With my hands safely clenched inside my pockets, I looked down at her and fought every male instinct in my body, the ones that knew exactly what to do when you walked a pretty girl onto her front porch at night, and her face glowed faintly in the dark, her long, gossamer hair was dusted with snowflakes, and her warm, soft lips were right fucking there, so close all you’d have to do was lean forward and you’d know what they felt like on yours.

“I can give in to a woman,” I said quietly.

The smile slid off her face, and her mouth opened slightly.

“Goodnight, Sylvia.” Quickly, before I could do something I’d regret, I hustled down the steps and started out on the path toward the winery again. I didn’t hear the Sawyers’ front door open or close, so I assumed she stood there for a bit, watching me walk through the snowy dark, but I didn’t turn around and look.

Fuck yes, I could give in to a woman.

What I couldn’t give in to was myself.

* * *

That night, I dreamt about her.

We were tasting wine in the cellar, but she was naked, and she let me pour the cold wine over her skin and lick it off. At four A.M., I woke up with a massive erection that refused to go away. I tossed and turned for another hour, then I gave up and slid my hand down inside my boxer briefs. Maybe it would get her out of my head.

As I stroked myself, I imagined my warm tongue running over her throat, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. I heard her sighs and moans echoing off the stone walls. I felt her fingers fisting in my hair, her legs wrapping around my head, her body going rigid with tension. I made her come just like that, the wine dripping off her body as she pulsed against my tongue, and I groaned as my own orgasm made my cock throb inside my fist.

But I shouldn’t have done it. I felt terrible about it. Because now when I looked at her, all I’d be able to think about was her naked body on the stone floor.

There was no way I was going to her family dinner tonight.

To make sure I wouldn’t even be tempted, I wore my grubbiest jeans and my ugliest flannel shirt with the most holes to work, the one my ex had always begged me to throw out. I didn’t shave, and I threw a cap on my head rather than comb my hair.

At the winery, I did grunt work and heavy lifting all day long, ensuring that I’d work up a sweat. I was by myself, since I’d given my assistant Mariela the week off, and the tasting room was closed for the week, so no one would care if I smelled bad.