It’s driving me crazy and I’m more than a little relieved when we enter the wine cellar and the temperature drops dramatically.
‘So, you see...’ Diego, the winemaker, turns to us all, bringing us to a quick stop that has someone walking straight into my back. I know who it is before I hear his hurried, ‘Scusi.’
Rafael. He’s pressed up against me, only for a split second, and then his hands are on my hips as he takes a step back. My legs want to move with him, to keep him close, and the effort it’s taking not to do so, especially when he releases my hips, has all of my attention.
Dante, to my right, flicks us both a look, a smile twitching at his lips, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Up front, Diego is still talking, something about the Valentini family who built the castle, and I try to focus but my mind keeps wandering back to the man behind me. The man whose grief seems far too raw after twenty-five years have passed. The man who has the reputation of a workaholic, caring more for his job than his own family. But I know different and I wish everyone else did too.
I can already feel myself falling...but that’s the sex talking, I try to tell myself. The explosive, mind-blowing sex. Nothing more.
I cross my arms in front of me and feel the goose bumps that run over my skin. I shiver. It really is cold down here.
Cold, right? It has nothing to do with realising how emotionally invested you are. That it isn’t just sex at all. That you enjoy his company and can see it becoming more. That you care.
‘Are you cold?’
His voice teases so close to my ear and his body warmth radiates down my back. I risk a glance up at him and the low light of the cellar makes the atmosphere feel far more intimate than any guided tour. His brown eyes soften into mine, his concern creasing at his brow, and my heart gives a tiny squeeze, punctuating my realisation from seconds before.
‘I’m okay,’ I whisper. At least, I think I’m okay. I don’t even know how to feel. I didn’t come to Dani’s wedding to get caught up in some fling with her brother.
He starts to say something more but Diego encourages us to move on and I hurry forward, through the tunnel of stone that’s lined with casks, into another tunnelled room. This one has several upturned barrels laid out like tables, with wine glasses at the ready and wooden stools for the guests to use.
Dani giggles softly and it echoes off the stone wall. I look across to see Tyler whispering something into her neck; their love and passion, so clearly on display.
A smile touches my lips. Perhaps it is possible for me to have both too: love and passion.
Perhaps Rafael could be that man. In spite of all I know of him, perhaps this is different for him too. As different as it is for me when compared to my relationship with Bobby.
‘You look cold, Faye.’ It’s Dante who says it, his frown mirroring Rafael’s. ‘Here, take my jacket.’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ I wave a hand at him. It feels far too intimate when I know Dani has been determined to set us up together, and I have the man I do want standing right behind me.
‘I insist.’ He’s already shrugging it off and wrapping it around my shoulders, his clean, masculine scent taking over Rafael’s. It’s pleasant, stronger than Raf’s, but it does absolutely nothing for me.
I give him a smile and feel his residual warmth take the edge off the chill. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
His attention goes back to Diego, who is describing the Chianti we are about to sample, and I sense Rafael’s eyes on me. I want to turn and look at him. I want to tell him with my eyes that he’s the one I want. But when I risk a look his attention is firmly on Diego.
Maybe he doesn’t care either way. Maybe all this is very one-sided. And maybe, just maybe, the lust really is getting in the way and blinding me to what this really is between us. Just great sex.
I shiver in spite of Dante’s jacket and throw my focus into the wine, into the tour, into the history of the castle. And I succeed, to a point. I sip the wine. I laugh over my silly attempt at swilling, tasting and spitting, and Dante is the perfect companion. He laughs with me. He’s easy. Fun.
Rafael isn’t. He’s aloof. He’s more detached than I’ve seen him before and I’m getting a glimpse of what his family are used to. I know because Dante doesn’t bat an eyelid at his behaviour. His quietness, his apathy, his lack of involvement...
Don’t get me wrong. He tastes the wine along with the rest of us. But he’s robotic with it. There’s no curve to his lips, no spark in his eyes, and the habitual grim line has made a return. He watches Diego as he talks about the next wine we are to sample and his eyes flit in my direction—a second’s pause, and my heart flutters as I hope for something, a small smile, anything.
Nothing.
He takes up his wine glass that looks far too big for the small amount of wine we are sampling and swirls it in his hand, his eyes falling to the drink, intense, pensive, and then he raises it to his lips. Those lips that I can scarce believe have laughed, let alone been buried between my legs. I tense as my clit pulses over the vivid recollection and his eyes flick to mine. They lock on and, hell, I know he reads me now.
Colour streaks my cheeks and I go to look away, but then I see that hint of something more in his eyes at last, a twitch to his lips before he draws a little air in over the wine and begins to taste it like an expert. I normally want to giggle at this—I wanted to when I watched Diego instruct us on how to do it properly; I’ve wanted to at every other wine demonstration I’ve attended—but with Rafael, as I watch him move the drink around his mouth, I am captivated. I wish I could be part of that tasting, my tongue twisting with his, enjoying the depth of body, the hit of grapes.
And then his throat bobs, and I’m so wrapped up
in the move it takes me a second to realise he hasn’t spit. Or, to use Diego’s polite term, expectorated. And, as my eyes lift once more to his, I understand why. I’m not the only one who feels as if their throat has closed over with the rush of heat inside.
‘Are you not tasting this one?’ He raises a brow at me and I see the laughter rising in the heat of his gaze, the twitch to his lips.