Monica Murphy - Savor

“No freaking way,” Gage says.

“Yes—way, jackass. We’re doing it,” Archer says, not even letting him argue.

“Fine. Deal,” I say firmly. I’ve gone this long without sex, what’s another forty-five days? I can handle it.

“God, you disappoint me. You’re so confident. I’d think you’d at least want to get some on occasion, you know?” Gage shakes his head, but I ignore him.

“I’m agreeing to this,” I say. “I’m sure you two losers need the time anyway to gather up the funds to pay me so I get it. I can be a patient guy. No problem. But in forty-five days, I want my money. No excuses, no bullshit. Six hundred and twenty-five thousand each.”

“Then we have a deal,” Archer says, a sly grin on his face. The asshole is up to something, I can tell.

And I don’t like it.

“Whatever. Deal,” Gage says much more reluctantly. The guy hates nothing more than wasting money, and I’m sure he views this payout as the ultimate waste.

“So I hear Ivy’s taken your assistant out for lunch and shopping today,” Archer says, his voice casual. Too casual. “What gives?”

“Really?” Curiosity fills me. I knew Ivy had taken a liking to Bryn and Bryn felt the same. But I didn’t realize they’d become that close.

“Yep.” Archer nods. “I heard something mentioned about a makeover.”

“Marina went with them too,” Gage confirms.

Shit. Now I’m really starting to sweat. Bad enough I’m attracted to Bryn despite her boring clothes and uninspired appearance. It was her damn scent. God, she smelled fucking fabulous. Sweet and fruity yet floral and with this hint of spice that I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Yeah, Ivy sent me a picture as a matter of fact. Couldn’t quite figure out why she’d do that since, you know, I’m not interested in any other woman but her.” Archer shrugs then grabs for his phone. “Then she texted that I needed to show you.”

He hands over his phone, and I look at the screen, my mouth going dry. It was a picture of Bryn in a chair at a salon, wearing a close-lipped smile, her almost-black hair cascading around her face, down past her shoulders in luxurious waves.

“Whatcha think?” Archer asks before he bursts into smug laughter.

Damn. I’m in huge trouble.

Matt

I CAME INTO work early Monday morning, so I could walk the fields and inspect the vineyards alone before anyone else got there, my new absolute favorite thing to do. I’m not a sit-in-the-office kind of guy. A nine-to-five job holds absolutely no appeal. When I bought the winery, I didn’t know shit about wine besides the fact that I liked some, but I definitely wasn’t a connoisseur. More like an I’ll-drink-some-wine-if-you-have-nothing-else type of guy.

I preferred beer.

But I’ve since learned there’s a science to wine making. It’s a formula, with a bit of luck thrown in for good measure. The grapes have to be just so. The weather has to be a certain way to insure that.

A variety of factors play into it. Some we have complete and total control over and others . . .

We’re at the whim of their command, which drives those scientist brains absolutely crazy.

There’s more to my spending time out in the fields this particular morning. And it all has to do with a particular woman. I’m avoiding the office because Bryn will arrive soon, and I don’t want to see her. That picture Archer showed me haunted my thoughts the rest of the day. Hell, the rest of the weekend. All that hair—I could only imagine slipping my fingers through it. Wrapping those long, silky strands around my fist and giving it a tug. Pulling her in so I could kiss her. Burying my face into the soft mass and inhaling her delicious scent.

She had on a red T-shirt in the picture, that mysterious little close-lipped smile and makeup on her face. I could tell because for the first time ever, I really noticed her eyes. They were crystal blue like a perfect summer sky.

Needless to say, after thinking about Bryn a little too much, I took a shower and jerked off. This new addition to the bet with Archer and Gage is going to kill me. I couldn’t even run out and find some anonymous chick and fuck her. I could lie, I guess. Keep it from them.

But I wouldn’t feel right about that and besides they’d figure me out. They always do. I don’t like liars. My father is a consummate one. Seeing how his lies always ended up getting him in trouble, I purposely keep myself on the straight and narrow. I’m brutally honest. Always.

Archer knows it too, that motherfucker. It was like he set that entire deal up. He knew I was interested in Bryn and he knew she would tempt me. Always one step ahead, that guy.

The field employees start to slowly trickle in, and my phone starts blowing up with emails, text messages, and phone calls. The workday has officially kicked off, so I decide to pack it in and reluctantly head for the office. I know Bryn’s there; I see her car in the parking lot. As I walk through the vineyard, I go over the various scenarios that could be awaiting me within the building:

Bryn, wearing her hair down and clad in some sort of sexy skirt and button-up shirt combo with her cleavage on display.

Or Bryn, back to normal with her hair pulled into a tight bun and the baggy beige ensemble I’ve come to depend on.

Worse, maybe there will be a combo Bryn sitting behind her desk: hair down, beige pants and top on, those pretty eyes enhanced with cosmetics, all of it designed to drive me absolutely wild with lust. That Bryn just might do me in—every facet of her on display, making me want her.

Clearly I have too much time on my hands if I’m coming up with all of these ridiculous thoughts. I need to focus on the most important task at hand. Today’s Monday and the grand reopening is Friday. There’s still so much to do for this giant event it’s not even funny.

And Bryn is pretty much handling everything—consulting me along the way, of course.

Hell.

I enter the building, the cool air greeting me. It’s blessedly silent, and I walk down the hall toward my office, nerves eating at my gut as I roll up first one sleeve, then the other of my navy blue button-down. I’m wearing jeans and my work boots, thankful for the casual atmosphere. Every time I have to put on a monkey suit, I feel ridiculous, uncomfortable.

So not my thing.

I enter the outer office where Bryn’s desk is and stop short, my eyes widening at the sight before me. It’s Bryn, bent over the file cabinet that sits just behind her desk, her very fine ass waving in the air as she searches through the files.

The fact that I can actually see the shape of her ass tells me she’s wearing something completely different than usual. Second clue, there’s not a hint of beige or tan or khaki in sight.

The dress is black, with a delicate floral print in hints of green and turquoise. The flared skirt stops just above her knee, which means if she was bent over the cabinet much farther, I’d be looking at her panties.

Just the word panties makes my entire body twitch in anticipation. Those long, bare legs make my gut twist and her scent washes over me, sweet and so uniquely Bryn I’m afraid I might do something fucking crazy.

Like sneak up on her, wrap my hands around her waist and tug her close. Let her feel exactly what she does to me.

Deciding I shouldn’t surprise her, I clear my throat, letting her know I’ve arrived. A little gasp escapes her and she stands up straight, pushing the drawer in with a loud slam as she turns—in black high-heeled shoes that fuel all sorts of instant fantasies—to face me.

“Matt! Um, Mr. DeLuca, good morning.” She runs her hands down the front of her dress, her expression self-conscious, her movements agitated.

The dress fits her like a dream. I can see the shape of her full breasts, the nip in her waist, the flare of her hips. Her arms are completely exposed, slender and graceful and she lifts one, smoothing her elegant hand over her hair in a most definite nervous gesture.

Her hair just so happens to be pulled back but not like usual. It’s in a loose braid, and a few wisps curl around her face, emphasizing the exotic slant of cheekbones I’ve never noticed before.

Good God, my assistant is smoking-ass hot.

“Morning,” I say, clearing my throat, but the word comes out more like a strangled croak. “You look . . . ah . . . nice.”

She darts behind her desk and lands in her chair, pulling it up close, almost like she’s using her desk as some sort of protective shield. Too late, I’ve already seen her, and I wholeheartedly approve. “Thank you.”

I don’t know what else to say. All sorts of questions are running through my brain. Like, What happened? Why did you go shopping with Ivy and Marina? What made you decide to give up beige? Is this a temporary thing or permanent, because I don’t know if my heart can take it, seeing you like this every single day.

Instead, I go for the safe and boring. It’s easier. Less risky.

“Did you have a nice weekend?” I slowly approach her desk, noticing the way her fingers shake slightly when she picks up a pile of paper, straightens it and then puts it to the side.

Interesting.

“I did, thank you. How about you?” She picks up a pen and taps it against the edge of her pursed lips. Lips covered by a slick of pale peach gloss, I might add.

It was fucking great. I went and golfed with my best friends, we made a new bet that I can’t touch any woman—including you—for the next forty-five days and then I saw a picture of you and your new look. I jerked off twice, not that seeing your photo with all that sexy-as-fuck hair is related—no, not at all. Then I come to work and see you like this, and all I can think about is how much I want to get my hands on you. All over you.

“It was fine,” I answer, stopping just in front of her desk. She looks up at me, and my gaze drops to the elegant line of her neck, her exposed collarbone. She’s wearing a delicate gold necklace with a little charm dangling from it. I can’t quite tell what it is.

All I know is I want to fucking kiss her right there, where her skin is probably soft and sweet and scented. Follow the thin, tempting line of the necklace, kiss her all around her neck, her nape, her collarbone. Lick and nibble and make her moan.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like me to do for you this morning?”

Her sweet, sultry and slightly trembling voice knocks me from my thoughts and turns them even dirtier, if that’s possible.

Why yes, Miss James. I’d love it if you could perch your pretty little ass right on the edge of your desk, slowly lift your skirt and spread your legs so I can see what you’re hiding under there. Maybe lick your peach glossed lips and say something subtly filthy like, “I’ve got something I’d like you to do, Mr. DeLuca. How about . . . me?”

I blink, hard. Twice. Trying to push the image of Bryn inviting me to fuck her from my head, but it’s just no use. She’s all I can see. Her hands braced behind her on the desk, her spread legs dangling, the skirt of her dress bunched around her waist. I can imagine her wearing skimpy black lace panties, panties I can see right through.

She fucking works for you! Get your mind out of the gutter.

Damn, the state board of equalization could have a field day with me. I’m a pervert of the highest degree.

“Let me make a few calls and check my emails. I’m sure there’s plenty I’ll need you to do today, like usual. This week is going to be a busy one,” I say, my voice brusque as I turn away from her desk and head toward my office door. “You’ll probably need to work late all week, just warning you.”

That statement conjures up more images, ones I hurriedly push out my brain so they don’t clog it all up and distract me again.

“I don’t mind,” she calls after me. “I have a list of things I’m going to follow up on. I’m calling the caterer right now because there are still a few unresolved items, including the final headcount for the party Friday night. I’ll come see you in a bit so we can go over everything.”

“Sounds good,” I say as I open my office door and slam it shut behind me.

My breathing erratic like I just ran around the bases at top speed, I collapse in my chair. Exhaling loudly, I lean my head against the back of it, staring at the ceiling. Bryn’s pretty face, those sexy glossed lips still forefront in my mind.

Holy hell. She looks freaking amazing. Combine all that with her heady scent, her sensible work ethic, that curvy figure, her dependability, those damn black shoes that are giving me heart palpitations, and I’m a dead man.