She heard his low grumble first. And then, from the half-open door of the winery, emerged her husband. Beth’s breath caught, gripping the tank’s edge.
Oh, my.
He looked every inch the Highland rogue of her most scandalous imaginings. The kilt—red and green plaid, and utterly improper—hugged his lean hips, the hem brushing against his powerful thighs, leaving them bare in a way that robbed her breath. His bronzed chest gleamed, muscles shifting as he strode forward, his broad shoulders carrying the confidence of a man entirely too aware of his appeal.
And then he walked towards her. His legs—dear heavens, his legs—were long and robust, honed from years of hard labor. The dusting of hair caught the light, and Beth’s pulse quickened at the sight. She had to grip the edge of the tank harder, lest her knees betray her.
“Ye wanted a kilt? Here’s your damned kilt.” He stopped a few paces away, eyebrow raised. “Only a madwoman would make a Scot wear this in the Douro.”
Beth’s smile was mischievous. “You look very handsome in it, if I might say so, Mr. Sandeman.”
He actually blushed when he saw her admiring gaze.
Boyd groaned, then stepped into the tank. “Aye, well, if I end up with grapes in places they shouldn’t be, just remember you’re the one responsible for cleaning up the mess.”
She raised a brow, kicking off her shoes. “I wouldn’t dream of anything less.”
A startled laugh burst from Beth’s lips as her feet met the cool, squishy grapes. The skins burst under her soles with tiny pops, releasing their sweet, heady aroma. It tickled her toes most unexpectedly, making her giggle as she took another tentative step.
The grapes were slippery, sticky, and oddly soothing. She shuffled cautiously, testing the sensation, her balance wavering like a fledgling bird.
Boyd strode through the tank like he was leading a battalion to battle. His steps were sure, his kilt swaying with every movement. He planted his hands on his hips and cast her a long-suffering look, his voice dripping with mockery.
“Lass, if ye keep prancin’ about like that, we’ll have wine just in time for the next century. Ye look more like a ballet dancer than a winemaker’s wife.”
Beth narrowed her eyes. “A ballet dancer? Look who’s talking! You’re the one stomping around in a kilt inside a grape tank.”
“And whose fault is that?” His gaze turned devilish as he crouched slightly, knees bending.
She recognized the mischief too late. “Boyd—don’t you—”
With a gleam in his eye, he sprang.
Beth squealed and scrambled backward, but the tank’s slippery footing conspired against her. Her feet shot out from under her, and before she could blink, Boyd caught her.
Unfortunately for him, his own footing wasn’t any better.
With a startled yell, they went down together, landing in a spectacularly messy heap of crushed grapes, tartan, and tangled limbs.
The squelch was loud enough to echo through the vineyard.
Beth braced herself against his chest, her hands sticky with grape juice, her face mere inches from his. Their laughter mixed with the earthy scent of the grapes and the cool night air.
“Ye know, lass,” Boyd said, his voice a teasing rumble as his hand slid up her thigh, “Ye’re goin’ tae ruin me.”
She drew a sharp breath at the wicked spark in his eyes.
“And I plan to.” Beth slid her fingers into his hair, smearing grape juice through the dark strands.
He grinned, pulling her close, his lips finding hers in a slow, lingering, and utterly intoxicating kiss. The world fell away—the tank, the vines, the night—leaving only the press of his body against hers, the warmth of his touch, and the heady scent of summer.
“I don’t think anyone will want to drink this wine after I have my way with you, Mrs. Sandeman.” Boyd held her waist, his eyes twinkling.
“Why? I thought the yeasts took care of everything.”
He chuckled, dark and wicked. “I’ll show ye why. But only if ye’re a good lass and scream loud enough to scandalize every winemaker in the Douro Valley.”
Beth caressed his hard stomach, her cheeks flushing. The kilt, it seemed, had more advantages than just showcasing her husband’s brawny legs—it offered easy access to certain rugged parts of him as well.
