his life.
Forever—it wasn’t the kind of thing she could commit to, nor wanted to, she told herself as she rolled to her other side. She dragged the bedcovers over her now-chilled body and told herself that the bed didn’t feel half-empty without Ethan lying by her side.
Nine
W hatever he’d been thinking by going to Isobel on Friday night, it had been the wrong thing to do, Ethan decided as he roamed the winery late on Sunday.
Everyone had gone to bed, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his work. This was his favorite stage of production, and he took his work very seriously—checking and rechecking everything. Overseeing whatever he’d delegated so thoroughly, he may as well have done it all himself. Tam teased him about being a control freak but he felt no shame in wanting to ensure that The Masters label maintained its hard-won profile in the marketplace.
Yet tonight was different. He struggled to concentrate on his tasks, his mind constantly sliding back in time to Friday. To the expression on Isobel’s face when she’d opened her door to him. To her easy acceptance of what he’d been there for. To the feel of her limbs wrapped tight around his.
Ethan pushed a trembling hand through his hair and tried to shake the images of Isobel’s long back, her tapered waist, and her rounded buttocks from his mind. She hadn’t hesitated when he’d turned her around, hadn’t balked when he’d driven into her body like a crazy man. She’d accepted everything, and then taken him to her bed where she’d given to him all over again.
Then, when he’d so abruptly left her, she hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid. Not a single plea to him to remain had passed her lips, although he knew he’d have been welcome.
In fact, the lure of her warm and accepting body had been strong. Too strong. He’d known it would have been all too easy to stay in her bed, in her arms, all night long. He already felt too vulnerable—too exposed in his endless desire for her. Sleeping beside her would only let her further behind his defenses. She read him far too well as it was. And she’d already proven she could manipulate him with ease.
Oh, sure, their pleasure had been mutual, but in hindsight, Ethan could see that she’d been the one in charge all along, no matter what he’d thought at the time. The realization was an eye opener. He was used to taking charge, to being the boss, and she’d turned the tables on him without him even noticing.
And here she was, still stuck firmly in his mind. He’d even had lunch today with Shanal. That had been far less promising than he’d hoped. They’d walked the botanical gardens at Mt. Lofty before heading out to a nearby café, and despite his best efforts, there’d been no zing when he’d taken her hand, no excitement when he’d embraced her after returning her to her home. He knew she’d felt the same way. She’d presented her cheek for a kiss to avoid kissing him on the lips.
It left him feeling out of sorts. Not irritated, exactly, but something close to that. He just couldn’t understand it. He and Shanal were perfect for each other. Always had been. And they knew each other so well—were comfortable together. So why was there no spark?
And, more important, why had he spent half the time with Shanal wondering what Isobel was up to today? He’d seen her drive off with Cade earlier on and had felt a surge of jealousy so strong it had left a very nasty taste in his mouth. He didn’t do jealousy and he had no right to, either. After all, hadn’t he been out with Shanal at the very same time?
He and Isobel had slept together. Twice. That was all. He had no claim over her. If she wanted to she could sleep with all the men in his family and he had no rights to stop her.
His head began to pound and an irrational sense of possessiveness clawed at his gut. He shook his head. This was ridiculous. Even here, in his sanctuary—the winery, the one place where he could always
Forever—it wasn’t the kind of thing she could commit to, nor wanted to, she told herself as she rolled to her other side. She dragged the bedcovers over her now-chilled body and told herself that the bed didn’t feel half-empty without Ethan lying by her side.
Nine
W hatever he’d been thinking by going to Isobel on Friday night, it had been the wrong thing to do, Ethan decided as he roamed the winery late on Sunday.
Everyone had gone to bed, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his work. This was his favorite stage of production, and he took his work very seriously—checking and rechecking everything. Overseeing whatever he’d delegated so thoroughly, he may as well have done it all himself. Tam teased him about being a control freak but he felt no shame in wanting to ensure that The Masters label maintained its hard-won profile in the marketplace.
Yet tonight was different. He struggled to concentrate on his tasks, his mind constantly sliding back in time to Friday. To the expression on Isobel’s face when she’d opened her door to him. To her easy acceptance of what he’d been there for. To the feel of her limbs wrapped tight around his.
Ethan pushed a trembling hand through his hair and tried to shake the images of Isobel’s long back, her tapered waist, and her rounded buttocks from his mind. She hadn’t hesitated when he’d turned her around, hadn’t balked when he’d driven into her body like a crazy man. She’d accepted everything, and then taken him to her bed where she’d given to him all over again.
Then, when he’d so abruptly left her, she hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid. Not a single plea to him to remain had passed her lips, although he knew he’d have been welcome.
In fact, the lure of her warm and accepting body had been strong. Too strong. He’d known it would have been all too easy to stay in her bed, in her arms, all night long. He already felt too vulnerable—too exposed in his endless desire for her. Sleeping beside her would only let her further behind his defenses. She read him far too well as it was. And she’d already proven she could manipulate him with ease.
Oh, sure, their pleasure had been mutual, but in hindsight, Ethan could see that she’d been the one in charge all along, no matter what he’d thought at the time. The realization was an eye opener. He was used to taking charge, to being the boss, and she’d turned the tables on him without him even noticing.
And here she was, still stuck firmly in his mind. He’d even had lunch today with Shanal. That had been far less promising than he’d hoped. They’d walked the botanical gardens at Mt. Lofty before heading out to a nearby café, and despite his best efforts, there’d been no zing when he’d taken her hand, no excitement when he’d embraced her after returning her to her home. He knew she’d felt the same way. She’d presented her cheek for a kiss to avoid kissing him on the lips.
It left him feeling out of sorts. Not irritated, exactly, but something close to that. He just couldn’t understand it. He and Shanal were perfect for each other. Always had been. And they knew each other so well—were comfortable together. So why was there no spark?
And, more important, why had he spent half the time with Shanal wondering what Isobel was up to today? He’d seen her drive off with Cade earlier on and had felt a surge of jealousy so strong it had left a very nasty taste in his mouth. He didn’t do jealousy and he had no right to, either. After all, hadn’t he been out with Shanal at the very same time?
He and Isobel had slept together. Twice. That was all. He had no claim over her. If she wanted to she could sleep with all the men in his family and he had no rights to stop her.
His head began to pound and an irrational sense of possessiveness clawed at his gut. He shook his head. This was ridiculous. Even here, in his sanctuary—the winery, the one place where he could always
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