Chapter 6

The air in the private cellar was thick, heavy with the scent of aged oak and damp earth, a stark contrast to the crisp, cool breeze that had been dancing off the vineyard hills just minutes before. We had slipped away from the main gathering, leaving the low hum of polite conversation and the clinking of crystal behind us. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of the wine maker’s private tasting room, the only sounds were the distant trickle of water in the old stone fountain and the rapid, shallow beat of my own heart. He stood by the heavy oak table, still dressed in his impeccable suit, though the jacket was off, tossed carelessly over a chair, and his tie was loosened, hanging loose around his neck like a noose waiting to be pulled. I stood before him, my heels clicking softly against the flagstone floor, waiting for his command. My dress, a slip of crimson silk that clung to every curve, felt suddenly insufficient, too thin to protect me from the heat radiating off his body. He looked at me with those dark, predatory eyes, the kind that could strip away years of composure in a single glance. He