Page 73 of The Sweetness of Life

This kiss is different.

It’s because I’m different.

I was so focused on football for so long and then the winery, I didn’t even realize I was starving until I met her. I’ve had a taste of what life is like with her, and there’s no going back.

Sliding my lips across hers, I kiss the corner of her mouth and pause to breathe in the air surrounding her. Sweetness fills my nostrils and pieces of her hair tickle my face, but I hold her close, never wanting to let her go.

I need to be closer.

Lowering her down to her back, I run my finger down her cheek, over her jaw, and across her lips, which are parted and flushed red as she breathes heavily.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes caress my face as I brace myself over her.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, because I really don’t. I want to do and say everything, but I don’t know how or where to start.

“Everything okay?” she asks, running her hand up my arm and pushing the hair off my forehead.

I nod, and my eyes briefly slip shut at the feel of her touching me. “How’s your morning? What did you do?” I ask her.

“I wrote a post for my blog about your winery.” She pauses, looking for a reaction, but I steel my emotions and lock the muscles in my face. I’m afraid she’ll read my anxiety instead of my gratitude, and I don’t want that. “I really do love it here,” she whispers.

And there it is.

The part of me that was naively hoping she wouldn’t write the post slowly backs away, bowing to the truth. She’s a passionate person when it comes to the things that matter most to her, and over the last two weeks, I’ve watched her fall in love with the winery, the wines, and all the details that make up the Wolff brand.

Pain slams into my chest, and I lower my forehead to rest against hers. I should be elated, but the premise behind getting the post makes me feel dirty.

Maybe I should ask her not to post it?

No.

Then I would have to explain why, and I can’t bring myself to explain to her that my original goal was to lure her in and lie to her through kindness to get the post. She would see it as the ultimate deception.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I frown and shake my head. Shelby feels the movement and pulls back to look at me, her brows lowered over her eyes. Guilt engulfs me, and I feel like the worst kind of person.

“Aren’t you worried people will discover who you are after the magazine prints?” She must have thought of this, right? Maybe this is the angle I can use to get her not to post the article. Kyle would be disappointed, but we’re smart and resilient. We can find other ways to get our name out there in addition to the magazine.

Her hand slides over my shoulder to my arm, and her warm fingertips slip under the edge of my sleeve.

“I thought about that, but I think it’s time. I think I’m ready. A lot of work has gone into the blog for a lot of years, and if I’m looking to advance myself professionally, I need to let others besides my partner and my editor know who I am and how truly committed and in love with this industry I am.”

Pulling farther away, I look deep in her eyes and find a confidence that wasn’t there when she spoke of the blog in Asheville. Before, she liked her anonymity, and now, I can see she’s made this decision and wants to stand behind it. If I weren’t already proud of her, this would have done it.

A bee buzzes by her head, and she jerks to the side and starts to laugh. I grin back at her while getting lost in the sound.

“I don’t think people will be too surprised when they find out who Starving for Southern is. You are amazing, and anyone who’s ever met you already knows this, including me.”

“Thank you.” Her lips tilt into a bigger smile, and her hand moves to settle on my waist.

“Shelby, if I didn’t tell you already, I’m really sorry about the way I behaved at the event and when you first got here.”

She giggles. “You still haven’t told me why, other than giving me the ‘it-wasn’t-you-it-was-me’ line, but I think we’ve moved past that, don’t you?”

“I hope so,” I whisper, finding forgiveness and adoration beaming back at me. There’s no trace of suspicion, only trust.

Ducking my head into her neck to hide so she doesn’t see the raw emotions on my face, I feel her arm slip around me and pull me close. My weight falls over her, and my body comes to life. Teasing her skin, I pull the strap of her tank top to the side and trail my lips down her neck and over her collarbone, tasting her as I go. Her head tilts, giving me more access, and her back arches, pushing her tighter into me.

“I need more of you. I need to be inside you,” I mumble as her free hand finds its way into my hair. I’m crazy for this girl, and the need I have is so overwhelming it almost borders on desperation. I need to take her, claim her, mark her . . . anything that will make her mine.