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I drew in a sharp breath. Did I want that? Was I thinking with my head or my dick?
The Zanetti Vineyard entrance appeared in the glow of my headlights, and I felt a pang of regret we were here already. I wanted to keep talking, know more about what she meant by missing me.
I slowed and turned in.
Rosie covered her mouth and burped again with a frown.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she mumbled.
I parked around the side near their family home, their dogs barking with excitement at our approach. Rosie hopped out and yelled at the dogs to be quiet, and to her credit, they did.
She slammed the ute door and swayed. I raced around, bag in hand with the boudoir photo book and water bottle, and caught her by the arm.
“I’m off balance.” Rosie tottered, reaching for the ute’s bonnet to steady herself. “Must be my middle ear or something.”
I didn’t let go and helped her walk to her room. The last time I’d done this, I went in for a kiss and had been busted by her parents.
We stumble-tripped past the fig and quince trees across a small patch of lawn to the French doors of her room as quietly as we could.
“Do you have a key?” I whispered.
Rosie didn’t look in her purse; she stared at my lips.
“Rosie?” I asked in a low voice.
“Do you taste the same as you did four years ago?” She leant in and cupped my face, not waiting for my response.
Her tongue invaded my mouth before I could stop her. I gasped in surprise. My body was zinging with electricity.She was kissing me. We were kissing. Rosie bit my lip, and I let out a growl, turning feral instantly. My hands moulded around her arse, and I picked her up. In one step, I had her up against the wall beside the bedroom door.
Her body was a furnace on this cold night. She shivered as my cold fingers ran over her neck, cupping her jaw. Our breaths misted up every time we broke apart.
Our kisses had no finesse. It was wet and furious and full of want.
She rolled her hips; mine rolled against hers in reflex.
Shit, she’s drunk.
Panic washed through me, just as effective as a bucket of cold water. Rosie kissed my neck, sucked on my ears, but I was frozen.
I was making out with her, drunk, right beside where her parents might hear us rutting like animals.
This was a very bad idea. I was the worst.
Rosie slowly slid down my front, and I kept hold of her elbows as her legs took her weight on the step.
She stared up, disoriented as if she couldn’t figure out why she was now standing. She looked from side to side, and her hand settled to her stomach as she burped again. “I don’t feel so good.”
The next moment, she pushed past me and threw up in the garden beside her bedroom. I sighed and gently pulled her curls back so no puke got caught in her hair. She heaved three times, sweat breaking out on her brow. Her head hung low as she braced her arms on her knees.
“I really didn’t have that much to drink,” she moaned, looking up. “I need water. And a lie down.”
“Yes, you do.” I looked around for her dropped purse. “Where are your keys?”
Rosie snorted and reached for the door handle, and the French doors opened.
I cursed under my breath about the lack of security, grabbed her purse and the bag with her things I’d been carting all evening, and then helped her up the step into her room.
