Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)
Unfortunately Yours: Chapter 9

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?

“Did the . . . meeting not go well?”

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.

“August, who is Sam?”

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 . . .”

“You’re right.” He pushed off the sink abruptly, his hoarse laugh filling the small bathroom. “I smell god-awful. I’ll take a quick shower and then we can talk about wedding stuff, huh?”

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.

“Natalie? What are you . . .” If he was a cartoon dog, his tongue would have rolled out of his mouth. “Are those your tits?”

“No, they’re somebody else’s.”

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.

“Okay,” he exhaled above her head. “I think I’m good.” His mouth dipped and found hers roughly, two sets of lips slippery from the steam, suctioning her into a kiss that made her whimper in her throat, her palms flattening on the ridges of his pecs, her nails scraping down through the patch of springy hair. “Scratch that,” he groaned. “I’m so much better than good.”

“It’s going to feel even better inside of me,” she whispered against his panting mouth, her fingertips traveling lower, lower. “It’s long overdue, isn’t it, babe?”

“Babe?” He caught her wrists before she reached his erection, his breath pelting her forehead. “Hold up. What is this, Natalie?”

“I . . .” She tried to tug her wrists free, but he didn’t let go, eyes narrowed on her through the swirling mist. “I want you. That’s what this is. We want each other.”

“No shit. But why now?”

Natalie opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“Is this because of what I told you?” Slowly, August pinned her wrists high above her head, his mouth hovering an inch away from hers. “Do you think I’m going to let you pity fuck me, princess?”

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.”

“It’s been a while. He’s confused.” He pressed their foreheads together, looking her square in the eye. “You’re confused, too, if you think I’m going to let you explain this away later with some nonsense about feeling bad for me. Not happening.”

“You were trying to do something noble,” she whispered in a rush. “All this time.”

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—”

“Come? Yeah. Another time. When the reason doesn’t piss me off.” He tucked his coarse index finger inside the center of the waistband of her panties, so close to the top of her slit that she moaned, her head landing with a thud against the tile wall. “Say yes if I’m allowed to push these panties down to your knees.”

“Yes,” she said on a shuddering exhale. Wasn’t she supposed to hate the abrasive way he spoke to her? Yes? Didn’t she normally? When had that same method of communicating become a verbal drug to her senses? “Yes . . . you’re allowed.”

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.”

“No,” he gritted out, parting her flesh with a middle finger and entering her so swiftly with that single digit that she screamed, going up on her toes as she was plastered to the wall by his strong body, his mouth flush with hers. “No, I want a lot more from you now.”

“Please, please, please.” The shower spray came from over his shoulder and rained water down between them, the fall of warm moisture parting around his hand where it started to work her, pumping that finger in and out slowly, too slowly, all while he watched her face. He seemed to hunt for every little reaction and exploit it, pressing deeper when she whimpered, pulling back when she started to breathe hard and rock her hips. “Please, August. I need something.”

“You’ll get it. You’ll always get it from me. Just let me enjoy you.” The joint of his thumb pressed to her water-slicked clit and rubbed, making her back arch compulsively off the wall, stars dancing in front of her eyes. “Jesus Christ. You are so fucking gorgeous, Natalie. Bet you rub expensive lotion and shit all over yourself twice a day to look so . . .” He licked her. From the curve of her shoulder all the way up the side of her neck and jawline, all while pressing his finger high and deep. “Damn. Damn, it’s so smooth. You’d slide all over me like a fucking dream, wouldn’t you, princess?”

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.”

“I don’t want m-my knees to buckle.”

“Yes, you do.” Faster. Oh my God. “You know I’m going to catch you.”

“Do I?” she whimpered.

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.

“You want me to keep going, don’t you?” he asked, mouth busy on her neck.

“Stop and I’ll kill you.”

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.”

“The murder in your eyes did it for you.” With their breathing shallow and steam clouding every corner of the shower stall, bodies glossy with condensation, August added a third finger. He swallowed her moan with a kiss, working high, higher, until he found this . . . this place that she was positive had never been so sensitive, and he toyed with it using the pads of his blunt fingers. And oh no, oh no. The palm of his hand pressed down on her clit, tighter, tighter, until her butt was flattened against the shower wall. “I can’t even fucking remember what it’s like to want anything but this pussy, princess. Yours. I don’t look right or left. No exceptions. Got that?”

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—

“August, Jesus. Yes. Yes.”

“Good girl. I’ve got you.”

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.”

“Us?” That panic was going off like fireworks now. She’d really muddied the waters here. Especially considering that traitorous little pop of satisfaction she got over the word “us.” You need to stop. “This is a marriage in name only, my dude.”

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.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

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.

“Hold up. Can we rewind a second?” August said behind her, cursing under his breath. “I’m not good at arguing while my dick is in eggplant form. By the way, this was never a problem until I met you. My whole fucking system is out of whack.” He whipped a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist, then raked frustrated hands through his hair. “I just . . . Look. I’m a little touchy about . . . pity. Being pitied over Sam dying. You know? I have a hard time accepting it from anyone. But especially you.”

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

“I don’t know. I grew up working for everything I had. I was taught to be proud of making ends meet. Grinding. The affluent Napa crowd looks down on that.”

“And I’m a great big representation of this place to you.”

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.”

“You think I can’t grind? You think I can’t work hard?” Stop, girl. She really needed to quit talking. She had a goal and was working on securing the means to achieve that goal. There was no room for side trips or rabbit holes. Still, she’d had it up to her eyeballs in implications from this man that she was a pampered princess who didn’t know the value of a day’s work. Especially right on the heels of that phone call with Dalton. “I could turn Zelnick Cellar into an operational winery with a decent vintage with one hand tied behind my back.”

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?

“I need to be an official employee at Zelnick Cellar to fulfill the other condition of my trust fund,” she reminded him, trying to keep the sting of his denial out of her voice. “And employing me, having my name tied to your wine, helps get you a loan. I don’t like being a member of this dysfunctional team any more than you do, but let’s not go through this for nothing. Use my knowledge as well.” She gave him a meaningful look, yet she knew he probably wouldn’t understand the importance of her being allowed to help. “I won’t ask again, August. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Sure about that? You’ve called me a dumbass at least ninety-four times.”

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

“There are exceptions to every rule.”

“Good. Especially if there is a rule against kissing my fake wife.”

“As it happens, there is.”

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

“I’ll break your ugly nose before that happens,” she snorted, stepping out of the bathroom into the hallway, sandals cradled to her chest.

“Wait. I thought we were going to talk about wedding stuff,” August boomed, following behind her, his giant, wet feet slapping on the floorboards. “What time are we meeting at the courthouse on Saturday?”

“We’re not.”

“What?” She looked back over her shoulder to find him stricken. “Just like that, the whole thing is off? I blew 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?”

“Before we end it, of course. Legally.” He said nothing. “Are we agreed on one month?”

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?

“So, um. My mother has taken the lead on planning. That’s mainly what I came here to tell you. Tradition and keeping up appearances, those things are important to her. It’s probably going to be the snobbiest event this town has ever seen. Swans and harps and canapés on gilded platters. You’ll need to rent a tux.” She paused with her hand on the door. “I understand if you have second thoughts.”

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

“Oh my God.” Refusing to acknowledge her relief, she yanked open the door, a laugh bursting out of her on the way down the steps. “Why?”

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.

“Natalie,” he called, before she could climb in.

“Yes?” she responded over the roof of the car.

“Can we write joint showers into our vows?”

“No. And honestly, why would you want that?” Pointedly, she nodded at his lap. “Didn’t exactly work out for you.”

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.”

“Jackass,” she muttered, climbing into the car and slamming the door.

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

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