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“It is,” I say.
“Colorado sunsets are amazing,” he says, “but wait until you see a Colorado sunrise. When the sun comes over those mountains, it bathes the vineyards in orange and blue rays. It’s something else.”
“So that’s why you like to sleep out here.”
He cocks his head. “It’s gorgeous, but I don’t have to sleep out here to see a sunrise. All I have to do is get out here early.”
“Then why do you—”
“I just do.”
Okay, then.
Dale is obviously not bothered by silence. I’m a huge extrovert, especially where men are concerned, so dealing with him will take a lot of getting used to.
I think he’s worth it, though.
I really think he’s worth it.
Chapter Ten
Dale
Kissing Ashley was a stupid mistake.
I don’t do things like that.
Ever.
I can’t deny my attraction to her, even though she’s not my type. She’s beautiful in a California-girl kind of way.
Actually, she’s just beautiful in every way. Most women I meet don’t have that California look, so this is new to me, but she’s as beautiful as any woman I’ve ever come across.
It wasn’t her beauty that ensnared me, though.
It was her confession about my voice.
How is a man supposed to react to that? Hey, your voice is like a drug to me.
Any man would respond.
Wouldn’t he?
Of course, I’ve never been any man.
Funny. Turns out I’m just as captivated by an interesting woman as the next guy.
Ashley rubs at her arms.
“Where’s your jacket?” I ask.
“I guess I left it in the truck.”
I click open the door locks. “Go get it. You’ll need it, obviously.”
She nods and grabs it out of the truck. I click the doors locked once more while she drapes the jacket over her shoulders.
It’s not cold, though it’s not exactly warm either. It’s an early autumn evening in Colorado, and it’s perfect.
“This way,” I say.
She walks beside me, and I’m ever aware of her presence, the subtle warmth of her body close to mine, even though we’re not touching in any way.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been affected this way by a woman. A long, long time. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been affected in quite this way before. Sure, I’ve been attracted to women, but not so quickly or in such an all-consuming manner.
I want to sit down with Ashley White. I want to rip her clothes off and fuck her.
Yeah, I do. I really do.
But what’s more surprising is that after that, I want to talk to her. I want to learn everything about her.
And…here’s what truly scares me.
I want her to learn everything about me.
Things I’ve never shared with anyone—not even my dad or Aunt Mel.
Secrets that have hidden inside me for so long, I’m not sure I can even bring them to the surface anymore.
But Ashley White makes me want to confront those mysteries of my past. Confront them and banish them forever, which isn’t possible.
Yes, truly frightening. A shiver actually crawls up my spine.
And what’s the most frightening?
I don’t even know the woman. We’ve been in each other’s presence for all of a few hours.
The only logical thing to do is to tamp down these desires. It won’t be the first time I’ve repressed a desire, and it probably won’t be the last.
It will be the most difficult, though. Count on it.
A feeling of utter peace settles over me as we approach the vineyards. I brought her to these vines on purpose. The Syrah. My favorite.
Already, I’m regretting it.
The Syrah vines are special to me. In the darkness of the grapes and their flavor, I find myself. More than anywhere else on the ranch—on the planet—I’m truly myself here.
The part of myself that I don’t share with others.
So why have I brought Ashley here?
“Wow,” she says. “These vines are incredible. Look at all the fruit!”
The sun has completed its set, and the harvest moon above us reflects light on the clusters of black grapes.
“Syrah. It ripens best in dry climates, which is why it does so well here in Colorado.”
“How did you know?” she asks.
I cock my head. “Because I’m good at what I do. I know terroir and I know grapes.”
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What exactly did you mean, then?”
“How did you know Syrah is my favorite grape?”
I keep myself from jolting out of my skin. I hope I’ve suppressed the look of surprise that wants to cover my face.
Syrah is Ashley’s favorite?
Ashley’s favorite is my favorite?
No big deal. It means nothing. Syrah is a wonderful grape and is the favorite of many people. Doesn’t mean a thing. I’m detached.
Except I’m not detached. She’s here, interfering with my peace. Yet I want her here. I just don’t want to want her here.
“I didn’t,” I say. “It’s my favorite, like I said at dinner.”
“Well, it’s my favorite too. I adore Syrah. I love it in blends, but I especially love it alone. It’s so dark and lusty.”
