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The smile that slowly stretched across his face couldn’t be described as anything other than pure, unadulterated pleasure.
“I’ll make sure Trident’s Bombardier is fueled up and at the ready,” he said.
He moved a ringlet of her hair behind her ear and leaned forward, pressing a delicate kiss on her lips. London closed her eyes and gave herself permission to experience all the emotions she’d previously shied away from—fully succumbing to feelings that could no longer be brushed off as simple lust. The depth and breadth of her yearning for Drew should scare her, but all she sensed was contentment as his skillful mouth both teased and tormented her.
He was unhurried, his tongue making slow, thoughtful passes along her lips before gently pushing its way inside. He tasted better than any of the wine she’d sampled today, sweet and spicy and addicting.
London was stunned at how bereft she felt after he finally released her from his kiss. Even though her heart was gradually coming to terms with it, her mind still fought to accept that she could be falling in love with Drew Sullivan.
Because that’s what was happening every second that she was with him. She was slowly, joyously tumbling in love with this man.
Another winery employee walked down the row they were on, greeting them with a quiet “excuse me” and grinning as he moved past them.
“I think we’ve put on enough of a show,” London murmured.
Drew leaned over and whispered against her ear, “This is just a preview. Wait until tonight.”
Tingles. Persistent-ass tingles. They raced through her stomach and lower at an accelerated rate.
Drew entwined their fingers as they continued along the slight trough that had been made by the thousands of footsteps that traveled through this vineyard.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that jet you mentioned,” London said.
“Yes, the seats are heated and there is a fully stocked wet bar,” Drew replied.
“That was not my question.” She laughed. “But both are good to know. Actually, I wondered why you don’t have one of your own. The other day you said that you could either use Trident’s or charter one.”
Drew slapped a hand to his chest. “You think less of me because I don’t own a private jet, don’t you? That breaks my heart, Dr. Kelley.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Stop it,” she said. “It does surprise me, though. Is it just a rumor among the class of 2007 that you’re worth over a hundred million, or is it true?” She winced. “Ugh. I can’t believe I just asked that. That’s so tacky.” She paused. “But I still want to know.”
Drew’s head flew back with his laugh.
“To answer both of your questions, yes, I am worth about one hundred million dollars. That isn’t all liquid, of course,” he quickly pointed out. “But I’ve done well over the past ten years.”
“I’d say the hell so,” London said. “I honestly thought it was just your fans hyping you up.”
“My fans?”
“Please,” London said. “Our entire class treated you like a rock star from the day you arrived at Barbara Jordan High.”
“Not true,” he said. “It was only after I made that game-winning shot against Anderson High that I attained rock star status.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “At least you’ve now earned your spot on that pedestal everyone put you on.” She gave his hand a slight squeeze. “Your mother must have been so proud of you.”
“No one needs to put me up on any pedestals. As for my mom.” He shrugged. “The money didn’t faze her at all. You’ll see what I mean by that when we go to her house tomorrow. She was just fine living a simple life out in the country.”
“I’m not a country girl, by any means,” London said. “But I could definitely use a bit more simplicity in my life right now.” She bumped his shoulder again. “So, what about the plane? Why are you mooching off your company when it comes to how you fly?”
He laughed again. “Honestly, it just isn’t a sensible purchase.”
“Even for someone with your kind of money?”
“A hundred million won’t last forever if you don’t spend it wisely,” he said. “Between the cost of the jet itself, the maintenance, the fuel? It doesn’t make financial sense, especially when Trident’s jet is just fine.” A sheepish grin tilted up the corners of his lips. “I guess my mom and uncle’s frugality has rubbed off on me a bit.”
“Your uncle too?”
He nodded. “I offer to buy him a condo in downtown Dallas at least once a month. And at least once a month, he tells me that he’s just fine in his little two-bedroom, wood-frame house in a working-class neighborhood north of the city. Neither my mom nor Elias expected anything from me—shit, most times I have to fight E over who’s going to pick up the check when we go out to dinner.”
