Intoxicating (13 page)

“Maybe not,” Wyatt whispered. “But there
is
the spirit of Christmas.”

“All these people.” She swept her hand at the blankets and lovers spread out across the field. “If they end up staying together for the rest of their lives, it's just a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's got nothing to do with Idyll or bottles of wine or a full moon.”

“What's wrong with that? I think it's amazing how this island and your family gives so many people hope for a lasting relationship.”

It was a very noble thought. She had to admit that.

“What is it that you're afraid of, Kiara?” Wyatt said. “Everyone in your family is living the myth. They're all happily married.”

“That's a myth too. No one is happily married all the time. Like when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. It was incredibly heart-breaking to see my parents go through that. They loved each other so much that the
thought of losing each other tore them apart. Love makes you weak.”

“Whoa.” Wyatt backed up, angled his head and stared at her in the moonlight. “I get it now.”

Kiara wrinkled her nose in irritation. “What is it that you think you get?”

“You're afraid of the power of that kind of love. You think it would obscure your objectivity.”

“It would, but that's not the reason I don't believe. I don't believe it because it's not true. Love is nothing more than body chemistry. It makes people…” She paused, made air quotes with her fingers. “…fall in love.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“The chemicals fade. Time passes.”

“The relationship cements.”

“And what does cement do but drag you down?”

“You really are terrified of falling in love.”

“You're not?”

“Not anymore.” They were at the very top of the peak now. There was a wooden fence marking the edge of the Romano land. There was a Private Property sign posted.

“This way,” she said, ducking under the fence and pulling Wyatt along with her.

They walked until they could no longer hear the conversations of the other people on the bluff.

“How about here?” Kiara said stopping in a grove of olive trees.

The full moon was high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over everything. It filtered through the olive trees, bathing Wyatt's face in shadow. He nodded and spread out the blanket.

Kiara lay down on the blanket beside him, remembering what had happened the last time they'd lain on a blanket together. “Okay, let's do this myth-busting thing. Open up the wine.”

“You sure? You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

“I'm here. Might as well take the plunge.”

He uncorked the wine, then looked at her. “What if the myth is true? Would you still want to take the plunge?”

“We barely know each other.”

He reached out and tapped her heart with his index finger. “You know.”

That made her suck in a deep breath. “Are you saying follow my instincts?”

“Animals follow their instincts. That's pretty scientific.” He took a sip from the wine, then passed the bottle to her.

“There's really no way other than instinct.” She took a drink, passed it back as if they were taking some kind of bizarre communion.

“Just go with it.”

“That could be emotion. There's a big difference between emotion and instinct.”

“Man is an emotional being.” He took another drink, passed the bottle again.

“True enough, but emotions aren't logical.”

“Doesn't stop people from feeling them.”

Kiara took her second drink. Then reached for the cork on the blanket. “There,” she said. “It's done. Feel any different?”

The moon was at its zenith now. Fat and round, the color of Swiss cheese.

“Yep.”

“How's that?”

“I want you ten times more than I wanted you before we drank the wine.”

“Now is that the moon, or the alcohol taking?”

“Neither,” he said leaning in close. “It's one-hundred-percent Kiara.”

He held out his arm and she just rolled into his embrace, the smell of wine and summer love in the air. He brought her snug against his chest and time slowed to this one perfect moment under the full moon in June with the man who made her feel more alive than she'd ever felt.

She heard her heart pounding, felt his beat a corresponding rhythm through the material of his shirt. She planted a kiss on his neck, traveled up to find his earlobe. His familiar scent filled her nostril, reached down and caressed her lungs.

Wyatt.

She wasn't sure how much of this feeling she could stand. It was too strong, too wild, too un-Kiara-like. She was accustomed to being confident and in charge. Being with Wyatt was like taking a bulldozer to the elaborate sand castle you'd spent fifteen hours building on the beach.

But oh, how she wanted him. And that's what scared her most of all. This desire—burning, raging, out of control. She knew for certain this feeling was what she'd been avoiding. Wyatt made her feel
real.
And she simply didn't know what to do about it. He could break her so easily. Shatter her heart clean in two.

She saw a shadow of something in his eyes. Where do we go from here? Is it time? Is it right? Should we
just take a leap of faith and jump? How do we keep from hurting each other? The questions poured in on her, but she did not speak her doubts aloud.

Wyatt was spur of the moment, free as the wind. He didn't have the restriction of family.

He reached out and took off her glasses, then removed his own and set them to one side. Then he kissed her. Slow and sweet.

Kiara felt the tingle all the way to her toes. He made her feel exposed, raw. He was dangerous. She was accustomed to being strong, in control, in charge. With one well-placed kiss on top of Twin Hearts, he took it all away.

His teeth nibbled her earlobe and he tightened his grip. “Do you like that?”

She whimpered. “Yes.”

“Mmm, good to know. I love how you smell, the way you taste, salty, yet sweet. That's the way of you, Kiara, tart-tongued at times, but it's only to hide that tender heart.”

He skimmed his hands up underneath her blouse, his palms slipping over skin. His fingers skated around to unhook her bra and the next thing she knew it was off her, flung across the blanket.

Wyatt took her breath, and her wandering thoughts, when he ensnared her lips with his hot, wet mouth and sucked her skin. Radiant heat mushroomed outward, across her shoulders, headed pell-mell for her breasts.

Her pulse leaped, bounded. Her nipples tightened. She reveled into the luxury of his embrace and took a deep breath. She inhaled the pure essence of Wyatt.

He lowered his sultry lids halfway. Lust for her burned in his eyes, stiffening his erection.

“Do you want me to stop now?” he whispered. “Have we gone too far? Are you out of your comfort zone?”

She could back out. End this here. “I'm comfortable.”

He felt so good. She felt good. What he was doing felt wonderful. Everything about this man made her want to beg for him.

Take me, take what you want, leave me scorched to the ground, bare and burned and savagely sated.

“What's your pleasure?” he whispered.

“You,” she whispered back. “I want you.”

He nibbled her throbbing pulse points. The sensation sent aching spikes of awareness flooding her entire body. She moaned softly.

His thumbs brushed lazily against her nipples, tightened the already stiff peaks, driving her crazy. Her breath hung up somewhere between her lungs and her throat. No air, just the smell of Wyatt.

The moon was so bright, so intense it felt as if it was shining just for them. She thought of the generations of Romanos who'd come up here, drunk wine, made love, vowed their undying love. She and Wyatt were part of history, part of tradition. A tradition she'd resisted even though she did not know why.

Tenderly, they undressed each other and shared slow, soft, wet kisses. They were in their own utopia, just the two of them, blissed out on each other. Needing nothing, no one but themselves. Their own little world.

Her hands were on the hem of his T-shirt, dragging it up and over his head. Bye-bye, T-shirt. Hello, hard-muscled man. She whistled in a breath, traced shaky fingers over his chest.

His hands wrestled with her dress, undid the buttons, tugged it from her body.

Then they were naked, pressed skin to skin, chest to breast. A raw, nagging twinge bloomed between her thighs. Her hands were cold against his heated belly.

Things were advancing, getting heavy. Doubts crept in. She'd wanted this. Dreamed of this for weeks. What if she couldn't please him? What if she was lousy in bed—er, blanket on the ground?

“Stop it,” he chided.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking. You're thinking too much.”

“How do you know?”

“You always think too much.”

“
Always
is a broad generalization.”

“Okay, you think too much ninety percent of the time.”

“Maybe you don't think enough.”

“That's highly possible,” he said amicably. “But just stay here with me in the moment. We'll never have this time again.”

He was right. He was so good at making her appreciate what was right in front of her. She loved him for that. And so many other things.

Love.

Okay, she'd admit it. She was falling in love with him. She should be scared, right? But instead…well, she felt free. She wasn't ready to tell him yet. Wasn't ready to weigh the implications of what this meant. Especially in regard to the myth they were supposed to be busting, but she couldn't deny what she was feeling any longer. She'd tried to hide it from herself, but it was a useless exercise. She felt what she felt.

Wyatt.

She reached up to trace his cheek with her fingers
and he peered deeply into her eyes. He looked up at her in total awe. The light in his eyes shook her very soul. The pleasure of his words, the expression of pure gratitude on his face toasted her skin, warmed her heart. He pressed his cheek against her belly, blew lightly across her skin. Goose bumps cropped up, making her giggle.

“I love to hear you laugh. It's the best sound in the world.”

“You have a much better laugh.”

“Yours is worth more because you don't use it as often.”

“Interesting point of view.”

They lay down on the blanket, then their hands got busy exploring. They strummed and played. Tongues and teeth. Lips and noses. Tickles and feather-light touches.

He kissed the pulses under her chin and it made her clit throb. She nibbled the sensitive skin on the under-side of his arm and he shuddered. He licked the back of her knee. She ran her tongue over his collarbone.

They teased and stroked, kneaded and caressed until they had both reached a frantic pitch, perspiring, breathing heavily, aching to the bone for release.

His thumbs brushed her nipples and she let out a hungry moan. Had she ever felt a pleasure this delicious?

She was overpowered, overwhelmed, overcome, over-everything. “I've gotta have you or lose my mind,” she rasped.

“C'mere,” he said and pulled her on top of him so that she was straddling his waist.

She was ready and slick and slid easily over his rock-hard shaft, merging her body with his.

“Kiara.” He breathed out a heavy sigh as she sank onto him.

She glanced down at him. The big man underneath. She was in control. He was letting her have her way and he was staring at her with adoring eyes.

Now, now, gotta have him. Can't wait, can't stop, can't think, can't breathe.

She moved over him. Wyatt groaned. She slid back and forth over his lean, hard-muscled body. Friction hardened his shaft, heated her.

He threw his head back, his dark hair spilling over the blanket, exposed throat gone stark-white in the full moonlight. She rocked against him, gliding and rolling in a sweet rhythm.

Wyatt raised his head, pulled her down lower so he could capture one of her pert nipples with his mouth and gently tug at her with an erotic suction.

While he was doing that, she reached down to cup his balls in her palm with the lightest of pressure. He jerked, groaned. “You keep that up, this will be over in no time.”

The night breeze cooled their heated skin. The full moon bathed in them in a splash of vineyard light. The olive-tree branches creaked.

He rocked his hips in time to her movements. She stared into his face, got lost in his chocolate eyes. She quickened the pace, sliding up, then falling back, riding the length of him again and again.

“My turn to be in control now,” he said, then grasped her around the waist and flipped her over while they stayed connected.

In and out. He moved slow and sure. Their bodies
undulating as he kissed her. Their souls tied, bound, connected.

Every nerve in her body was alive, on edge.

His movements quickened. From slow to staccato, thrusting into her deeper, higher, faster. He was on fire. A wild man. But no wilder than she. He pushed her legs up over her head, opening her wide, entering her as deeply as possible, pounding her hard.

“More,” she cried. “More. Harder, faster.”

Slow and leisurely was over. He was moving at her speed now, pumping into her with vigorous intensity.

They spun, twisted, turned, lost in the whirl of magic and passion, caught up in mythology, lore and the reckless legend of love.

She finally let go when the orgasm overtook her. His noises were as rough and loud as her own. Their bodies jerked in unison. And as they came they cried each other's names over and over. They clung together, thanks to the moon and mist and decadent midnight.

Tears: A poetic reference to the drips of wine left on
the side of a wine glass after it has been swirled.

W
HEN
K
IARA AWOKE
,
the moon had disappeared and the faint fingers of sunrise had begun to tickle the eastern horizon. Where was she? What had she done?

She jolted to a sitting position, raising a hand in a pathetic attempt to cover her nudity. Wyatt lay stretched out beside her, sleeping soundly.

The bottle of Decadent Midnight lay on the ground.

The implications of what they'd done struck her hard. She wasn't ready for this. Last night she'd been swept away. The light of day—

The Best of the Best Award! It was today. In Sonoma. An hour's ride by ferry and then a good three-and-half-hour drive. The judging was at 2:00 p.m. but the contestants had to check in by noon.

And it was…she glanced at her watch.

Five o'clock. She gritted her teeth at the silly watch, then guessed it really must be close to 5:00 a.m. She
needed to get moving, get back to Bella Notte, get the wine loaded and get to Sonoma by noon.

She got dressed, uncertain what to do about Wyatt. She wasn't ready to talk to him. She needed to process her own feelings first. Her mind raced ninety miles an hour and none of her thoughts were making much sense. Only one thing came through loud and clear:

Get to Sonoma.

She stuck her glasses on her face and took one last look at him. He was indeed magnificent. Her heart clutched. Was she in love with him? For so long she'd denied such a thing was possible and now she was in the middle of it.

Get to Sonoma.

Yes. She had to go. Wyatt could wait. The Best of the Best Award could not.

 

W
YATT AWOKE DAZED
and disoriented.

The sun was pushing over the top of the bluff. The night mist off the water disappeared in the wake of the sun's rays. The ground was damp and so was the blanket. He shivered, reached for Kiara to pull her closer, warm her with his body, but he came up with a handful of air.

Blinking, he sat up, trying to remember what had happened. They'd drunk the wine. Made love under a midnight moon in June.

His heart skipped a beat.

They'd fallen asleep.

Now, Kiara was gone. The empty bottle of Decadent Midnight lay off to one side of the blanket.

Where was Kiara?

Freaking out, probably. Having realized they'd made
love under the very circumstances she'd spent her life avoiding. His chest tightened at the thought of her regretting what they'd done. Wyatt didn't regret it. Not at all. In fact, he was happy.

Happier than he'd ever been in his life.

Well, except for the part where Kiara had taken off.

She was just scared. He didn't blame her. He was scared too. He'd never felt like this about anyone. Hadn't known such intense feelings were possible. He had to find her and calm her down. Reassure her that things hadn't changed between them.

But that was a lie, right? Because things
had
changed. He'd changed. She'd changed him. And he wanted so badly to believe he'd changed her too.

Because if he hadn't, he was out here alone.

In love alone.

Love.

The word hung in his mind; it did not scare him.

That was bizarre enough.

But not only did the realization that he was in love with Kiara not scare him, he relished it. He couldn't wait to tell her.

She's going to think it's just because of the legend. She'd not going to believe it.

Wyatt licked his lips, kneaded his forehead with two fingers. He was going to have to find a way to show her that it was true. Actions always spoke louder than words.

And what of the fact that he'd never gotten around to telling her who he really was? When was he going to sandwich that in there? Before or after he told her that he'd fallen in love with her?

I love you and, oh, by the way, I'm your nemesis.

Wyatt blew out his breath. How had he gotten himself into this mess?

Doesn't matter. Just go find her. You'll think of a way to talk yourself out of this. You always do. Right.

Except his time, he didn't want to be glib or charming, or joke his way into her heart. He wanted to be open and honest. He wanted her to love him at his core, not for the shine he could put on his image.

Then he remembered Sonoma. That's where she was.

Get up! Get moving! Today is the competition. She's got to be frantic trying to get everything loaded up and transported to the mainland. If you really want to prove you love her, get up and go help her.

Wyatt sprang to his feet, grabbed up the blanket, the wine bottle and hurried down the hill.

Twin Hearts looked so compelling in the morning light. Maybe even more compelling than they had looked in moonlight.

All the other couples had disappeared. The parking lot, when he arrived there, lay empty. No vehicles in sight. Kiara had taken the van, gone off and left him.

Why had she left him?

Freak-out. She was having a freak-out.

He could allow her that.

In the meantime, he had a two-mile hike back to Bella Notte. If he ran, he could be there in twenty minutes.

Resolutely, Wyatt took off.

 

“H
URRY, HURRY
,” K
IARA
urged Maurice. “Let's get the wine loaded up. I've got the bottles we're taking stacked in the lab.”

“Calm down,” her cousin said. “We've got plenty of
time. We don't have to check in until noon. It's barely six now.”

“I want to get there with plenty of time to spare. I want to make sure everything is perfect. I want—” To get out of here before Wyatt wakes up and comes looking for me and wants to talk.

Panicked. She was panicked. Mainly because she was more concerned about the aftermath of spending the night with Wyatt up on Twin Hearts than she was about the competition, and that was distressing.

This was wrong. Very wrong. Nothing mattered more to her than Bella Notte—except for her family—and they were part and parcel of the same thing. She couldn't separate the two.

But now, here she was thinking about the magic of last night. How special it had been, how she could feel herself losing control of a man who was supposed to have been nothing more than a casual summer fling.

Kiara knew it wasn't true. That no matter how much she told herself that Wyatt was just a guy, she knew she was lying to herself.

Lying and hiding from her feelings.

Stop it. Stop thinking about him.

No matter how she chastised herself she could not keep from thinking about how his body felt buried inside hers. How he smelled so rich and sweet like the most sinful chocolates on earth. How she wanted to believe in the legend.

Kiara's intern, Lauren, came from the lab wheeling the crate of wine on a dolly. “You ready to load these?”

“Yes, thank you, you're a sweetheart for helping,” Kiara said, grateful.

Maurice assisted Lauren loading up the crates.

Grandmamma came from the house, headed over to the van. “I made cinnamon rolls for your trip.”

“Thank you,” Kiara said, taking the sack that Grandmamma presented to her.

Lauren turned, went back to the lab.

Grandmamma put her hands on her hips, slanted her head, studied Kiara for a long moment.

“What is it?” Kiara asked, a ripple of alarm sliding through her.

“You look different,” Grandmamma said.

Surely what she'd done the night before was not detectable on her face. She'd taken a shower, changed her clothes. Now, she ran a hand through her hair. “No, not different. I'm the same. Exactly the same.”

Grandmamma stared as if she didn't believe a word of it. “Where is Wyatt?”

“I don't know. Why should I know? It wasn't my turn to look after him.”

Grandmamma and Maurice exchanged a look.

“Last night was the full moon,” Grandmamma announced.

“Was it?” Kiara asked, trying to be cool and failing miserably.

“It was.”

Maurice and Grandmamma kept staring at her.

“What?” she finally snapped, getting irritated.

A sly smile curled her grandmother's lips. “Nothing,” she said. “Enjoy your cinnamon rolls.”

She strolled back into the house, but Kiara heard her humming beneath her breath. “Bella Notte.” She was humming “Bella Notte.”

“My little cousin is finally in love.” Maurice laughed.

“I'm not in love,” Kiara denied. “Not at all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm not.”

“Where were you last night?”

“That's none of your business. And I'm not in love.”

Maurice just laughed louder.

Glowering, Kiara shoved the last crate into the back of the van. Then she climbed inside. “Are you coming or not?”

“Oh,” Maurice said. “I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

 

W
YATT REACHED
B
ELLA
Notte, breathless and sweaty. He'd run the two miles in fifteen minutes with the blanket thrown over his shoulder and the bottle of Decadent Midnight tucked under his arm.

The first person he saw when he arrived was Steve.

Steve stared at him and shook his head. “Dude.”

“What is it?”

Steve's eyes widened. “Um…you look a mess.”

“Never mind that, where's Kiara?”

“Long gone. She took the morning ferry to the mainland.”

Kiara went to the competition without him? He could see her leaving him on the peak. She'd been flustered and embarrassed, maybe even overwhelmed by her feelings. He got that, he was overwhelmed too, but to go off and leave him? Well, his feelings were hurt.

“When's the next ferry?”

“Not for two hours.”

He glanced at his watch. He could still make it to the competition by noon.

He tried to call Kiara, but she didn't—or wouldn't—pick up.

“Kiara,” he blurted, when it went to voice mail. “Please don't shut me out like this. We have to talk. There's something important I have to tell you. Something I should have told you last night. Call me as soon as you get this. I'm taking the next ferry to the mainland. I'm coming to Sonoma.”

He hung up, feeling more guilt than he'd ever felt in his life. Perhaps he should have just told her in the phone message who he was, but he didn't want to break the news to her like that. This was something he needed to tell her in person, face-to-face. He couldn't take the easy way out.

Then a chilling idea occurred to him. What if she'd somehow discovered who he was? That would explain the cold shoulder. But how could she have found out between last night and this morning? Maybe he talked in his sleep? It was a formidable thought. Losing her was a very real possibility.

He went to the lab to kill time until the next ferry. Or at least that's what he told himself. In all honesty, he went there because it was the closest he could come to being with Kiara. He opened the side door and walked in. He sat down at the stool where she had first interviewed him.

Kiara.

He gripped the table. If he lost her, he'd never forgive himself. That's when he noticed the bottle of vinegar sitting on the desk. He got up to put it under the counter. Kiara kept a spotless, well-organized lab. Lauren had probably left it out. When he bent to put the vinegar in the acid cabinet, that's when he saw the 50-cc syringe with the thin-gauge needle in the trash. Now, that was a health hazard. He knew Kiara had not done that.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor.

Wyatt didn't know why, but he ducked behind the room divider. Guilty conscience most likely.

The door opened.

“It's done,” the woman said, and he recognized the voice as Lauren's. Was she talking to him? Had she seen him dive behind the divider?

Feeling sheepish, he was about to come out when he heard her say, “The only thing Decadent Midnight will win now is a vinegar contest.”

She must be on the phone.

He thought of the vinegar bottle. Of the syringe in the trash can. A chill of dread moved through him.

“No, thank you, Mr. DeSalme. I can't wait to start working for you.”

He almost couldn't believe the implications of what she was saying. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew exactly what his older brothers were capable of. They'd do a lot of underhanded things to win. Like send a corporate spy to monitor their competition. Or get an ambitious intern to spike the competition's superior wine with vinegar.

Rage propelled Wyatt from behind the divider. “What in the hell did you do?”

Lauren shrieked, threw her phone in the air. “Jesus,” she cried and splayed a hand over her chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”

He stalked toward her. She backpedaled fast. “My brothers put you up to spiking the wine Kiara took to the competition.”

Lauren shrugged. “Prove it.”

The look on her face was all the proof he needed.
“Your fingerprints are bound to be all over the syringe and bottles.”

“Big deal. I could have touched those things at any time. I work in the lab.”

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “You're not getting away with it.”

 

T
HE
B
EST OF
the Best Award was being held at the Sonoma Civic Center as part of a four-day-long Fourth of July celebration. The streets were lined with banners welcoming visitors. Tourists packed shops and boutiques. The traffic coming into town moved at a crawl. Kiara had been here before and had expected the delay. It was several hours before they had to have their wine in front of the judges for the taste test, but they had to be registered by noon and it was eleven-fifteen now.

She could feel the tension mounting. What if Decadent Midnight wasn't as good as she thought it was? What if someone like DeSalme blew them out of the water?