then did I realize I’d leaned toward him. I found myself remembering the feel of his palm on my side. On my back. I loved the way he always gently steered me into the path of safety when we walked somewhere together. I loved that he was always respectfully aware of me and the world around me. It felt like being pampered for some reason. Like he was freeing me from all of life’s little trials.
“Okay, then.” I let out a deep breath and tore my gaze away from his. With effort, I turned to face my glass. “Yup.” I was just saying words to fill the silence. It wasn’t even an uncomfortable silence, which somehow made things worse. This guy needed to come with an emergency brake.
I probably needed to start dating again. Sure, I hadn’t sealed the deal with the handsome gargoyle who’d spent a short time at Ivy House, but that didn’t mean I should stop trying. I needed to end the dry spell before I embarrassed myself and leaned any closer to Austin.
“Drunk already?” I heard the laughter in his words.
“You’re as bad as Niamh. I’ve had, like, two sips. No, I am not drunk already.”
“So you’ve just taken to voicing your thoughts on the regular now?”
I froze, my eyes wide. “What? Why?” I asked, flustered. “What did I say?”
His dark chuckle brought on a rush of embarrassment that likely showed on my face. I’d clearly voiced the bit about the dry spell. Dang Ivy House for having a personality and seeming like a real person—I constantly talked to her, out loud, and clearly the practice had carried over into the parts of my life where I’d do better to keep my thoughts and feelings bottled up.
Not that I hadn’t always had a propensity to think out loud, but I usually had a better grip on myself when in public.
“I am from a long line of prosperous alphas, yes. On my mother’s side,” he said, then tried his newest pour of wine, wincing with the effort. “I’m a trust fund baby at this point, since I’ve done very little for myself. So far. The money’s been sitting there, collecting interest, waiting for me to rise to my potential.”