He had denied that he had any kindness in him last night, but she had seen him treat her son gently. He’d been kind to her before too.
Before she’d started pawing him like a lovesick fool.
God, what he must think of her.
She hitched the shovel off her shoulder and plunged it into the soft earth with a groan. Of all the times she wished she’d had the Breed power to wipe her own memory, it was now.
Once she'd gone to bed last night, things hadn't been much better. She was alone, separated from Scythe by two doors and a long, sweeping hallway, but his presence was everywhere, leaving no corner of her home, life, or mind untouched. And when she finally drifted off to sleep, even her dreams had betrayed her.
She'd woken up hot and aching and full of longing she hadn't felt since... well, ever.
She swallowed hard as her nipples peaked beneath her thin cotton shirt. This was all some hard-wired, primal response to how starkly different Scythe was than her deceased husband.
Sal had been handsome and charming, but he'd also been mentally weak and ineffectual. A coward who cared for himself more than he had ever cared for others. Her foolish, blind love for him had nearly cost both her own life and the life of their son. It stood to reason that she would instinctively be attracted to someone who was the exact opposite of him.
And there was no one more opposite from charming, oily Sal than forbidding, prickly Scythe.
She squeezed her eyes closed and allowed herself to picture him one more time. The hard, unforgiving lines of his face, only more sculpted by the black beard he kept trimmed close to his square-cut jaw. That firm but slightly full mouth. His massive body, so capable and strong... lethally so.
A shudder went through her, though not from fear. She groaned in frustration, yet unable to purge the image of Scythe from her thoughts. Nor from her overheated senses.
Enough. This soil wasn't going to turn itself.
For the next hour, until the sun started to dip low in the sky, she tended her fields, grateful for the solitude and the distraction of good, hard work. She worked until every muscle screamed in protest and until her skin was damp with a sheen of sweat, despite the chill in the air.
She'd left the house early that morning, after finally persuading Scythe that she would be safe in the vineyard and needed the physical outlet. He had seemed happy enough to avoid her, busying himself with monitoring his video sensors inside and around the rambling house and fielding calls from Trygg and the Order in Rome.
Now, the sky was changing from blush to dusty purple, and she knew she was going to have to face him soon. There was no chance he'd let her work out here alone once it got dark, no matter how many silent alarms he’d set nor how strong his unique ability to sense danger was.
She had just placed her shovel down and was beginning to pack up her water bottle and supplies when Scythe’s low voice sounded from behind her.
“It's getting late.”
Her heart pounded as she turned to face him. He stood with his hand on one hip, the other arm hanging loosely at his side. He wore a black T-shirt that bared his dermaglyph-covered arms and stretched tight across the wall of muscle that was his chest. Faded jeans rode his hips and long legs, hinting at iron-hewn thighs and a distractingly large bulge at his groin.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she imagined tracing every line. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she so physically deprived after her dead mate’s betrayal that she should lose all sense when it came to this male?
Three years in an empty bed hadn’t seemed so long until she was standing in front of Scythe.
“It will be dark soon. You shouldn’t be out here.”
She got to her feet, brushing dirt from her work pants. “I-I was just coming in anyway.”
He inclined his head, then shot a glance around the vineyard, taking in the rows of vibrant, twisting vines and plump grapes. She had weeded several rows today, the turned earth rich and loose now, the color of dark coffee grounds.
“How long have you been doing this by yourself?”
She shrugged. “After Sal was killed and Bella was taken away by Vito Massioni, it was hard to keep a steady crew around here. Most of the workers fled that same night. It’s one thing for humans to know they live among vampires, but still another to have them witness the kind of violence that Massioni delivered and expect them not to run far and forever away. I had a handful of loyal employees, but after Massioni sent his thugs here six weeks ago, even they left and never returned.”
Scythe grunted, his expression pensive. “It’s not sustainable, you know. You’ll need help if you mean to keep the vineyard going.”
She tucked her gloves into her pocket, bristling at his assessment, even if she knew in her heart that he was right. “I’ll manage. I always have.”