Something shifted in her expression, walls lowering just a fraction. "You really think so?"
"I know so." I reached out and gently took the notes from her hands, setting them aside on a nearby barrel. "Want to practice on me? I'll be your test audience."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But be honest—tell me if something doesn't work."
For the next twenty minutes, I watched her transform. The nervous woman who'd been fumbling over technical terms disappeared, replaced by someone confident and captivating. She moved through the barrel room like she owned it, using the space to tell stories about the wine, the winemaking process, the perseverance and dedication that went into every bottle.
"That was incredible," I said when she finished. "If I weren't already sold on Sparkling Oak wines, I would be now."
A blush crept up her neck. "You're just being nice."
"I'm being honest." I stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. "You're going to knock them dead tomorrow night."
"Griffin..." she started, but whatever she was going to say died as I reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
The touch was electric, sending heat coursing through me. I saw her pupils dilate, heard the sharp intake of her breath. The careful distance she'd been maintaining crumbled in an instant.
"We shouldn't," she whispered, even as she leaned into my touch.
"Probably not," I agreed, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "But I can't stop thinking about you. About us. About what we could have if you'd stop running long enough to let it happen."
"I'm not running—"
I silenced her with a kiss, pouring all my frustration and desire and hope into the contact. She stiffened for a moment, then melted against me, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kissed me back with desperate hunger.
"God, I've missed this," I groaned against her lips, backing her against one of the massive barrels. "Missed you. Once wasn’t enough—could never be enough."
"We can't," she gasped, even as her hands roamed over my chest, reacquainting themselves with the planes and angles of my body. "If someone finds us—"
"Then we'll have to be quiet," I murmured, my lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Think you can manage that?"
Her breath hitched as I nipped at her earlobe. "Griffin..."
I pulled back to look at her, needing to see her face. "Tell me to stop, and I will. But fuck—Lila-- don't tell me you don't want this as much as I do."
For a moment, she stared at me, conflict clear in her expression. Then something shifted, resolve replacing uncertainty. "Lock the door."
I didn't need to be told twice. The barrel room had a heavy wooden door with an old-fashioned lock—probably installed when the building was first constructed. I turned it with a satisfying click, sealing us in our own private world.
When I turned back, Lila was watching me with dark eyes full of promise. She'd moved to stand between two large barrels, the golden light from the windows painting her skin like honey.
"Come here," she said softly, and I was powerless to resist.
I crossed to her in three strides, crushing her against me as our mouths met again. This kiss was different—hungrier, more desperate. All the control we'd both been maintaining shattered like glass.
My hands found the hem of her blouse, sliding underneath to touch the smooth skin of her waist. She arched into me, her body singing with need as I explored the familiar territory of her curves.
"I need to touch you," I said roughly, my fingers working at the buttons of her blouse. "All of you."
She nodded frantically, her own hands busy with my belt buckle. "Yes. Please."
Her blouse fell away, revealing a lacy bra that made my mouth water. I traced the edge of the fabric with my fingertips, feeling her shiver beneath my touch.
"So beautiful," I murmured, pressing kisses along her collarbone. "So fucking perfect."
She gasped as I found the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts to my hungry gaze. Her nipples were already hard peaks, begging for attention. I took one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive flesh as she threaded her fingers through my hair.
"Griffin," she moaned, the sound echoing off the wooden barrels around us. "Oh God, yes."
