Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
The possibility of that pressed down on her chest.
God, she was weary of being dismissed. She couldn’t let it happen again, especially from August. It would cut especially deep from this Neanderthal. Giving him leverage over her burned like a cattle brand to the throat.
“Forget it,” she managed to push past dry lips. “I don’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t know to seize a good opportunity.”
Laughter burst out of him. “Marrying you is a good opportunity?”
Natalie turned and stalked away, ignoring the twist in her breast.
An arm wrapped around her waist before she made it three steps.
“Don’t get pissed,” he said a few inches above her head. “I only meant you’d skin me alive in my sleep.”
“We wouldn’t sleep together, ding dong. It would be in name only.”
“I fail to see the advantage for me.”
Natalie resisted the urge to relax back against his chest. He was so warm. And that stupid, tatted-up arm could probably lift a station wagon. Why wasn’t she pulling away? Any second now. She would. Facing the opposite direction was just . . . easier. She couldn’t see his scorn and disbelief this way. “Let me lay it out for you, August. We have the same man standing in the way of our success—Ingram Meyer. Loan officer at the bank, trustee of my money, and one of my father’s many fanboys. If I’m married, he’ll release my start-up capital from his clutches. As for you? Marrying and employing a Vos will help you secure a small business loan.” She threw an absent gesture in the general direction of his vineyard. “You could continue making wine. Maybe even wine people can stand to swallow, with my help. Don’t you want the winery to be a success?”
“I did.” Her brows drew together over the gruff note in his voice. “I did. But I resigned myself to the fact that this is the one thing I’m terrible at.”
“You’re forgetting basic human hygiene.”
“I must not smell that bad,” he said against the side of her neck, his lips brushing that sensitive patch beneath her ear, warm breath coasting down the collar of her shirt—and that arm. It flexed where it banded across her belly, making hidden parts of her tense, too, in the process. “You know. Since you’re melting on me like an M&M on the dashboard of a hot car.”
Natalie twisted out of his hold like a shot, ordering her skin to cool down as she turned. It wouldn’t. Was his chest rising and falling faster than before? “Look, if you want to leave St. Helena, I’m not going to stop you.”
A line snapped in his cheek. “That was the plan.”
“Plans can change.”
A sound left him. “You must really want that trust fund.”
“I want a new start.” Momentarily, she let herself be vulnerable. Maybe because she was already halfway there after making the proposal to August. Or maybe she’d already been sawed open after humbling herself this morning to Corinne. Whatever the reason, she spoke without censure. “I need a new start. I can’t just stay here, living in the shadow of my family. My brother. I might as well still be that seventeen-year-old screwup that everyone just . . . tolerates. I’m better elsewhere. I’m something. I’m someone when I’m not here.”
The sound of his hard swallow reached her through the cool night air.
Damn. Too much.
She’d given him the motherload of ammunition—and since he was obviously not into the idea, she needed to get out of there before he could use it.
“Good luck, August,” she said, backing away and eventually turning, picking up her pace. “It would have been fun making your life hell.”
“Natalie.”
She didn’t stop. Didn’t want this man, of all people, to let her down gently. Her pride was all but dismantled, but she could hold on to a scrap. Speed walking down the pathway back to the guest house, however, she wondered how much longer she could maintain her grip.
Chapter Five
August adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror of his truck, grimacing at the sound of a marching band butchering “America the Beautiful.” Across the street, the parking lot of the train station had been transformed by two high-ceilinged tents, royal blue carpet laid down over the asphalt. Waiters in tuxedos carried around trays holding glasses of red wine, others ferried hors d’oeuvres among guests dressed to the nines.
Unbelievable. All of these people had gathered to celebrate a train that served wine. Technically, any train in the world could serve wine, but these snoots in suits looked for any excuse to rub elbows in their loafers and comment on the orange-peel aftertaste of their drink. He’d been looking forward to never hearing the word “bouquet” ever again in his fucking life, but here he was. About to join this stuffed-shirt soiree in his monkey suit.