Sour Grapes (The Blue Plate Series) (20 page)

I swallow a gulp of wine and say, “Where’s Bordeaux? I was hoping she’d greet me with one of her slobbery kisses.”

“She’s chasing the peacock,” he says.

“That’s terrible. That poor bird must be traumatized.”

“Nah. Merlot—that’s the peacock—taunts Bordeaux. He’ll swat at her with his tail and try to bite her,” he says. “I try to tell Bordeaux it’s Merlot’s way of flirting with her, but she isn’t hearing it.”

“So that means you’re out here, stroking your . . . ego and imagining your own private Bacchanalia?”

“I love it when you’re a smart-ass, Marge.” Ryan pushes his glass away and scoots closer, placing a hand on the dip of my waist, the perfect shape for his palm to rest. “Besides, as I recall, Bacchanalias were essentially giant, drunken orgies.”

“Ah, so you got that all out of your system in college?” I tease.

“Well, there’s that,” he says. “But you know the problem with orgies?”

“They’re sticky?”

Ryan smiles, but not the wicked one I expect. “The problem with orgies,” he says, trailing a soil-stained finger along my jaw, down my neck, and across my collarbone, “is that I’d have to share the one person I find I’m entirely too possessive of.” He’s near enough for me to feel his body heat and see the intensity in his eyes. “And I don’t share.”

His words are designed to elicit a reaction, but I’m still shocked at the primal, pleased response they pull from my core. I know how dangerous it is for me to yearn to belong to this man, but as Ryan stares at me as if I’m the only thing he sees, as if I’m the only thing he may ever see, I find it impossible to quash the desire to be his and his alone. I barely resist the urge to say so, reminding myself that I’m here for a short time, that there’s a whole life of responsibilities in Dallas I still have to face. I can’t run forever; it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

“But I digress. And no, the reasons you mentioned aren’t why I’m out here all alone.” He stares at the stars winking in the inky darkness. Finally he says, “Life isn’t always the storybook adventure you dream of as a kid. It can be exhausting and monotonous and disappointing. At times even cruel. Then I come out here when it’s dark and peaceful and look around at the land that’s never let me down, and I remember how damn lucky and grateful I am to claim this as my life.”

A knot forms in my stomach at the truth in his words. Growing up I truly believed my life would be the privileged, romantic ride promised to me. But if these past several months of bitterness, heartache, and frustration have taught me anything, it’s that you have to seek out your own happiness and take ownership of it. Treasure and protect it. Because you never know when it could all be ripped away from you.

“Not to mention, I was waiting for you to arrive so I could congratulate you on evicting your now former friends,” he continues, squeezing my hip. “It’s not every day someone gets the privilege of doing that.” After the girls loaded their bags into Samma’s car and drove away, I called Ryan and told him what happened.

“It was surprisingly easy to do,” I say, remembering how Samma had not only missed the truth of Ryan’s character, but had boiled him down to a plaything to be bought and paid for.

“Perhaps it was good practice,” Ryan says, distracting me from the anger building in my chest.

“Practice? Do you need me to evict a few people from your life?” I ask. “Toss Moose and Possum to animal control?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of you getting a good feel for removing other cancerous relationships. The first one has to be the hardest.”

Ryan’s referring to my mother, that much is clear, and while the idea is tempting and something I’ve considered on more than one occasion, it’s not realistic. Because cutting out cancerous cells carries a price—more often than not you have to take some healthy ones, too. Which means exorcising my mother from my life may damage my relationship with my father in an irreversible way, possibly even result in me losing him altogether. That’s something I won’t ever allow to happen.

Ryan’s expression turns serious. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go to the hospital with you. How’s Joy? Is she making progress?”

The mention of Grammy J triggers a familiar pinch of guilt in my chest. I clear my throat and say, “She managed to cover half the distance of the hallway using a walker. She gritted her teeth and sweated the whole time, but she didn’t complain once. Her surgeon said he’s never treated someone more stubborn than my grandmother.”

“Joy’s feisty, that’s for certain,” Ryan says. “When will she be released?”

“Day after tomorrow, if she behaves and does exactly as instructed,” I say. “And thanks for sending along Moose, Bonnie, and Tiffany today.”

“I didn’t. They came on their own because they wanted to. Because they care about you.”

I nod, a half smile lifting a corner of my mouth. It still feels strange knowing I’m surrounded by the kind of people who’d drop everything to be there when you need them. For several seconds, we’re both quiet, looking off into the distance and listening to the wind sweep through the grapevines. Then Ryan laughs to himself.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “I was just imagining the conversation the girls must have had during their four-hour car ride back to Dallas.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was filled with a rampage of insults directed at me. That, and spreading gossip, are all Piper, Samma, and Faye are good for.”

Shaking his head and chuckling, he steals the wine glass out of my grasp and sets it on the ground. Rolling me onto my back, he lowers himself on top of me, relaxing into the cradle of my thighs. “You, Margaret Stokes, never cease to astound me. Your strength. Your ability to take a blow and come back swinging.”

The warmth of his breath caresses my cheeks. I only need to raise my head a fraction of an inch for our lips to touch, but I hold off, allowing the anticipation to grow. Even though we’re surrounded by acres of grapevines, miles from the nearest person, there’s something reckless and thrilling about being in the wide open like this.

Ryan stares at me with barely contained hunger in his eyes, as though he’s contemplating all the things he plans to do to me and knowing he has all night to accomplish them. Then his mouth covers mine, and
o
h, the wait was worth it
. He kisses me, slow and tender, so different from the urgent, greedy ones I’m accustomed to, but no less capable of making me feel sexy and alive.

His tongue glides along my lower lip as I slip my hands under his shirt, my fingers tracing along the dip of his spine, the slope of his back, over his broad shoulders and down again, relishing in the smooth skin stretched over muscle and sinew. The earth is hard and uneven beneath me, but I don’t care, my mind is solely focused on how good the weight of his body feels pressed against mine.

My hands travel farther down and grab his ass, drawing him closer. Groaning in approval, Ryan deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside, tasting, teasing. He cups my breast through my dress, and involuntarily I arch into his palm. His knuckles graze across the tight peak of my nipple, and a low moan escapes my throat, goose bumps erupting all over my skin despite how hot it is tonight.

I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling at the roots, which elicits another groan from him, more strangled than before. “Do it again,” he says. His voice sounds so husky it’s more like a vibration. I comply, tugging more solidly on the silky strands and lightly digging my nails into his scalp. His breath fills my ear, just as ragged as my own.

Ryan breaks away long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, before bending down to trail kisses over the shell of my ear, along my jaw, across my collarbone. His teeth nip my tender flesh. Everywhere he touches is fire. My heart clangs like a bell against my ribs, strong and fast, and I wonder if he can hear it.

Reaching between us, my arms shaking with nerves and excitement, I unfasten his belt and release the buttons on his jeans. When I feel his erection straining against his boxer briefs rub my most sensitive spot, I gasp, which quickly morphs into a whimper. I buck up into him, scraping my teeth across his bare shoulder and tasting salt and something sweet on my tongue. Ryan lets out a sexy grunt in response, the one that drives me insane and makes warmth pool low in my belly.

Lifting himself up, he leans back on his heels and looks at me with dark, hooded eyes. “I’ve wanted you out here since I saw you sitting at the bar in The Tangled Vine, drinking my wine and pretending to hate it,” he says, sliding his hands under the skirt of my dress and pushing the material up my thighs so it gathers around my waist.

“You wanted me on my back in the dirt?” I ask, my voice shaking a little.

“I wanted you beneath the open sky, smelling of fresh earth and curling around me, wild and hungry,” he says. My breath hitches at his words, the desire no doubt evident on my face.

Crowned in moonlight, a breeze ruffling his hair, Ryan watches my expression as his fingers play at the edge of my thong, hook around the elastic hem, and drag the thin, delicate lace over my hips and down my legs. His gaze locks on the part of me that’s exposed, and I feel myself flush under his appraisal. Ryan murmurs what sounds like
beautiful
, then plants slow, wet kisses along my ankle, my calf, my inner thigh. I squirm as the stubble on his face brushes the sensitive skin.

Meeting my eyes again, he grins wickedly—he doesn’t play fair, and I love every second of it—and pushes two fingers inside me. Liquid heat boils through my veins, building and coiling in my stomach, so intense I cry out, a plea for him to put me out of my misery. Ryan flashes another devilish smile before gripping the outside of my thighs, spreading them wider, and dipping his head between my legs to place his mouth where I’m wet and throbbing.

My head falls back against the ground as my body bows off the blanket. Burying my hands into his hair, I say, “Oh God. Don’t stop.”

Ryan never lets up on his perfect rhythm, his mouth sucking and licking, his tongue circling. Sounds of pleasure fall from my lips, echoing through the air. He slips two fingers inside me again, sending my hands searching for something, anything, solid to hold on to, but there’s only soft, heady earth under my palms.

My thighs are trembling, my stomach tense and tight, my body consumed with a tingling sensation. I’m right there, hovering at the edge. Then he gives a hard sweep of his tongue and a twist of his wrist, and I scream as my orgasm tears through me, white hot, causing my hips to jerk up into his mouth and my muscles to clench around his fingers. My chest is heaving with my labored, uneven pants, and my dress is damp with sweat.

It takes a moment for my euphoria to calm, but eventually I push myself up on my elbows and stare at him. There’s a smug smile on his face, which complements his messy, unruly hair thanks to my fingers. His stomach muscles contract with his ragged breathing, his skin glistening.

“Come here,” I say, digging my heels into his ass to nudge him forward.

Ryan moves up my body and captures my mouth, the taste of me still heavy on his tongue. The weight of his erection presses against my inner thigh through the soft cotton of his briefs, and I reach down to free it, but he gingerly grabs my hand and shakes his head. “I want this to be about you,” he says.

No one has ever made the experience only about me. “Why?”

“Because you deserve nothing less,” he says, then kisses me again.

Ryan settles on his back, pulling me against him and wrapping an arm around me. I rest my head on his chest, still slick with sweat, and listen to his heartbeat drum against my ear, almost hypnotic in its rhythm. I idly trace a finger along the ridges of his abs while his hand runs the length of my spine, my arm, the curve of my hip, over and over in a circuit.

For several minutes we lie there in silence. Above us, the sky appears close enough to touch, the moon high and bright. A welcome breeze sweeps over us, bringing relief from the burning heat of our intertwined bodies and the outside temperature.

“What’s going to happen with the Inn now?” Ryan asks after a while, his voice so deep and resonant I can feel the vibrations against my cheek.

“How do you mean?”

“While Joy recuperates,” he amends.

“I’m managing it,” I say, as if this should be obvious.

“And after she’s fully healed? Are you staying?” He keeps his tone even, controlled, but there’s something guarded underneath.

I fall quiet. Lying in the crook of Ryan’s arm, warm and relaxed, I realize I can’t possibly be objective in making such a huge decision, even if the idea has been whirling around in my head almost nonstop since Ryan brought it up during our mud fight. If I were to leave Dallas and move to Wilhelmsburg permanently—which I’m not at all convinced I’m ready to do—it’d be in large part because of the man holding me, the man who means more to me than even I understand. But no matter how wonderful Ryan is, or how amazing he makes me feel, I cannot, will not, run from one man to another or hide from my responsibilities forever. I’d need to be fully committed to something more than Ryan, something bigger and more permanent than the two of us.

“Margaret?” Ryan asks when I don’t respond.

I look up at him, my hair draping over my shoulders like a veil. “And wreak havoc on your fall flavors?” My tone sounds playful—it’s safer than confessing the thoughts racing through my mind.

His gaze searches my face, and it feels as though he’s peering deep inside me and understanding my emotions without me needing to say anything aloud. “Funny thing about flavors, Marge, is that every now and again, one comes along and destroys your palate for anything else.”

“Please,” I say, affecting an air of casualness I don’t feel. “I’ve seen your cellar. Your tastes are varied and eclectic. Each season there’ll be something new to savor.”

His eyebrows knit together. “How do you still not understand the depth of my feelings for you?” Ryan threads his fingers through my hair. His expression has gone soft and still, and the weight of his stare pins me in place. “I love you.”