Page 53 of Taken Away

Bennett took a sip from his own glass without looking away from Aubrey.

“Drink it.”

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.

Fine.

She lifted the glass.

The wine arrived rich and dark at first—blackberry and oak and something warmer she couldn’t quite name. Then the finish opened slowly across her tongue, deeper and smoother than she’d expected, carrying smoke and earth and a strange, clean note she could only think of as mountain air.

Her eyes lifted to Bennett automatically.

Which unfortunately seemed to satisfy him.

“That look,” he said quietly, “is why people keep writing checks.”

She hated that she understood immediately.

“Oh,” she admitted softly.

“Yeah,” he said.

Near the windows, another buyer swirled his glass.

“The mineral structure on this is incredible.”

“That’s the north ridge,” Bennett answered easily.

Every head turned toward Bennett.

Aubrey found herself standing beside Savannah, watching him work.

Not flirt. Not charm.

Command.

He spoke about Blackwood as though it lived under his skin—elevation and fog lines and granite in the soil. Late frost and harvest timing. Why the north ridge vines struggled harder than the lower blocks.

“They shouldn’t work up there,” he said simply. “That’s why they do.”

People listened.

Actually listened.

Aubrey found that deeply annoying.

“He’s good at this,” she murmured.

Savannah smiled into her glass.

“He loves this place.”

The words landed harder than she expected.

Across the room, Bennett’s gaze flicked back to her like it had never left.

It shouldn’t have mattered.