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“Are they not anymore?”
He shakes his head, mesmerizing me with the sight of his beautiful face. “Now you’re my favorite.”
His kiss sucks the air from my lungs. I’m instantly dizzy, drunk on the taste of his lips and confounded by the crazy twist of fate that brought me here. I could have shown up at the correct time and never met Jackson Corbett. I could have left the winery when I was supposed to and never met Fiona, never offered to be Jackson’s nanny.
Instead, I’m here, and I don’t want to leave.
I stare at the flower grasped between my fingers. “Don’t give up on the flower. She’s a beauty.”
“She is.” He tips my chin up and kisses me again, sweetly, gently. Unhurried. Because this isn’t a stolen kiss while Fiona isn’t looking. His fingers trail down the length of my arm, ending at my hand, where he intertwines them with mine.
Leading me down the winding pathway again, Jackson directs me to where the flowers and potted olive trees give way to a private nook overlooking the acres of vineyards. The sun has dropped, and the vines wind around their stakes under a periwinkle sky, which outlines their shadows. The moon hasn’t risen yet.
One table on the terrace is set with small votive candles and the same blue glass dishware from the restaurant. Enough flatware for a multi-course dinner. Several wine glasses stand sentry by each plate. But it’s not the beauty of the table setting that gets me. It’s the way Jackson is looking at me when I turn to thank him for setting this up.
His eyes are soft, searching, almost…disbelieving. Like he’s just as gobsmacked by the moment as me, even though he’s the one who arranged it.
“I’m going to enjoy everything about tonight,” he says, winking against a wolfish gleam that says he’d like to have me for a pre-dinner snack. My nerves flood with jitters. This isn’t just lust at an opportune time. This is a date. It feels…loaded.
I bite down on my bottom lip, suddenly nervous, but Jackson leans closer. With his teeth, he wrests my lip away and sucks it into his mouth, making me forget my jangled nerves for the moment with a kiss that brings me back to sanity.
When he breaks the kiss, he tugs me close, whispering against my lips. “You’re all I think about.” Lust drags through my bones.
I spend so much time holding myself to a strict line, staying focused on all the moving parts in my life, making sure everything is covered before allowing myself a moment of relaxation.
Relax. Everything is covered.
Jackson guides us to the table, where I notice a bottle of the wine I tasted and loved when I worked with Victor. He’s done his homework.
He pulls out my chair, and I’m struck with a revelation—I don’t think anyone has ever pulled out a chair for me. The feminist in me doesn’t need the gesture, but it’s so kind and sweet that I fall for him a little harder.
Sitting across from me, Jackson pours wine into each of our glasses and holds his up for a toast. “To a red dress on the floor of my bedroom.”
“Ha. Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”
He shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “Anticipating. It’s all I’m going to think about until I get you home.”
Home.
I love the sound of it. For someone who’s bounced between a tiny rental to her sister’s dorm to a borrowed bungalow, home is an elusive concept. I love the idea of it, but he’s talking about his home, not mine. I need to be careful. Rein in my heart.
His hand covers mine on the table, and two small plates arrive. “Amuse bouche. Tuna with mustard seed and plum coulis,” our waiter tells us before disappearing.
We nibble on the tiny bite, and I nod my approval. “This is already the best meal I’ve ever had.”
Jackson laughs. “After one bite?”
“Yup.”
Leaning back in his chair, he rubs his hands together. “Looks like my work is done. Guess we can move right onto the stage where that pretty dress hits the floor.”
I hold up a hand. “No way, mister. This dress is staying on until I’ve eaten every last morsel of food from this fancy place.”
The waiters have been expertly trained at their jobs, knowing how to slip in when we’re momentarily distracted and clear plates of food, bring new ones, refill wine glasses.
It’s a carefully orchestrated dance, and each dish is more spectacular than the next. After experiencing it as a guest, I have no doubt as to why this restaurant earned its Michelin star. No one says it out loud for fear of jinxing it, but there’s a good chance it will earn a second star this year.
Another course appears, along with an explanation about heirloom tomatoes and wild-caught salmon in honey butter, and it’s clear we’re nowhere close to dessert.
