Dodging canes and walkers, Christine reached the kitchen, which was already overflowing with food. The noise in the house was approaching raucous. Truman, Grace, and Faith ran by and out the back door.
“I’m sorry,” Slade said softly, coming to stand beside her.
“Me, too.” Christine touched his tie briefly. It was a beautiful red print.
She turned her back on him and helped set up the buffet, helped fill and carry plates for guests, helped satisfy the curious questions of residents about what was going on at the winery.
All the while, she felt Slade’s eyes on her, making her skin tingle and her body feel energized, despite a small voice whispering in her head, Don’t hope.
The meal and then dessert came and went. Some of the attendees looked tired and talked about leaving, moving toward the front door. Christine began picking up empty cups and plates. Slade appeared at her side with a trash bag, making things more efficient. He was, after all, all about efficiency.
Every time their glances collided, she let herself foolishly pretend that he was thinking, The faster this goes, the sooner I can kiss you. But he was good at control and she knew the lies she told herself would feel even more foolish tonight when she tried to fall asleep.
They finished cleaning up. It was time to collect Nana and head home.
He held her gaze too long and crooked his finger at her. Christine’s heart pounded in her chest. She followed him to the kitchen, out the back, around to the driveway on the side of the house where Old Man Takata kept his garbage cans. Slade put the trash in the bin and turned to her, capturing her mouth with a kiss so full of pent-up longing that she felt like crying.
Someone opened Takata’s front door and stepped outside. Several someones. Saying their goodbyes.
Before sadness had a chance to spear through her, Slade swept her into his arms and carried her across Takata’s driveway to his, to the other side of a low fence, which was dripping in shadow.
He set her down and cradled her face in his hands. “I told myself we wouldn’t do this. I told myself not to touch you. There’re still things you don’t know about me.”
“I know enough about you here.” She placed her palm over his heart.
Without warning he captured her mouth. He kissed and kissed and kissed her, until her lips were swollen and she couldn’t think straight.
Her hands pushed against his rock-solid chest, giving her just enough space between them to reach the tie at his throat. She loosened the knot, unbuttoned the shirt beneath, slid her hands up to either side of his neck. The cords of muscle there were proof of his strength against the most severe of taboos, had probably helped to save his life.
Don’t.
Because there was doubt, not about his ever attempting suicide again, but for her career and his commitment to her. Her mouth became rational, even if her hands didn’t. “You’re my boss.”
He groaned, slowing his ardor only for a second. “You can report to Flynn from now on.”
“Deal.” A sham of a compromise. But the fire between them made her a fool.
He’d gone into the bedroom where it happened today. Maybe he hadn’t fully faced his demons, but it was a start. And he was here, in her arms, no longer able to resist her.
Don’t.