Page 59 of Taken Away

Vanessa stood near the stone fireplace with Bennett, comfortable in a way that came from years of shared history. She said something low near his shoulder, her hand brushing his sleeve, and Bennett’s mouth curved slightly around his whiskey glass.

Aubrey hated the sharp, hot twist of jealousy that pulled low and heavy in her stomach.

Beside her, Savannah followed her line of sight and sighed dramatically. “Ohhh no.”

Aubrey looked over quickly. “What?”

“You’re jealous already.”

“I absolutely am not.”

Savannah took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne. “Sure.”

Aubrey folded her arms across the green silk of her dress, trying to ignore the tight ache in her chest. “He’s an arrogant, pompous ass who thinks he knows everything.”

Savannah nodded thoughtfully. “That’s because he usually does. At least about wine,” she amended. “The rest of the time he mostly growls at weather patterns.”

A laugh escaped Aubrey before she could stop it. Across the patio, Bennett looked up immediately—like he somehow always knew where she was, his internal radar permanently tuned to her frequency. Their eyes locked across the firelight. Steady. Intent. Distractingly aware.

Aubrey looked away first and pulled out her phone beneath the shelter of the ledge. She snapped a quick photo of the patio—the jazz trio, candlelight, and mountains disappearing into velvet darkness. Bennett landed accidentally in the edge of the frame. She texted it to Machelle immediately: “This place is absurd.”

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Machelle: OH MY GOD.

Machelle: That is not a winery. That is a rich-people cult with jazz.

Aubrey nearly laughed into her glass.

Machelle: Also, why does Mountain Man look like he owns private helicopters and ruins women emotionally?

Aubrey looked up automatically. Bad decision. Because Bennett was already walking toward her through the firelight, leaving Vanessa by the hearth. God help her.

“Uh oh,” Savannah murmured beside her.

“What?”

“He’s got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where he forgets other people exist.”

Aubrey’s pulse immediately betrayed her, a heavy thud against her ribs. Savannah smirked into her champagne and disappeared toward the bar as Bennett stepped up beside her near the iron railing.

Close. Too close. Whiskey, cedar, and the heavy warmth of the mountain night air enveloped her.

“You hiding over here?” he asked quietly.

“I’m enjoying five consecutive seconds without someone discussing Cabernet Franc.”

“Sounds miserable.”

She snorted softly. Below them, tiny lights glittered deep in the valleys. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the night pressing in soft and dark, firelight licking at the edge of his jaw.

Then Aubrey glanced sideways at him, the green dress shifting silkily against her skin. “You know,” she said quietly, her voice steadying with effort, “if you keep standing this close to me, you’re going to start smelling like my perfume instead of the Tom Ford you smelled like yesterday.”

For one suspended heartbeat, he looked at her, his gold-flecked eyes darkening under the patio lights, tracking the curve of her collarbones where the green silk dropped low.