Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Natalie searched blindly in the dark for the button on her sound machine, cranking the symphony of rain and bullfrogs to the maximum level. Julian and Hallie tried to be quiet. They really did. But bedsprings creak at four o’clock in the morning for only one reason—and creak they did. Natalie covered her face with a pillow for good measure and rolled back into the sheets, employing what she called the State Capitals Method. On the occasions her brother and his new girlfriend decided to make love down the hallway in the guest house they all shared, Natalie avoided that troubling imagery by naming state capitals.

Montgomery, Juneau, Phoenix . . .

Squeak squeak squeak.

That was it.

Natalie sat up in bed and pushed off her sleep mask, giving the wine dizziness a moment to dissipate. No more excuses. It was time to bite the bullet and go talk to her mother. It was time to get the hell out of Napa. She’d been licking her wounds far too long, and while she was happy beyond words for Julian to have found the love of his life, she didn’t need to witness it in surround sound.

She threw off the covers and stood, her hip bumping into the nightstand and knocking over an empty wineglass. One of four—as if she needed another sign that she’d turned into a lush in the name of avoiding her problems.

Life had ground to a standstill.

Looking out the window of the back bedroom, she could see the main house where she’d grown up and Corinne, her mother, currently lived. That was her destination in the morning. Asking her mother for money was going to sting like a thousand wasps, but what choice did she have? If she was going to return to New York and open her own investment firm, she needed capital.

Her mother wasn’t going to make it easy. No, she was probably waiting right now in front of a roaring fire, dressed in all her finery, having sensed that Natalie was on the verge of humbling herself. Sure, they’d had a few softer moments since Natalie’s return to St. Helena, but just under the surface, she’d always be the Embarrassment to Corinne.

Natalie tossed her eye mask in the direction of the sad, empty wineglass quartet and plodded into the en suite bathroom. Might as well get the talk over with early, right? That way if Corinne said no to Natalie’s proposal, at least she’d have the whole day to wallow. And this was Napa, so wallowing could be made very fashionable. She’d find a wine tasting and charm everyone in attendance. People who had no idea she’d been asked to step down as a partner of her finance firm for a wildly massive trade blunder that cost, oh, a cool billion.

Nor would they know she’d been kicked to the curb by her fiancé, who had been too embarrassed to meet her at the altar.

Back in New York? Persona non grata.

In St. Helena? Royalty.

Snort. Natalie shed her sleepshirt and stepped beneath the hot shower spray. And if she thought her brother doing the deed constituted an unwanted image, it had nothing on the memory of August Cates yesterday afternoon in all his beefcake glory.

I don’t have a bottomless bank account like some people in this town.

If only.

Natalie didn’t have anything to complain about. She was living in a beautiful guest house on the grounds of a vineyard, for god’s sake. But she’d been living off her savings for more than a month now and she could barely open a lemonade stand, let alone launch a firm, with the amount left over. She had privilege, but financial freedom presented a challenge. One she could hopefully overcome this morning. All it would cost was her pride.

The fact that August Cates planned to leave St. Helena imminently had nothing to do with her sudden urgency to leave, too. Nothing whatsoever. That big, incompetent buffoon and his decisions had no bearing on her life. So why the pit in her stomach? It had been there since he approached the table to have his wine judged yesterday. The man had a chip the size of Denver on his shoulder, but he always had kind of a . . . softness in his eyes. A relaxed, observant quality that said I’ve seen everything. I can handle anything.

But it was missing yesterday.

And it caught Natalie off guard how much it threw her.

He’d looked resigned. Closed off.

Now, drying her hair in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, she couldn’t pretend that hole in her belly wasn’t yawning wider. Where would August go? What would he do now that winemaking was off the table?

Who was August Cates?

Part of her—a part she would never admit to out loud—had wondered if she would find out eventually. In a weak moment. Or by accident.

Had she been looking forward to that?

Natalie turned off the dryer with a snappy movement, ran the brush one final time through her long, black hair, and left the bathroom, crossing to her closet. She put on a sleeveless black sweaterdress and leather loafers, added a swipe of nude lipstick and some gold earrings. By the time she was finished, she could see through the guest room window that lights were on in the main house and she took a long breath, banishing the jitters.

The worst Corinne could say was no, Natalie reminded herself on the way up the path that ran alongside the fragrant vineyard. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the barest rim of gold outlined Mount St. Helena. She could almost feel the grapes waking up and turning toward the promise of warmth from above. Part of her truly loved this place. It was impossible not to. The smell of fertile earth, the tradition, the magic, the intricate process. Thousands of years ago, some industrious—and probably bored—people had buried bottles of grape juice underground for the winter and invented wine, which proved Natalie’s theory: where there is a will to get drunk, dammit, there is a way.

She paused at the bottom of the porch steps leading to the main house. Old-world charm oozed from every inch of her childhood home. Greenery spilled over flower boxes beneath every window, rocking chairs urged people to sit and relax, and the trickle of the pool’s water fixture could be heard from the front of the house, even though it was located behind it. A gorgeous manor that never failed to make winery visitors swoon. The place was incredible. But she had more affection for the guest house than the manor where she’d lived from birth to college. And right now, all it represented was the obstacle ahead.

A moment later, she knocked on the door and heard the sound of footsteps approaching on the other side. The peephole darkened, the lock turned—and then she was looking at Corinne.

Corinne closed the door firmly, then locked it. “Of course I own a robe. Normally, I would be wearing it until at least seven, but I have virtual meetings this morning.” In an uncharacteristic move, her mother let a smile peek through before it was quickly quelled. “Your brother has negotiated a deal making us the official wine of several wedding venues down the California coast. He is really helping turn things around for us.”

They kept moving.

So in the interest of family tradition, Natalie turned toward Corinne and folded her hands on one knee. “Mother.” If she’d learned anything from phase one in the finance industry, it was to look a person in the eye when asking for money, and she did so now. “I know you will agree—it’s time for me to go back to New York. I’ve been in contact with Claudia, one of my previous analysts, and she’s agreed to come on board with my new company. We’re going to be small, more of a boutique firm, but both of us have enough connections to facilitate steady growth. With a couple of smart plays—”

Clang. A ding in the armor.

Okay.

She’d expected that and was prepared for it. Just keep going.

Natalie kept her features composed in an attempt to disguise how fast her heart was now beating. Why was it that she could make million-dollar trades without her pulse skipping, but one barb from Corinne and she might as well be dangling from the side of a skyscraper by a pinkie, cold sweat breaking out beneath her dress?

Parents. Man, they truly messed up their kids.

Not even the slightest reaction from her mother. She’d seen this coming and it burned, even though they’d both been aware this talk was on the horizon.

That last part burned. Of course it did.

She’d been offloaded by a man who’d claimed to love her.

But for some reason, Morrison’s face didn’t materialize. No, instead she saw August. Wondered what he would say about a six-figure deposit on Tribeca Rooftop. He would look so out of place among the wedding guests. He’d probably show up in jeans, a ballcap, and that faded gray navy T-shirt. He would crush her ex in an arm-wrestling match, too. Why did that make her feel better enough to continue?

Corinne stared at her for several beats. “Perhaps I would.”

Natalie released a breath.

Corinne sighed and refolded her hands in her lap. “You are well aware of the terms of your trust fund, Natalie. Your father might be racing cars in Italy and parading around with women half his age like a fool, but he set forth the language of the trust and as far as the bank is concerned, he’s still in control.”

Natalie lunged to her feet. “The language in that contract is archaic. How can it even be legal in this day and age? There has to be something you can do.”

Her mother let a breath seep out. “Naturally, I agree with you. But your father would have to sign off on the change.”

Corinne’s attention shot to the vineyard, which was lightening in the path of the sun. “I wasn’t aware you cared.”

They obviously remembered that period after the fire very differently. Getting into the semantics of the last time she’d been in St. Helena wouldn’t do her cause any good now. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

Corinne appeared poised to argue, but visibly changed course. “My hands are tied, Natalie. The terms of the trust are set in stone. The recipient must be gainfully employed and married for the money to be released. I realize that sounds like something out of Regency England, not modern-day California, but your father is old-school Italian. His parents’ marriage was arranged. It’s glamorous to him. It’s tradition.”

Natalie lowered herself back down to the couch and implored her mother with a look. “Please, there has to be something we can do. I can’t stay here forever.”

With a withering eye roll, Corinne pushed to her feet and strode to the front window. “You would think your father’s hasty departure would bruise the loyalty of his local friends and associates, but I assure you, it has not. They still have him up on a pedestal—and that includes Ingram Meyer.”

Natalie’s jaw had to be touching the floor. “Some man I’ve never heard of—or met—holds my future in his hands?”

Corinne was silent a moment. “Thank you.”

That was it. The end of the conversation. There was nothing more to be said. Currently, Natalie was the furthest thing from gainfully employed. And even further from being married. The patriarchy wins again. She’d have to return to New York with her tail between her legs and ask for a low-level position at one of the firms she’d once called rivals. They would eat up her humility with a spoon and she’d . . . grin and bear it. Pulling together enough money to open her own business would probably take a decade, but she would do it. She’d do it on her own.

Corinne said nothing as Natalie left the house, closing the door behind her and descending the steps with her chin up. This morning, she would head into town, get her hair and nails done. At the very least, she could look good when she landed back in New York, right?

But everything changed on the way back from getting that balayage—and like some weird nursery rhyme from hell, it involved a cat, a rat . . . and a SEAL.

Chapter Three

He should have closed the front door.

Now the goddamn cat was gone. She’d flown the coop in protest of his preliminary stages of packing. Very preliminary. He’d only taken the suitcase out of the closet and opened it on his bed. After sniffing it, climbing inside, and taking a few laps around his luggage, Menace had slunk off to the kitchen. August assumed she couldn’t care less about his packing activities, but he forgot the cardinal rule about cats.

Change equaled assault. And they were casual in their revenge.

Now here he was, jogging along the path between his disastrous winery and the road, calling out for a deaf cat. How had it come to this?

Menace never left the house. August knew that firsthand because after she’d shown up one day out of the blue and declared him her new caretaker, he’d spent two weeks trying to coax her furry ass back outside. Apparently he should have tried packing.

Silence.

Obviously.

His unlikely companion meowed on occasion, but it usually happened in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason that he could figure out. He’d always considered himself a dog person. No, he was a dog person. He just liked this one cat.

Famous last words.

Up ahead near the road, there was a flash of orange. There she is.

August picked up the pace of his jog, starting to get a little nervous upon realizing how close they were to the road. And when he noticed the distinct rumble of an approaching vehicle, he started to sprint, sweat breaking out along his spine.

August’s mouth went dry at the screech of tires on the road and a moment later, he broke through the trees . . .

Only to find his temperamental feline rolled over onto her back, preening, two inches from the front bumper of a blue hatchback. Totally unconcerned about her brush with death. Just another day wrecking the lives of humans and getting away with it because of her pink nose and toe beans. Unbelievable.

August started to step onto the road so he could scoop up the cat and thank the driver for being extra vigilant, but a husky cry stopped him in his tracks.

Natalie?

He’d never heard her make that sound before—no, his dreams didn’t count—but August knew instantly that she was the driver of the car. As a result, his body went on high alert. The kind of alert that came from tossing and turning last night, cursing himself for not being able to stop thinking about this woman he disliked, while also oddly conflicted about simply leaving her in the rearview. He hadn’t expected to see her again, but there she was.

Picking up his cat and cradling the animal to her chest in a flurry of apologies and nuzzling and chin scratching. As he watched dumbfounded, the cat leaned all the way back in Natalie’s arms and locked eyes with him from her upside-down position. Telling him in no uncertain terms with her bland expression that she had other options. And those options would be pursued if he made another false move, like brushing his teeth at the wrong time of day.

He should let Natalie know he was standing there. Right.

But it wouldn’t hurt to take a few seconds to admire the woman from behind. Hell, it was his favorite pastime. Noticing those legs, especially in the dress she was wearing. The pointy shoes that had just enough elevation to keep her calves flexed. Sweet Lord, those legs went on forever. On his deathbed, his final regret would be missing his chance to feel them glued to his hips. Thrashing around when she got close, then wrapping him back up again for the finale.

Her whole body sort of deflated at the sight of him. Complete exasperation in human form. “It’s eyeliner, caveman.”

Her shoulder bounced up and down. “Maybe I had a date.”

Rudely, his esophagus tied itself into a knot. “With who?”

God, he hated the idea of her on a date more than he hated . . . anything. Just because they weren’t dating didn’t mean she could just date anyone else, willy-nilly. Because that wasn’t irrational or anything, right?

She swayed with the cat, as if trying to lull the animal to sleep. “I wasn’t out with anyone,” she muttered. “I went to buy foundation and ended up in a chair getting made over.”

He hid his relief. “They saw that high-limit credit card coming a mile away.”

A bright smile. “Shouldn’t you be out clubbing a wooly mammoth or something?”

August smirked. “I should be packing, but my cat ran off.”

Natalie adjusted her stance to jut that shapely hip out. “You expect me to believe this is your cat? She’s your pet?”

She scrutinized the animal, lifting it up and leaning in closer. “Why isn’t she wearing a collar?”

Did Natalie’s lips jump a little or was that wishful thinking?

Because yeah, the woman had a gorgeous smile. He’d seen a lot of it up close. He’d tasted it. Months had passed since that night and the knowledge that he’d never taste it again wasn’t getting any easier. At least not as long as he continued to run into her in St. Helena. This attraction he’d been burdened with for Natalie was a motherfucker. Once again, his dick ruined everything—and it was ruining his getaway right now. He should be packing, starting the journey to forgetting about what might have been if he’d just been less of an asshole. Or if she was less of a spoiled brat.

Why did he hesitate before answering? No clue. “Packing. I took out my suitcase and she lit out on a death mission.”

Her expression seemed to freeze itself on. She was probably restraining herself from calling him a quitter again. “Oh.” A few seconds ticked by, then she started toward him, obviously intending to hand over the cat. “Well, the last thing I want to do is delay your long overdue exit from Napa. I’ll let you get back to it.”

August’s smile was brittle. “Can’t wait to never look back.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “She’s punishing me.”

Natalie Vos was far from his least favorite person, but he kept that to himself. In fact, up close like this, her smoky floral scent was taking jabs at his brain, making him forget what he ever had against her in the first place. Who could hold a grudge against a woman this beautiful and soft looking, and so much shorter than him that he started to feel like an ogre? At least until she said, “Are you going to help me? Or just stand there with your hairy knuckles on the ground?”

Worry snuck in and took hold. “Why? What happened today?”

Before she could answer, a car approached on the road, maneuvering its way around Natalie’s vehicle, which was still idling in the lane headed toward Vos Vineyard. Of course, Menace didn’t hear the approach of the oncoming traffic, so when she caught the unexpected movement from the corner of her eye, she tensed, digging her claws into Natalie’s chest.

Natalie cried out in pain.

August experienced panic the likes of which he hadn’t seen since combat, his throat dropping down into his stomach so he couldn’t swallow.

She looked down at the injuries and winced. “It’s fine.”

August ignored that while throwing open the door of Natalie’s car, a growling—yes, growling—Menace wedged beneath one arm. Thanks to the height difference, he was jammed up against the steering wheel until he slid the seat all the way back. He threw the vehicle into drive and pulled it onto the shoulder, trying and failing not to notice the way her scent laced the air. What was in those shopping bags? The contents were wrapped in tissue paper, meaning her purchases had to be fancy. Of course they were.

So why was her car the most basic of rentals?

Couldn’t she afford a Mercedes or something equally high-end?

Telling himself to mind his own business and focus on the task at hand, August removed the keys from the ignition, took one last whiff of the air, and climbed out.

That drew August up short. Frowning, he turned to face Natalie where she still hesitated at the top of the path. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

She didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t seem to know the answer.

Whatever vitriol lay between them, August was not okay with that indecision. “Natalie, the sight of those scratches on you is absolutely killing me. I’d just as soon put a mark on you myself than I would pursue a ballet career.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She blinked several times and flounced forward, moving past him on the path. “I didn’t know cat people were so dramatic,” she muttered.

Her shoulders shook a little bit. With laughter? Why now, when he couldn’t even see her face? “My only hope is that you are better at repairing wounds than you are at making wine.”

It wasn’t that he was satisfied when her step faltered, it was that . . . well, he was sick and tired of this woman seeing him as incapable and hapless because he didn’t know how to ferment some fucking grapes. Was it important at this stage for Natalie to perceive him as capable? No. He was on the verge of leaving. And yet he couldn’t help wanting that approval from her. More than he had a right to.

They walked in silence to the house. It was a small, California-style two-bedroom with a red tile roof and beige stucco exterior. His temporary home sat on the edge of the property, two barns in the near distance. One he’d been using for poorly attended tastings, the other for production and barrel storage. Spread out on all sides were rows of fragrant grapes stretching up toward the sun. He could still remember the feeling of stepping onto the property for the first time, hearing Sam whisper in his ear that it was perfect. And it was. A vibrant slice of heaven that he never would have been able to imagine during those countless days in the desert. But he wasn’t cut out for the process it took to make the vineyard run correctly.

The woman waiting to be let into his house knew it better than anyone.

He slid his key into the lock and their gazes met, held, the weight of a tire iron dropping low in his belly. This was what it would have been like, taking her home. Getting his hands on her. They would have shook this fucking town.

Chapter Four

Natalie expected a mess. Pizza boxes and dirty gym clothes and beer bottles. Maybe a couple of suspicious tissues. But she could have eaten off the floor of August’s little house. It was that clean. Spices were lined up on the kitchen counter in front of a cutting board. The kitchen and living area were connected and the space was small, so a king-sized easy chair was his only piece of furniture, angled toward the television. He’d managed to make the scene inviting with a rug and a basket holding a blanket. It was . . . nice.

Actually, it beat her wineglass graveyard of a guest room by a million miles.

August circled around to look at her face and let out a booming laugh. “Look at you. You’re shocked. You really expected me to live in a frat house, didn’t you?” He entered the bathroom, which was behind the sole door in the short hallway leading to the bedrooms, she guessed. Flipping on the light, he gestured for her to follow him into the tiny room. She started in that direction but paused on the threshold, unsure about being crowded into such a small amount of square footage with a man that large. A man she couldn’t seem to stop being attracted to, despite the fact that he was judgmental and rude and seemed to see the absolute worst in her. “Did you really give yourself stitches in a dust storm twice?”

August paused in the act of rooting through his medicine cabinet. His hand, holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol, dropped to the vanity. “Yeah.”

He turned slightly, propping a hip on the sink. “Why? You want to judge my handiwork before you deem me suitable to fix your royal boo-boo?”

No. She was trying to delay the moment when they would be standing close enough to touch, because he scrambled her brain to the point where she started to debate the merits of sleeping with him even after over a month of insults and teasing. “It’s a good practice to ask for credentials.”

He dropped his shirt with a snort. “Don’t act like you weren’t ready to climb me like a ladder, princess.”

No lies detected. That was then, however. This was now. “Shame you had to open your mouth, isn’t it?”

August dragged his tongue along his full bottom lip. “You would have loved my mouth.”

Her skin was the temperature of the sun. “Can we get this over with or are you hoping I bleed to death?”

In the space of a heartbeat, his expression went from arrogant to concerned. “Sorry. Come here.”

The apology caught her off guard. So much so that she kind of lurched into the bathroom, too stunned to do anything but release the ripped edges of her dress and watch him apply rubbing alcohol to a cotton ball, trying not to notice his fresh, fruity scent while he did so. “Why do you smell like grapefruit?”

Natalie’s gaze flew down to where her hands were death-gripping the ledge of the vanity, releasing the white marble as quickly as possible. “The rubbing alcohol stung.”

Her nose wrinkled. “How do you know?”

August appeared to be silently kicking himself. “You two seemed about the same age, so I asked her.”

He hesitated. Did his face deepen with color slightly? “Just making small talk.”

At some point during the thrust and parry of their conversation, he’d moved in closer. The sink dug into the small of her back. That part of her that he’d excited months ago, but never fulfilled, was requesting payment in full. His jeans would feel so good on her naked inner thighs. He’d pull her hair in those big fists and she could finally, finally, get this oaf out of her system. What harm could it do? He was leaving, wasn’t he?

Natalie looked up at August through her eyelashes, her right hand lifting with the intention of exploring those hard muscles through his shirt. “I was thinking—”

Ice crystallized on her skin, her hand dropping like a stone.

He caught it, frowning. Searching her expression. “Wait. Whoa. What were you going to say? You were thinking what?”

Disguising the uncomfortable weight in her chest with a saccharine-sweet smile, she scooted out from between his huge body and the vanity, fleeing the bathroom. But not before throwing a parting shot over her shoulder. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out of town, August.”

She halted with one hand on the doorknob, turned, and held out her hand. “Give them to me.”

He made no move to take them out of his pocket. Instead, he jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “You were going to touch me in there.”

She expected him to pounce on that last part. To try and persuade her to spend the next few hours distracted in one of those back bedrooms. To her surprise, he didn’t. “Why did you have a rough day?”

He had her there.

And damn, Natalie was suddenly desperate to get the weight off her chest. She refused to interrupt Julian and Hallie’s freakish happiness with her problems. All of her friends were in New York—mostly surface-level acquaintances who also worked in finance. To their credit, when she’d made the bad trade and the firm requested that she step down, they hadn’t abandoned her. But their emails and texts had thinned over the last few weeks, a gradual ghosting that left them with a clear conscience and her with no one to call.

Could she vent to August?

Despite the acerbic nature of their relationship, she couldn’t help but feel like . . . they knew each other. He was not a stranger.

She shook off the comfort it gave her to acknowledge that.

No. Whatever. She’d talk to him because it was a free chance to unload. He was leaving and wouldn’t be able to use any of the information to make fun of her.

His brows knit together as he processed that. “Trust fund. Shouldn’t that be released when you become a legal adult?”

Was she really going to tell him this? Yeah. Why not? Nothing could make today any worse. Not even his ridicule. “Not only am I obligated to be gainfully employed, I am required to be married in order for the trustee to release the assets. Julian, too.”

A full five seconds ticked by. “You’re lying.”

It wasn’t an accusation. He was . . . satisfyingly shocked. “Nope,” she said slowly, hoping she was reading him right. “My father lives in Italy now. Basically, he’s inflicting his will on me all the way from the motherland and his rules are circa 1930 old-school. Both my mother and I would rather stick our feet in a lake full of piranhas than reach out and ask him for a favor after a four-year silence. Imagine if he said no and we sacrificed that final shred of pride for nothing?” She shrugged. “Also, I think there is a part of my mother that enjoys Napa being my only option for a while longer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. You know, the shit that powers the economy.”

He snorted, waved that off. “You’d rather be in an overcrowded city than your family’s vineyard in Napa?”

Was it her imagination or did lightning strike in the depths of his eyes? “I don’t like it.”

She was saying too much now. That last part didn’t need to be aired. It was hers. But she couldn’t deny that the pressure in her chest eased on the tail end of the confession.

August seemed to shake himself, but his attention never strayed from her face. “Sure. Yeah.” He handed them over, but when she turned to leave, he caught her wrist in a loose grip. “Hey, for whatever it’s worth, I know what it’s like to fail. Sank every last dime I had into this place and the bank laughed me out the door when I applied for a loan.”

That gave her pause. “Was his name Ingram Meyer?”

He appeared to search his memory bank. “Yeah. That’s the guy.”

No. More like the bow of the Titanic speeding toward the iceberg.

He’s the same man who has been an insufferable jerk for months. Finding all of her weak spots and poking them relentlessly. Most likely, he’d softened his demeanor now only because he sensed a chance to get laid. No way was she giving him that satisfaction. Even if it would mean satisfaction for her, too. Somehow she just knew it would. But their obvious chemistry was neither here nor there. This was the end of the road.

He winked, then sauntered back a few steps with a smirk that never quite reached his eyes. “Maybe. But you were definitely going to kiss me in the bathroom, princess.”

Not wanting August to get in another jab, Natalie turned and stalked out the door, sidestepping the cat, who’d apparently witnessed the whole conversation and didn’t appear to be the least bit apologetic about assaulting her. She’d almost reached the path leading to the road when August’s voice rang out from across the front yard.

She turned to find August in the doorway of his house, forearms braced on the top of the frame, expression cocky, a swath of stomach muscles on display, biceps popping right, then left, then right. Then left again. Definitely not turning her on.

Laughter that died out almost as fast as it started.

Why did her legs feel more and more like rubber as she hiked to the car?

Leaving this man’s company should make her feel free as a bird.

It did.

Right.

With a hard swallow, she slid the keys into the ignition. And after a long pause wherein the most insane idea occurred to her, she started the car with a snort and drove away.

* * *

Later that night, Natalie left the house without really knowing why.

She wasn’t the type to take an evening stroll.

Back in New York, her modus operandi had been to work hard all day and collapse on the couch with a glass of wine at the end of it. Tonight, however, she had an unexplained case of jitters. Hallie and Julian were out on a double date with Hallie’s friends Jerome and Lavinia, meaning she had the entire guest house to herself. She should be ordering an obscene amount of takeout and watching Below Deck reruns, but instead she found herself walking straight out the front door into the fragrant evening in the direction of downtown St. Helena.

Maybe she was in the mood for some atmosphere. People.

A mood lift.

Upon returning home a few months ago, she’d gone on several dates, hoping to find that perfect rebound to occupy her while she wallowed in Napa. But shortly thereafter, dating had totally lost its appeal and she refused to examine why. Refused. She’d swiped left so many times without a good reason that she’d gotten disgusted and deleted Tinder altogether. Man, her phone was a silent, desolate place these days. She should just use it as a paperweight or a doorstop.

The lights of Grapevine Way beckoned as she walked along the dirt path, live jazz music from one of the many cafés winding toward her on the breeze. August was right to question why she preferred the city over this lush valley of grapes and sunshine and merriment. People came from all over to experience the exquisite bliss of St. Helena. But as Natalie stepped onto Grapevine Way and hooked a right, still with no idea of her destination, she couldn’t muster any affection for the town. It was beautiful, classy, inviting. A jewel at the foot of the mountain.

But to her, it would always be the place she wasn’t wanted.

Natalie stopped at the window of a confection shop that had been there since she was a child. It had already closed for the day, but as she peered in through the darkened glass, she remembered one of the times she and Julian had been brought there as children.

Julian couldn’t walk through the shop without a classmate flagging her older brother down, asking him to come sit at their table. Even though the future history professor spoke only in breadcrumbs, those monosyllables were either funny or thought provoking. And, more importantly, never unkind. As a track star and academic wonder, he’d been nothing short of revered. Popularity had come easily—and uninvited—to Julian.

But Natalie could also see herself through the glass, working overtime to be noticed by anyone. Her parents, her classmates, the cool teenagers behind the counter. For some reason, the same wealth that added to Julian’s popularity seemed to reflect negatively on her. She wasn’t a gifted genius. She was an average student. Didn’t have a lot of athletic ability. All that money at her disposal and she’d probably just coast her whole life, thanks to being a Vos.

Around the time Natalie realized everyone thought of her as someone who’d merely won the last name lottery, she’d started acting out. Playing pranks on her friends. Always accepting the dare. And when she got older, she’d been the one to supply the booze and throw the raging parties that got everyone in trouble. It just seemed to be the only way anyone noticed or acknowledged her. If she was loud. If she was crazy. Softly approaching her parents for affection never worked. They were either busy or their meager amount of free parent time had to be spent on Julian, who achieved honors and medals and scholarships.

She stepped back from the glass and kept walking, at a faster clip this time. She wasn’t that attention-starved kid anymore. After an embarrassing stay in rehab after high school, she’d accepted her mother’s help getting into Cornell. But she’d graduated at the top of her class on her own merit. She’d made partner without any intervention from her parents. She’d proven to herself that she was capable and driven.

Being back in St. Helena, however—and flat on her face—she could sense that old itch under her skin. To come back bigger and better and louder. To do something that would get her the positive reinforcement she’d always craved but could never seem to earn. That was what this firm would be for her. A way back to the top. A way to respect herself again.

A familiar voice reached Natalie’s ears then and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a group of tipsy tourists winding around her in their mules and summer scarves. Up ahead, parked at the curb, was August. As she watched, he unloaded boxes of wine into the trunk of her old classmate—and mother of triplets—Teri Frasier.

Natalie’s pulse was just about jumping out of her skin. This was it. Really it.

Clearly, August was on his way out of St. Helena. Giving away his final supply of wine, as if it had no value. And it didn’t. To be clear. It was like drinking gasoline that had been marinating with dog shit for a week. But hearing him acknowledge it in such a self-deprecating way made her stomach drop.

Her fingertips started to buzz, the way they did before a hefty trade.

Oh God, she could almost hear the bad idea coming toward her on a conveyor belt of doom. Just bumping along, getting closer and closer even as she tried to talk herself out of acknowledging the possibility of . . . helping August and herself in the process. She should let him drive out of town, never to darken the doorway of St. Helena ever again. They were oil and water. He had a chip on his buffalo-sized shoulder about her status and privilege in this town that he would never shed. And Natalie . . .

Well, offering to help this man and being rejected was just about the scariest thing she could imagine. All her life, she’d offered herself as a friend, a fiancée, a coworker, a sister, and a daughter, and at some point her presence—and even love—was rejected. She was rejected. Fired, dumped, asked to go home. Still, she didn’t even like this man. So why was her heart beating at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings at the thought of him saying no?

Why did she care so much?

Don’t do it.

Not worth the sting.

Natalie started to back up into the shadows to wait out August’s departure, but in the wake of Teri driving away, he rounded the back bumper of his truck and spied her, doing a double take. “Natalie?” He paused mid-stride, frowning. “What are you doing lurking over there in the dark?” He snapped his fingers. “Let me guess. Sucking the souls from children caught outdoors after eight P.M.?”

He was still giving her that narrow-eyed look.

Nerves jumped in her belly.

Turn around and go.

She sauntered forward instead and watched his chest muscles tighten, his spine straighten. Did he do that every time she approached? Why was she only recognizing it now? That proof of his awareness pushed Natalie over the border into bad-idea town. Because at least she wasn’t an afterthought to him. Even if he couldn’t stand her, at least her presence had an effect on him. “So I was thinking . . .”

He snorted. Leaned back against the truck and crossed his thick arms. “What now?”

Natalie kept her features serene, even as the harbinger of rejection hung over her head like a freshly sharpened machete. “You mentioned the bank refusing you a small business loan. For Zelnick Cellar. But if, um . . .” All at once, the ludicrous nature of her idea registered, but she’d said too much to stop now. “If I was an official employee. And attached to . . . you . . . in some way, well, you would almost be guaranteed an approval. As you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, my last name does carry a lot of weight in this industry.”

For several moments, he stared at her in silence. “I’m waiting for the punch line.”

The way he said it, like she’d proposed a stroll through a minefield, had Natalie backing up a pace. A marriage between them would be a minefield. Even though they would be . . .

His jaw was slack at this point.

The silence stretched, so she filled it out of nerves.

Speaking of souls being sucked out, hers exited her body in that moment and observed the scene from above. There she was, asking this man she hated to be her husband. “Desperate” was the only word she could use to describe herself. Out of options, with nowhere to turn. And this man had to be enjoying every single second of it. Any moment now, he would tell her she was even crazier than he’d originally thought and he’d burn rubber to escape her.

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.

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.

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?”

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.”

A sound left him. “You must really want that trust fund.”

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.

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.

All because of a woman.

Not just any woman, though. Natalie Vos.

Jesus Christ. I must be out of my mind.

He’d been worrying about the state of his sanity since last night. She’d walked away and he’d gotten in his truck without starting the engine. And then he’d sat there for an hour. Two. With a curse that was vile even by navy standards, he’d started the truck and gone back to the vineyard he’d never expected to lay eyes on again. He’d planned to conduct the sale with a real estate agent virtually while he spent some time back in Kansas near his parents and regrouped.

He’d made his peace with the fact that he’d never make wine decent enough to honor the memory of Sam. He’d been good with the truth—that he’d given this town his best damn shot and grapes simply weren’t his area of expertise. All efforts to be successful were exhausted. He’d left nothing on the battlefield.

Until last night, when Natalie slid a new opportunity across the table.

Now? August could no longer walk away secure in the knowledge that he’d done everything in his power to bring Sam’s dream to life. There was one more try available—so he had to take it or guilt and loose ends would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And the woman. She would haunt him, too.

Natalie needed something—her trust fund. He could help give it to her.

August liked to think he would help any woman who was up against some ancient bullshit contract designed to force her into marriage, but deep down he knew it was just this one. Natalie. Damn it to hell, what was it about her? Every time they were together, a needle sewed itself in and out of his gut. His palms sweat. His dick pleaded with him to be nicer so it might have a chance of seeing the light of day at some point. Or, better yet, the dark of her bedroom. They fought like they hated each other, but somehow, Lord, he’d been ready to drop to his knees in front of her on that sidewalk last night.

I’m better elsewhere. I’m something. I’m someone when I’m not here.

After the shock of hearing that breathy confession had worn off, he’d just gotten mad.

Who the fuck made her feel like that?

How long had she been feeling like crap without his knowing about it?

That second concern happened to be ridiculous, by the way. There were probably endless things he didn’t know about Natalie Vos. Their relationship didn’t exactly lend itself to a lot of quiet heart-to-hearts in front of a fire. Still, he should have known about her insecurity. That she was better off gone. He should have picked up on it. He should have shut his stupid mouth and paid better attention.

As she’d made abundantly clear, it was too late for August to romance her in any way. Attraction might be an undeniable crackle between them, but she wouldn’t touch him with industrial rubber gloves, let alone her bare hands. Still, he couldn’t walk away from Natalie if she needed him. Not when she’d sucked it up and asked for assistance when it clearly had been very difficult to set aside her pride. No, he’d dwell on it forever.

So he crossed the stupid street in his hot, restrictive suit with his molars grinding together, scanning the crowd for the black-haired goddess he would never get to sleep with but would apparently be marrying, because he’d lost his fucking mind. It was so hot under the tent that he immediately started to sweat. Why did these people insist on gathering to celebrate fermented grape juice? Had none of them heard of baseball? Now that was a reason to gather outside in the sun—

Natalie.

Up ahead.

Hot. Damn. As usual, when August laid eyes on the woman, he had to squeeze his thumbs hard in the palms of his hands. She had these incredibly smart eyes and a soft mouth. He’d never felt the need to categorize another woman’s features before. He sort of stopped at registering the color of someone’s eyes and hair. Brown. Blue. Blond. Green.

Easy.

There was nothing easy about looking at Natalie. All sorts of shit was happening on her features at once and for some reason, he wanted to keep up with all of it. Sometimes she might look bored, but she’d rub her lips together over and over, letting him know she was actually anxious and hiding it. Other times, two little lines formed between her eyebrows like she might be concerned about something, but she’d hoist her chin up in the air like she didn’t have a care in the world. Bottom line, Natalie wasn’t a simple combination of colors, she was an ever-changing kaleidoscope he couldn’t seem to stop peering into.

Although today the color purple was front and center, because in a sea of muted colors, her short lilac dress stood out. Cut high around her throat with a low back and a soft, fluttery skirt. Those long, lithe legs had his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down against the starched collar of his shirt. He could see them all tangled up in his sheets. Could see them bending, locking, being pressed open onto the mattress by his hands.

Those images would never become a reality, and yet he’d love someone to try to stop him from fake marrying this kaleidoscopic woman.

On his way across the tent, he finally noticed Natalie was standing with her mother, her brother, Julian, and the blonde whom August assumed was Julian’s girlfriend. They were speaking in low tones over glasses of wine, seemingly unaware that, as the legendary Vos family, they were of interest to every guest in the tent. Classy, sophisticated. A quiet dynasty that had perhaps seen better days but remained legendary.

Maybe it would be fun to mess that image up for a while.

Fun or not, this was happening.

Because if Natalie was desperate enough to ask August to marry her, then she would eventually find someone else—and the very idea of that made his head want to explode. Maybe that ugly thought bubble was what spurred him into acting rash. She’d suggested they have a civilized conversation about their potential marriage while in neutral territory, right? Unfortunately, there was nothing civilized about August and it was going to be fun reminding her. Catching her off guard.

When August was approximately ten yards away, Natalie’s wineglass paused halfway to her mouth, her attention swiveling in his direction. She blinked back surprise and shifted in her white high heels, started to sip her wine, stopped, then glared at him. He would have laughed if he wasn’t about to finally, finally kiss her again.

Perfect as ever. Touching his. Jolting, then softening.

Thank God.

He was only going to catch her off guard a little, needle her, maybe even punish her for doubting that he’d come through—but she inhaled quickly against his lips and he watched up close as her eyelashes fluttered and a dumbfounding one-two punch of lust and satisfaction caught him in the stomach. Their eyes closed simultaneously and they sank in, just for a second, a twisting feast of lips and a rough exhale that said this is far from enough. But here wasn’t the place for more, so he intertwined their fingers, winking at her when no one else could see—and did his damnedest to remember this wasn’t real. It was just one enemy helping out another.

Yeah.

Temper snapped in Natalie’s expression, but at least the irritation helped her focus, which had been his intention. “That’s something I call you only when we’re alone,” she said with a toothy smile. “You know, kind of like ‘shit for brains.’ And ‘rat king.’”

August laughed. “I love her sense of humor,” he said to the group, absently plucking a glass of wine off a passing tray and taking a long guzzle. Silence had descended like a heavy drape, not only among their fivesome, but across the tent. Until now, this very second, August hadn’t exactly planned on outright embarrassing Natalie. It was sort of a last-minute spin on his plan, born of sexual frustration and the fact that she truly believed he was a simpleton. He might not have a last name that people whispered in reverence on the streets of St. Helena, but he wasn’t a moron. Holding up his end of their battle of wits seemed to be his only way of making sure she knew it.

A full fifteen seconds had ticked past and still no one had commented on his arrival.

August feigned surprise, shaking stiff-shouldered Natalie a little. “You didn’t tell them, hon?” He drained the remainder of his wine, handing it off to a man who only looked confused by the empty glass. Oops, not a waiter. “Natalie and I have been seeing each other for a while now. Just like a fine Cabernet, we wanted to give ourselves room to breathe, so we’ve kept it quiet, but I was under the impression we were stepping out into the open today.” He smiled down at Natalie, who was very clearly three seconds from ripping his throat out with her teeth. “You said you didn’t want to hide anymore. You said, ‘Let’s shout it from the rooftops, my Adonis.’”

A sound halfway between a laugh and growl burst out of her. “I don’t think I used those exact words—”

August dropped his head back and laughed. “There’s that sense of humor again. One of the million reasons I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

You could hear a pin drop in the tent.

Apart from the brief, appreciative smile Julian sent his girlfriend, the tension in the tent remained thicker than a porterhouse steak. All right, August had gone too far. He’d been having his fun with Natalie, but now her temper had faded into something close to regret and panic.

Thank God he’d run that errand last night.

Struck with panic-induced amnesia, he started slapping at his pockets, trying to locate the ring box—

Corinne distracted him by stepping between him and Natalie, her fingers digging into both of their forearms. “Listen to me very carefully. You’ve just set something very delicate in motion. Do you understand?” She drilled August with a look. “You obviously think this is some sidesplitting joke, but a sham marriage could do lasting damage to our family name.” Her attention transferred to Natalie, sharpening so much that August almost dragged Natalie behind his back to shield her. Would have, if he didn’t suspect the matriarch had something important to say. Something he needed to hear. “Ingram Meyer is in attendance today. He is always in attendance. At everything. He has eyes and ears all over St. Helena and takes his responsibilities at the bank very seriously. If he suspects this relationship is all for show, he will deny the release of your trust fund faster than you made this idiotic plan, Natalie.”

Pulse rippling, August did a quick scan of the crowd, and sure enough, there was the loan officer from the bank—tall, slender, and pasty in a straw hat. This guy had barely glanced at August’s application before dismissing him completely. The same man who held Natalie’s fate in his grip.

Was it too late to leave and try his entrance again?

Natalie’s features were carefully schooled, as usual, but the blood had drained from her face—and August loathed himself for causing that reaction.

Why do you do things like this?

No time to explore the mysteries of his universe now, because he had a feeling Natalie was seconds from backing out. Dropping the act. Of course she was. Who would trust him with something so delicate after he’d entered like a bull walking into a china shop?

He could not let this chance slip away. His dick/gut told him he’d regret it forever.

As fast as humanly possible, August drew the ring box out of his pants pocket and got down on one knee.

Natalie swayed backward a little and August’s free hand shot out automatically to steady her. She looked down at him without breathing, her gaze tripping between him and the ring box, then . . . just on him. For a moment, there was no one else in the tent. Only them. And he was slightly alarmed by the rough grind in his chest, even as he was secretly grateful for the rise of nerves. She deserved to have a nervous man down on one knee, didn’t she?

Hell yes, she did.

Did the corner of her mouth jump?

Had he salvaged this?

Time stood still while she peered down at the ring, those lines popping into existence between her brows. Considering the proposal? Jesus, come on, Natalie. Sweat was beginning to dribble down his spine. He’d been on life-and-death missions less stressful than this.

Finally, she wet her lips and held out her left hand, whispering, “No promises about the murder thing.”

August’s heart dropped back into place and his hearing turned normal again. When had it grown so distorted? No amount of mental orders could keep his fingers from shaking as he took out the small diamond ring and slipped it onto her finger. Not real, he reminded himself again after standing, looking down into her stunned face. Instinct had August pulling Natalie up against his chest, surprise crashing into him when she wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.

People were applauding. Even Natalie’s family. When did that start?

Well. Everyone but Ingram Meyer was clapping.

The man regarded them through narrowed eyes over the rim of his wineglass.

Do better for her.

Great. Way to do better. His dick truly ruined everything.

She smiled up at him sweetly. “I’ll give you a shot. Right in the junk—”

A voice filled the tent, cutting off the rest of her sentence, though August was pretty sure he’d gotten the gist of her threat. Natalie wiggled a little and he dropped his arms, but she let him hold her hand as they turned to face the man now speaking into a microphone toward the sunny edge of the tent. He wore an old-timey bowler hat and a carnation on his lapel, and August’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head.

Several people lost their minds over this.

People in St. Helena got flustered at the very utterance of the word “vintage.”

He squeezed her hand.

She buried her nails in the meat of his palm until he choked.

Someone snapped a picture.

Chapter Six

Everyone filed onto the train, shuffling one by one up the carpeted steps.

Natalie’s neck burned. For good reason, too. Corinne watched her like a hawk from several passengers back, as did her brother and Hallie. Ingram Meyer and his Tommy Bahama hat took up the rear of the line, making no pretense about being zeroed in on August and Natalie. His brows looked so skeptical, they’d almost reached the center of his forehead, and he was obviously unconvinced that Natalie and August were a happily engaged couple.

Maybe such a feat was impossible.

Maybe this was all a huge waste of time.

August leaned down, bringing them nearly eye level. Don’t look at his mouth. Natalie refused to think about the sweep of exhilaration she’d felt when their lips locked together. Her body’s unwise response to this man needed to be the furthest thing from her mind. Pushed way out into the ether, because it didn’t matter. This plan was meant to be a business arrangement—and already it was on shaky ground. Might not even be viable at all.

Momentarily, he cast his gaze downward. “I’ll admit I came on a little strong back there. I’m just . . . I’m never comfortable at these things.”

Natalie closed her eyes, acutely aware of Corinne watching them from her position in line. Of course Corinne had spotted the subterfuge right away. Even if the trust fund wasn’t hanging in the balance, giving Natalie a big fat motive for a hasty marriage, never in Natalie’s life had she gotten away with a lie to her mother. Corinne was a human polygraph test that she’d been taking and failing since birth.

That’s not my weed, Mom.

Our test determined that was a lie.

Natalie attempted a small smile at her mother over her shoulder and was given an impassive look in return. Ingram Meyer watched the whole exchange happen, visibly taking mental notes behind shrewd eyes. He really did see everything, didn’t he? Who in this crowd and the town beyond could be considered his eyes and ears? Anyone at any time? Faking this union was going to be a lot more complicated than she’d imagined. “I’m pretty sure it’s too late, Adonis,” she muttered, her gaze straying back to Ingram. “I think we’ve been made.”

August shook his head. “We’ll salvage it.”

They were almost to the hostess station when one of the passengers squeezed past them toward the exit, crowding Natalie closer to August’s big, warm body. The air was beginning to cool, thanks to the approaching sunset, and she’d accidentally left her black silk jacket in the car. In other words, the heat he gave off felt incredible on her goose-bumped arms. And when she didn’t immediately move away, he angled toward her slowly and corralled her closer with a forearm to her lower back.

That dreaded pulse started beating between her thighs, her toes twitching in her heels. “Oh sure. After catching me off guard, embarrassing me on purpose, and proposing publicly without so much as a discussion, now you want to be chivalrous.”

His sturdy frame stiffened, long moments passing while those words hung in the scant space of fading daylight between them. “Hey.” He dropped his mouth to her ear. “We’re in this. Quit talking about backing out. I’m taking this seriously now.”

He surprised her by pressing their foreheads together. “Natalie.”

Three seconds passed. Four. “I will never, ever let you down again. Is that clear?”

The strangest thing happened in the wake of that unexpected vow. The clamminess of her skin subsided and her pulse slowly returned to normal. She found herself nodding, even, because how could she do anything else when she’d never seen him look so serious? Or heard that thread of honor so deeply woven into his tone. This was August the Navy SEAL.

Still, she wasn’t 100 percent ready to take that leap into trusting him. Not after everything. Not when they were so fresh from the stunt he’d pulled. “We’ll see, I guess.”

When had August pulled her closer?

Better question. When had she pushed up on her tiptoes so her arms could reach around his neck? She started to retract her touch, but he shook his head. “If I were your real fiancé,” he said quietly, for her ears alone, “this is how I’d hold you. All the time. So this is how we should stay.”

His voice cracked on the word “sex,” right there against her ear, and a swallow got stuck in her throat. “The reasons have changed, obviously, with this shiny new development. Lines that need to be clear will . . . blur . . . if we go there. But the underlying logic is the same. I can’t let my guard down around you.”

That big hand flexed on her back. “Do you always let your guard down during sex?”

He frowned down at her. “What about the fact that you poke fun at my insecurities, too? Wouldn’t it be self-sabotage for me, as well?”

Oh damn. That pulse was back and now a damp sensation had been thrown in.

She was aware of every erogenous zone she owned. Her hip blades, the insides of her ankles, her neck and throat and breasts.

This evening could not end quickly enough.

Natalie elbowed him in the stomach.

He chuckled.

And dropped his jacket around her shoulders.

I will never, ever let you down again. Is that clear?

His words bounced around in her head over and over again on their way up to the second floor of the train. He couldn’t possibly mean that, could he? No way. Just lulling her into a false sense of security. Still, her mind continued to replay that intense vow, the seriousness of his tone. Almost like he’d been trying to engrave those words on her brain. Yet he’d left something unspoken, buried between the lines.

But no. That’s ridiculous.

The manager led them to the farthest corner of the train’s second floor and stopped in front of a high-backed, red velvet swivel chair, the sides curved for ultimate privacy. It could face the train car or the window, depending on how it was turned. With a smile of pure anticipation on his face, the manager hit a button and a small fireplace bloomed to life beneath the picture window that would display their view of Napa’s rolling hills on the train ride.

But . . .

The man looked momentarily thrown, but he rallied with a tip of his hat. “I’ll leave you to your own devices,” the manager sang, backing away, clearly committed to the belief that he was doing them a favor. And even Natalie had to admit . . . the setting was nothing short of sickeningly romantic. The pink-gold sunset burnished the velvet swivel chair in a glow and the fire crackled. A bottle of wine sat open on a side table with two glasses. Had her relationship with August been real, she’d be obligated to ovulate.

Natalie turned to August with the intention of informing him they would just sit in a couple of the regular seats, like the handful of inaugural ride passengers who were now making their way up to the second floor. Before she could open her mouth, however, he dropped into the deep swivel chair, stretched his long legs out, and patted his thigh. “Your throne awaits, princess.”

August considered the curved and extended sides of the swivel chair that were obviously meant to block them from view. “Some groping at the very least.”

Please tell me that my nipples aren’t tingling. “Grope me and live to regret it.”

His answering laugh fell silent after a moment and he leaned forward. “Natalie.” He tucked his tongue into his cheek. “We’re not convincing anybody.”

A familiar laugh came from the direction of the stairs and Natalie glanced over to find Hallie’s blond curls among the crowd of newcomers to the second floor. Which meant her brother wouldn’t be far behind. Hallie was speaking with the British woman who owned the donut shop in town, Fudge Judy, and if memory served, she loved to gossip. Everyone from the mayor to the teenagers of St. Helena frequented the shop. Behind them were several other business owners and ladies who lunch—all eager to get eyes on the newly engaged couple. Being standoffish with her supposed fiancé would be noticed and commented on. Maybe, according to her mother, even reported back to Ingram Meyer?

Natalie looked down at August, who was now staring into the fire. Back in the tent, she’d made a split-second decision. Either jump into this subterfuge with both feet and form a convincing union . . . or call it off immediately—and put herself back at square one. She’d looked down at August on one knee, his expression earnest and hopeful and . . . she’d felt something unnamed, but poignant, move inside of her, causing her to choose the former. Natalie and August were now engaged in the eyes of the St. Helena elite.

This marriage of convenience had been her idea. August arriving out of the blue like a wrecking ball had caught her off guard outside, but right now? If she didn’t swallow her pride, this plan was going to sink them both before it even started.

In finance, her credo was go big or go home.

Obviously it hadn’t always paid off, considering she’d gone big and . . . gotten sent home.

Doubts were piling up about the wisdom of this arrangement. But it was the solution to her problem. A way forward. And if she didn’t seize it with both hands, the chance would pass her by. Through the crowd, she met Hallie’s eyes. Saw her brother’s tall frame moving into view and it occurred to her, if she brought shame on the family name, all of Julian’s hard work to restore the winery would go down the drain.

God, she couldn’t do that. No chance.

There was no more time to waffle.

With a deep inhale, Natalie set down her clutch on the side table, hesitated a moment, then parked her backside on August’s thigh. Obviously he’d expected her to stand for the whole ride or sit somewhere else, because his eyebrows shot up, that big paw going to the small of her back automatically, his fingers splaying on the base of her spine.

She pinned him with a look, her pulse quickening over their position—faces no more than a few inches apart, his hand braced on her back protectively, fingertips curling slightly as if he wanted to pull her closer. All the way into his lap. His five-o’clock shadow, which hadn’t been visible upon his arrival, was beginning to darken his jaw and his tie was slightly crooked. A rugged soldier forced into a suit and a marriage. For her. With her.

They were a team whether she liked it or not. Natalie had a feeling the next thing out of his mouth would put her firmly in the or not camp.

He gave a cocky shrug. “You’re scared to enjoy it.”

As if to call her bluff, a loud whistle went off and the train lurched forward, sending Natalie crashing into August’s chest, her butt sliding neatly into his lap, where she was galled to find that it fit like a glove. He hissed in a breath, his hand leaving her back in order to grip the edge of the velvet chair. “Look, might as well warn you, I’m going to get hard.”

She couldn’t quite hide her surprise that he’d admitted a dry spell out loud. Surprised enough to speak her own truth without thinking. “Yes. You were supposed to be my rebound.”

That’s right. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Why would he? “I was engaged.” She strove to keep her tone light. “In New York. Now I’m not.”

It took several moments for him to process that, a veritable canyon forming between his eyebrows. “Why?”

Those long fingers flexed on her back. “Is he still in the picture?”

Relief seemed to make his pupils expand. “Good.”

Several seconds ticked by wherein she found herself studying the indent in the center of his bottom lip. The stubble appearing just over the firmer top one. And why was there something . . . annoyingly sexy about her feet not touching the ground while sitting in his lap? “That’s what I said. Good,” he repeated, something flickering in his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to have to fend off any competition for my fake fiancée, right?”

A muscle snapped in his cheek. “Good.”

Please tell me that my vaginal walls did not flex in response to that. “Jesus. Leave it to you to have a pissing contest with someone you’ve never met.”

Why was she breathing so fast?

Her words tripped over themselves on the way out and he only moved closer, his hand opening wide on her hip and squeezing, his lips making the barest contact with hers. “Rebound, huh?”

Their lips were all but flush now. “Maybe I’m just pissed I missed my chance to help you move on from your broken engagement.”

Bastard. “To this day, no one in St. Helena has ever beaten my record for shots taken at a party. Sixteen shots, August. I should by all accounts be dead. Before me, the record stood at fifteen.”

A rumble went off in his chest. “Getting that mouth on mine won’t be a loss.”

Slowly, she wound his tie around her fist and used her body to guide him back into the dark interior of the Lovers’ Nest chair, turning so her breasts were pressed high to his chest. “Are you sure about that?”

But when she twisted a little in his lap, he gulped.

He tilted her chin up, glazed eyes looking down at her. “You’re underestimating how much I love a challenge, too, princess.”

She would not be making that mistake again.

Before she knew what was happening, August’s fingers slid up into her hair and fisted a thick bunch of it, using his grip to tilt back her head. Expose her neck. And then . . . oh. Oh God. His teeth and the tip of his tongue and his lips moved like a sensual trio up the curve of her throat, then over to the right. To a spot behind her ear that had her toes spreading so quickly, one of her heels fell to the floor with a thwack.

More vaginal flexing. Accompanied by a soft moan she tried to disguise with a cough.

Fooling no one.

The tables were quickly being turned.

She could see him in her mind’s eye, moving roughly on top of her in a mess of bedding, her ankles locked behind his big, flexing back. They would be agitated and sweaty and trying to outdo each other and it would be mind-blowing, but she would regret it afterward. Giving in to this man who thought she was nothing more than a spoiled brat.

Time to regain the upper hand.

A laugh hopscotched out of her. A genuine giggle at his strained admission.

Eyes closed, he smiled against her mouth.

Something unexpected leapt in Natalie’s chest and her lips paused in the act of teasing him into another kiss. What the heck was that? Under no circumstances should anything be happening in the place between her brain and her vagina. He’d been ready to leave town. He would have left town if it wasn’t for her offer to help him secure a loan. He’d pegged her as a spoiled rich girl. They weren’t even in a real relationship, yet he’d already firmly rejected everything about her. It would be a waste of time and energy trying to prove him wrong. Especially when their potential arrangement was founded on the release of her very healthy trust fund.

She’d be wasting her breath.

Get up. She needed to get up.

They’d almost definitely been spotted kissing in the reflection of the window. The purpose of the Lovers’ Nest had been served. So why was she leaning in again, craving the fullness of his lips and the way his hands traveled over her slowly, memorizing the dip of her side, the shape of her kneecaps, everywhere.

Natalie’s mouth was half a centimeter from August’s, her heart pounding riotously. The gauntlet between them was blurring. This kiss was going to be all about pleasure. Exploring. Them. Desperately, she tried to recall all the insults about her drinking and the way he’d intentionally blindsided her in the tent, but all she could feel was his heart banging like crazy and her own leapt in response to the proof that he was so affected—

It took her a full five seconds to realize her mother was speaking.

From where?

Natalie lifted her head and leaned to the side and there was Corinne, arms folded across her trim middle, regarding her with an impassive expression. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Caught making out by my mother. Did I accidentally board the train back to middle school?”

Natalie ducked back into the privacy of the chair, willing her face back to a normal temperature.

August’s head dropped back on a groan. “Christ.”

His chest rose and fell on a pained laugh. “You’ll have to give me a minute. Or . . . sixty. For this thing to go down.”

She dropped her mouth to his ear and let out a warm breath that made him shiver and clutch at the side of her dress. “Looks like I win, rat king.”

His jaw popped. “This time.”

Corinne rolled her eyes and walked away.

Natalie followed, smiling and thanking people who congratulated her as she passed. When they reached a quiet corner of the train car, Corinne kept a serene smile on her face, but there was no mistaking the temper in her eyes. “Don’t you think it would have been nice to give us a little prewarning before roping your brother and me into this stunt?”

All at once, Natalie’s blood rose to a rollicking boil. “He’s a war veteran. A Navy SEAL. Don’t ever talk about him like that again.”

Her mother’s mouth snapped shut, but she regrouped quickly. Natalie, however, did not. Since when was she so passionate about defending this man who was supposed to be her enemy? She could insult him until the cows came home, but someone else attempted it and she bit their head off? “You threw wine in this man’s face at the Bouquets and Beginners competition two days ago. Do you not think everyone in town knows about it? Do you not think they’re wondering how you could go from enemies to engaged so quickly?”

Natalie’s cheeks heated. At this rate, she was going to burn off a layer of skin. “Couples argue. You should know that better than anyone. It’s not so hard to swallow the idea that we were in the middle of a spat.”

The other woman was already shaking her head. “You are going to humiliate this family, the same way you did in high school.”

Natalie reared back like she’d been slapped. Her body retreated from the sharp reprimand—and her back came up hard against an immovable object. Startled, she tilted her head to find August behind her, frowning. First at her and then at her mother. “Everything okay, princess?”

Corinne scoffed at the nickname. Natalie watched her mother wage a war between manners and her obvious anger. Surprisingly, the anger won. Instead of shaking hands with August and saying something to smooth over the uncomfortable situation as she normally would, Corinne sailed past them with a tight smile and approached a different group, launching into a boring round of small talk about the train’s restored vintage fixtures.

A beat passed. “Some.”

Based on his gruff tone, he’d heard the part about her humiliating the family. “Great. I guess I spoke too soon.” She didn’t know what to do with her arms. Cross them. Gesture without purpose. Hug her middle. “You win tonight’s battle.”

They stood in silence a moment. Then August surprised her by taking hold of her right hand and leading her back toward the Lovers’ Nest. He dropped into the seat and pulled her down after him. She didn’t have the energy to fight him or pretend his warmth wasn’t welcome and, a moment later, she found her head tucked beneath August’s chin, her legs draped over his thighs, watching Napa go by in the silence.

Natalie, experiencing the shock of a lifetime, closed her eyes and nodded.

His voice turned soothing against her ear. “I’m going to rent a tux and you’re going to put on a pretty dress. Or pants. I value my balls, so I’m not telling you what to wear, I just like your legs. A lot. Basically, they belong in a museum.” She sniffed a thank-you and he patted her on the head. “We’re going to say the vows and then I’m going to bring you home to my psychotic-ass cat. We might even bond over trying to defend ourselves against her feline evil. If we manage to survive each other—and Menace—we are going to stick this thing out until you have the money to start your firm. Okay?”

Had anyone ever made an effort to reassure her like this?

Maybe Julian, when she first returned home and felt horribly out of place being back in St. Helena. But her brother’s efforts didn’t strike like this. Not so thoroughly.

How odd that it would be August to calm her down after he’d spent so long riling her up.

A pause went by. “Yeah, princess. That, too.”

And she left her palm over his heartbeat, feeling the steady pound, while the train trundled on against the endless sky, his chin eventually coming to rest on top of her head. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Ha.

Chapter Seven

Familiar faces smiled back at Natalie from the surface of her laptop screen. Every time she logged in to social media to check on her New York colleagues, their expressions and even their names became less and less recognizable. The pictures of her former coworkers on a private rooftop had been taken only yesterday, maybe even while she’d been making out with her archnemesis aboard the wine train, but it was like looking at photographs from the past.

The longer Natalie was away from New York, the more these people and their glitzy activities grew unfamiliar. The bounce of euphoria after a successful swap, the adrenaline that surged when the opening bell rang—her memories of those things were starting to fade along with the scent of victory cigars. Those pieces of her life were growing muffled and she wanted them back. Sharper. She wanted to experience it all again, in person.

When she’d first arrived in St. Helena, there had been an almost desperate sense of FOMO. Must get back as soon as possible. Must not let them forget about me. It was still there, beating like an extra pulse in her bloodstream, but the urgency had started to lose its grip on her—and that simply wouldn’t do. She needed it back. Five minutes in New York equated to five years anywhere else. People forgot. Business moved on. The road paved right over yesterday’s star and called them a speed bump.

She belonged on that roof, making the toast. Celebrating a breakneck trade that added value to the fund’s coffers. Zeroes on the screen. When she’d been adding those zeroes, she’d been embraced. She’d been a member of the winning team.

Here in St. Helena?

She was the bumbling, cartoonish mascot.

Although yesterday, for a very brief window, she’d been on a two-person team. With the most unexpected of allies. August. Maybe that’s why she was awake so early—again—trying to sear images from her desired timeline into her brain. Because it had been a little too easy to call a truce with August and let herself just . . . be. Be okay with that big arm slung around her hip and his prickly chin resting on top of her head, nuzzling her hair every so often.

Was it a show for the crowd?

Natalie sighed and stroked a few keys on her Mac, going to a location on the internet she absolutely should be avoiding like the pork special at an all-night diner.

Her ex-fiancé’s Instagram.

She hesitated briefly before tapping enter—and then there he was in all his suited, boyish charm. Her stomach turned sour at the memory of him calmly asking for her engagement ring back. He’d been even calmer while explaining that while he might love her, he couldn’t let their relationship cost him a career he’d worked so hard for.

Calmer still while he asked her to leave.

August wouldn’t break up with her that way—that is, if they were actually together, instead of merely pretending. There would be shouting and door slamming and insults from both of them. They would bring the house down. Why was she even thinking about this? Moreover, why was she suddenly taking note of Morrison’s shoulders and musing that they could fit into her fake fiancé’s shoulders three times? It wasn’t a competition—

Natalie drew in a breath as a new image popped up on the screen. Just posted. A picture of Morrison on the balcony where she used to have her coffee overlooking Central Park South. Beside him was a familiar blonde in a white bathrobe sipping green juice from a glass, rolling her eyes over having the photo taken. That blonde . . . Krista, right? Natalie knew her.

One of their board member’s daughters.

He’d traded up.

Feeling out of breath, Natalie smacked the laptop shut. She stood up and walked a half circle around the bed. Her heart wasn’t breaking. That damage had already been done and, if she was being honest, it had been the easiest part to mend. But her confidence? That was a different story—and it took another pounding now, an invisible mallet flattening her like a chicken cutlet between two sheets of wax paper.

Deciding to grab a cup of coffee before getting in the shower, Natalie opened the guest room door as quietly as possible and crept out, not wanting to disturb Julian and Hallie, who were sleeping on the other side of the kitchen. God forbid she wake them up. The bed would be creaking in ten seconds flat and honestly, bearing witness to someone else’s orgasm quest was the last thing she needed this morning.

She stuck a pod in the coffee maker, placed a mug under the spout, and pulled the lever down, selecting the strongest setting. And waited.

Why was August’s face the first image to pop into her head literally five minutes after finding out her ex was dating someone new? She didn’t know. But it was definitely a sign to redraw the battle lines today. They might be working together for a greater cause in public. In private, his favorite pastime was scorning her for being born into privilege while he’d done life the hard way.

Although . . . she didn’t know a lot about the path he’d taken.

Maybe she should find out. Just in case anyone asked.

She should probably know at least the basics about her fake fiancé.

Natalie lurched for the knife block, pausing only when Hallie stepped into the dim kitchen wearing a Stanford shirt that went well past her knees.

Hallie pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

Natalie tilted her head. “Now you’re really freaking me out.”

Her brother’s girlfriend pinkened slightly, but she wasn’t thwarted by the innuendo. No, she appeared to be extremely focused for six A.M. “Can we chat?”

Whatever the reason for this predawn rendezvous, Hallie was deadly serious about it. “I’m here to offer my services.”

Natalie did a double take while adding a splash of milk to her coffee. “In what way?”

Hallie frowned as if the answer should be obvious. “Why, for your fake wedding, of course. I’m here to help.”

Hallie’s giggle stopped her short. “The courthouse. That’s adorable. Didn’t you hear your mother demand a proper wedding?”

Natalie’s smile vanished, dread curling in her stomach. “Yes, but there’s no way she could plan a wedding within the time frame we need. Right? What do you know?”

She should have seen this coming. No way Corinne could get down with a courthouse ceremony. Not with the pageantry and tradition of the Vos name to uphold.

What was August going to say about this?

And why did his very name transport her back to the wine train, where he’d wrapped her in warmth and slowed the rate of her heart down to a normal pace with soft words in her ear, his strong arms giving her the sensation of weightlessness? He’d made her feel almost . . . peaceful. Protected. How could the same man who made her want to screech like a banshee get that reaction out of her? No way to know. But the effect of him . . . lingered. Hard.

Without a moment’s hesitation, her brother’s girlfriend lifted the Stanford T-shirt to reveal a pair of rainbow panties and two very impressive tatas. She dropped the shirt again after a moment and Natalie hummed into a sip. “What kind of services are you offering?”

A pang caught Natalie in the throat. “Well, he’s a lot more selfless than I am.”

Hallie closed her eyes slowly, hands pressing together between her breasts. “Thank you. I hereby declare myself your secret minion.”

Natalie stared into the dark for long moments, guilt beginning to tickle her throat. Now she’d dragged her entire family and Hallie into her scheme? Was this going to be the lie that multiplied into a thousand more, when the whole charade could potentially be avoided with one humbling phone call to her father in Italy?

Yeah.

Her head fell back on her shoulders, a silent groan issued at the ceiling. One phone call. She could do it. Preferably before she did any more damage—or implicated any more loved ones. But man, was it going to suck.

* * *

Natalie doodled furiously on a notepad, dragging the tip of the ballpoint pen back and forth in a blue trench that slowly turned black. In her ear, the sound of a call connecting to Europe buzz-buzzed. She broke out in a cold sweat, glanced at the clock, and did the time-difference math again. Eight hours ahead in Italy. It would be early evening. She had no idea what her father’s schedule was like, no idea if this was still his phone number, even. But she didn’t want to look back in ten years and wish she’d made this attempt to avert catastrophe.

Brisk. Gave nothing away. That was her father.

God, there was no one on earth more intimidating, and she’d come across some giants while in finance. Dalton Vos had judgmental eyes and no time. Always rushing, on to the next best thing, as if he had a fear of leaving the world without putting his mark on it. He’d been frantic in his desire for his to be the most lucrative winery in Napa. As soon as that was accomplished, he’d gotten . . . bored. With St. Helena. His family.

The fire four years ago seemed almost unacceptable, like he couldn’t admit a natural disaster had gotten the better of him. After ending his fraught marriage to Corinne and signing over Vos Vineyard, he’d shifted his obsessive focus to a Formula One team, no doubt investing a giant chunk of money that the winery could desperately use.

It was the reminder of what Dalton had done to her mother that made Natalie throw down the pen and sit up straight. “Hello, Father, it’s Natalie.”

No response. In fact, she could hear him typing something on the other end.

Aloof and dismissive as always.

She needed to make the request before she started shrieking. “I’m calling because I have the opportunity to start my own investment firm in New York. My colleague, Claudia, and I are branching out—”

Nausea rolled into her belly like fog over a lake, a stabbing ache forming in the dead center of her forehead. He’d known about her getting fired and he’d just carried on with life as usual. Why would she expect anything different? Recover. Keep it together. “Yes, well. I’m down, but not out. I’m already on my way to recovering from that, actually, which is why—”

But then he went there. He went there.

In other words, get back in the kitchen.

Every hair on her body stood straight up. “Frankly, Father, I don’t think a man who abandoned his own wife is in a position to extol the virtues of marriage.”

A snort from Dalton. Then the line went dead.

She closed her eyes and let the phone drop to her lap.

The wedding was definitely on.

Chapter Eight

August swiped a hand across his sweaty brow and tossed down a wrench.

One of the best parts of leaving this winery behind would have been never seeing this horizontal press ever again in his lifetime. After he sold the property, the antiquated equipment would become somebody else’s problem. Now here he was, fixing the temperamental piece of garbage for the eight hundredth time.

Giving winemaking another pointless try.

Maybe this time his Cabernet would actually kill somebody.

August took a few steps toward the worktable that ran along the right side of the barn and plucked up his water bottle, draining most of the contents in one gulp and dumping the remnants over the top of his head. Sighing, he leaned back against the table and scanned the barn, his gaze lingering on the row of oak barrels that contained fermenting grapes and their juice, which, in theory, should age into wine.

Truth be told, he’d been a little anxious about leaving those barrels in his rearview. He’d grown their contents from the soil, picked the grapes with his bare hands, and if he could just find the right manipulation of yeast, something would click. Right?

August snorted, remembering how many people he’d watched spit his wine up like babies after a full bottle of formula. He’d had such high hopes the first time he walked in. The place would be packed full of people drinking wine with his best friend’s name on the label. Somewhere, somehow, Sam would see that and do that clap and laugh combination that August could hear in his sleep.

Although his attempts to sleep had been interrupted by someone else entirely last night. Natalie. Memories of them sharing that Lovers’ Nest on the wine train.

Vivid memories that were making his cock a very unhappy camper.

God, her ass fit so perfectly into his lap.

August’s head fell back on a groan. Why couldn’t he just beat off and get it over with? He wanted to. Badly. The mouth of hell opening up in his front yard normally wouldn’t even stop him from stroking one out, if necessary—and Christ, it was necessary now. Weirdly, his upstairs brain seemed intent on bombarding him with nonsexy thoughts, though, interrupting the whole self-hand-job process in its infancy.

Mainly, he didn’t like the memory of Natalie deflating at her mother’s criticism.

He’d definitely enjoyed the way she’d curled into him for comfort—couldn’t help it—but he didn’t like the cause. Not one bit. Natalie being sad made his dick soft before he could get a good rhythm going. What the fuck.

When the source of his discomfort appeared in the doorway of the barn holding a notebook, looking like a young professional on her way into the board room, August could only stare. Was she still upset about last night or feeling better?

Because his dick had no idea how to act.

He got his answer when she wrinkled her nose. “God, I can smell you from here.”

Definitely feeling better.

With a humorless laugh, he swiped up the wrench from the ground. “This is what manual labor looks like, Natalie. Have you ever seen it in real life or just in movies?”

Her withering sigh filled the barn. “I grew up on a winery, moron. I know what manual labor looks like.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut just as quickly, avoiding his gaze. Immediately he wished to have it back. Why did he continue to fall into this trap with her? Why did they fight every time they were in the same room? Did she steer them into disagreements or did he continually put his foot in his mouth where she was concerned? “I came to discuss the . . . exchange of vows,” she said, presenting him with an unconcerned smile, even though her eyes were vulnerable in a way that made his gullet pinch together. God save him from his kaleidoscopic woman. “Unless you slept on it last night and decided to back out.”

The shutters went down.

She went from animated to robotic in one second flat.

And his brain, the upstairs one, started to recall the other times he’d poked fun at Natalie for her penchant to get tipsy on a frequent basis. Had she reacted the same way those other times? Yeah . . . August suspected maybe she had, but it was hard to tell when they were swinging from one barb to the next like monkeys on vines.

She flipped open the notebook to the first page and pretended to make a note, even though he could see the cap was still on her pen. “It hardly matters. Everything you say to me goes in one ear and out the other.”

That surprised her. And got her attention. Good. “What is the goal?”

Like cuddling on trains. Not that he could say that out loud without her crucifying him.

He could, however, get this one problem solved, couldn’t he? This woman shouldn’t have to put up her guard around him. It bothered him a great deal that she did. He liked her sitting in his lap and trusting him a hell of a lot more. “Your mother said something last night about . . . an incident when you were in high school?”

Her muscles braced, as if she didn’t expect him to bring that up and was now preparing to layer on even more armor. Not happening.

A gasping laugh snuck out of her. “Last place, I’m assuming?”

She ran her eyes over him, as if trying to picture the scene, and pressed her lips together to smother a smile. Hesitating. Then with a jerky shoulder roll, she confessed, “I do tend to use alcohol as a coping mechanism. Of course I do. I’m an adult living in this world.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, her expression running the gamut of emotions so quickly, he had to concentrate on keeping up. Damn, she was something. “Back in high school, though, it was more . . . the impetus to act out and get the attention I needed. Julian came by it so easily. Attention for his achievements and his wise way of reasoning through a problem. I didn’t have any of his attributes and I panicked, I guess. I’d started to feel invisible. When I drank a lot and acted reckless, people at least paid attention. They thought I was funny. The party girl.”

August was dying to shout that everyone who didn’t pay attention to her must have been utter morons, but he was afraid to interrupt with the wrong sentiment and cause her to shut down. God knew they were already at odds due to his penchant for saying the wrong shit.

Didn’t stop him from wanting to verbally defend her. Maybe cuddle some more.

They fist-bumped.

Then looked shocked that they’d done it.

Those words, delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone, caused denial to rip through August. “Who scared you?” he barked.

August really wished he was in a position to pick Natalie up and bear-hug her—and make her swear to God no one had scared her at rehab—but this was important information. He needed to listen instead of just reacting. “So when I make fun of you for drinking too much wine, you feel unhappy,” he said very slowly, piecing it all together. “Because you want to be acknowledged for the other things you’re good at? Like Wall Street shit?”

She didn’t quite hide her amusement. “Way to work through it, big guy.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding in a heavy rush. “Is my nose bleeding?”

A wheel of fire spun in his stomach. “I don’t like you feeling less than great. That I made you. I’m sorry.” He took a step toward Natalie and tilted up her chin, marveling over the smooth lines of her neck, the way her eyelids drooped slightly at his touch. How could he continually be at odds with someone so delicate? “No more jokes about the wine.”

For the barest of seconds, Natalie leaned her face into his palm and sighed, before shaking her head and stepping back. “Do you think we can avoid fighting for half an hour while we figure out how to put the ‘civil’ in civil ceremony? Because Corinne has been busy—”

His arm dropped. He forced himself to look the man in the eye, even though a hole was being torn straight down his middle. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The barest flash of amusement. “You know I like to have the element of surprise on my side.”

August forced a laugh but it came out rusted. Nearly three years had passed since the last time he’d seen his commanding officer, and it had been under the worst circumstances possible. The funeral of his son and August’s best friend, Sam. Though looking Commander Zelnick in the eye was extremely difficult, August didn’t allow his gaze to falter as the man tread closer, his attention drifting out over the vineyard with open curiosity.

August became acutely aware of Natalie behind him. Having her present for this reunion was the equivalent of making an incision from throat to belly and letting her see everything on the inside. Totally exposed, utterly vulnerable, nowhere to hide.

He turned slightly, meeting Natalie’s interested gaze and holding out his hand to her. He wasn’t sure why. Only that it seemed natural to reassure her that the unexpected appearance of a stranger wasn’t a threat of any kind. Or maybe he needed to feel the warmth of her against his suddenly clammy palm. She didn’t hesitate for a single second before taking his hand and squeezing it. Skirmish forgotten. Interesting how they could flip that switch so quickly. What did that mean?

Christ. He’d almost left it behind two days earlier. Out of necessity, sure, but this man would have arrived and found an abandoned vineyard. If it weren’t for Natalie.

He pulled her closer without thinking. “Yes. For Sam. It’s a work in progress,” he managed around the object in his throat. “Sir, I would like you to meet Natalie Vos. My fiancée.” Perpetuating the phony relationship to his CO didn’t exactly feel great, but the words were out in the open before he could think better of them. Just hanging there, feeling like the truth. “Natalie, this is Commander Brian Zelnick.”

Zelnick nodded, visibly impressed—and a little surprised. “Good to meet you, Natalie.”

Of course he would be surprised. Not only was Natalie beautiful in a polished way, she had an air of sophistication and success that she wore like an aura. In other words, not the kind of girl who ended up with a loud asshole who liked to trade battle wound stories and had long ago earned the nickname Bullhorn among his fellow SEALs.

Natalie tugged on her hand three times before August realized he was still holding it in his grip. Finally, he released her and they watched her walk toward the house, go inside, and close the door. August and the commander turned together like a single unit and walked side by side toward the edge of the vines, the earthy, sun-heated aroma of greenery and grapes carrying in their direction on a light breeze.

A bead of sweat rolled down August’s temple as he waited for his CO to speak.

This man had assured him once that he didn’t blame August for what happened to Sam—and the CO never repeated himself. Nonetheless, August had to swallow the deep urge to ask for those words one more time. God, he needed to hear them and yet, they made no difference. He’d let his friend get killed fifteen yards away from him.

Fifteen fucking yards.

August cleared his throat hard. “To tell you the truth, I’m a shit winemaker, sir. I think he’d probably be laughing his ass off.”

A low chuckle from his CO. “I did my homework. I know it hasn’t been an ideal experience for you. That’s the other reason I’m here.” He remained silent a moment. “You’ve always been a battering ram. Kick down the door, ask questions later. But there are certain things in life that require patience and diligence. You must have learned some of that lesson already, if you’ve convinced that woman to marry you.”

Patience and diligence.

Is that what he’d been needing with Natalie?

He memorized those two words and tucked them away for later.

Chapter Nine

Natalie stood at the window peering through the blinds, Menace making figure eights through her legs. She studied the ripple that went through August’s back, her fingers restless on the sill. It took her a moment to realize she was tracing the exact shape of that scar on his right shoulder and she immediately stopped. Backed away from the blinds. Went back and looked out again.

So this is the place you’ve built for my son.

Okay. Wait. What?

What had she missed?

And why was this new unknown tying her stomach in knots?

An idea occurred to her and she stepped back from the window once more, turning, hesitating for a moment, then striding into the kitchen and throwing open cabinets. Searching for a bottle of wine. Maybe an answer to the riddle would be included on the label, which she’d never bothered to read very closely.

Nothing. Not a single bottle of August’s wine in the house—he’d given them all away.

She pulled out her phone and performed a Google search with the name of August’s winery. Several critical reviews popped up. Her gaze snagged on the words undrinkable, fermented in a dumpster, kill it with fire. But of course he didn’t have a website. She’d just moved on to the second page of search results when the front door of the house opened and August stood outlined in the frame, his thick body nearly blocking out all of the sun.

His throat appeared to be stuck in the middle of a swallow.

Natalie couldn’t seem to move, could only watch him as he took a few absent steps into the house and closed the door behind him, his heavy footfalls making the floorboards groan. In the distance was the sound of a car engine starting and moving out of earshot. His commanding officer was leaving already?

August paused in the hallway leading toward the bedroom. “It went fine.” Briefly, he glanced back at her over his shoulder and she hurriedly cataloged the trench between his brows. “Thanks for going along with the whole fiancée thing in front of him. He’s going to tell everyone back on base that I’m marrying a knockout.”

When he kept walking, leaving that knee-weakening compliment in his wake, Natalie started to shiver. He wasn’t being himself. It reminded her of the afternoon of the wine tasting competition. How he’d retreated deep into that big, goofy head and couldn’t seem to find his way out. So she followed him. All the way to the bathroom. When she opened the door, he was standing with his hands braced on the sink, his head bowed forward.

After a moment, his head came up, and he turned toward her, his expression weary. “He was my best friend. He . . . died in combat. Killed during a raid. Last one in. He was the last one in. I’m still not sure how we missed the target coming down the staircase. Faulty intel, they said, as if it helps.” While she digested that awful and jarring information without being able to take a breath, August’s fingers drummed on the side of the vanity. “Sam had this dream to be a winemaker. We all laughed about it. Called him Napa Daddy. But he was serious about doing it. Leaving the teams one day and buying a small vineyard, like this one. This is his dream, not mine. I’m just the one fucking it up.”

Natalie’s stomach hung down somewhere in the vicinity of her ankles. Every terrible thing she’d ever said to him came roaring back in perfect clarity, making her throat feel like it had been cut to ribbons. “August . . .”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just leaned into the shower stall and twisted the handle, the sound of water pelting the tile wall filling the silence. Feeling numb down to her toes, Natalie backed out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Guilt burned inside every one of her organs. Made her limbs feel like dead weight. All this time, he’d been trying to fulfill this dream for his late best friend and everyone had been ridiculing him for it?

The reality of that was too much to bear.

Natalie’s hand still rested on the bathroom doorknob and she watched through gritty eyes as it turned in her grip, letting her back into the now-fogged-up space. What am I doing? No idea. But she knew that she’d been extremely unfair to the man on the other side of the shower curtain. He was clearly hurting after having painful memories dredged up . . . and she wanted very badly to comfort him. In any way she could.

Maybe the only way she could in this exact moment?

Natalie untucked her T-shirt from the waistband of her skirt, pulling it off over her head. Her skirt dropped to the floor, followed by her sandals. Her fingers hesitated for only a moment on the front clasp of her bra before releasing it. Baring her breasts to the hot, foggy room. Too eager to touch him to realize she still wore her mint green panties, she walked slowly to the curtain and drew it back, stepping into the stall.

Or . . . squeezing into it, rather. August occupied nearly every inch of space.

He stood with his head hanging forward beneath the spray, but the sound of the curtain being pulled back and her stepping into the shower had the meat of his shoulders flexing dramatically—and he turned with an incredulous expression.

Apparently the sarcasm didn’t register. He was too busy bracing his hands on the wet shower wall and leaning down to look at them. “Oh my God. They’re incredible.” He choked a sound and winced. “Jesus. My balls have never gotten so heavy so fast in my life. Pretty sure every drop of blood in my head just went south. Give me like . . . eight seconds to make sure I’m not going to pass out.”

Seriously, that wasn’t a problem.

With his eyes clamped shut and his bottom lip being pulverized between his teeth, Natalie was given the opportunity to look him over. Starting from the top of his wet warrior’s torso covered in dark hair, down his egg-carton stomach to the . . . whoa, mama. His balls were not the only thing that was hard. If the financial sector didn’t work out, maybe she had a future in snake charming. Her sex clenched and turned warm, so warm. So ready. And if she was being honest with herself, this wasn’t instantaneous arousal. This physical attraction had been brewing for months. Plaguing her. Keeping her awake at night. God, it felt incredible to stop fighting it. To let her heart race and her body soften and know that relief was on the way for both of them. Finally. Finally.

Natalie opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Being called out, even if it was only the partial truth, rankled. “Based on the way your hard-on is trying to enter my belly button right now? Yes, I do.”

His jaw ticked. “That has nothing to do with us.” They breathed against each other’s mouths so long, she lost track of who was inhaling or exhaling. Only knew her chest ached as much as the flesh between her legs, and August was so hard, she could almost feel the pain and hunger in every vibrating inch of his body. “I can’t fuck you when your head isn’t in the right place.” His mouth moved to her ear, open lips raking side to side over it, then up into her hair. “But I’d sell my soul to yank those panties down and finger you, Natalie. The fact that I’ve never made you come eats me alive. Do you get that? It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. Still haven’t given Natalie an orgasm. Day eighty-two of not making those two hot legs shake and kick the lamp off my side table. It’s hell. Day in and day out.”

Her brain was struggling to make sense of his words. They were sexy words. Her body liked them very much. As for logic and her power of deduction? Circling the drain. “You . . . don’t want me to make you—”

With a groan that shook her head to toe, he fisted the front of her underwear so tightly that she swore he was going to rip it off, but instead he pulled them down hard, his labored breaths loud in the shower stall. Braiding together with her gasps. Gasps that only increased in volume when that huge, thick-fingered hand dragged up her inner thigh and he gripped her pussy roughly, massaging it while he held her in thrall with splintering eye contact. “Nearly had this thing months ago. I’ve been hating myself for blowing my shot.”

Her teeth were literally chattering. “You can take your shot right now.”

She couldn’t take the dirty talk anymore. It was overwhelming her, along with his touch, which she definitely hadn’t expected to be so . . . skilled. And the sudden proof that he’d definitely done this before made her irrationally annoyed. To the point that when he stamped his mouth down over hers, she bit down on his bottom lip and pulled hard. “You’re too good at this,” she said on an expulsion of breath. Then, on a quieter breath, “I love it. But I hate it.”

Watching her with a furrowed brow, he slipped his middle finger out, joined it with his ring finger and rubbed her clit, slowly at first, then with more pressure. Faster. Leading to an embarrassingly whiny moan from Natalie that she swore came from someone or somewhere else. “Tell me why you hate me being good at this,” said August, his lips grazing hers, side to side. “And I’ll keep this up until your knees buckle.”

His teeth snapped at her jaw. “Yes.”

Dammit. She did know that. Why did she know that? The reason wasn’t clear, nothing was clear right now save the fact that a fuse had been lit, the fire racing across the ground toward the powder keg that was Natalie’s body. Going to blow, going to explode.

When that touch slowed slightly, she cried out.

Those two fingers delved inside her, twisted deep, and pushed high. “Answer me, then, Natalie,” he growled against her mouth while she silently screamed, eyes blind, release shaking the exit gates. “It’s only supposed to be you and me. That’s why you’re thrown off by my knowing how to touch a woman. That right?”

Yes. Was this jealousy? She couldn’t remember. Hadn’t felt it since high school. Not about anything that wasn’t job related, at least. “I’m not admitting that out loud.”

That sounded dangerously close to a vow of faithfulness—and she really shouldn’t have been relieved or gratified to hear it. Not in this setting. Alone in his shower, where they were the only ones to witness it. That made the exchange real. Not a farce. Furthermore, she shouldn’t be lifting up onto her toes and sealing their mouths together, kissing him as if to reward him, those fingers simulating sex between her thighs. Picking up the pace along with their kiss until she could no longer concentrate on both and her head fell back on her shoulders, a gasp of his name tripping over her lips as the orgasm crested—

Got her? Right. Because her knees had buckled, as predicted, and she didn’t even have the room to be miffed or embarrassed about the bracing left arm he’d circled around her back to keep her upright. She was too busy shaking through the most intense orgasm in recent memory. And he knew how to get her through it. Knew to stop advancing and hold firm, wedging his right palm tight to her pulsing flesh and twisting, groaning against her mouth like a satisfied beast as if he were the one getting relief instead of Natalie.

So hot. His being so turned on by her pleasure was so stupidly hot.

And unexpected.

This whole encounter—and August himself—was turning out to be unexpected.

As soon as Natalie’s climax started to cool, her open mouth on his shoulder became scarily intimate. The lazy coasting of his lips over her temple and into her hair was decidedly . . . affectionate?

Whoa. What had just taken place here? Getting physical with August was not part of the plan. They were supposed to be in a fake relationship.

But their wet, tangled limbs felt the furthest thing from fake.

They were getting married so she could secure her trust fund. So he could get a bank loan and put it toward a second attempt to run this fledgling winery. They were doing this for money. What did it mean if they sealed their union while in an actual relationship? Did that make the marriage real? Legitimate?

A true love match between her and August Cates.

That was the most insane possibility she’d ever heard.

For one, she had to get back to New York. Her life was on pause until she picked up the broken pieces of what she’d built. Two, they would end up murdering each other.

And three, she was fresh from being booted by her fiancé without warning, literally left out on the curb like yesterday’s trash. The idea of opening herself up to this man as a follow-up? This man who made a sport out of pinpointing her flaws? No. She might as well hand him her diary and a megaphone.

All right, they were physically attracted to each other. No tiptoeing around that fact.

She’d gotten it out of her system, right?

Yes . . .

Yes.

Totally.

Unfortunately, August was still hard against her belly, his mouth moving dangerously close to hers again. His eyes clouded with need. If he kissed her, she’d sink down again and forget the commonsense pep talk she’d just given herself. There could be no having a crush on her phony husband. That would only lead to entanglements. Ones that could potentially keep her in St. Helena, where she would never, ever feel like more than an inept and unwanted teenager.

She needed to get the lust out of August’s system, too, though, didn’t she?

Otherwise the itch scratching would be one-sided. The rebound would be left . . . unbound.

He’d have something to hold over her.

Going up on her toes, she slanted their mouths together, her fingertips skating down his stomach—and once again, he trapped her wrist at the very last second. “You don’t have as much of a poker face as you think you do,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’d rather leave my cock hard than let you stroke it just to return the favor.”

A finger of panic swept through her middle. Partly because this man seriously didn’t let her get away with anything, which made her feel naked in more ways than one. And partly because . . . there was a genuine urgency inside her to give him the same pleasure he’d provided for her. “Isn’t returning favors how sex works?”

He shook his head. “That’s not how it’s going to work with us.”

August visibly judged her steadiness before removing his arm from around her waist, slapping that newly freed hand onto the tile above her head. “Guess you weren’t thinking about that when you climbed into my shower in nothing but panties.”

Dripping wet, hair stuck to the side of her face, Natalie propelled herself out from behind the curtain and started snatching clothes up off the floor.

Natalie paused in the act of fastening her bra. “Why especially me?”

He dragged a hand down his face. “Shit. I need to shut up until there is some blood back in my fucking head. I just keep making this worse.”

His muscles stiffened. “Look, the loan is one thing. But the hands-on stuff? That’s mine. For Sam. I didn’t ask for your help making his wine.” Then he added quietly, almost contritely, “Please. Just stay out of the barn. Okay?”

Out of everything they argued about, why did his rejecting her aid seem to hit the bull’s-eye?

Yup. Her words had gone in one ear and out the other.

His jaw flexed. “Can’t wait to break it.”

Every once in a while, a comment slipped through the cracks that made her very aware that he was lovable just under the surface. Why couldn’t he keep that fact hidden? It made her want to turn and walk into his stupid muscular arms and whack him in the head with an encyclopedia at the exact same time.

And, dammit, her anger at him took a drastic nosedive.

Natalie picked up speed, heading toward the door. “Relax, we’re still getting married.” She stopped. “I did want to get your thoughts on the timeline. Considering everyone knows about our public fight and subsequent engagement, they probably assume it’s going to be volatile and flame out fast. One month should be enough time to achieve our goals before . . .”

August narrowed his eyes. “Before what?”

When he only remained silent, she had no choice but to accept his lack of argument as a yes. What else could he possibly say? He thought they should stay married longer?

Exactly five seconds ticked by. “I want a DJ. My only request is the song ‘Brick House.’”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

Natalie halted beside her car, stopped in her tracks by the sight of August standing in the sunshine in a towel, light playing over his Mount Rushmore of chest muscles—and a very prominent erection tenting the white terrycloth. What struck her most was how unabashed he was. He didn’t make a single attempt to hide it. “Yes to the DJ. Hell no to the song,” she managed, mouth dry, pulling open the driver’s-side door with a little too much force.

He braced his hands on the doorframe over his head. “You’re leaving my place with smeared lipstick and bare feet. I’ll take a hundred more showers just like it.”

But for some stupid reason, she was smiling as she drove away.

Chapter Ten

The last person August expected to see when he opened his front door the next morning was Corinne Vos. Convinced she was a figment of his imagination, he blinked several times and rubbed his eyes, but there she remained. Arms crossed, features pinched, blocking his path to the outdoor workout area he’d built behind the barn.

He searched her face for similarities to Natalie and found none. Maybe there was a glimmer of Natalie’s live-wire quality deep in the golden depths of the matriarch’s eyes, but it had been smothered in judgment.

Good question. The word “stunned” came to mind.

He’d spent a lot of the night pacing, wondering if he’d done the right thing by accepting the two-hundred-thousand-dollar investment from his CO. He didn’t want to deprive the man of the chance to support his late son’s dream. God, no. But August was also painfully aware that accepting the money from his CO meant . . . he no longer needed a small business loan from the bank. Which meant he technically didn’t need to marry Natalie.

When he married her, it would be purely so she could get her trust fund.

How would she feel about that if she knew?

Not thrilled, August’s gut told him. She’d probably rather change Menace’s litter box than be indebted to him. Yeah. If he told her about the investment, she would walk—and he really didn’t want Natalie biting off her nose to spite her face. She needed that trust fund. He wanted to help. And hell, what if she married someone else instead? Someone who would benefit from her family’s influence?

Fire singed the walls of his throat.

Maybe in this case, some things were better left unsaid?

At least until the timing was right.

Of course she didn’t want to come inside for coffee. This woman probably never stepped inside anywhere that didn’t have a full staff and—lest we forget—original vintage fixtures. With an exhale into the cold morning air, she gestured to the barn. “Getting an early start on production? We can talk while you work.”

He couldn’t exactly hold a conversation while pushing a massive tire end over end, so he shook his head and mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and leaning back against the porch rail. “This is about Natalie.”

Discussing Natalie without her there to answer for herself felt disloyal and he didn’t like it. A weight sat heavier on his chest the longer she spoke. “Which way is that?”

A beat passed. “I guess I’m still figuring it out.” She smoothed her shirtsleeve. “I don’t really have an example to pull from.”

August said nothing.

Damn.

What exactly was the catalyst for her leaving New York?

It took everything inside him not to pry, but he wouldn’t dig up a story that Natalie wasn’t ready to tell. He thought of her in the bathroom, listening to him explain about Sam. How she’d come to him offering comfort. What if he got the chance to do the same for her? He’d give her whatever she needed, emotionally, physically. No questions asked.

Maybe she needs to be shown that roots aren’t always ripped out as easily as they were in New York. Those words occupied every inch of space between him and Corinne.

August’s pulse galloped. He’d used all of his brain power yesterday trying to get to the bottom of Natalie’s alcohol hang-ups, but he would try mining for more. “If you could tell me exactly what you came to say, Mrs. Vos, it would be much appreciated,” he said finally.

She inclined her head. “I should put a stop to this right now. This out-of-the-blue wedding and inevitable quick split has the potential to embarrass my family and the reputation I’ve worked so hard to carry through bad times and good—and there have been times that reputation is all we had. A farce like this one threatens to make us a punchline.” She tapped a finger against the back of her hand. “I’m supposed to pay the caterers today. But before I spend a fortune on crab rangoon . . . what would you say if I offered you a certain sum of money to leave and never come back?”

All right, maybe that one.

Did he have feelings for Natalie?

August almost laughed.

Honestly, he should have just said yes. That would have been more than enough. It would have been true—and there wouldn’t be any mistaking that. But for some reason—and this probably had a lot to do with the fucking feelings themselves—he wanted this woman to approve of him, fake son-in-law or not. God help him, in this moment, he didn’t want the arrangement to be phony. He wanted, maybe needed, someone to tell him he was worthy of Natalie.

For long seconds, there was nothing but the sound of the wind. “I think I got what I came for.”

Jesus, that sounded ominous. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

He held his breath after asking that question. “I don’t know,” she said, turning and gliding away. Back toward her silver Lexus. “Am I?”

Corinne paused at the driver’s side, looking startled. And a little pleased? “Thank you.”

August shook his head until his future mother-in-law had driven away.

He pushed the tire a lot longer than usual that morning.

* * *

Natalie stared at Hallie, trying to make sense of the words that were coming out of her mouth. She’d just walked into a bar named Jed’s that was more than a little out of the way—off Grapevine Way and a good three blocks down a side street. Until a moment ago, when she’d stopped in front of the rustic lodge facade and double-checked the address, she wasn’t aware this place existed.

Before she could respond to Hallie, a loud thud echoed through the buzzing establishment, loud enough to make her jump and spin around. “My God. Is that man throwing an axe?”

Before Hallie could answer, a woman stepped into her path and enfolded her in a hug, the scent of sugar and chocolate wafting off her clothing with such potency that Natalie’s tastebuds tingled. “Well, if it isn’t the future bride ’erself,” crooned the woman in a thick British accent. “I wanted to rent strippers, but it seems we’ll be getting split in half by axes, instead.”

Natalie couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I suppose both would have been too dangerous?”

The woman tossed back her blond hair. “We can’t have wangs getting chopped off, darling. It’s bad luck before a wedding.”

Hallie ushered them both to a table in the corner. “Natalie, I would introduce you to Lavinia, but I think you’ve just been thoroughly acquainted.”

A case of wife or death read the caption.

Ridiculous. Still . . .

Why did hearing his name make her feel awake for the first time in days?

Both women were staring at her. “Uh . . .” Natalie crossed her legs hastily. “Is it even possible to kidnap a Navy SEAL?”

Natalie frowned. “The riot act?”

For the last four years, she’d barely spoken to her brother. Not when she’d gotten engaged to Morrison. Or made partner at the firm. Just the obligatory birthday and Christmas call and nothing more. He didn’t even heart her Instagram posts. As children, he’d been the one to console her, defend her from unwanted male attention at school—in his albeit sharp and emotionless manner. But when she’d emerged from rehab at seventeen, an embarrassment to the Vos name while he was already thriving at Stanford, she’d sort of assumed his lack of contact was his way of showing disapproval. Or worse, that he wasn’t aware of her at all.

No matter what she did, the reverse of that disapproval never came, from Julian or her parents. Not after she’d improved her grades and gotten into Cornell. Not after she’d climbed her way up the ladder in the boy’s club that was New York finance or jointly purchased her condo with Morrison on Central Park South. It had taken them accidentally sharing the guest house together to make her realize Julian had been dealing with his own issues that whole time. It didn’t excuse his silence, but she understood him more now.

I’m glad you’re here.

She could still hear those clipped words coming from her brother as they’d walked up the path toward the main house one night just over a month ago. The night she met August at the Wine Down festival, actually. Until then, she hadn’t realized exactly how starved she’d been for any form of affection from her family. Hearing that Julian had given up his Thursday night in order to get better acquainted with August . . . meant something. It meant a lot.

Even if he’d been bullied into it by his girlfriend.

For the next hour, they went over wedding plans. At Corinne’s behest, Natalie and August would be married in the front yard of the main house, overlooking the vineyard, at sunset. A dream wedding, really, if only it were real. Hallie had outdone herself with the flower arrangements, creating a tasteful color scheme of cream and crimson with pops of black ribbon, somehow grasping Natalie’s style without her having to say a word. Corinne had taken charge of the ceremony arrangements and a tent for the reception was already in the process of being erected and decked out. Natalie’s only request had been “Small, please,” and it had obviously been vetoed.

Hallie shuffled some paperwork around. “If there are any specific songs you’d like the DJ to play—”

For some reason, her whole body flushed hot.

Dancing with August while he held her close.

In front of everyone.

Would she even have to fake her enjoyment of that?

Hallie’s nose wrinkled. “By Carly Simon?”

Wow. The whole place went silent. Or maybe the sudden, rapid pounding of her heart was drowning out the shuffling chairs and laughter? Her brother by himself would have caused a stir by walking into any bar. He carried himself like nobility and looked perpetually annoyed—and yeah, she supposed he was pretty darn handsome.

But August.

He entered Jed’s with an air of danger that she’d never quite noticed before. Maybe the first night they met, when she’d clocked the navy tat and deemed him the strong, capable, heroic type. Ever since then, however, he’d more or less become the loudmouth goofball to whom she was nursing a destructive attraction. She should have found it exasperating that he walked into the bar as if trying to establish himself as the alpha. All swaggering and huge and scanning the place for trouble—and the exits. Oh. That’s right. You’re marrying a SEAL.

There had to be two dozen women in the bar, but his gaze didn’t stop on any of them.

Not until it landed on her.

Oh, this was bad.

She was two cocktails deep and the memory of his knowing fingers was too fresh.

Also, dammit. Something akin to joy leapt inside her at his appearance. As if a suppressed part of her was happy to see the jerk.

Julian’s eyes widened slightly and he gravitated toward Hallie, as if entranced, a smile curving his mouth. As much as listening to her brother and his girlfriend slam the headboard into the wall every morning had scarred her for life, Natalie could admit to swooning just a little at the straight-edged professor’s reaction to spotting the troublemaker gardener. But as Julian and Hallie reunited with quiet murmurs to her left, she could see only August. Obviously. His head almost brushed the low pendant light that hung from the ceiling.

One did not miss a being so enormous.

In fact, a lot of women in Jed’s were having the same problem.

Some women really went for the whole muscle-bound hero thing, apparently.

Natalie tried not to care. She really did. But when a young woman fanned herself in Natalie’s periphery, she found herself pushing up out of her chair and planting one on August’s surprised mouth. “Hi,” she said brightly, brushing back her hair. “You’re here.”

Natalie dropped her head back so she could groan at the ceiling. “Literally thirty seconds into this conversation and I’m exhausted.”

August chuckled, his hand settling into the curve of her waist naturally, brushing his thumb up and down her rib cage, as if he did it all the time. She wanted to push his hand away, because that light touch was stiffening her nipples. Ironically, that was the same reason she wanted his hand to remain exactly where it was. “Should I be worried that we’re in a bar where weaponry is readily available?”

He shuddered, glancing over his shoulder long enough to watch someone throw an axe—badly—missing the bull’s-eye by a good two feet. “You’re not the only one I have to worry about, princess. Pretty sure Julian would bury one of those in my back at any sign of premarital discord. Be nice to me for once, huh? I’m too young to die.”

Natalie tried to be casual about posing the question. She must not have pulled it off entirely, though, because August seemed to look deeper. “Usual brother stuff.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “We haven’t been close. I mean, he didn’t even meet Morrison, let alone threaten him with axe violence.”

A low rumble reached her ears.

Was he . . . growling? Why?

Natalie had no idea. But a subject change probably wasn’t the worst idea. The last person she wanted to talk about was her ex-fiancé. “So about the wedding—”

It unnerved Natalie how much she wanted him to continue talking about his family. But wanting to know the background of the person she was fake marrying was healthy and normal, right? “Which is more important to you? Love or pride?”

He studied her face. “You answer first.”

Was it crazy to be having this deep conversation in the middle of a loud bar? Probably. For some reason it didn’t feel strange, though. There were no formalities with this man. Just jumping in with both feet and being pulled along in the current. “I guess . . . pride is more important to me. Pride is something that can be kept. Love is too often squandered when you give it away. People might be careless with your love, but they can’t touch your pride. Or put it on their shelf like a trophy. It’s yours.”

Something about his demeanor changed. Sort of a swelling of his shoulders and lifting of his chest, as if he was preparing for a fight. On her behalf? “Your ex was careless with you.”

Not a question, a statement.

Flustered by her willingness to share so recklessly with this man, she reached for her drink and stared into its depths. She took a sip, cooling her throat, feeling his rapt attention on her the whole time. “Your turn. Love or pride?”

Why did something inside her bloom like a rose over his answer? “Really?” Her voice was more uneven than a middle schooler’s. “You just told me that whole story about Honda Accords and your family valuing pride.”

Don’t ask why. “Why?”

She definitely shouldn’t ask why to that question. Or try to read between the lines for something that wasn’t there. “That’s very generous of you,” she said quickly, feeling a rare ramble coming on and too flustered to avoid it. “I mean, the two are very closely related at the end of the day, right? Love means letting go of your pride, after all.”

He looked at her as if she’d just said something really smart. “Holy shit. Does it?”

Natalie shook her head. “No.”

A smile threatened the corners of August’s mouth. “Who am I to object?”

Julian and Hallie left to secure their foursome a lane, leaving August and Natalie sizing each other up in the middle of the growing crowd. “Care to make it interesting?” he asked. “Not that I haven’t already won just getting to watch you throw an axe in that short-ass dress.”

His expression brightened. “Are we getting each other gifts?”

Natalie opened her mouth with the intention of calling him a bonehead—again—but the group to her back surged forward without warning and she stumbled, pitching forward. August moved like lightning, catching her around the waist with his free left arm, spilling not a single drop of his beer in the process. She successfully avoided falling, but her nose buried itself in the middle of his chest, smack dab between his pecs, and the smell of grapefruit soap and shaving cream momentarily made her brain fuzzy. And it grew fuzzier still when he pulled her closer. Protectively. Giving the people behind her a dark look. “Okay, princess?”

Or maybe not so discreetly, because his lips twitched.

Finally, she managed to pull back, smoothing the front of her dress, wincing at the breathlessness in her tone when she said, “You were saying something about a wager?”

Chapter Eleven

It is a universal truth that people don’t make the best decisions while drinking alcohol. In fact, people came to places like this with the express intention of making questionable decisions. To stop being responsible for a while and let fate stir the pot. Case in point, axe throwing in a bar. As a man who’d undergone extensive weapons training and knew how shit could go wrong in the blink of an eye, he wanted to carry Natalie out of there over his shoulder. The fact that she was anywhere near several blades was unsettling him to a degree that couldn’t be ignored.

The increasing protectiveness he felt for his fiancé told August . . .

This wasn’t temporary.

They weren’t.

Sorry, princess. Sucks to be you.

This woman standing in front of him was his destiny. Part of him had known it the night they met, when she’d made him laugh and made him horny in the same breath. Jesus, she looked beautiful tonight with all that dark, smudgy makeup around her eyes and her hair . . . it kind of looked like sex hair. Like she’d been rolling around in the sheets. Was that intentional? Fuck. He would give up watching baseball for a decade to sink a fist into it right now. Move her head right to left, tug it back so he could get a look at that mouth up close.

Don’t get me started on her legs.

If someone brandished an axe within ten yards of those pins, he’d throw them out of this place through the plate glass window. And her face. Man, he loved looking at those kaleidoscopic features as they brightened and dimmed and shifted. They were the reason he’d gotten severely off track.

Bottom line, he knew in his bones that in fifty years, he’d still want to look at her face.

Pretty sure he’d be starved for the opportunity.

He was protective by nature—and by trade—but the way he felt about Natalie’s safety was on a whole other level. It wasn’t just her physical safety he seemed to worry about at all times, it was the safety of her feelings. Her heart. I’m responsible. But just like any operation, he needed to get in there and find out what he was dealing with. He needed intel.

That was where their path from temporary to permanent needed to start.

And if Natalie knew he’d taken the loan from his CO and was marrying her purely because he wanted her to achieve her goals—and fine, because he couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again—she’d stab him to death.

So he’d just leave that a secret for now. At least until she stopped hating him.

Love means letting go of your pride, after all.

Those words circled around and around his head. Was he ready to stop trying to win their ongoing battle of wills? Maybe not completely. Totally letting his guard down around Natalie might lead to his balls being amputated. He could damn well begin making inroads, though.

If the men win, you agree to grow old with me.

Too much.

Also too much, but his big trap had already released the challenge—and damn, he really did want to know what had driven her back to Napa. If he was being forced to pry the information out of her, it couldn’t be good.

Natalie’s expression had grown shuttered on the heels of his throwing down the gauntlet, but almost immediately, she straightened her shoulders and pinned him with a look. “Fine. And if I win, you have to let me help you with your wine production.”

Oh boy. No way.

Natalie had teased him so brutally about his shit winemaking, allowing her into the inner sanctum of his production line would make him feel like an exposed wound. “Do you actually want to help or are you just trying to one-up me?”

She pursed her lips, pretending to consider it. “Both.”

Let her help. What’s the big deal?

Making the wine was supposed to be his gift to Sam. Not just a gift, though . . . more of an atonement for letting him die. It was August’s penance to serve and he was protective of the job. It was his work to do. His amends to make. No one else’s.

Instead of being exasperated by his stubbornness, she seemed kind of fascinated by it. “Um . . . okay, fine. For the entire month that we’re married, you’re not allowed to complain about how long I take to do my makeup.”

He scoffed into his beer. “Someone’s scared.”

Tits.

Beautiful, beautiful tits.

She tossed her sex hair. “Good.” So flippant. Except he caught her blush.

Did she like knowing he’d remember their shower for eternity?

Yeah. She did.

She snorted, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down. But she hesitated before their lips could touch. Wetting hers and staring at his. “Fine.”

As if it was no big deal.

Right before their mouths met, however, she looked up at him and proved herself wrong. It was a very big deal. They kissed in the middle of the bar like they were alone. August absently set his beer onto the closest table so he could finally, blessedly, sink all ten fingers into her hair and go to fucking town on that mouth. Tongue, lips, teeth. He used everything at his disposal to make her moan while they slanted their parted mouths, sampled, took deeply. And deeper still. I’m going to figure us out, he told her with the kiss, meaning it with every breath in his body. I’m going to marry you, make this work.

When they pulled back for air, Natalie looked more than a little startled.

Hell, he was startled, too. Every time they kissed, he needed more. More of her.

She gathered air into her lungs with their lips still only inches apart. “We better stop—”

Natalie knocked his hand aside and marched past him toward the axe-throwing booth, her gait more than a little unsteady. “W-we were just sealing the wager.”

A few moments later, when August picked up his first axe, he didn’t even put his beer down. He looked Natalie right in the eye and threw a bull’s-eye, then drained his pint glass while she and Hallie stared at him with their jaws on the ground. “What the . . .” Natalie sputtered. “You just—”

August pointed to himself. “SEAL. Remember?” He signaled the passing waitress with his empty glass. “Word to the wise, never make a bet with one of us. Especially when weapons are involved. What were you thinking?”

You’re doing a great job of making this relationship permanent, buddy.

Natalie looked at him like he’d lost his marbles. Maybe he had.

After all, he was needling her while she was holding a sharp object.

As August watched, staring at her ass for only a few well-worth-it seconds, Natalie picked up the axe and sank it straight into the red bull’s-eye. And she lit up. Her mouth fell open, light flooding her eyes. She gasped, hands flying up to her mouth. Like a woman did during a proposal. Like she might have done if he hadn’t turned his proposal into a giant joke.

Dammit.

Swear to God, the whole bar blurred around them as she celebrated.

Jump into my arms. Do it. Please do it.

Spoiler: she did not.

She gave him a prim sniff and took her place off to the side, way too far from him. “Can you please come over here, Natalie?” he said.

Her features momentarily softened and she eventually rolled her eyes and sauntered over, nestling in beside him out of necessity, thanks to the bar being so crowded, especially in the throwing zone. Whistling casually, he let his arm creep up and settle onto her shoulders, earning him a pointed look, but thankfully she didn’t try to pull away. They stood like a real-life, honest-to-God couple while Hallie took her turn—a throw that nearly ended up in the ceiling—and then Julian, whose throw landed in the ring just outside the bull’s-eye. That lack of perfection really seemed to annoy him.

She looked like she wanted to take back her comment. Both Julian and Hallie appeared to be surprised, too, by the statement. Possibly even a little uncomfortable about it? “Meaning . . .” Natalie’s throat worked. “My brother. He . . . rescued me from the fire.” She laughed, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

August was having a hard time hearing over the squeal of tires in his brain. “What fire?”

Was he shouting? “What fire?” he said again, sounding strangled. Feeling strangled.

Everyone remained silent for long moments. Julian became fascinated by the axe-throwing rules posted on the wall, crossing his arms and observing them as if they were a painting in a museum. “Four years ago,” Hallie said finally, quietly. “The fire that went through Napa? It did a lot of damage to Vos Vineyard. Julian and Natalie were home for the harvest when it happened, and they were able to help evacuate their parents, staff, and as much equipment as possible, but Natalie got trapped in—”

It didn’t escape August’s notice that Julian was no longer reading the rules, but watching him very closely instead. Who could blame the guy? August was rapidly losing his cool. Because Natalie had been in danger from a fire four years ago. Really? A fucking fire? He hadn’t even been in the country four years ago. Not close enough to do anything. Thousands of miles away.

Hallie whooped and held up a glass of wine. “I know that’s right.”

August couldn’t even feel the axe in his hand when he picked it up. He turned it over a few times, looked down, and found it shaking. Damn. “Uh, does someone else want to take a turn?”

Having no choice, August made sure no one was standing too close, then threw the weapon—watching with a sour stomach as it landed in the outer ring. No one said anything when he stepped back and gestured for Natalie to take her turn. She looked at him curiously on her way up to the barrier, picking up the handle of her blade. This time, she caught the middle ring, followed by Hallie doing the same. Julian got a bull’s-eye. They were all talking and planning the next round, but August couldn’t concentrate on what was being said. All he could see was Natalie trapped and scared, and he needed to get some air. Now.

She blinked. “Come on, let’s go.” She pulled him through the crowd toward the door. “You’re having a mental breakdown. Either that or you just realized you gave up the chance to ridicule me over a thirty-minute makeup routine, so you’re faking amnesia.”

Christ, he needed to pull himself together. “I remember.” They stepped into the crisp evening, onto the empty sidewalk outside Jed’s, the last remnants of the earlier sunset giving the air a purplish glow. Or maybe he really was just having a mental break. Could air taste purple? “But I was kind of counting on winning.”

Her mouth opened and closed, her stance shifting side to side. “No. It was really scary, but beyond the fact that I triple-check my smoke detectors now, I’m fine.”

Soon as he got back inside.

In fact, he was going to ask him to be his best man.

Her chin lifted. “How do you know there’s a but?”

Lips twitching, she sized him up for a couple of seconds. “We all go it alone in this family. But they . . . were all ready to go it alone long before I was. Now Julian and my mother are getting closer and I’m the independent one. I’m kind of like, hey, remember everyone telling me to get my shit together and go stand on my own two feet? Well, I did. And no one . . . cared or noticed. Now I’m supposed to make this big effort to reconnect? No. I found what I was looking for somewhere else. For a while. And I just want to get it back.”

That caught her off guard and she fumbled through a thank-you.

Holy shit, was he on to something? Did he have the potential to actually help simply by being honest? The barbed wire was still there, along with the desire to hold all of his Sam memories close, but he was determined to make Natalie feel better. If opening up a little about Sam, at least for tonight, was how he accomplished that, he’d do the hard thing. “That’s why Sam and I were so close. He stayed with my family on holidays. My mom sent him birthday cards with twenty-dollar bills tucked inside. My dad took him fishing, even when I wasn’t around. We were brothers.”

Emotion shone in her eyes. “Were you surprised to see his father the other day?”

He appreciated the way she thought it over for a moment. Then, “Yes. It does.”

August cleared his throat hard. “Yeah.”

The evening hummed around them, the buzz coming from inside making the sidewalk seem all the more silent. Intimate. He couldn’t read Natalie’s expression, but he thought there might be a touch of wonder in it for some reason. And then, “I got forced out of my hedge fund in New York,” she blurted. “For making a seriously bad trade that lost the company a lot of money. Like enough to buy three private islands and still throw a party. Lost a lot of respect in the process. I was the youngest partner. The only woman. But overnight, I became a liability and they fired me. My fiancé broke off our engagement because I no longer fit into our world.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “That’s what happened in New York.”

Damn. He couldn’t imagine this woman making a mistake painting her fingernails, let alone one that cost a bunch of suits their mansion funds. And even more pressing, what man in his right goddamn mind would let Natalie Vos get away?

He wanted to shout a bunch of words—“that spineless motherfucker” chief among them—but this was a vulnerable moment for her. Even he could recognize it wasn’t a time for threats and anger, despite the fact that he sorely wanted to let loose on the wrongs done to her. Still, he reined in the burst of adrenaline and kept his voice steady as possible.

Her lips sort of quivered up into a smile.

August smiled back.

And he wasn’t entirely certain, but he was pretty sure they’d made some headway tonight. Not to mention, he’d learned something. When he shared things with Natalie, she shared back. He needed to remember that, because he wanted to know everything going on in her head. Wanted that badly. For now, he was going to bask in the glow of progress with a woman who’d once called him a walking sewage plant.

She was already walking past him with an eye roll. “Just when I thought you might be capable of basic discourse.”

Coming up behind her, he blew a raspberry into her neck. “Told you I’d never let you down.”

She swatted him away. “Your interpretation of letting someone down is ass backward.”

Natalie’s groan mingled with August’s booming laugh on their way back into the bar.

Chapter Twelve

Natalie skidded to a halt on her way across the grounds of Vos Vineyard. Her former colleague and future partner, Claudia, had dropped that good-news bombshell on her, then proceeded to shriek at someone for stealing her cab while Natalie held her breath three thousand miles away.

Why did she even reveal the marriage to Claudia? Now they were discussing August the same way they’d been discussing William Banes Savage—as though he were a means to an end—and she didn’t like that at all. He was a lot more than that. Last night, after she’d returned from axe throwing, she’d lain awake in bed, replaying what he’d told her about Sam. About his own family. How he held these people so close to his heart. Treasured them. What would it be like to mean so much to August? “Never mind,” she croaked. “Set up the meeting for next Friday and I’ll do my best to be there. Worst case scenario, we cancel and tell Savage I’m meeting with someone more important. He’ll be blowing up my phone.”

Natalie’s smile felt stiff. “I never left.”

Claudia snort-laughed. “My Uber is here. I’ll let you know when I’ve got details. Bye.”

For several seconds after she ended the call, Natalie stared down at the device in her hand trying to calm the weirdly unsettled sensation in her middle. A couple of weeks ago, she would have sold her soul for a chance to get back on a plane to New York and meet with a potential investor. Her trust fund would establish the new firm, but they would quickly need clout. They would need someone to come on board and send a signal to other investors that Natalie and Claudia were not only a safe play, but a shiny new endeavor.

But leaving only six days after the wedding?

Of course, she wouldn’t be leaving for good. Just long enough to meet with William Banes Savage. Could she sneak out of St. Helena for a couple of days without the masses taking note? Would it hurt their chances of appearing legitimate if she left on a solo trip less than a week after tying the knot?

How would August feel about it?

Natalie swallowed hard and kept walking toward her destination—the Vos wine cave.

It’s not like they were going on a honeymoon or anything, right? Business was business.

Eventually, she’d be leaving permanently and August was well aware of that. This was what they’d both signed up for. Temporary.

She took a hasty turn into the production facility, smiling at the employees who glanced over. After they got over the surprise of seeing her there, they nodded back, returning to their tasks. Harvest had taken place toward the end of the summer, followed by the pressing of the grapes. Now, firmly into fall, they were in the fermentation phase, which was a very careful science that could take months. Row after row of barrels were racked on their sides, employees carefully stirring the natural yeast to keep it from settling at the bottom of the wooden vessels, giving the wine oxygen, cultivating the flavor.

Natalie journeyed past them to the rear of the facility, opened the metal door, and started the long trek down four flights of stone stairs. When she reached the bottom, the scent of wet mushrooms tickled her nose and the sight of thousands of aging wine bottles greeted her, along with even more barrels. Tables were arranged throughout the cave for guests who toured the winery and wanted to explore the grounds beyond getting tipsy at the welcome center.

Did Zelnick Cellar have a wine cave? She needed to ask August about that. A lot of wineries in Napa had one, though they ranged in size. Maybe he could bring her on a tour of his underground cellar. Not that she wanted to be alone in the dark with him, it was purely out of professional curiosity, since she was now, technically, an employee of his vineyard—

Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard voices approaching from deep in the cave. Corinne and . . . was that Julian?

Corinne looked startled at her daughter’s sudden appearance, but Julian only seemed curious to find her there. “Shouldn’t you be at your final fitting?” Corinne demanded to know. “It’s not easy to find a tailor willing to make alterations on a wedding dress practically overnight.”

Before Julian could answer, Corinne spoke again. “You never explained what you were doing down here.”

Natalie jerked a shoulder. “I don’t know. I just came for the quiet.”

That was partially true. As a kid, she liked to sneak down to the wine cave and sit with her back pressed up against the chilly stone wall. She’d sit there for hours imagining a search party being formed to find her up above on the surface. She’d fantasize about how relieved everyone would be if and when they actually found her. They’d snatch her up in a big hug and make her promise never to hide away again without telling anyone where she’d gone.

That fantasy never came true, but pretending made her feel better.

This afternoon, she hadn’t come down to the cave to fantasize about a worried posse of loved ones searching for her with flaming torches through swamps and valleys. No, she’d come to do a little soul searching. She’d stopped in town today to buy a couple of bottles of wine . . . but drove away empty-handed. Drinking wine had become a coping mechanism rather than a tool of enjoyment. If she really thought about it, she hadn’t enjoyed wine at all in weeks. Soon, her trust fund would be released and she would need a clear head to take advantage of the opportunity. Her only one.

Natalie wondered if she’d imagined that tiny smile. Heaven knew Corinne wasn’t happy about Natalie getting hitched to August. “Yes, I’m aware. And . . . sure. I’ll stop by after dinner.”

Her mother inclined her head. “Ingram Meyer was the first to RSVP. He holds your trust fund in his hands, lest you need reminding. It won’t reflect well if you appear to have no idea what’s going on tomorrow.”

This was why she drank. “Understood.” Before Corinne could remind her of any more pressing responsibilities, Natalie continued, “I’m packed and ready to vacate the guest house. Hallie offered to drop my things off at August’s place this morning while I attended the fitting, so I’m sure that mission was completed promptly and on time.”

Julian snorted. In an affectionate way. His girlfriend didn’t operate under the constraints of time and clocks and calendars. As a result, his inclination to schedule every second of the day had begun to wane. Drastically. And he appeared to be quite happier for the change. Why, he wasn’t even wearing a tie and were those . . . flip-flops adorning his feet?

Before she could comment on her brother’s startling choice in footwear, Corinne cleared her throat. “We’re discussing business right now, Natalie.”

Natalie plastered a smile on her face, refusing to let the hurt of dismissal show. “Julian, when you have a chance, shoot me the name of that imaging service you were speaking about. I’m just curious.”

It’s fine.

Next Friday night was right around the corner. That was when she would prove herself.

That was when she would shine.

God knew she was never meant to do that here.

* * *

August propped a picture of Sam against the gravestone, sat back, and cracked open a cold one. “Cheers, buddy.”

He’d woken up even earlier than usual this morning to make the drive down to San Joaquin Valley National Cemetery, where Sam was buried. Calling his parents and informing them of the news about his wedding had been fun. Fun like a root canal. His ears were still ringing from his mother’s outraged screech. They were on a cruise to Alaska—which he didn’t even know was a thing—and obviously couldn’t make it to St. Helena by tomorrow. He’d managed to escape with what remained of his hearing by promising to bring Natalie to Kansas to meet them soon.

Maybe he should just crawl into one of these graves right now, because he didn’t know when or even if he’d be pulling that off. But it sure was nice to think about. Considering they were both tough as nails, Natalie and his mother would probably square off across the dinner table, refusing to blink. August was here for it.

Propping himself up from behind with his left fist, he lifted the beer to his lips with his right hand, tracing the name on the gravestone with his eyes. “I came here to ask you something important, man. Will you walk me down the aisle?”

Sam stared back at him from the glossy photograph, half smiling. August had snapped the shot with his phone at the end of day one of BUD/S training, where they’d met. Sam looked dog-tired in the photo, but there was a touch of exhilaration there, too, like he was relieved to get through the first twenty-four hours.

He listened for a minute, trying to imagine what Sam would say.

The wind drifted through the sunny cemetery, rustling the trees.

He swiped at his eyes and shifted into a different position.

August listened to the wind.

Beer empty, he let the bottle tip sideways in the grass, then decided to do the same himself, lying with his cheek pressed to the ground.

He rolled over onto his back and looked up into the clouds, sighing a little when one of them took the shape of Natalie’s lips.

When his voice cracked, he knew it was time to go.

With one more hard clearing of his throat, August rolled back up into a sitting position, collected the picture, folded it on the crease, and carefully tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll be back soon, if you’re lucky.” He fist-bumped the gravestone. “Love you, man. Wish me luck.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was the antithesis of how Natalie had pictured her wedding.

The theme of her thwarted nuptials had been modern. Chic, black-tie, smoky jazz, and chandeliers. A rooftop ceremony at dusk, followed by champagne and mingling with colleagues. Making professional inroads at her own wedding had been a given. Although, in a manner of speaking, she was doing the same here. Marrying in the name of returning to the world of finance. The fast-paced, often ugly, no-time-to-cry business of investing.

But she never, not once, envisioned herself getting married in St. Helena in the front yard where she had once woken up beneath an overturned unicycle and Ludacris blaring from her Bluetooth speaker. Don’t get her wrong, the setting was unmatched. Mount St. Helena was clear as a bell in the distance, smothered in sunshine. The vineyard seemed to be putting its best foot forward today, rows of lush greens and rich browns rolled out like shiny ribbons in the flattering afternoon light.

Natalie walked around the perimeter of the tent where the reception would take place into the evening. It was smaller than she’d expected, based on her mother’s description, thank God. She’d convinced her mother to keep the guest list on the intimate side and for once, they hadn’t argued about it, though only one man on the list seemed to matter today—Ingram Meyer. At least to Natalie and August. For Corinne, the wedding was as much about image as it was about helping them succeed. Wasn’t it?

A hundred yards ahead, Natalie could see Hallie bustling around in ripped jean shorts and a sky-blue halter top, securing big, bright boughs of crimson roses to the aisle chairs where the ceremony itself would start in about an hour.

Natalie didn’t even have her dress on yet.

Hair and makeup was done—she’d taken care of that herself.

Everything was being handled. All she needed to do was get fake married.

Just get through today, stay married for one month to make the union believable and not blemish the Vos name with a scandal. Then she’d be on her way.

It took Natalie several moments to realize she was scanning the yard for August.

Shouldn’t he be here, with only an hour to go before the ceremony?

Had he changed his mind?

When they’d parted ways two nights ago after axe throwing, everything had seemed fine. Meaning she’d called him a lumbering twat and he’d made kissing noises at her until she’d slammed the door of her Uber on him. All perfectly normal.

Funny, while pondering the possibility that August had gone AWOL, she didn’t immediately think of her trust fund. She was kind of . . . worried? That maybe he was having a hard time going through with the wedding without Sam?

She reached into the pocket of her robe and took out her phone, smoothing her thumb over the glass screen. Should she call him? See if he needed to chat? As little as a week ago, the very idea of holding a conversation of any length with the world’s worst winemaker would have been laughable. And hey, they weren’t best friends now or anything. Ha! That would be the day. But talking to him didn’t quite suck as much as it had before? It was kind of nice how she could be as mean and sarcastic as she wanted and he simply rose to the occasion. She didn’t have to pretend. She’d even been honest with him about her family woes and afterward, she’d been just a little bit lighter.

Maybe pretending to be married to him wouldn’t end in World War III.

It wouldn’t be a walk in the park, either. But they might not kill each other.

Right as Natalie was preparing to call her missing fiancé, his truck roared into the parking lot and skidded to a halt, kicking up a dust cloud. Everyone on the lawn stopped and turned to watch the giant groom climb out of his truck—carefully cradling a marmalade-colored cat to his chest, patting its head soothingly.

Menace was here. Wearing a cat tuxedo.

Natalie ducked back behind the tent to laugh, getting it out of her system as quickly as possible, before schooling her features. When she heard August exchange a hello with Hallie, she stepped out into the open.

August spotted her, jerked back, and held the cat up in front of his face. “Jesus Christ, Natalie. I’m not supposed to see you.”

She implored the sky for patience. “You’re not supposed to see me in the dress, August.”

Still he didn’t lower the cat. “That’s not the dress?”

Natalie shook her head at him. Too bad so many locals were within earshot, setting up tables inside the tent, caterers arranging champagne flutes and place settings. “You look very nice in your tuxedo, as well.”

The lie detector test determines . . . that is not a lie.

August Cates was fine. Rugged. Totally at ease with his enormous body and thick muscles, which were accentuated to perfection in the starched black jacket and pants. She could tell he’d shaved, but growth was already apparent on his cut jaw and upper lip, somehow making the bow tie look softer. Like it could be whipped off at any moment. He’d tried to tame his hair, but the wind in his truck must have gotten hold of it, because some pieces were refusing to stay in line. Honestly, though, who cared about hair when his shoulders could seat a party of four?

He sauntered closer, his right hand stroking the cat’s back absently. “Yeah, I can see you like me in a tux, princess.”

She smirked at him, hoping the heat in her cheeks wasn’t turning them red. “Nice of you to show up.”

His smile showed off a row of strong, white teeth. “Were you able to get a dress made of Dalmatian fur on short notice?”

She couldn’t seem to stop moving as he turned the laminated picture over in his hand, reading the words that were printed there. Then back. Right side up again. He said nothing, just looked down at the small card with his brow puckered.

He moved quickly, his firm mouth pressing to hers and cutting her off mid-sentence, staying there for a long moment while neither one of them seemed to breathe. “No, it’s not,” he said, releasing her lips, but staying close. So close she’d tilted her head all the way back to receive the kiss. “This isn’t small, princess.”

She couldn’t think of an adequate response to that and talking at all seemed like it might be difficult, so she just nodded, the pressure on her chest increasing the longer he held her eyes, searching them.

That gave her serious pause. Was he joking? “Did you?”

August held up the cat’s paw in a little wave and strolled past her toward the house. “I don’t know, did I?”

Her intended had just moved out of earshot when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

When she saw her father’s name on the screen, the warm fuzzies she’d—admittedly—gotten from her conversation with August vanished. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he’d called on her wedding day. She stepped into a small tent at the edge of the property that appeared to be set up as a coat check. And she answered.

There was a short burst of Italian on the other end, then Dalton’s voice came through clear. “Natalie.” His sigh was woven with resignation. “You’re going to call off this ridiculous spectacle immediately. What are people going to think when I’m not in attendance at my own daughter’s wedding?”

That rendered her momentarily speechless. “Who told you I was getting married? I know damn well it wasn’t my mother.”

His long-suffering sigh was interrupted by someone else speaking to him in Italian, a woman this time. Dalton responded to her in kind. Before he spoke again, Natalie knew she wouldn’t get a satisfying answer to her question. But she never could have expected what he said instead. “Is this what you want, Natalie? To force my hand?” A pause ensued. “Fine. Call off the wedding and I’ll release your trust fund.”

And she would be best served marrying August. Because she would hate herself for the rest of her life if she gave in, took the easy road, after Dalton had abandoned them. Without apology or regret. It was more than resentment that kept her from outright agreeing to take her trust fund in exchange for jilting August, though. She couldn’t quite describe the nausea that roiled in her stomach at the thought of calling off this wedding. Was she actually . . . excited to walk down the aisle, because of the man who would be waiting at the end?

No way she was going to answer that definitively. Not even to herself.

One thing she did know, this piece of work she called a father wasn’t going to insult a man who’d literally stopped in his tracks on the way out of town and stayed to help her.

Not a chance.

She stood up and started to pace.

* * *

August’s palms started to sweat at the very moment the wedding march started.

All right, this was really happening.

This was his wedding day. August had never imagined his own wedding, per se. But he’d always assumed his parents would be there. Sam, too. He’d figured on a lot more people in naval uniforms and fewer people in statement scarves. He didn’t know anyone in attendance very well. Julian stood to his right, giving him a steady professor look that caused August a beat of panic. Did he forget to turn in his homework? No, this was his wedding day and he . . . needed some reassurance. Someone to smack him in the head and remind him he was marrying a ten.

Because he was. That was what he really needed. To see Natalie. She knew him. They knew each other. She was his closest friend in the tent, for better or for worse.

I’ll make it for better. Won’t I?

Yeah, you will, said Sam’s voice in his head. You’re more than stubborn enough.

August’s hand automatically rose to his pocket, his pulse calming when he felt the outline of the laminated picture—

Oh shit.

Oh . . . shit.

August’s emotions were raw to begin with, but when Natalie appeared at the top of the aisle, the breath quite literally fled from his lungs. He thought she’d looked incredible in the robe. But now? Why was he getting emotional over a fucking dress? It had no significance to him. It was expensive looking, with long, flowing, sort of see-through material on the bottom and a sparkly . . . boob booster on top? It didn’t have straps, just a tight section of sparkling beads that pushed up her tits.

How was he just supposed to act normal when she looked this way? The combination of the dress and her hair and makeup . . . this was a bride.

His bride.

She was walking toward him on a satin runner, all by herself, no man to guide her there. Was she all right coming down the aisle alone? He wished they’d discussed that. Julian could have done it, right? So maybe she wanted to do it alone? Natalie’s brother stood across from Hallie, who held a bouquet of roses and baby’s breath in her hands. A lot like Natalie’s, but much smaller.

His future wife was halfway down the aisle now. Getting more and more beautiful with every step she took. Damn, even her shoes were sparkly.

The music swelled along with August’s throat.

How did he get here? How? He had no earthly clue, but he knew one thing. The richest man in the world couldn’t pay him to be anywhere else.

Especially when Natalie’s eyes found his and held on, as if gathering strength. She was nervous. Sweat was slipping down his spine, so yeah, he could relate. They shared an exaggerated breath while staring at each other and . . .

Jesus Christ, was he crying?

Yeah. Actual moisture flooded his eyes. Too much to blink away.

Natalie paused ever so slightly, looking dumbfounded.

The tent full of strangers laughed. Except for Julian, who August could feel staring at him, speculating. Corinne sat in the front row, Menace curled at her feet, looking back and forth between August and Natalie and for some reason, her shoulders seemed to relax over whatever she saw. August would have given a million dollars to find out what it was, because he had no idea what was happening in his chest. A fucking racket, that’s what.

She’d brought him a picture of Sam.

She’d printed it out, found the hymn. Had it all laminated.

Until she handed over the card, he’d had no idea how badly he needed it. Again, he felt the slight weight of it behind his pocket square and it calmed him. Someone had his back. The person he’d grown to trust the most out of anyone in his life . . . was present. In his thoughts, if not physically. And he had the woman in front of him to thank.

The woman clutching her flowers with white knuckles.

Calm her down.

She looked like she wanted to clock him over the head with her bouquet.

But at least the blood was back in her fingers.

Damn. He had it so bad.

Chapter Fourteen

Natalie watched in horror as August unfolded the piece of paper that he’d removed from the pocket of his tuxedo. Yellow legal-pad paper, to be exact, on which lines had been crossed out and arrows had been drawn.

It looked like the first draft of a football playbook.

What in God’s actual name was he going to say?

More importantly, had she actually passed on an offer to get her trust fund and remain single? With her money in hand, she probably could have even afforded to reimburse Corinne for the catering. Sure, the last-minute flake out wouldn’t have been good for her relationship with Corinne or the Vos family reputation, but neither of those things were stellar at the moment to begin with!

Although, wow. If she’d taken the money and skedaddled, she would have missed the sight of August in front of an altar—a portable one, sure—looking at her in a wedding dress with total, unabashed awe. It wasn’t every day a girl was privy to that compelling of a moment.

My goodness, he’s beautiful, too. A big, beautiful, battle-worn presence.

She’d meant every word she’d said to her father. God help her. What now?

Follow through on her word to the man. She owed him that. He deserved that much.

But that was all she could offer. All he could expect.

They were halfway through the traditional vows when August cleared his throat and flattened the wrinkled paper on his thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie noticed her mother shifting nervously in her seat. She knew August was a loose cannon who never tried to hide his disdain for St. Helena’s elite and every guest at this wedding fit that profile, including Ingram Meyer.

August reached for the microphone and the pastor handed it over with a glance toward the wedding planner. He shrugged. August cleared his throat directly into the mic, sending a trill of feedback through the tent and a smattering of murmurs. “Natalie Vos. Wow. Here we are. Getting married.” He turned the paper toward her so she could see he’d written those exact words, before going back to reading. “I promise to take your side in every argument—unless it’s the one you’re having with me, then it’s fair game. But the point I’m trying to make is that we might fight . . .” He scanned the room with a pointed look. “But God help anyone else who tries to fight with you. They will answer to me.”

Oh . . . my God. Why were her eyes burning?

This wasn’t even real. Why did his speech feel . . . important?

Why did the whole day feel significant?

There was more.

A whole second half of a page. He couldn’t seem to continue, though. Maybe because the guests were so silent. Maybe he got self-conscious. Whatever the reason, August coughed into his fist, folded up the paper hastily, and shoved the vows back into his pocket. “We can keep going now,” he said with a brief smile, handing the microphone back to the pastor.

Instead, Natalie just dropped her bouquet of flowers, took a lunging step, and kissed him. Smack on the mouth, right there in front of everyone, her hands smoothing up the lapels of his black dress jacket. “Are you kissing me because of what I said about your tits, princess? Because I meant it. They are hot as sh—”

She kissed him again, ignoring the dangerous stinging behind her eyes. The kiss threatened to grow more intense until August squeezed her waist and broke away with a low whistle, his eyelids at half-mast.

They finished reciting the words that officially made them husband and wife, but she stumbled over every single sentence, thanks to the way August was looking at her.

* * *

Apparently, the bride and groom didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time together at the wedding. File that under information August hadn’t been unaware of until today.

At least, they never got to be alone.

Everyone else under the tent seemed to be getting tons of face time with Natalie and he wasn’t even going to pretend not to be jealous. Whenever he got her attention, someone came by and struck up a conversation with her. Men. Women. Children. Even the cat was in her lap for a while, rolled over on its back like a lazy queen.

Obviously everyone wanted to talk to his wife, she looked like a fucking angel.

In sixty years, when he thought back on his wedding, he was going to remember this—chasing her around the candlelit tent just trying to get her alone. So he could . . . what?

He wasn’t even positive this wedding meant anything to Natalie. Not the way it meant something to him. If her motives went beyond unlocking her trust fund, they remained unclear. And he wanted to know where he stood with this woman every time he looked at her. Starting today, he’d do everything in his power to make it happen.

August-style, of course.

August shook the man’s free hand. “Yes, I believe the last time we met, you told me not to let the door hit me in the tuchus on my way out of the bank.”

A prickle rode up the back of August’s neck. “Natalie and I are grateful to her.”

Did I?

Yeah, he guessed he had. The whole night was a blur of anything but . . . her.

The way she’d smiled. Her smoke-and-flowers scent.

How he’d lost his balance the moment he saw her and never got it back.

Ingram considered both of them in turn. “What a nice story.” He took his time taking a bite of cake, chewing it while looking over the crowd. “Corinne invited me to dinner at the vineyard on Monday night. I’m looking forward to hearing more about how this union came to be.” He tipped his straw hat to Julian and August. “Enjoy your night.”

Julian shook his head. Sighed. “You’re in love with her.”

Suddenly, August couldn’t swallow.

The music swelled in his ears.

Was he in love with Natalie? No idea. If the key to her happiness was at the bottom of the ocean, he’d strap on some flippers and goggles to dive down and get it. If she showed any signs of illness, even a common cold, he would consider bringing her to the ER. If she asked him to dress like Zack Morris at Halloween so she could dress like Kelly Kapowski . . . he’d already have suggested it first. Did all of that equal love?

To him? Yes.

He loved her. Really, really bad.

It couldn’t have seemed less natural for Julian to lay his arm across August’s shoulders, but he did. Briefly. “I have faith in you.” He stepped back. “I also have faith that she wouldn’t have gone through with this unless something was there.”

When Julian returned to his girlfriend’s side, August picked up an uneaten plate of food from one of the tables and dug into it with a tiny fork. Cold sea bass was not the most appetizing of choices, but God knew he’d eaten worse.

How to get Natalie’s attention. How to get . . .

The DJ booth released a slow plume of fog out onto the dance floor.

August smiled mid-chew, finally landing on a plan.

A few minutes later, the opening strains of “Brick House” filled the tent and Natalie’s shoulder blades twitched, then she was turning around and sending daggers at him with her eyes. He only winked back. When the lyrics kicked in, August strutted out onto the dance floor and pointed directly at his new wife with an open challenge. At first, he was positive she was going to throw the closest heavy object at his head, but to his everlasting happiness, she joined him in the center of the floor, causing the drunk guests in attendance to applaud.

August unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket with a flourish and dropped it on the dance floor, moving on to the cuff links next. Rolling up his sleeves. And then he started to dance—although even he could admit that that term should be used loosely when applied to his series of exaggerated disco moves and jump spins. Not to mention a lot of finger guns. He’d developed this routine years ago as a way to shake the malaise that often overcame his team when they’d been away from their families too long and, frankly, it was ridiculous. But it was him, whereas this wedding was definitely not.

Not unless he counted Natalie.

This woman was . . . him. She was why he’d come.

Her eyes shot to his, a furrow appearing in her brow. As if trying to decipher whether or not he was putting her on. “The only reason I’m going to dance with you right now is this. My mother picked ‘(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life’ from Dirty Dancing as our first dance song. I don’t know what in the hell she was thinking. Everyone expects a lift at the end of that song. Or a dancing flash mob. She clearly didn’t think it through.”

Natalie’s mouth dropped open.

Natalie was already shaking her head. “This dress has about forty pounds of crystals sewn into it. I would have knocked you out.”

They were in the middle of the dance floor having this conversation, and August was pretty damn sure Natalie had no idea she was dancing. As if he didn’t already find this woman attractive beyond human comprehension, she had to go and look good cutting a rug, too. Just effortless and fluid and sexy. In rhythm. How was it even fair?

He winked at her. “You’re damn right, princess.”

She pitched toward him, laughing. “Do you think they’ll give us lollipops if we’re brave enough in the emergency room?”

Natalie jolted slightly. “Oh my God, I’m Natalie Cates now.”

His bow tie was suddenly way too tight. “It has a certain ring to it.”

The shake it down, shake it down now portion of the song started and he hit the running man while she effortlessly worked the Batusi. Shit, he was falling deeper for her the longer this song went on. His team would love her. They’d worship the ground she walked on for not putting up with his crap but occasionally giving in, wouldn’t they? “We’re doing the lift.”

He scoffed. “You seriously think I would ever drop you? My beloved wife?”

This time when she laughed, her eyes were sparkling, the sound piercing him right in the middle of his chest. Although he wondered if she would be laughing if she knew he wasn’t laying it on all that thick. She danced for another few seconds, then rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Fine, we’ll try it. But if I end up with an injury, you’ll be waiting on me hand and foot until I’ve healed.”

If the music wasn’t blasting, August was pretty sure he’d have heard Natalie gulp. “You’d wait on me hand and foot?”

He pressed and dragged his thumbs along the curve of her hip bones, tugging her close by the skirt of the wedding dress.

She huffed an incredulous laugh. “Pretty sure that’s a prize for you.”

He brought his mouth to her ear and felt his own eyelids grow heavy at the waft of her scent. “No lies detected. I’m gonna love going down on you, princess.”

Her quick release of breath bathed his throat, making his stones feel weighty, the nape of his neck beginning to sweat. “That’s . . . your prize?” she asked, finally, her tone threadbare.

The song ended.

She shoved away from him with a flushed face.

Applause broke out from the perimeter of the dance floor, startling her. And it gratified August to no end that when she was alarmed, she reached for him instinctively, fingers curling in the starched white material of his shirt. Before she could recover and step away from him again, August wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer, leaning over to plant a kiss on the crown of her head, the wedding photographer snapping away with pops of light.

Oh yeah. His heart boomed. They were in this.

The applause and whistles died and Natalie eased away, leaving the dance floor with a wary backward glance in August’s direction. Correction: he was in this.

In order to get his heart off the chopping block, he needed to bring her along.

Starting with an overhead lift. Jesus.

On the way off the floor, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started googling.

Chapter Fifteen

The limousine ride back to August’s home was short.

But effective.

Everything today involving this man classified as potent.

She couldn’t even blame it on the champagne, because she’d barely stopped talking long enough to drink two glasses. After they’d walked out of the reception and everyone threw handfuls of obligatory rice at them, August had pulled her into his lap in the back of the limousine and proceeded to pick the tiny, white grains out of her hair, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck repeatedly. Out of self-preservation, she’d crawled over to the opposite seat, giving him an affronted look.

But the damage was already done.

She was turned on by her fake husband.

Not just buzzing with an electrical current of attraction, either. This was a full-on meteor shower of hormones, the likes of which she’d never experienced in her life. Not for her former fiancé. Not for anyone.

She needed to shut this down immediately.

This was a marriage inspired by advantages. Money. Eventually it would be over and they would walk away, hopefully better off than they started. This was not a long-term situation and introducing the complications of sex was a very, very bad idea.

God forbid it turned out to be good.

What would she do then?

Don’t pretend you don’t already know it would be good.

The fact that August had even mentioned her clit boded extremely well, let’s be honest. It wasn’t something that typically rolled off a man’s tongue—before or during the act—unless he valued the woman’s pleasure as much as his own. She would not have assumed that about the hulking SEAL who had somehow gotten red wedding cake frosting in his hair, even though they’d both been handed forks.

On the other hand, maybe it was a signal that he did excel at . . . giving pleasure?

They slowed to a stop in front of his house and the driver alighted, his footsteps on the gravel loud in the sudden silence. “I think we should put this bet off until we’re both totally sober.”

An eyebrow went up. “You had one, maybe two, glasses of champagne, Natalie.”

Had he really been paying that close attention? “If that’s true, why am I considering a dangerous dance lift with oral sex as the prize?”

A grin spread across his mouth. “Maybe you’re drunk on my charisma.”

The door of the limousine opened and August exited, cat cradled in his left arm, reaching in to help her out. He released her from his grip only long enough to tip the driver a twenty and throw him a salute, before recapturing Natalie’s hand and guiding her up the steps of the house.

She was in his arms being carried over the threshold.

She snorted and tried not to enjoy herself.

Charged silence took up the air around them. “Okay.”

He finally set her down, but only so he could slap his hands over his eyes. “I’m a shit gift giver. I’m absolutely awful at it. When I was seven, I gave my mother a pancake for Mother’s Day. Only, I’d been planning ahead, so it had been wrapped in my closet for three weeks. I haven’t gotten any better.” He gestured to her room. The door was open and she could see a frame propped on the small nightstand. “I framed a ticket stub from Wine Down Napa—you know, the event where we met?” He shook his head. “You’d probably rather forget that night.”

Had she swallowed a fistful of feathers? “No. That was a good night,” she murmured, recalling the first time she’d seen him in his Kiss the Vintner apron, a head taller than everyone in the room. That booming laugh. “But you were an exhibitor at Wine Down. You wouldn’t have needed a ticket. Where did you find this one?”

He jerked a big shoulder. “I might have asked a few people.” He coughed. “Few dozen.”

Oh my.

Hello, understatement. A few minutes ago, she’d been intent on redrawing the boundaries and battle lines of this relationship. Now she was throwing her common sense in the dumpster because of a framed ticket stub.

Maybe this annoying attraction to August had simply built to a fever pitch. Toss in the undisputed fact that Napa weddings could make a corpse feel romantic, let alone a warm-blooded woman, and her immunity to him was currently paper thin. Whatever the reason, she wanted an excuse to be touched by him and this was the perfect opportunity. Even if she ended the night on a gurney in the back of an ambulance.

You won’t.

You know you won’t.

August wouldn’t drop her. Ever. End of story. Was that why she wanted to do the lift? Did she enjoy the way he made her feel physically safe? Maybe. Yes. It was refreshing to have that confidence in another person. A rarity. So she backed across the kitchen, all the way to the far corner, to give herself enough running space. And then she went for it.

Ran right toward him in a wedding dress and heels.

The man didn’t even blink.

He simply caught her around the waist and lifted her up over his head, turning her in a slow circle, giving her a lopsided smile from below.

Holy hell.

His mouth was close. Very close. The fingertips of his right hand traced her cheekbone, their lips gravitating toward each other until they were trading breaths. “I win,” he rasped, touching the tip of his tongue to the center of her upper lip. “Promise it’ll feel like we both did, though. Yeah, Natalie?”

Was she nodding?

She let him take her wrist and hustle her down the hallway, past the bathroom to his bedroom. He drew her inside, kicking the door shut with a definitive slam. And then they were making out. Although was that really the proper term for the way they were mauling each other? Hands seeking and clutching and exploring while his tongue swept deep in her mouth, turning her delirious.

August walked her back to the bed and down she went, his thick forearm snaking beneath her hips and pulling her up the bed until the back of her head landed on a pillow. His heavy body pinned her in place like he damn well belonged there. And in that moment, he did. He belonged there like air belonged in her lungs.

He wasted no time bringing his mouth down on hers again, groaning while angling his head right. The sides of their noses mashed together as his hands gathered the hem of her wedding dress higher and higher. Up her calves. Knees. Oh God. When the heavy skirt scraped up her thighs, he lifted his hips to move the bunched material out of the way and dropped his lower body into the cradle of her open legs, firm bearing down on soft. Pushing. They both cursed, Natalie’s breath escaping in a trembling rush.

His face buried in her neck with a strangled growl. “Natalie, I want to fuck you so bad, I’m surprised God didn’t strike me down when I walked into that tent today.” He rolled his hips and the friction made Natalie’s vision go black. “But I could fuck you until your thighs turn into rubber and you’d still hate yourself for giving in when the sun comes up. Until I know for damn sure that you’ll wake up beside me without regrets, you only get my tongue.”

She couldn’t argue with his point.

If she broke her no-sex rule on night one, hour one, she’d chalk the indiscretion up to temporary wedding hysteria or bad decision making. Or she’d tell herself she’d scratched the itch and it couldn’t happen again. August didn’t seem to want her to have regrets.

August was already talking like there would be a next time?

A mixture of panic and relief had her nearly gasping.

Of course he was talking in the future tense.

What man wouldn’t want built-in benefits to any relationship?

Her thoughts scattered like broken necklace beads when he reached between their lower bodies and gripped her sex hard, sawing his middle finger through her panties, along that sensitive valley. Parting her, wetting her. “You’d love to get filled the fuck up. I know. But I promise you, princess, this is going to be a hell of a consolation prize.”

This wasn’t her first time at the rodeo. A few men had tried their God’s honest best down there. Techniques had been employed, toys had been engaged, and once, even edible lube had entered the mix to no success. Just sticky sheets and the artificial smell of banana hanging in the air of her bedroom for a week. But she remembered the way August had touched her in the shower and how he’d gotten the drop on her, so she braced herself, taking two fistfuls of the comforter. She was going to be prepared this time—

He quickly worked the front buttons of his shirt and tossed the garment away, followed by the no-nonsense stripping of his tight, white undershirt, the rigid flex of hard-earned muscle causing her fists to yank the sheets, her high heels to dig into the mattress.

August pushed her thighs open and dropped down onto his front, one big knee digging into the bed and pushing forward. His open mouth met her flesh and he suctioned it, the entire thing, moaning, before delving his tongue between her folds again, raking it from entrance to apex, where his lavish attention made her eyes cross. His tongue stroked her clit like it was his long-lost love. Not hurried, just thorough. So thorough. Damn. Damn.

In the space of a minute, the whole situation went from cautious optimism to imminent blastoff. She was on a roller coaster, cranking vertically to the highest point of the ride. Preparing to take the plunge. Her stomach turned weightless and a ticklish throb began way down deep, back where she’d never felt it before. This wasn’t going to be like one of her self-inflicted orgasms. It was going to build and build and bury her, wasn’t it? Oh God, oh God.

He nodded, squeezing her thigh. Why was that intimate reassurance so sexy?

Right there.

I can’t believe I’m this wet.

And he was living for it, using her readiness to his advantage. He pumped two huge fingers inside of her while flicking his tongue against her clit. Oh. Mama. Was he serious? “Babe, please,” she panted, no idea who she was calling babe. But saying it again, anyway, in the next breath, because what else to call a man making her feel this good? Her whole body was surface-of-the-sun level hot. Knees shaking. Throat strained like she’d just left a Harry Styles concert. Had she been screaming? Was she screaming now? “Harder, babe. Please. Okay?”

What was she asking for?

No idea.

But he gave it to her, almost completely pulling out his fingers, then thrusting them deep and holding them there while his licks turned rougher. Pinpricks of light appeared in her vision, forming constellations on the ceiling, and she tipped her head back, letting the pleasure plow through. Unequivocal hedonism. That’s what this was.

With strands of his hair wrapped around her fingers, she raked her hips side to side against his mouth and he kept his tongue stiff for her, adapting on the fly, trusting her to know what she wanted in that moment of euphoria, also known as the best climax of her life. She was trembling and mumbling to herself when she came down from the highest peak. August kissed the insides of her thighs, looking like he was already considering round two, shoulder muscles bunching as if he was just waiting for the green light.

Right. Great. She’d been talking out loud.

How thoroughly had this man scrambled her brain?

In the middle of kissing her thigh, he smirked.

This couldn’t stand. The night could not end like this.

He’d have the upper hand and he would be insufferable. She’d totally lost herself in the act and he would miss no opportunity to remind her how she’d essentially erupted like Vesuvius, called him an endearment, and lost power to her limbs. Minutes later and her legs were limp. Resting on his shoulders. When did that happen?

There was only one way to even the scales.

His mouth paused in the act of nuzzling the inside of her knee. “Natalie . . .”

Having a purpose breathed new life back into her limp body. She allowed her legs to slide from the rocky slopes of his shoulders onto the bed, gathering herself into a kneel and turning around, gesturing to the zipper of her dress. “Can you help me out of this?”

One of his eyebrows winged up at the T word. “Really?”

She nodded earnestly, giving him her back.

The heat of August’s hands met the area below her shoulder blades. He hesitated with his fingers on the zipper. “What exactly are you wearing under this dress?”

Without him making a sound, his skepticism was obvious. “I know when you are lying.”

She scoffed. “No, you don’t.”

Natalie frowned. Was he right?

His lips parted on a long intake of breath, eyes darkening. “Come here,” he rasped, pulling her backward into his lap and drawing the zipper down slowly. “I’ve got you.”

She had him, too.

Right where she wanted him.

As soon as the opening was loose, she pushed the dress down, lifting her hips to divest herself of the heavy material. She used her foot to slide it off the bed into an ivory heap, her rear end landing soundly back into August’s lap, eliciting a groan.

The corner of her lips ticked up. Gotcha.

She pulled down the cups of her strapless bra and guided his hands there, surprised when they didn’t just grab on or handle her breasts too roughly. She should probably stop being surprised by August now. By the way he gently played with her nipples, dragging his thumbs over them, side to side, his mouth beginning to lick and nip at her neck. Oh. Wow. If she didn’t keep control of this situation, she would wake up tomorrow without the upper hand. She might as well raise the white flag and surrender any leverage she had left.

Climbing off August’s lap, she turned around on her knees, allowing herself a second to savor his choked curse at the sight of her bare breasts—

And then she shoved him onto his back.

She raked a hand up and over the distended crotch of his dress pants, stroking him firmly through the material. “My turn.”

She nodded.

He reached down and started unbuckling his belt.

It shouldn’t have been so hot. Really. It shouldn’t have.

But those big mitts fumbling with the metal buckle and the eager flex of his abdomen made her tongue heavy in her mouth. So eager that she was kissing his stomach, biting the sinew that ran in a downward-pointing V along his hips.

Oh God. When he begged her to bite harder, she wanted to.

Badly.

She sucked a gust of air into her lungs and shot forward, sinking her teeth into the meat of his hip, drawing a shout from August that resonated through her entire body. “Fuck yes,” he growled. There was a brief pause before he lifted his head to look down at her. “Don’t bite my dick, obviously.”

Natalie giggled.

He grinned back. A big, bad warrior with an inconvenient charming side. It was alarming, the severe pinch she felt in her chest at that moment, so she closed her eyes and licked over the rope of muscle that ran along his sides, then down to his belly button, wetting a path through those coarse whorls of his hair. Her right hand delved into his pants and . . . okay, she’d expected this.

Of course it was XL. He was XL.

But she couldn’t even get her hand around him.

Had she ever felt confident during sex before? She’d always assumed so. She even liked to think of herself as adventurous.

But now, with this man almost hyperventilating at the thought of her mouth on him, she felt like a goddess. Seductive. So confident in herself and his imminent enjoyment of her that she was almost purring when she drew August’s shaft out through the opening of his pants.

It swelled further and August bit off a curse, hips twisting right. “Now that’s the reaction a man wants on his wedding night.”

What was her whole plan about keeping the upper hand?

Whatever it was, she couldn’t recall the details. Could only lean in and run her tongue up the side of his gorgeously thick shaft, watching his thigh muscles bunch in response. A burst of steam escaped his flared nostrils. From one lick.

She’d never held a man’s balls in her hand, but instinct had her reaching for August’s, rolling them gently in her palm, and really, there was no way to avoid them, because they were, for lack of a better word, prominent.

Natalie’s confidence climbed higher. Wow, he was really, really enjoying everything she was doing. She didn’t have to wonder if her tongue was in the right place or if she was stroking him too hard in her fist, because August was sending a clear message and it read Holy shit, I’ve never been touched so right. Never felt anything this good.

That fear of rejection or criticism she normally dreaded was quite simply . . . gone.

The absence of that burden made her more eager to give him pleasure, lips traveling past the point she thought possible, not worrying whether or not too much saliva was visible or if it was weird to be moaning while giving someone oral. As if the pleasure was hers.

Wasn’t it, though? With him?

Whoa.

Easy, girl.

Okay, he did not mean the whole love of my life part, obviously. He was just lost in the moment. So why did it make her nearly swallow him whole, her pulse tapping wildly in her temples? Her lips stretched around his ample length and when the tip of him brushed the back of her throat, his knees jerked up, the hand that had been cupping her cheek sinking in her hair now, ruining her updo in a split second.

Her fist moved up and down in rapid strokes, sensing the beginning of his peak. Was she still moaning?

Get a grip on yourself. He didn’t taste that good.

Liar. His taste was singularly incredible.

The scent of that grapefruit soap clung to his pubic hair and wires must be getting crossed in her brain, because smelling the fruit while taking him in her mouth made him almost taste like it, and somehow she knew she’d never pass up grapefruit again at the supermarket.

There was simply no way she could stop now.

Not when he made her smile during a blow job.

That had to deserve some kind of award—and she was in the position to give him one.

Continuing to rapidly fist him up and down, her mouth followed her hand a little lower each time and she heard his breathing stutter, the groan building in his chest. He alternated between squeezing his eyes shut and watching her mouth bring him deep, skate back to the tip, then go deep again. And finally, the veins on his abdomen turned blunt and . . . he . . . roared. Her name.

His spend hit the back of her throat so fast and in such abundance, she had to struggle through swallowing it quickly enough, her hand still busy. Still working his slick shaft. His grip was twisted in her hair, but she could feel him resisting the urge to push her mouth down and hold her in place. And considering the animal state he was in, she found that oddly touching. Was she losing her actual mind?

August deflated, his arms falling to his sides.

His sex remained at half-mast, sticky and smooth. Somehow still appealing.

She preened, testing a palm on his chest, her head on his shoulder.

Just temporarily. Until they caught their breath.

She ignored the flutter trapped in her throat. “Maybe it’s tradition.”

They passed out cold less than ten seconds later.

Chapter Sixteen

August rolled out of bed with a smile on his face.

It took every ounce of strength in his body to ignore the impulse to whistle while pulling on his drawers. Damn. Now that was how two people kicked off a marriage. An oral sex competition where there were no losers.

The sun hadn’t yet risen in the sky, but he was an early bird out of practice. He’d throw some eggs down his gullet, catch a workout behind the barn, and get started on production. But first he stopped at the foot of the bed and admired the view. Watching people sleep was creepy as hell. No one would blame him for stopping to check out his own wife’s ass, though, right? It was in plain view. No panties or anything.

Natalie snored. Good. They’d drown each other out.

He’d once been told by his teammates that he sounded like a grizzly with a cold.

With a smile on his face, August set his egg bowl in the sink and rinsed out the empty glass that had held his orange juice. He high-fived himself and slipped into the front yard, locking the door and testing it twice, now that he had a woman to protect. Stretching an arm across his chest to loosen up the muscle, he strode toward his makeshift workout area, reaching into the barn to flip on the rear light.

Then he got to work on the pullup bar.

Day one as a married man.

Their sexual chemistry was fire. More than life itself, he wanted to go crawl back into that bed with Natalie and kiss her awake. Get between those legs and work himself into a sweat giving her orgasms. Now that was the exercise he really wanted. But something wouldn’t let him take it all the way with Natalie yet. Not until they got on the same page. He wasn’t sure how he would feel if they had sex and she still carried on like their marriage was a sham.

Wrong. He knew exactly how he would feel.

Devastated.

No further proof necessary that he was falling deeper and deeper in love with his wife. That damn bow-wielding cherub had lodged a double arrow in the dead center of his chest. Either it was going to pierce his heart and kill him or give him a new reason to live.

You’re already living for her and you know it.

August dropped down from the pullup bar with a gulp and trod across the flattened grass to his squat rack, which he’d bought off the local gym when they upgraded their equipment. He ducked his head underneath and braced the heavy bar across his shoulders, stepping back and kicking off a round of squats.

He and Natalie couldn’t be that far from reaching common ground, could they?

She’d slept with her back plastered to his chest, thigh to thigh. They might have a lot of shit to work out between them before the marriage was solid—or “real” or whatever—but she was comfortable with him, right? At the very least, she trusted him in her sleep.

Man. He really wanted full trust from her when she was awake, too.

Wanted it with a fierce pain in his stomach.

What was holding her back?

His mission was to figure that out and eliminate whatever it was.

August had just returned the squat bar to the rack when his phone rang. Frowning over who would call him this early, he slipped his phone out of his back pocket, his shoulders tensing slightly at his CO’s name on the screen.

If only. August mentally sighed, flicking a look at his bedroom window. Who would know if he just crept over to the window and took one more quick look at that butt?

A cord pulled in August’s sternum. “That’s . . .” Shit. It hurt to breathe. “You knew him a lot longer than me, of course, but I think . . . I know this would mean a lot to him, sir.”

August tilted his head back and breathed deeply. “I’m going to do my best with the money, sir. I’m not great at this. Not like Sam would have been. But I’m going to try and do you both proud.”

Determination hardened his muscles. “Yes, sir.”

The CO hung up. For long moments, August remained in place with the phone still pressed to his ear. Don’t try, Cates. Just do it.

Yes, that was exactly what he would do. Stop fucking around and create a lasting legacy in Sam’s name. Sam’s honor. Didn’t his friend deserve that? This was up to him. There was no one else who could make this dream happen. No one else who would dedicate the time. This dream was on his shoulders and he needed to focus harder. Make it a reality.

The front door of the house opened and there was Natalie, framed in the doorway. Hair tangled all around her head, his sheet wrapped around her body like a toga. She squinted at him across the misty yard. “I’m having the weirdest dream.” She yawned. “I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and you were working out.”

Her smile was sweet and sleepy. “Arsenic poisoning it is.”

That one might have zinged a little too sharply, based on her flushed cheeks. He was on the verge of apologizing when she said, “I can’t believe I slept with you.”

Why. Why couldn’t he stop antagonizing her? His brain was trying to reach down and clap its hands over his dumbass mouth, but obviously its arms weren’t long enough and it couldn’t reach. “Then I guess I’ll never know it,” she said, shrugging. A beat passed and she looked down at the phone, still in his right hand. “Did I hear you talking to someone?”

Fuck.

His stomach sent a wave of acid up toward his mouth.

His mind gave him a clear road map toward fixing the lie immediately. All it would require is telling her about the investment from his CO.

Easy.

Sure.

He’d just tell Natalie he’d gone through with the marriage because of his feelings for her. That he loved her and was powerless to do anything but help her succeed. Not because of her family’s influence with the local loan officer. She’d be totally fine with that and wouldn’t kick his nut sack at all.

A pause lingered between them, a line popping up between her brows. She took a final look at the phone—he’d lied and she knew it.

Fix it before you cross the line of no return.

Having her suspicious of him was worse than weathering a little anger, right?

Without answering, she turned and slammed the door, leaving him panting out in the cold, his breath forming clouds of condensation around his face. Did that just happen? What was happening? He’d been eating her out less than six fucking hours ago. Now apparently he wasn’t the only thing going south. Their short-lived, unspoken truce was joining him.

He tried the handle, expecting to find it locked, and he wasn’t disappointed.

And that tiny admission set his throat on fire. “Natalie, please. I just want to talk.”

No response.

She’s not angry about the cooking joke, fuckwit. She’s locked you out because you lied and she’s more than smart enough to see through it. “I was on the phone with my CO.” August scrambled to open the call log, got down on his knees, and slid his phone under her door. “We’re both early risers.”

The longer the silence stretched, the more he wanted to bang his head against the door. But finally, there was a low creak of the floorboards in the bedroom, a shifting of shadows. He exhaled inaudibly and closed his eyes, the pressure ebbing slightly from his chest. He needed to tell her the rest. Confess why his CO had called. But he needed to clear up one thing first.

That would be the day. Other women might as well be invisible since he’d met this one.

He dropped his forehead against the door. “Good.”

His shoulders bunched right back up, accompanied by a sharp twist of denial in his middle. “Wrong. There’s only you for me.” God, saying that out loud was like free falling and landing on a cloud. “And there’s only me for you.”

Seconds passed. “I’d rather not.”

August inhaled slowly through his nose, then let it back out. “Babe.”

Was that her breath catching? “Is that a code word now or something?”

She hummed in the affirmative.

The floor had turned into quicksand, and he was sinking. Some of this sounded sickeningly familiar. “It sounds important.”

His stomach felt like a tomato that had been left out in the sun for a week. Holy shit. Natalie’s ex had played mind games with money. Her father continued to do the same. Now he was hiding a two-hundred-thousand-dollar chunk of green from her? Also known as the supposed reason he was marrying her in the first place. She’d gotten married based on how he’d represented himself—a winemaker who’d run out of capital.

That hadn’t been true for nearly a week.

Prior to their whole-ass wedding.

What would she do if he told her the truth now? Nothing good. She was already threatening to fly three thousand miles away and he hadn’t even confessed yet.

August reared back slightly, taking note of the way she held that sheet like a shield and hating it. “Why do you need an investor when your trust fund is being released?”

He didn’t give two craps about how things looked, but he was willing to say just about anything to prevent her from leaving St. Helena when they weren’t yet on solid ground.

Lips parting, she searched his face. “Right. I’m sure you want to get the ball rolling with the small business loan. I’ll call on Monday morning and set up a meeting.”

She took in that information with a deep breath and nodded. Wet her lips. “Okay. That works, too.”

His heart pounded, his arms aching to wrap around her. There was definitely still some new distance between them that he disliked immensely, but their connection was stronger than when she’d opened the door. Right?

He had to test that theory. Or he wouldn’t relax for a single second. He’d be in turmoil.

Propping his forearm on the door, he leaned down very slowly, bringing his mouth within an inch of hers. Turning his head slightly, he nuzzled her nose, brushing their lips together in a way that made them both breathe faster.

Natalie turned her head and their mouths slanted hard over each other, lips opening and seeking, tongues delving. Just once. And then she pulled away, leaving his body hard and his breath coming in harsh pants.

The door slammed. Again. And he couldn’t help but worry that an emotional one had been locked between them, too.

Chapter Seventeen

Natalie woke up for the second time that day, but now it was midafternoon and she was gritty-eyed and disoriented. Her argument with August in the wee hours of the morning felt like a dream, but the queasiness in her stomach told her no, it had definitely happened. She’d attempted to people before coffee, before her brain fully woke up—and she’d acted like a bozo.

Had she really stormed off in a sheet because he wouldn’t initially explain his phone call? Dear God. This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement. She’d been the one to propose it. And on day one, she’d acted like some kind of jealous lover.

Furthermore, she’d slept in his bed.

As far from a business agreement as one could get.

Nervous energy—and a dire need for distraction—forced Natalie out of the comfortable mess of sheets where she’d fallen asleep around six A.M. Slowly, she creaked open the guest bedroom door and peered out, finding Menace staring back at her curiously from the middle of the kitchen table. But no August. Thank God. She needed to thoroughly wake up and get ahold of her long-lost faculties before coming face-to-face with her husband again.

Retreating back into the bedroom for clothes and her toiletries bag, she closed herself in their shared bathroom a moment later, sighing as the heavy aroma of grapefruit snuck up and ambushed her. Memories rushed in from the last time she stood in this shower, getting pleasure from August. Scenes, naked ones, bombarded her, making her movements clumsy as she twisted the handle, setting the water temperature to scalding.

She went through the motions of showering—only allowing herself one or two itty-bitty sniffs of August’s homemade soap—while contemplating her new role as a fake wife and employee of Zelnick Cellar. Her title didn’t have to be in name alone. She could help this place run successfully. At the very least, she had a whole month to give August a running start.

Natalie turned off the shower, climbed out, and got dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose, long-sleeved shirt. She went back to her room, dried her hair, and left the house with a purpose: find a way to help. She should just stay locked in the guest room and pray for her trust fund to promptly arrive in her bank account. But she’d spent so much time laughing off August’s attempts at winemaking when the cause was a good one. A worthy one.

And maybe she wanted to be a part of it somehow.

Maybe his happiness meant a little something to her.

Natalie stopped in the entrance to the production barn when she saw August standing before the row of barrels, stirring the settled yeast. The temperature in the barn was slightly warm for this time of year and there was every chance it was affecting his process. Granted, he didn’t have the budget for a more advanced facility, but they could certainly find a way to cool down the barrels by a few degrees. Had he tested the nitrogen content of the grapes?

August turned suddenly, his expression going from surprised to slightly guarded. “Sorry, what was that?”

Voicing her private thoughts out loud without being aware of it was a fun new habit. “I was just wondering if you’d tested the nitrogen content. Of the grapes.”

She wanted to go closer. Wanted to peer into the barrels herself and sort through the tools on the nearby table, just to see what he was working with, but August’s stiff shoulder muscles cast an invisible barrier. Or maybe she was imagining that?

Sure, he’d asked her to stay out of the barn. But that was prewedding and they’d been in the midst of an argument. Had his request been serious?

She exhaled. “Yes.”

The fact that they were on the same page relaxed his shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess . . . about a week.”

Problem number one detected. The gross lees should be racked off after one or two days. But she didn’t say it out loud. She simply nodded when he looked back at her over his shoulder.

Natalie ignored the wound that formed in the center of her belly. Just like Corinne and Julian, August wanted things done a certain way and it did not include Natalie. She was not welcome. Both vineyards could be sinking into the red and still, her assistance would not be required. Same old story. But why did it hurt more that August wanted to manage on his own? That he didn’t want any help—her help—with the winemaking? She was used to her family being dismissive of her efforts but August . . . again, he wasn’t supposed to push her away. It stung, even if she understood that his grief over Sam caused him to react in ways no one could fully comprehend.

Setting aside the hurt, she took a moment to try to see things from his perspective. He’d gone on this mission for his best friend. August was the only one standing here who knew what Sam wanted. “I haven’t lost anyone close to me, but I think grief can be expressed in a lot of different ways.”

August’s shoulders drooped a little, his eyes casting guarded gratitude in her direction. “I wouldn’t talk to the guys about Sam’s death. I didn’t even tell anyone but my CO that I was coming here, buying the vineyard. I didn’t want any of them to ask to be involved. Isn’t that fucked up?” He rubbed at his throat. “It’s just that I was closer to him than anyone else and . . .”

Natalie marveled over the fact that she could experience such a piercing sense of sympathy for someone she’d once thought was a bumbling ogre. Occasionally still did. “Do you think he would want it this way? You carrying all the weight?”

August stopped in the middle of nodding. “No.” He let out a gust of breath. “No, he definitely wouldn’t. But that doesn’t change anything.”

A weight slowly traveled from her throat to the center of her chest.

He said the most impactful things sometimes. And he meant them.

But the poor bonehead couldn’t see that simply letting her help would have the biggest impact of all. Explaining that to him would force him into sharing before he was ready.

Maybe he would never be ready.

She waved him off. “I can find the cave myself.”

This whole argument was beginning to feel like it had a hidden meaning, and she’d woken up this morning—the second time—and decided to uncomplicate their relationship. The more time she spent with August, however, the more convoluted their responsibility to each other seemed to become. And they’d been married less than twenty-four hours.

God save us.

He followed her across the dirt path between the two barns, taking off his gloves and leather apron as he walked and leaving them on the ground in his wake. Ridiculous.

She picked up her pace.

He matched it.

And now they were running, because nothing made sense anymore.

She rounded the corner of the event barn and spied the concrete staircase with the rusted metal handrail. “Why can’t you understand that I don’t want company?”

He was right behind her now. Mere steps. “How much time do you spend down there?” They were even now, damn his long legs. “And what the hell for?”

She fantasized about punching him in that moment. Hard. She truly did. That he could be so caring and protective, but still not realize how much it burned when he locked her out of his grief, out of his winemaking—it was frustrating. And since when did she let him have that power over her? How did he manage to sneak inside her and rearrange things?

Natalie opened the door slowly and welcomed the scent of earth and mold. Being that this cave hadn’t been used in a while, there was more dust in the stale air that escaped, but the cold, familiar darkness was welcome nonetheless. She opened her flashlight app and shined it in front of her, noting that August was right. The stairs were treacherous. But they were dry and the handrail wasn’t rusted as it was outside. She felt safe enough to venture inside, descending slowly into the underground.

Ignoring his odd tone, Natalie swung the flashlight left and revealed a long, oval-shaped room. Cobweb-covered racks lined the wall, empty, and discarded bottles of wine littered the stone floor. More darkness lay beyond in what looked to be a second, smaller room. “Oh my gosh, this is incredible, August. You could fix this up and have private parties down here. Or you could make it a storage room. There are so many different techniques . . .”

She trailed off when she realized August hadn’t answered her in a while.

Pausing midway down the stairs, she turned, using her flashlight to illuminate his face—and found him white as a ghost. His eyes were closed, sweat clinging to his forehead.

That was when the situation they were in started to register differently. They were in near total darkness, traveling into an unfamiliar space. Did this remind him of being in battle?

Did this remind him of . . . what happened to Sam?

She started to retreat up the stairs as quickly as possible, but August met her halfway and scooped her into his arms, jogging the rest of the distance and into the sunlight. He took the outer concrete steps two at a time, at which point his legs just seemed to give out. Still holding her in his arms, he dropped into a kneel in a shaded patch of grass and instinctively, Natalie curled herself around him. She wrapped every available appendage around this shaking man and clung, moisture pooling in her eyes.

Natalie tightened her arms around his neck and slowly, slowly, he laid them down sideways in the grass and she could feel that his T-shirt was soaked in sweat, his heart still going a million miles an hour. “I shouldn’t have barged my way down there. I was just trying to find a way to help where I wouldn’t be in the way.”

He blew a rocky breath into her hair and pulled her closer. “You’re not in the way, but I appreciate that.”

She stroked his back with her fingertips and he sighed, the tension in his muscles ebbing slightly. “Has this happened before?”

He made a sound like he didn’t believe her. A long minute passed, his pulse beginning to slow. Then he said, “Winemaking was the heart of him. He wanted it so bad. And I already . . . I failed him once, Natalie. I wasn’t supposed to let him die. I was supposed to protect him.” A heavy swallow. “He wouldn’t have let it happen to me.”

Natalie’s tears were soaking into the shoulder of his T-shirt now, a torturous wind in her middle. “I’m not a soldier, August, and I don’t know anything about war, but I know your character. And I know if you’d had the slightest hint of a threat to anyone you love, you’d have done something to stop it. I know that like I know the sun will come up tomorrow.” She kissed his salty skin. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They held on to each other tightly in the afternoon sun, time passing without measure. Natalie pushed the lingering sadness she felt about August refusing her help as far away as possible, weighing it down with sympathy and understanding. And an encroaching, never-experienced-before feeling that was too scary to name.

Chapter Eighteen

Going to dinner at his mother-in-law’s house.

August never thought he’d be so excited.

He and Natalie were dressed in business casual attire as they walked out of the house together and called goodbye to the cat. August opened the car door for Natalie so she could slide into the passenger seat and balance a homemade pie on her lap. This was the kind of evening that made the marriage feel real, and goddamn, he loved it, especially since they’d been orbiting each other without touching or speaking much since yesterday.

When he’d lost it in the wine cave.

Yeah, there hadn’t been a lot of conversation since they’d spent hours clinging together outside the event barn, inhaling each other’s exhales, her heartbeat like a song that he could follow out of the darkness. There’d been a lot of staring, however. A lot of passing each other in the kitchen or on the way into the bathroom and looking. Wanting to touch.

August knew damn well Natalie was waiting for him to make a move—and believe him, not taking her to bed was unmitigated torture, but if yesterday had proven anything to him, it was that he needed Natalie to be in his life permanently. He needed to take this slice of time seriously and not get distracted by her smoking-hot, one-of-a-kind rack. He needed her for sixty years, not sixty minutes. What else was a man supposed to believe when the idea of her getting injured made every molecule in his body scream like a child who’d accidentally walked into a theater playing It?

Descending into that cave had been eerily similar to entering the hideout with Sam three years ago. The same dusty waft of decay, the silence and pitch-blackness of it all. And all he could think was I can’t lose her, too. I can’t.

It would be so satisfying to make love and forget about all the obstacles in their path to matrimonial bliss, but if he took that route, he’d wake up one day and she’d be leaving for New York. His dick would have gotten a workout, fine. But she wouldn’t be any closer to loving him back. Or believing they could go the distance.

At this rate, cheesy eighties songs were writing themselves, but who could blame him when she looked so gorgeous in his passenger seat, her left knee bouncing up and down in a nervous gesture that threatened to upend the pie.

She appeared to be on the verge of rolling her eyes, but cut him a sly look instead. “You know, the one from Williams Sonoma doubles as a fondue pot.”

He smacked the steering wheel. “Are we positive no one bought us one of those?”

Because if that man can’t see I’d die for you, he’s blind.

Her laughter was kind of dazed. “Dinner with my mother in her formal dining room is far from kicking back with a cold one in someone’s backyard.”

Natalie stared.

Any second now, she was going to call him on that fist pump and the bullshit that followed. Instead, she asked, “Do you . . . know how that goes? Have you had serious girlfriends?”

Somehow, August got the sense that this was a dangerous topic. “My father used to say that women ask questions they don’t really want answered, and it’s our job to figure out which ones are safe and which ones aren’t. And we will always be wrong.”

Natalie scoffed at that, readjusting the pie on her lap. “What are you implying? That I don’t really want to know about your past girlfriends?”

Oh no. That chuckle was deceiving.

Trust your gut, son.

Or was it his dick? Because his dick said to tell Natalie anything she wanted to know. Give her anything she wants without delay.

O-kay. Natalie was still smiling. This seemed fine. “Carol? She’s a sweet, down-home Kansas girl. Her pickles won a blue ribbon at the state fair.”

Hold up. Things were getting dicey.

He was already shaking his head. “Natalie.”

She was utterly beautiful and vulnerable in that moment.

Also pale and full of terror.

Awesome.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Glanced over his shoulder, where he could hear the front door of the house opening. Footsteps approaching. “Can we talk about this later?”

* * *

I have feelings for you.

Natalie walked into her childhood home trying desperately not to fumble the pie. Her fake husband had just admitted to having feelings for her. What kind of feelings? They didn’t get that far. Did he mean lust? Did he mean he cared about her? Because she’d already sort of sensed both of those things, but they weren’t supposed to speak about it out loud. That made it real. That made it something they would have to deal with.

Still, she wasn’t supposed to get tummy flutters over phrases like I only have eyes for your pie. Yet here she stood. Fluttering and flushed and trying to come to terms with this huge presence in her life now having feelings for her on top of everything else.

Maybe even her own feelings for him. Big, daunting ones.

Briefly, she glanced down. “I used to wear shoes like this every day of the week.” She used the pie to gesture at the dining room ahead, where voices could be heard, including one belonging to Ingram Meyer. “The heels make me feel more confident. I . . . need some confidence at family dinners.”

August searched her eyes, nodded—and Natalie was flooded with the strangest sense that he’d seen exactly what was going on upstairs in her noggin. “I got you, princess.”

She blinked up at him. “You’ve got me?”

She was blinking very fast now. “I was listening.”

It took Natalie a moment to realize they’d walked into the dining room together, but the extended silence finally registered. They hadn’t immediately taken their eyes off each other and now everyone—Corinne, Julian, Hallie, and Ingram—was observing them curiously. It was a slow, reluctant peeling of gazes and she felt almost delirious over being that close to his mouth without getting kissed. She watched as August finally focused on Corinne, who stood stoic at the head of the table, offering her a grin. “Hey, Ma.”

Natalie caught the ghost of a smile before Corinne rolled her eyes. “Come in. Dinner is almost ready. We’re having lamb.” She extended a hand toward the man sitting to her left, who for once didn’t have a straw hat perched on top of his head. “I’m sure you’ll remember Mr. Meyer from the wedding.”

The loan officer gave a lazy salute with his wineglass. “Lovely to see you again.”

Corinne pointed at the pie in Natalie’s hands. “Who made that?”

She only vaguely noticed August frowning down at her. Why? It was no secret she couldn’t make food to save her life. By refraining to do so, she saved everyone else’s. And hadn’t he made fun of her about her lack of kitchen skills as recently as yesterday?

Corinne remained standing until August and Natalie took side by side spots at the table, then everyone was seated.

That wasn’t the greatest start toward convincing the loan officer of their undying love, and August seemed to realize it right away. He reached for her hand under the table, where no one could see, and squeezed it, appearing trapped in his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Ingram Meyer swirled the ruby-red contents of his glass. “Natalie is technically an employee now at Zelnick Cellar, is she not? With her vast array of winemaking knowledge, she must be a huge help to you.”

There was a wrenching sensation below Natalie’s collarbone and she reached for her water. A huge help? Not likely. He wouldn’t even let her in the door. August watched her sip water with a deep groove between his brows, then visibly shook himself into answering. “She . . . yes, she’s got a lot of knowledge to offer. I’m very lucky.”

Natalie had just forked up a bite of salad, but paused while everyone chuckled at Corinne’s jest, though she noticed that August didn’t laugh. At all. “It’s true. I know how to stay in my lane. Especially if it’s the checkout lane at the wine store.” More laughs. But none from August. “Zelnick Cellar might give Vos some stiff competition in a few years.”

Corinne raised an eyebrow at August. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

Corinne gave Natalie a meaningful look.

She’d gotten so lost in her speech, she didn’t realize Ingram had lowered his glass to the table and was regarding her seriously. Minus the smirk for once. “We should all be so lucky to have someone believe in us the way you believe in your husband, Ms. Vos.”

Outright giggling now, Natalie slapped at his tugging hand and August finally settled for having their chairs pressed together, their outer thighs flush. Finished with their impromptu play fight, they tore their eyes off each other and found the room riveted.

But she had a feeling they weren’t talking about the same thing at all and the possibility made her heart hammer. Made it hard to look at him directly. He was so much.

Corinne finally broke into the extended silence they’d left in their wake. “So, Ingram. Julian and I have been looking into the value of aerial crop monitoring. Of course, I’m not sure this is the season for it. We’re in a rebuilding year after all.”

Julian sighed and set down his wine. “Yes, we’re in a rebuilding year, but that’s even more of a reason to make use of the technology . . .”

Natalie perked up. Ever since Julian had brought up VineWatch, she’d been examining their company history and playing with numbers and statistics. To be honest, she’d been doing this research while she should have been working on strategy for her upcoming client meeting. The one taking place in New York on Friday—four days from now. She couldn’t help but be fascinated, though.

Everyone’s attention swung toward Natalie.

He’d . . . noticed what she was doing on her laptop?

Natalie sipped her water.

No one said anything for several moments.

She glanced up at August to find him looking . . . awestruck? Corinne’s jaw was hanging open halfway to her salad plate and unless she was hallucinating, Julian wasn’t bothering to hide his pride. Hallie was gleefully topping up everyone’s wineglass.

It was the first time she didn’t feel like a child in her childhood home.

* * *

There were not enough baby pictures.

One measly album? A thin one at that?

August was outraged.

Where were the bad haircuts and Little League photos? His mother would have had Natalie on her couch in the den for a week methodically going through each year of his life on film, and Natalie deserved that same consideration. To Corinne’s credit, the lack of photographic evidence of what must have been a beautifully impish daughter seemed to give her pause.

When Ingram refused the refill and stood up, slapping the straw hat back on his head, everyone stood with him. Everyone but August.

Corinne maintained her smile at the mention of her ex-husband. Meanwhile, Natalie sent August an eye roll, and he loved that. He loved that they were sitting beside each other on the couch, his arm around her shoulders, and now she was gifting him little nuggets of exasperation. Still, his dread remained and a moment later, he knew why.

August expected Natalie to thank him. To stand up and cheer. Something.

Instead, her chest seemed to be cranking up and down. “And . . . a meeting with August to speak about the small business loan? Could that be arranged, as well?”

Finally, Natalie exhaled. “Thank you.”

August’s throat was on goddamn fire. Their plan had worked. Natalie was going to get her money. That was what he wanted. But it put her one step closer to no longer needing him.

When Natalie blinked up at him and said his name softly, August realized he was staring into space, imagining the desolate world he’d be living in when she left. She’d get her trust fund and forget his name within a year or two, while he was still hung up on the real one who got away.

Unless.

Unless he could find a way to convince her they were great together before Friday. Before she left for New York. Because once she had that investor in her pocket, it would be over.

Not ready to admit defeat in any way, shape, or form, he drew Natalie onto his lap, dropped his chin onto her head, and flipped back to the start of the baby picture album.

Chapter Nineteen

It was a startling contrast, the way August could let her get close in some ways, but he continued to doggedly fend her off in others. Last night at her mother’s house, they’d been each other’s one-person hype squads. They’d comforted each other with touches and . . . God, at some point it started to feel like she was actually introducing her husband into the family. She’d forgotten about their arrangement right up until Ingram stood to leave for the night.

She’d wanted to forget again on the ride home, but the silence was too deafening.

Was he waiting for her to announce her returned feelings?

Was he waiting for her to announce she wanted him as her real husband?

Reading August was next to impossible this morning, when he was working in the barn with the door closed, a clear sign to stay out. She wasn’t welcome there. And it was too much of a reminder of how she’d been raised. Allowed to participate only when it was convenient for everyone else and there was no chance she’d screw up.

Maybe she would screw up his operation, even worse than it already was.

After all, she’d flamed out brilliantly in New York.

If he were hurting her intentionally, maybe she could find the heart to be mad at him.

But really, he was just a stubborn, determined man who saw only the goal, not sparing any thoughts about who he climbed over to reach it. And instead of being mad at him, she missed him. Missed sitting shoulder to thigh with him like she’d done last night. Missed the sound of his big, obnoxious laugh—and it had been only one day.

Whether she’d hurt him by protecting herself and not vocalizing her feelings or he was shutting her out, she still wanted to hear that laugh. She wanted this time with him and she wanted to experience it to the fullest because it . . . made her feel a way she couldn’t admit yet. Not without questioning her vision for the future.

Natalie’s attention drifted away from her laptop and around the kitchen, landing on a package of cookies above the stove. Should she make August some food? Heaven only knew the last thing he’d expect was for her to bring him a snack.

An idea struck. A perfect way to hear his laugh again.

She closed her laptop and made sure the door was locked, then she spent the next forty-five minutes setting her plans in motion.

At one time, she’d been known in this town as the prank queen. But it had been a while since she’d played a prank. Funny how the series of pranks excited her more than the chance to guarantee a billion dollars in financing, but that was a problem for another day. For now, she desperately needed to lighten the tension between her and August. And in the process, she’d get him back for making her dance to “Brick House” at their wedding.

Close to an hour later, Natalie plated the cookies she’d been working on, schooled her features, and walked out to the barn. She stopped just inside the door and watched August pulverize the grapes like they’d stolen his bike. Shaking her head, she picked up the cookie on the right edge of the plate and nibbled on it, bumping her hip against the creaky barn door to draw his notice.

When he turned, Natalie was caught off guard to find him looking a little haggard. She considered calling off the whole plan she’d hatched, especially when he saw her and brightened, that weariness vanishing without a trace. Like maybe he’d been out here feeling just as unbalanced as she’d been at the kitchen table.

At her customary barb, she saw relief landslide down his entire body and it made her stomach hurt. She was right. He’d been out here feeling just as terrible.

She rolled her eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”

Trying not to look too smug, Natalie sighed. “If you insist.”

A laugh blew out of her.

August looked up and smiled, his teeth caked in cookie, turning her laugh into a full-body guffaw. “You realize you’ve incited a war,” he said.

He threw back his head and let out a punctuated ha. “Not in your wildest dreams.”

She checked her manicure. “I hope you have good medical.”

They were standing at the entrance of the barn, grinning at each other like dummies. Natalie didn’t want to acknowledge how much steadier she felt already. So she wouldn’t. Nor would she acknowledge the fact that she wouldn’t always have the option of going out to the barn and antagonizing him until they got to the other side of whatever was bothering them.

For now, though . . . thank God she did.

Because the thought of being anywhere else made her shudder.

She’d have to get over it. Another day.

Natalie turned and speed walked toward the house, feeling almost buzzed from the giddiness. She couldn’t seem to stop giggling under her breath, the lightness in her chest almost sweeping her up off the ground. Must be the prank. Had to be the prank.

August’s laughter boomed across the front yard. “Oh yeah? Well in my high school yearbook, I was voted—”

She had to stop halfway up the stairs to the house, because she was almost blinded by tears of mirth. They were streaming down her face, her sides trembling. This was definitely worth the time she’d taken to lick the frosting out of five Oreos. Especially when August followed her into the house a moment later and turned toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower and then it’s on. You’re not getting the best of August Cates.” He traveled halfway down the hallway and stopped. “You didn’t do anything to the shower, did you?”

Eyes narrowed into slits, August turned again and, a second later, closed the bathroom door. Natalie bit down hard on her lower lip, listening to him open cabinets and slowly pull back the shower curtain, as if wary of a snake jumping out. She even heard him uncapping the shampoo bottle and taking a big sniff of the contents, which she had to admit was pretty wise.

Just too predictable.

Calmly, she stood up from the table, opened the drawer containing the plastic wrap, tore off a long piece, and attached it across the hallway entrance. She squinted an eye to judge August’s exact height and left the plastic there, waiting. That was when she heard the shower start, the pelting spray interrupted by his large frame.

And the resounding “What the fuck?” that carried though the house, sending the cat skidding from one dark hole to another.

Ready to explode from excitement, Natalie sat down at the table and pretended to type, but kept one eye on the hallway. Sure enough, August burst out of the bathroom a moment later, towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips, blinded by the chicken bouillon cube she’d hidden in the shower nozzle. And just like a dream, he walked straight into the plastic wrap, the film clinging to his slimy features until he tore it off.

Natalie gasped. “That’s no way to speak to your bride.”

All right, that deserved a paper towel. When was the last time she’d laughed this hard? Or didn’t feel like the uncertainty of the future was hanging above her head like a hundred-pound sack of fish guts? “Here,” she said a little breathlessly, standing up and handing August the paper towel roll he kept on the counter. “I think you’ve had enough. For now.”

There had to be something terribly wrong with Natalie that she’d never been more attracted to anyone in her life—and he was currently wearing chicken-flavored slime and his mouth probably tasted like mint hell. Yet if he kissed her in that moment, she would have been moaning for him to take her to chicken town in a heartbeat.

Gulping through the humiliation of that, she swiped the screwdriver off the counter where she’d left it, handing it over. “For the showerhead.” She shrugged. “I don’t think they make a tool big enough to fix your pride.”

He shook his head slowly. She expected a hot take to come out of his mouth. Instead, she got “Sam would have adored you.” His gaze carried over her face, as if memorizing her features. “That’s not a prank.”

Looking sort of at a loss himself, August turned on a heel and creaked back toward the bathroom. “Sleep with one eye open, princess,” he shouted before closing the door.

She caught his smile right before it closed.

* * *

August was cooking something on the other side of her bedroom door.

It smelled incredible.

She didn’t trust it.

After round one of the Prank War, they’d retreated to their battle stations. He’d gone back outside and flipped his tire for a while before occupying the kitchen with so much presence that she’d fled like a coward to stop herself from doing something stupid like sliding between that thick, badass body and the counter, leaving the rest up to fate.

It was getting darker outside and there seemed to be some correlation between the sunset and her libido. The damn thing had a personality now and it wanted to know why it hadn’t been pampered since their wedding night. She definitely hadn’t exfoliated and lotioned herself to death hoping something might accidentally happen again. Of course not.

They were in the midst of a war!

What was his first move going to be?

She didn’t know his prank style yet. What if he shaved off one of her eyebrows? That was exactly the kind of nonsubtle action her husband would take. Had she gotten herself in too deep? Why was exhilaration spinning in her tummy like a Ferris wheel? Who got this much enjoyment out of a fake husband? Was she doing it wrong?

Obviously, yes.

A ping on her laptop signaled an incoming email. She was on the verge of assuming it was an advertisement when she noticed Claudia’s name. Why was her business partner emailing her so late? With no subject line?

Frowning, Natalie opened the email and found a short message: Sorry if I’m the first one to tell you, just didn’t want you to be blindsided this week. Below that cryptic statement was a link to a New York Times article.

No, an engagement announcement.

For Morrison and his new girlfriend.

Her whole body beat once, a tingle at the crown of her head. Mostly out of shock. After that, she waited for the jealousy to rise up and drag her under.

It never did.

They were like two fictitious characters on the screen, smiling and two dimensional and so far away. What did those two people do for fun? Probably not a prank war. They definitely wouldn’t dance to “Brick House” at their wedding. But she hoped they had their own versions of those activities. She really did. Like, wow. She actually found herself truly hoping they would be happy. How evolved was that?

Thanks for letting me know, Natalie typed back. I’ll send a fruit basket.

She hit send and sat on the edge of the bed for another moment, still a little wary of the total lack of shits she gave over Morrison’s being engaged. What did that mean?

A gruff rendition of “Love Train” being sung in the kitchen drew her attention. She set her laptop on the bedside table and promptly forgot about the news. It was time to face her fate. No more putting it off. Whatever comeuppance was in her future, she would take it like a woman and immediately begin plotting revenge. Would it be sugar replaced with salt in an evening coffee? Or maybe even an old-school whoopee cushion. That smacked of August—

As soon as she opened her bedroom door, a bucket of water turned over and rained down on her head. It was like that famous scene from Flashdance, except she wasn’t wearing a sexy leotard and the absolute soaking wasn’t voluntary. No cinematic value whatsoever.

Standing at the stove and laughing like a psychotic hyena, August snapped a picture with his phone. “Photographic evidence. Bet you wish you’d thought of that.”

Natalie was still rendered speechless by the deluge. Not to mention, the fact that her embarrassment was now immortalized digitally. But when the bucket came loose from the door frame and plunked her square on the head, she thought on her feet, grabbing onto the opportunity for quick revenge with both hands.

August went still as a statue, the blood draining from his face. “Oh my God.” He dropped his phone and it bounce-skidded under the table, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

She gave a long, brave sniff and looked at her hand, wincing like she’d spotted blood. “I . . . I don’t know. I probably only need a few stitches.”

Okay. Jig’s up. The man had suffered enough.

Right before he could tug away her hand to examine the nonexistent wound on top of her head, Natalie smiled. “Gotcha, babe.”

It was like watching an air mattress deflate in fast motion. The air just sort of blew out of him and he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. “That’s not funny, Natalie,” he wheezed. “I thought I split your head open.”

He lifted his head, his complexion still lacking in color. “You’re really okay?”

Suddenly her heart weighed four hundred pounds.

And was roughly the size of a watermelon, the whole thing seeming to pry apart her ribs and protrude from her chest. Perhaps she needed an ambulance after all. “Yes, I’m okay. I was just getting you back.”

He commenced a breathing exercise—in, in, out, in, in, out—she suspected was designed to calm him. And it was just barely working. Come to think of it, she was having a pretty difficult time breathing, too, her heart galloping like a Derby winner.

I’m falling for my husband.

Hard and fast.

Might even be well past . . . fallen for him territory.

Oh shit.

And he wiggled a little deeper into her heart when he straightened suddenly and crowded her into the doorway, brushing around the wet hair on her head gently, looking down at her from above. “I just need to check for myself,” he said, his warm breath on her forehead. “I don’t see anything. Thank God.” He closed his eyes, pressed their foreheads together. “You scared forty-six years off my life.”

Did it always look so delicious?

Yes. Always.

Her knees wobbled like they might send her splattering to the ground. “I’ll do my best to keep meting it out.”

Natalie wet lips that had become parched, despite the fact that a bucket of water had been overturned on her head. “I better get out of these wet clothes.” She tilted back her head so their mouths could rest on top of each other and just like that, they were struggling to breathe. “Want to help me?”

August swallowed audibly, then took a long inhale and exhale through his nose. “It’s not a question of wanting to. I always fucking want you. Every minute, every hour of the day.” The words weren’t even finished coming out of his mouth when she kissed him, their mutual groans coming from deep within. “But I told you the night we got married. Before we go there, I want to know you’re not going to wake up with regrets. Don’t you dare roll over in my bed tomorrow and act like this was a one-night stand. It’s not.”

Funny, he didn’t look scared at all. Only determined. “We’re going to find out.” The determination flickered a touch and some vulnerability shone through. “Tell me how you feel about me, Natalie.”

Her heartbeat spread to her entire body, pulsing in every limb, every hair follicle. “Oh my God, who just puts somebody on the spot like this?”

She stared down at her ripped shirt in shock, eyes shooting back up to meet his increasingly intense ones. “Do you want me to obsess about you?”

There was quicksand shifting beneath her feet, preparing to suck her down. “W-we only married for money—”

His mouth stamped down on hers at an angle and she went from protesting the existence of her own feelings to kissing him eagerly, whimpering into the possessive stroke of his tongue. “Go sell that lie somewhere else, princess,” he rasped, pulling her yoga pants and panties down to her knees, dragging his nose upward over her stomach and between her breasts on the way back to looking her straight in the eye. “Now am I just giving you head again? Or are you going to admit how you feel about me so we can fuck like animals?”

Her sex gave a very dramatic, very enthusiastic clench in favor of the latter. But speaking of animals, her heart was still hammering like a jackrabbit. Just admit how she felt? Who did that? Obviously people who had never been on the receiving end of a No thank you, I’ll pass.

Natalie stood poised on the edge of a canyon being asked to walk a tight rope to the other side. But the longer she looked into his seeking eyes, the steadier that rope became until it turned into a full-fledged bridge. “I do it, too,” she whispered in a rush. “I count the minutes until we’re breathing the same air again.”

His chuckle was halting. “Brave girl.” He smoothed his palms down her naked hips, back up the sides of her rib cage, his lips moving on the side of her neck. “My girl.”

In that moment, it was the truth. Her body belonged to him. Her heart lay defenseless.

Just asking to be mauled.

When his strong hands finally closed around her breasts, Natalie’s neck lost power, her head tipping back on a breathy moan. In one swift movement, his ropy forearm wrapped around the small of her back and he knelt on the mattress, dropping her down beneath him. Her yoga pants were around her knees. Never taking his eyes off her, he pulled her pants and underwear down the remaining distance, letting them slap wetly onto the floor. They joined the rag that used to be her shirt as he licked her nipples. Just once each and she was shaking.

He lifted his head, grinning. “Took away the nerves, didn’t it?”

Don’t smile back. Don’t—

Too late. She was beaming like a headlight. “It shifted my priorities. From trying not to faint to trying not to sock you in the junk.”

The laugh snuck out before she could trap it. “You’re such a bozo.”

His hand slid up and cupped her face, tongue still working, working, working her swollen nipple and now . . . there was some kind of tugging cord between said nipple and her core. It vibrated and hummed, sending reverberations throughout her body. “Hmmm?”

The movements of his tongue were so slow and savoring, she was caught off guard when he lifted his head and she found his pupils taking up nearly his entire irises. “I’m not entering the palace without paying homage to the queen, Natalie,” he said, out of breath.

Natalie mentally reeled.

Opened her mouth to disagree that unzipping and giving hell was a negative thing.

But August had already stripped off his shirt—oh, the muscle—and rolled over onto his back. “Come here.” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, that broad chest beginning to heave faster and faster. “Let me lick it.”

Her brain had gone offline. “I don’t understand.”

August either didn’t hear her or was choosing to ignore her confusion, because his teeth were sinking into that glossy bottom lip now, his palm stroking the ridge in his jeans. “Christ, just thinking about you sitting on my face might finish me.”

Forget the fact that she’d never done that before. Not from the top position. But she’d experienced the force of nature that was August’s tongue on their wedding night and the memories were not just glorious, they were fresh. He didn’t need to beg. He didn’t even need to ask her twice. She straddled the mile-wide mountain range that was his chest, whimpering when he took two rough handfuls of her backside and dragged her onto his mouth.

Dragged.

Grinding her there. On his stiff tongue.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, she would never again underestimate the effects of nipple stimulation. There was no awkward moment or easing into the act of being pleasured from below. Not when he’d already gotten her this wet, this sensitive. There were only the desperate writhes of her hips, the shallow, hiccupping sounds emanating from her throat, August’s moans, and the wild urgency to climax.

He entered her with his tongue, pushed it as deep as possible—and her womb itself constricted, her thighs going rubbery. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” His middle finger teased her rear entrance, that magical tongue driving in, out, in—and goodbye reality, she was now a resident of the stars. She rode on a rainbow unicorn over the Milky Way and waved at an astronaut. Her body was still in the bedroom, thighs squeezing the sides of August’s head, fingers clutching shakily at the headboard while wave after wave of pleasure rocketed through her lower body, tightening and releasing muscles, brutalizing her in the best way possible.

Even after the orgasm crested and she came back down the other side, she was still trembling, her skin speckled in sweat. She actually had to blink several times to align her vision again and look down into August’s face. And he was so turned on by her reaction to what they’d done, so visibly heated, that somehow, against all odds, her own lust rose back to the surface. Unrecognizable, eager sounds fell from her mouth as she scooted backward down his body and found he’d already lowered his zipper. Taken his shaft in his hand.

All she could do was shake her head.

Speaking of eager young puppies, that’s exactly what she did—taking his thickness all the way home, not stopping until he shouted her name.

Deep, so deep.

Fragments of light exploded behind her eyes, her hips moving of their own volition. In a split second, they were fulfilling his promise of fucking like animals, her sex, never wetter in its life, bringing him inside over and over again, her butt slapping down on the top of his thick, hairy thighs.

Oh yeah. This was the new her, apparently. Obedient as all get-out.

How else was she supposed to behave when this man had unlocked secrets to her pleasure that she didn’t even know were being held prisoner? He was magic. And his erect penis, God help her, was pure perfection. Normally Natalie would have called it too large. She had called it that at first glance. But the foreplay—the mothereffing foreplay turned that . . . eight? Nine-inch? . . . monster into a jungle gym. And it had a curve in it. She actually had to throw her hips back to accommodate that slight bow and in doing so, her clit rubbed against the solid, so solid base of his sex, turning her into a moaning, sweating mess.

His eyes were almost black by now, upper lip curled. “What do you love about it?”

Why was she shaking so violently when she wasn’t even having an orgasm? Did this man give her pre-orgasms? Was that possible or should she donate herself to science? “It’s . . . y-you made me ready for it,” she gasped. “With your mouth.”

Actual moisture was beginning to overflow from her eyes, her teeth chattering. So good, so good, so good. “Both!”

The orgasm slapped harder this time and she soared, loving it, loving being objectified and fucked and revered all at the same time. It was in the way he leaned down to kiss her, letting her know with that cherishing stroke of his tongue that he would be there to take care of her when it was all over. That he adored her.

She could feel that.

He made her feel it.

Now she wanted to return the favor. “You’ve more than earned it,” she whispered, scraping her fingernails along his scalp. Raked them down his back and his eyes glazed over. Then she contracted the intimate muscles between her legs and watched his control stumble, his jaw flexing, a stuttered version of her name tumbling out of his mouth. “Although . . .”

She positioned her mouth against his ear, flexed again, and buried her nails into his back. “Do you really need to earn anything when I want your come so bad?”

Moments later, they were nothing but a tangle of sweaty limbs, their labored breathing slowing in the small room. August’s mouth traveled along the slope of her shoulder, kissing her beneath the ear as his fingers twined themselves with hers. “Holy shit,” he muttered into her hair, sounding completely dumbstruck. “Holy shit.”

He lifted his head to frown down at her. “You sure that falling bucket didn’t hurt you?”

Natalie felt herself plummet deeper into the feelings that had been building for this man and wouldn’t seem to stop, despite their very opposite objectives. Despite the outward reasons they’d married and the different directions they were heading. “I’m sure.”

Her heart gave a heavy thud, so intense that she reached out suddenly for the glass of water on the bedside table, just for something to do with her hands. In the process, she bumped her laptop and the screen brightened. She barely noticed at first. Not until August tapped her bare hip. “Who is that?”

August pointed over her shoulder at the New York Times engagement announcement still very much visible on her screen. The glass of water paused halfway to Natalie’s mouth.

Chapter Twenty

Every time things between him and Natalie started to feel right, a snake had to slither through the grass, jump up, and bite him square in the testicles. Swear to God. As soon as her shoulders stiffened, he knew something was up. And he knew he wouldn’t like it.

A significant part of August didn’t want her to confirm the identity of the suited, smiling golden boy in the photograph, because he’d already put it together. Central Park spread in the background gave it away. That fucker with the whitest teeth he’d ever seen was Natalie’s ex-fiancé. They’d just had sex so incredible that he’d heard “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” by the Beatles playing when he came and this was going to ruin it, huh?

She took a long drink from the glass and set it back down on the bedside table. “That would be my ex, Morrison, and his new fiancée.” Her smile was tight and brief. “I wasn’t internet stalking. Someone sent me the announcement.”

Jerky shoulder shrug. “I don’t know, a little while ago.”

It was all coming together now. His stomach pitched first, followed by the scraping out of his chest, leaving it hollow.

No, not totally hollow.

There was a big billow of green smoke wafting in, carrying jealousy on its back. Sticky, grimy, and impossible to escape. “A little while ago, as in, right before you asked me for sex.”

August lunged off the bed to his feet, zipping himself back into his jeans with numb fingers. “You need me to spell it out for you?”

Unable to stand the sight of Morrison’s smiling face another second, he crossed to the other side of the bed and closed the lid of the laptop. “You were feeling shitty about your ex getting engaged and I was a convenient ego boost.”

That marked the first time he’d ever rendered Natalie speechless.

And it didn’t feel a tenth as good as he expected it to.

In fact, it felt the opposite of good. It was awful.

She stared up at him for several beats, then seemed to blink back tears while turning her face away. “Get out of my room.”

It took him a moment to find his voice. “Deny it.”

Nope.

Nope, it certainly did not.

Now she was covering herself with a pillow. Hiding from him.

Apologize. Right the hell now.

She’d just turned him inside out in that bed and the possibility she’d been on a different page was eating him alive.

His heart climbed up into his mouth and he swallowed it, the whole aching mass of it getting stuck in his throat. “Once I’m out, it’s going to be really hard to convince you to let me back in.”

More than anything, he was angry with himself in that moment. Pissed beyond measure. Frustration built higher and higher, any remaining thread of control slipping from his fingers. He couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t make Natalie happy for longer than a few measly minutes at a time. Couldn’t do justice to Sam’s dream. Couldn’t interpret brain shit, either, apparently. What good was he doing anyone?

Giving Natalie breathing room was probably the right thing to do, but he couldn’t seem to make himself leave the room. He simply remained there, an inanimate object with his hand on the knob. No, he couldn’t walk away. That’s what they’d both done at the end of every fight, since the beginning, and it had hurt their relationship every time.

He’d lose her unless something changed.

Her feelings were hurt because of him, and he wasn’t just going to abandon her.

August turned around. “What can I do to make this better, Natalie?”

Her chin snapped up. “Besides light yourself on fire?”

A hoarse sound left him. And it occurred to him that storming away was definitely easier. This was the hard part. Hearing what he’d done wrong and how he’d hurt her. Was that what made a marriage last? Doing the hard shit? “Why empty?”

Her words dug into him like slivers of glass. Christ, that was worse than he’d imagined. What would he have learned by now if he’d just spoken to her like this after all of their arguments? He’d be wiser than Doctor Strange. “God, I’m sorry.”

So . . . many of his choices?

What else was he doing to hurt her?

He racked his memory bank and came up with nothing. “Natalie, what am I . . .” Out of nowhere, an idea lit up the nether regions of his brain. “I can read you the rest of my wedding vows. Will that make you feel better?”

Was that reluctant interest he sensed? “There was more?”

Bedside table.

August snatched up the yellow, lined piece of paper and ran back out of the room, skidding to a halt a few seconds later at the foot of Natalie’s bed.

He cleared his throat dramatically, but she wasn’t ready to smile yet. Fair enough. He’d be lucky if she simply lost that hollow look in her eyes by the time he finished reading.

Don’t ever hurt her feelings again, you son of a bitch.

She nodded.

Good. He loved knowing she remembered exactly what he’d said at the altar.

He flipped the paper around and held it out, so she could see he was reciting the vows verbatim. “Read it and weep, princess.”

She glanced at the page, then studied her nails, trying and failing to hide a glimmer of interest. “Anything else?”

When she sniffed a little, he reached for her hand, bringing it up between them.

Pressing her fingertips to his nipple.

She twisted harder.

Finally, she let go. And had the nerve to look innocent when he lifted his head to show her his incredulity. “You asked for it,” she said, blinking up at him. Smiling.

He’d made her smile. After a fight.

The bliss of that almost eclipsed his pain. Almost.

She yawned. “Male nipples don’t really serve a function anyway.”

They laughed and he held her tighter, turning them bodily onto their sides and molding himself around the perfect back of her. “That does it,” he growled into her neck, kissing her soft skin in between each word. “You have to sleep with me tonight. That’s your punishment for trying to kill me.”

Little by little, the tension left her muscles until she was completely relaxed in his arms and his heart constricted in response. “We’re good, August.”

He believed her.

But he also believed his dick/gut and it was telling him they were far from out of the woods. New York was still on the horizon. Not to mention the investment from his CO he’d neglected to tell her about. And earlier, hadn’t she said I know that so many of your choices aren’t made to hurt me, even though they do? Whatever she was referring to, his eyes needed to be more open to it now. He’d do better.

Because he wanted to fall asleep holding her forever.

Chapter Twenty-One

A boom of thunder jolted Natalie’s entire body upright in bed, August’s heavy arm dropping from around her shoulders down into the sheets. Within seconds, that muscular limb was curling around her thigh, hoarse, unintelligible murmurs coming from her husband. No doubt about it, the man was beautiful when he slept. A big, cozy brute with obvious morning wood. She’d expect nothing less—

Another roll of thunder seemed to shake the entire house. With a gasp, her gaze flew to the window. The storm sounded like it was coming from their backyard. Her distress must have finally woken August because he sat up beside her in bed, bare chested, his brow chiseled with concern. Instantly on alert.

After a quick glance at the window, he studied her face. “Are you okay?”

A little over a week ago, she would have taken an immediate jab at him. Claim she was calling the police to request immediate evacuation. Or ask in mock horror if they’d be forced to drink his wine if they ran out of rations. But now, she simply turned wet, already starved for August’s weight on top of her, the friction their warm morning skin would make as he moved. Slow at first. Then hard. Then fast and ferocious.

They would talk after that.

They had to talk.

Either they stopped ending up in bed like this, acting like a real-life married couple or . . .

Or they adjusted their plan from one month to . . . longer?

A goose egg stuck in her throat. Dear Lord, the very idea was scary.

What if she actually tried to make it work with this man who she had deep, messy feelings for? What if they remained married permanently? It would require a lot of shifting. Her expectations and aspirations and . . . well, everything. She’d have to reimburse Claudia for all of her time and hard work, make sure her friend wasn’t left hanging. She’d have to find . . . a purpose here. The financial sector didn’t operate out of Napa. Wine was her only option and so far, August had only thrown up roadblocks to prevent her from helping.

He hadn’t yet carved out a place for her in his daily life. Starting each morning, he’d shut her out while he worked, instead of accepting her help. Letting her in.

Perhaps his rejection was unconscious, but he did it nonetheless. Explaining her reservations to August would only force him to make changes too soon and she couldn’t fast-forward his grief process. But could she gamble her entire future on him letting her in eventually? What if he didn’t and she signed up for another life like the one in which she’d been raised? Always being kept on the periphery of the Vos family, never let into the inner circle.

August leaned over, skating his mouth over hers. Urging her down into the sheets and coming down on top of her, licking into a moaning kiss that shot bullet holes through her worries. “Woke up starved for that thing between your legs.” He groaned into her neck. “Not sure if you’re still a little pissed from last night, so I’m asking very nicely if I can eat it.”

She really should give him another purple nurple for referring to her vagina as that thing. Unfortunately, she liked all the words coming from his mouth and wanted more. Immediately. “Yes,” she murmured, letting her knees fall open while his mouth trailed eagerly downward—

Natalie’s phone rang on her bedside table.

There was no way to trap the giggle. Any other time, she would have ignored the call, but she happened to glance over and see Julian’s name on the screen. Her brother wouldn’t pick up a phone unless there was a good reason. She had to answer.

Natalie frowned, a weird sort of clinch happening in her middle. “He’s here. I’ll put you on speaker.” She tapped the screen. “Okay, you’ve got both of us.”

August pulled up his pants and disappeared from the bedroom.

Just boom. Gone.

His feet pounded across the floorboards of the kitchen. The creak of a door opening and closing in the hallway, a distinct click she recognized as the linen closet. Was he taking a shower? Or was that wishful thinking? Because she had the sudden fear that her fake-for-now husband was heading straight to a flash flood.

She found him in the hallway. But this man was a stranger.

Gone was his golden retriever, tongue lolling out, lazy beers at the lake kind of demeanor. He’d been replaced with a soldier. His expression was hard, focused, the movements of his hands precise and efficient. And from somewhere in the linen closet she’d opened multiple times, he’d unearthed a gigantic backpack. He checked the contents now, nodded, threw it on his back, and strode for the door.

Relieved? Natalie felt like someone had shoved a stick of dynamite into her chest. Her feet were barely functioning, but she ran after August, anyway, barefoot in a nightshirt. Outside. Within seconds, she was soaked to the skin. So was August, though he seemed almost at home in the rain, cutting through it like some kind of deadly assassin in sweatpants and no shirt.

He was going to help the family stuck in the flash flood.

Just like that.

Her heart was torn in two directions. Obviously, she wanted those children and their mother to be rescued, but she’d seen what nature was capable of four years ago during the fire. Floods were dangerous. He was one man—not a team of SEALs.

Was he going to be all right?

Natalie hung up on Julian, blood pounding in her temples. She watched August climb into the driver’s seat of his truck and didn’t even hesitate before springing to the passenger side and throwing herself into the vehicle.

A beat passed.

With a curse, he gunned the truck in reverse and shot down the tree-lined driveway while her heart pumped in time with the windshield wipers.

* * *

It was so much worse than she’d imagined, and she’d been picturing the apocalypse. No fewer than two dozen emergency personnel vehicles were parked at haphazard angles along the road leading to the flooded street. A helicopter circled overhead. The occupants of news vans were fighting with police officers to gain entry to the cordoned-off scene. And all the while, the deluge continued to pour, thunder and lightning arguing with each other in a way that suggested they were in the thick of this storm.

August screeched the truck to a halt at the police barrier, the window already rolled halfway down. “Petty Officer Cates, formerly of SEAL team five. I can help.”

They waved him through and he hit the gas.

August took a long look at her face, seeming to register her terror for the first time. How polite of him. And he momentarily softened, cupping the side of her face. “I’m adding it to my wedding vows. I won’t get hurt. It’s written in stone now, just like the rest of them.” He kissed her hard and took one last look at her face. “My God, I am fucking crazy about you.”

With that, he shot from the truck with the backpack over one shoulder, leaving her reeling, her heart bleeding profusely. But instinct kicked in a second later and Natalie moved into the warm spot left behind by his body, watching him through the windshield, the scrape of the wiper blades suddenly becoming the soundtrack to a horror film. He shouted at a group of huddled men, joined them. After a brief exchange, they moved as one big unit toward the top of the road—and that’s when their location finally registered.

She’d taken this shortcut a million times throughout her life. When town was jam-packed with tourist traffic, this road was a way to avoid it. Elevation wise, she supposed it was much lower than the surrounding area, but that fact had never seemed important until now.

Up ahead, August disappeared around a bend in the road with the huddle of rescue workers and without her husband in view, everything inside her screamed to throw herself out of the truck and sprint after him. But she would not distract him in a dangerous scenario like this. Absolutely not. If he made a mistake and got hurt or killed because of her, she would never forgive herself. She was staying in the damn truck.

But there was no one around to stop the truck from creeping forward a little.

Just so she could keep tabs on any developments.

August had left the motor running, so she put the truck into drive and inched slowly around the police vehicles and their flashing lights, stopping when the very top of the rushing water came into view below.

And her blood ran cold.

The van was halfway submerged in turbulent water.

Teri Frasier, Zelnick Cellar’s one and only customer, and her triplets were holding on to one another for dear life on the roof of the van.

For the first time, she noticed a man on the scene with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, wearing what looked to be a sodden suit. His hysterical tone reached through the rain and windshield and though the voice was muffled, Natalie somehow knew it was Teri’s husband. Helpless, watching the water slowly rise around his family.

A few minutes later, a yellow raft approached from upstream and there was August, steering it, two officers behind him. They’d put August in a helmet, but the life vest was obviously too small for his king-sized body, so it just hung on him loosely, flapping open in the wind. He shouted something at Teri, smiled, and she nodded.

The timing was barbaric. Why did she have to realize she loved the big lug right before he was about to do something life threatening? It couldn’t have happened while he was cooking eggs or trying to reason with the cat? Natalie was never more positive that she hadn’t loved Morrison, because this big, wild, terrifying feeling had happened only once in her life.

Right now. For August.

She understood now. Love turned the heart into a liability. If something happened to him, she’d never get the damn thing to beat properly again. It seemed to be beating for him now.

Time seemed to freeze when August reached the side of the submerged road. From his backpack, he pulled out what looked like . . . a grappling hook? He raised it high and buried it in the dirt and rock formation that ran along the road, twisting and screwing it into the earth. One of the officers leapt out of the raft onto the rocks and worked to secure it further, wrapping the attached cable around his forearm several times. August threw the excess cable to the other side of the road, where a waiting officer caught it, securing a latch to the front of his vehicle.

As soon as the man turned and gave August a thumbs-up, he jumped into the raging current of water and Natalie almost puked.

It carried him several feet toward the submerged van and she started to cry, the heels of her hands digging into the hollows of her cheeks. Hard enough to hurt. But her breath caught as August stopped suddenly and Natalie realized he’d hooked himself to the center of the cable that ran perpendicular to the road.

No one was there to hear her nonsensical questions. Or hear her chant her husband’s name over and over again, her fingernails digging into her knees, the seat. The fact that the truck smelled so heavily of grapefruit wasn’t helping. Or was it the only thing helping? She didn’t know. She could only hold her breath as August moved toward the minivan, instructing Teri and the three children to climb onto the hood of the van, which was partially beneath water.

The woman hesitated, visibly nervous to step into the water at all, but whatever August said seemed to reassure her and finally, she stepped in, handing the first of the three children to him. He took off his life jacket and wrapped the small child as tightly as possible with the belt, then he put the young boy on his back and started moving toward the side of the road by pulling himself along the cable, hand over hand. Natalie could see he was talking to the crying child and more than anything, she wondered what he was saying. Probably just the best things in the world, because he was August freaking Cates.

When the child was reunited with his father, Natalie expelled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her heart still fluttering as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

But she did.

By the time it was Teri’s turn to hop on his back, the woman no longer looked worried. Her kids were out of danger.

And then it was over. The rain continued to come down in buckets, but it was over.

At which point, nothing short of an act of God could keep Natalie in the truck.