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When he turned away, Amara offered me a secret smile, and I returned it, hoping my eyes conveyed all the things I couldn’t wait to do to her later.
Leon clapped his hands. “Well, let’s get our stuff upstairs and meet back down here in, say”—he flicked his wrist to check his watch—“fifteen minutes?”
His daughters and wife murmured their agreement, and we made a mass exodus from the lobby toward the elevators. We all piled inside—Leon and Lena, Chloe and Logan, Delia, Brie, Ella, Ezra, Liam, me, and Amara. It truly was a family affair today, and I wondered, with all these people here, who was running the winery.
But all thoughts of Apple Blossom Bay fled my mind when I found myself pressed into the back corner of the elevator car with Amara squeezed in front of me.
“What floor are you on?” I asked, so quietly only she could hear.
“Same as you.”
“Good girl.”
Without looking at me, she reached behind her and grasped my hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.
I mourned the contact instantly, knowing it was the last time I’d get to touch her until I dragged her into my room later, stripped her down, and spread her out on my bed.
So I was pleasantly surprised when everyone but her and I got off on the same floor, leaving us completely alone. We didn’t speak until it stopped again and we were pushing into my room. Amara made herself at home, dragging her suitcase over to the bed and setting it on top, then unzipping it to remove her cosmetics case.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to touch up my makeup.”
“No, I mean…why are you acting like this is your room?”
“Because it is,” she said, offering me a shy smile.
“You…what?”
“I made the reservations, Cal. I checked us in. I specifically requested we be put on a different floor than my family, and I purposely only bookedusa single room. Together.”
“Why?”
It was such a stupid question, but she’d caught me off guard, and my brain was sputtering to catch up.
She shrugged. “You asked me to stay with you.”
I gaped at her, and then hauled her against me and kissed her.
Before I could deepen it, before I could snake my hand south and reward her forward thinking, she broke free and shoved away from me.
“We can’t,” she said. “We have to be back downstairs shortly.”
“I want you so bad.”
“I know, baby,” she said, reaching out to wrap her arms around my waist. “And you can have me as many times as you want…later.”
The Tigers had gone all out for us, practically rolling out the red carpet to welcome the Delatou family and their guests into the box at the park. The suite itself was fully stocked with Delatou wines and the new canned cocktails, as well as large platters of hot dogs, burgers, fruits, veggies, and other snack foods for us to munch on while we watched the game. Our party milled about, enjoying themselves, momentarily forgetting who we were and why we were here.
But I’d never forget. This entire day wouldn’t have been possible without my girl, and as I watched her mingle with her family, pride surged in my chest.
I’d done my best to avoid Amara for the bulk of the day, but I decided to approach her in the middle of the eighth inning so we could plan our escape. I was hoping she’d be amenable to sneaking out early. It was already nearing ten p.m., the Tigers had a five run lead, and my skin buzzed in anticipation. I wanted her under me, my mouth between her legs until she came. And then I wanted to do it again with my cock. Then my fingers for good measure.
Extricating myself from my current conversation with Logan and Liam, I headed toward her, pausing a few feet away to simply study her for a moment. She stood on the opposite side of the small island counter from me, a can of Delatou & Danvers’ Lena’s Best Sangria in one hand, a Tigers’ cup in the other. Amara turned on the charm as Delia filmed a video for the winery’s social media accounts.
As soon as Delia finished, a petite blonde woman approached, wrapping Amara in a big hug, the two of them chatting and squealing like old friends, wide smiles plastered on their faces.
I wondered who she was, especially given she was decked out in an orange silk dress and high, navy blue heels, a microphone dangling at her side. On the opposite side of the counter stood a man, camera balanced on his shoulder, eye pressed against the viewfinder, lens trained on the women.
