Blood Vines

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Saturday, March 6

11:22 P.M.

They didn’t speak on the drive back to her house. When he’d parked in front of her cottage, they both climbed out and walked to her front door. Alex’s hands were shaking so badly Reed took the house key from her fingers and unlocked the door for her.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked, pushing the door open.

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. She was embarrassed and shaken. Angry that no one believed her. Angry with herself for her own doubt. Determined to prove herself.

She met his gaze. “I didn’t imagine what I heard. I didn’t.”

“You’d had some wine and-”

“I had a lot of wine,” she corrected. “But I wasn’t drunk.”

“Voices carry on the night air.”

“I was deep inside that cave. How could sounds from the party reach me there?”

“Look, Alex, you’ve been dealing with some big issues. Nobody’s going to point fingers if your behavior’s a little erratic.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t want to say that, but it’s true. Honey, you’ve been through some terrible-”

“Don’t call me honey.” She pushed the door the rest of the way open and strode inside. He followed her. She tossed her coat on the sofa and swung to face him. “And I am not crazy.”

“I’m not saying you’re crazy.”

“Maybe my timeline is wrong? Maybe I heard some folks carrying on and it got stuck in my head. They were partying. Burning something. I smelled it.”

“Why’d you scream, Alex?”

She wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t. Or even that she didn’t remember doing it. She already looked a brick short of a load. “It was involuntary. I was already turned around, and when the lights went off… I must have… screamed.”

“Must have?”

“Never mind.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know why I’m justifying myself to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to, Alex.” He crossed to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve been through a lot. Your mother’s death, the shock of learning about Dylan and now the move here. Cut yourself some slack.”

She tipped her face up to his, ready to argue. Their eyes met and the words caught in her throat.

“Don’t hold back, Alex. You look like you want to say something. Go ahead.”

Go ahead. Don’t hold back. Aware of the warmth of his hands on her shoulders, the stirring of his breath against her cheek, those words took on a new meaning.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. The air between them turned electric. Her face heated, the heat spread.

Dammit. She had wanted to avoid this. Had wanted to keep things platonic.

He moved one hand to the back of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair. She felt the subtle movement, the whisper soft caress of his fingers, deep in her belly, at the apex of her thighs.

He lowered his mouth to hers, rubbed his experimentally against hers. Alex laid her palms against his chest. Beneath her right, his heart pounded.

“A mistake,” he murmured against her mouth, voice thick.

“Yes.” She curled her fingers into his shirt, holding on.

“Should I go?”

“God, no.”

Groaning, he caught her lips and cupping her derriere, lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing against him as he carried her to the bedroom. They fell onto the bed, only separating long enough to loosen and remove clothing, cursing garments that clung, tearing at those that resisted. She exploded in orgasm as he entered her, with a force that had her crying out and bucking against him.

Afterward, they lay side by side, damp, winded. Alex stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing. She’d left this part of her life behind years ago. This mindless search for fulfillment through sex. It’d been a stage, one that had been self-destructive and ultimately humiliating.

He touched her cheek, dragging her away from her own thoughts. She turned her face to his.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah.” Her lips curved up. “But… never mind.”

“What?” He propped himself on an elbow and gazed down at her.

“I’m thinking this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Then stop thinking.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “It was just sex, right?”

“Great sex,” he corrected. “Come here.”

He pulled her into the crook of his arm. Alex rested her head against his shoulder and her hand over his heart.

Moments became minutes. He yawned. “I suppose I should go.”

“Whenever you need to.”

He yawned again. “Soon.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “What’s the long story?”

“About?”

“You and your dad. Why you didn’t join the family business.”

“Nosy, aren’t you?”

“Impatient. I’m not good at waiting for what I want.”

“I noticed.” He fell silent. When he spoke again, all traces of amusement and the afterglow of explosive sex had disappeared from his voice. “If you asked my old man, he’d tell you I didn’t have the balls.”

“Interesting. But I’m asking you.”

He rubbed his jaw against the top of her head. “I didn’t want to fight my brothers for it. Dad pitted the three of us against each other. I thought it was bullshit.”

“So you opted out.”

“I opted out.”

She doubted it had been anywhere near as simple as that. “And your brothers?”

“Fell right in line. They fought each other for Dad’s ‘attaboy.’ He decided who they would be, like it or not.”

She had picked up on the family dynamics enough to have recognized them as he was talking. The elder Reed ruled over the family business with an iron will-if not an iron fist as well. Joe was the favored son. Father’s confidant and CEO in training. Obviously singled out to take the company forward. Ferris had been relegated to the voice of Reed wines. Head of sales and marketing.

“Where would you have fit in the family circus?”

“Dad had pegged me as the winemaker.”

“And?”

“Nobody was going to pick my career for me.”

“You didn’t love it?”

“Not enough to sell my soul to it-or to Dad.”

His cell went off. “Reed here,” he answered.

Alex sat up, bringing the sheet with her. She watched his expression tighten.

“Where?” He paused. “Son of a bitch. On my way.”

He climbed out of the bed, bent and grabbed his jeans. “I’ve got to go.” He yanked them on, then snatched up his shirt. “Sorry.”

He didn’t look at her. An uneasy sensation settled in the pit of her gut. “What’s going on, Reed?”

“A murder. Someone from the party tonight.”

“Who?” she asked. “Was it someone I met?”

“Don’t think so.” He shrugged into his shirt, then buttoned it. “A guy named Tom Schwann. His roots went deep around here.”

Dressed, he crossed to the bed, bent and kissed her. “Sorry about this. I’ll call.”

She watched him go, thinking about roots that went deep and wondering if he would call.