For one shining moment, he did. It ended disastrously, but here I am, alone with him yet again.

Playing with fire.

The thought floating through my brain is apt, considering the potent heat in Matt’s gaze.

“Trust me. You’re a distraction I absolutely do not need,” he says, his voice low. Sexy.

A tremble moves through me, but I stand my ground. “I’ve done nothing but work my tail off for you the entire day, so please don’t tell me you’re suddenly angry with me now,” I retort, wincing the moment the words leave me. I blame my mounting frustration over our ridiculous situation. The push and pull is getting old, and I’m not sure I can take it much longer.

I’m tired, I’ve done nothing but live and breathe this winery reopening for the last few weeks if not months, and I’m ready to go home and crawl into bed when I’ve only just arrived here. Pull the covers over my head and sleep for a month.

But if a certain someone wanted to join me in my bed, there wouldn’t be any sleeping involved—just plenty of na**dness and kissing and hot, delicious sex.

My entire body flushes at the thought.

“And I appreciate you working that pretty tail of yours off for me, Bryn, really I do,” he drawls, his gaze dropping low. Like he’s actually trying to check out my backside. His flirtatious tone shocks me, rendering me still.

Our relationship isn’t like this. Strictly professional is how we’ve kept it, minus the one incident we haven’t really talked about. I can still taste his lips on mine, not that I’d ever bring it up now.

His last remark though was most definitely what I would consider flirting. And the way he’s looking at me . . .

Oh. My.

My cheeks warm when he stops directly in front of me. I can feel his body heat, smell his intoxicating scent, and I press my lips together to keep from saying something really stupid.

God, I want you. So bad my entire body aches for your touch.

Yeah. Again I sound like those romance novels. The ones I used to find on my grandma’s bedside table when I was young. I always thought those emotions were so exaggerated. No way could that actually occur in real life.

But I’m feeling it. Right now. Again. With Matthew DeLuca. And the way he’s looking at me makes me think he’s feeling it too.

“So um, h-how have I been driving you crazy?” I swallow hard. I sound like a stuttering idiot, and I’m trying to calm my racing heart but it’s no use. We’re staring at each other in silence, the only sound is our accelerated breathing, and then he reaches out. Rests his fingers against my cheek. Lets them drift along my face.

Slowly I close my eyes and part my lips, sharp pleasure piercing through me at his intimate touch. I curl my fingers against the wall as if I can grab onto it, afraid I might slide to the ground if I don’t get a grip and soon.

I can smell him. Feel him. We’ve been close to each other before but not like this. Never like this. The first time was an accident and had turned into an opportunity—a rushed opportunity that had ultimately ended in utter disappointment.

I don’t want to risk that again. I don’t know if I could survive it again.

But I want it. I want him.

“You look so damn beautiful tonight,” he whispers, his rough voice sending a scatter of goose bumps across my skin.

“Thank you,” I say because I don’t know what else to do. I crack my eyes open to find he’s moved even closer, one hand braced against the wall, the other still touching my face. Tilting my head back, I meet his gaze, my lids flickering when he strokes his thumb across my lower lip.

“It’s taking everything inside of me not to just give in and kiss you,” he admits gruffly, his hot eyes roaming over my face, then dropping lower, settling on my chest. I can feel my ni**les tighten beneath the silk fabric of my dress and I’m suddenly achingly aware of what little clothing I’m wearing. No bra, no panties . . .

My dress is the only barrier between Matt’s hands and my skin.

God, I want that. I do. I want to feel his hands roam all over me. I want his mouth on mine, I want his mouth everywhere. I’m tired of resisting him, especially when he so clearly wants me as much as I want him.

For once, I’m going to be bold. I want to see what he does when I invite him to do exactly what he wants to me.

“What’s stopping you? We’ve already kissed before.” I reach out, slip my fingers down the length of his black tie. I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe I’m touching him though really I’m only caressing his tie. Big deal.

But I can feel all that hot, hard strength beneath his shirt, the beat of his heart, the scent of his skin. Relief floods me. We’ve been dancing around this attraction, especially the last few days, and it feels like we’re finally giving in. Again.

Well, I’ve been dancing around it. He always seemed mostly oblivious to me.

Maybe he isn’t. If his current behavior is any indication, he definitely isn’t.

“I’m stopping me. Or at least I should be,” he says, resting both of his hands on my waist as he steps so close, our legs tangle, our chests brush. I hold my breath, waiting for what I know will be a totally disappointing conclusion to our conversation.

He doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, he lowers his head, his mouth settling on mine, softly. Sweetly. His kiss obliterates everything, all of my thoughts and worries and concerns, until I’m consumed by the sound and the feel and the smell of him. He surrounds me, overwhelms me, and when he thrusts his tongue deep inside my mouth, I’m lost.

And only Matt will be able to find me.

When he breaks the kiss to slide his mouth down the length of my neck, his low, sexy growl makes my insides flutter. He sounds like he’s barely keeping himself in control, and I reach out, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his hair like I enjoy doing. His hair is so thick and soft, the strands cling to my fingers, and I feel like I can’t get enough of him.

The way he’s kissing me makes me think he can’t get enough of me either. His mouth returns to mine and devours me. The kiss so hot, wet, and deep, I feel completely and utterly consumed.

I love it. I want more. I cling to him, mold my body to his and wish he would slip his hands beneath my dress. I want to witness his discovery that I’m wearing no bra, no panties, no nothing beneath it.

I have a feeling he’d be rather pleased with that revelation.

“Jesus, Bryn, you feel good,” he says when we come up for air. His hand is roaming, rising from where it rests on my waist to slide up, over my ribcage to rest just beneath my breast. He pulls away slightly, catching sight of my ni**les pebbling painfully beneath the silky fabric of my dress, and he lifts his other hand. Traces the deep V neckline of my dress with his fingertip, his touch feather-light as he brushes my skin, causing skitters to rush across it.

Sighing, I close my eyes, savoring his bold, yet delicate touch. He slips his hand beneath the fabric, covering my right breast with just his fingers and makes a rough sound of pleasure at finding me braless.

His calloused fingers play with my nipple, driving me crazy with need, and I drop my arms from around his neck, arching into his touch as I keep my eyes tightly closed. I’m almost afraid to look at him for fear he’ll abandon me once he realizes what we’re doing.

And then he’s kissing me yet again, his hands moving up to cup my face, holding me still. I want to melt. His thumbs brush across my cheeks, his touch gentle, the way he cups my face almost as if he . . . cherishes me. No man has ever held me like this, kissed me like this before. I wrap my arms around his waist, clinging to him, whispering against his lips please don’t stop, don’t ever stop, when he stills. Lifts his head from mine and cocks his ear toward the window.

“Did you hear that?” he asks, his voice hushed.

Beyond the roaring in my ears brought on by his skilled mouth and my own pleading words, I can’t really hear anything. Oh, there’s the partygoers outside, their chatter a low hum in the quiet confines of his office. A hint of music coming from the hired band but that’s it.

“I swear I heard someone yell my name.” He kisses the tip of my nose, one cheek, then the other. “Sounded like my father,” he whispers.

“Really?” He kisses my forehead, my temple, my ear, my chin. Sweet, soft little kisses that make my lips tingle in anticipation. “I didn’t realize he was coming.”

“I forgot to tell you about it.” He kisses me this time, his lips lingering on mine for long, delicious moments before he finally breaks it. “I didn’t think he’d show up. More like I hoped he wouldn’t show up.”

I’m surprised that he would even invite him. Last I heard from Ivy, their relationship was strained at best.

And then I hear it. A loud, rough bellow:

“Matthew DeLuca, where the f**k are you, son?”

Matt hears it too—who couldn’t? His entire body goes still and he pulls away, leaving me. I’m immediately cold without him near.

“That’s him,” he says grimly. “I should go.”

“I’ll go with you. Do you want my help?” I reach for him, but he’s still backing up, pulling completely away from my grip.

He’s withdrawing into himself right before me, and I hate seeing it, though I can’t blame him.

He needs to go subdue his father and quick.

“Just mingle and make sure everyone’s having a good time. I need to go and make sure he doesn’t make an ass out of himself and me and ruin everything,” Matt mutters before he turns tail and flees.

I slump against the wall, my heart thumping wildly, my lips still tingling from his delicious kisses. I need to compose myself. Gather my thoughts and emotions and put on the hostess mask.

I need to help Matt. He’s stressed. The last thing he needs to deal with is his volatile father making a scene.

Putting aside my tumultuous emotions and locking my still-wobbly knees, I stand up straight, smooth my hands over my skirt and head for the courtyard.

Chapter Seven

Matt

“SON! THERE YOU are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” my father says as he stumbles toward me.

“Well, you found me.” I grab hold of my dad’s arm to keep him steady. Smells like someone already hit up a bar before arriving here and disgust fills me. I’m pissed that he would show up to one of the most important nights of my life and my career, drunk as hell.

But what did I expect? Not like he cares about me, or my reputation; he’s such a selfish old bastard.

“Where’s the wine?” he asks loudly, drawing the attention of more than one partygoer. “I want a sample of that shit you’re brewing.”

He can’t even get the terms right. “I think you should lay off the booze for a while,” I say as I try and steer him toward the table laden with food. He needs to eat something and drink some black coffee, anything to soak up all that alcohol coursing through his system and sober him up somewhat.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He jerks his arm out of my hold and heads toward the table I wanted him to go to in the first place, grabs a small plate and starts loading up on endless appetizers.

I follow after him, keeping close, smiling and chatting with everyone I recognize or know. I feel like I can’t leave my father’s side, which is such total bullshit, especially because I had to leave a perfectly willing woman back in my office.

Not that I should’ve been fooling around with a woman in my office when I had a party going on out here but . . .

My mind drifts to Bryn and how good she’d felt in my arms. I’d had my hand beneath her dress only moments ago, touching her breast, playing with her nipple, and she hadn’t protested. No, she’d arched into my touch, little sounds of pleasure escaping her. She looked amazing in that dress, her long hair down, her lips parted as she gasped when I gently pinched.

Hell. I want more. I wanted to take her back to my place, strip her out of that dress and kiss every inch of her na**d skin. Instead, I’m babysitting my drunken dad.

Fuck, life is really unfair sometimes.

“Quite the spread you got here,” Dad says, clutching his already overflowing plate. “How much did this cost you anyway?”

Damn it, I want to die of embarrassment, his voice is so loud. “Don’t worry Dad, I have it under control,” I reassure him.

“Little snot, won’t tell me how much money you’re spending on this fancy, good-for-nothing shindig. Not that it matters. I don’t care what you do with your money. I already gave you your piece of my pie but that’s it. I’m cutting you off. You’ll have to earn everything else, fair and square.” He lurches toward me, his plate nearly goes flying, and I take it from him, wait while he readjusts himself and stands up straighter.

White hot anger flows through my veins, setting my blood on fire. I want to kill him. Wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he’s not breathing any longer. Not that I could do such a thing, but every time he acts like this, which is pretty much every time I see him, he makes me hate him more.

It’s a lot more complicated than that though, my relationship with my dad. I also love him. Still seek out his approval despite how much trouble he causes.

And Vinnie DeLuca causes an enormous amount of trouble everywhere he goes.

“Let’s find you somewhere to sit,” I tell my dad, grabbing hold of his arm again and leading him toward the tables where guests sit and eat. He jerks against my hold, muttering a string of curse words in protest, but I ignore him. The old man might be the same size as me, but I’m younger and stronger.