Dez

W e're finally here. Opening day for InWard Joy Vineyard and Winery. Because, as our spiffy brochures point out, those are two different things. Just one of the many points of trivia guests will learn as part of the tour that Ian's staff will take them on. After a bit of negotiating with the lawyers and the Connor Group — they were surprisingly reluctant to agree; something about tetanus or whatever — a select few will get to try out the grape stomping experience. Although obviously no one else's will end quite the way mine did...

I close my eyes as a full body flashback hits me. I can recall every touch, kiss, and lick in exquisite detail. The way Ian slid inside my body, filling me up perfectly. Him calling me his perfect girl, the way he —

"Where on earth is your mind, sweet Daisy?" His low whisper hums in my ear and dances over my skin. "From the look on your face, I'd say it's descended to the gutter."

A hot blush rises in my face even as my nipples tighten and my core throbs at the sound of his voice. I shut my eyes and attempt to compose myself before I turn around.

Which is a waste of time, because damn. Ian looks so smoking hot I can't even think straight.

He's dressed in a striped button down, and jeans that fit so well they ought to be a crime. He's left the top two buttons undone, showing just enough skin to stir up some not so dormant fantasies, and turned up the wide French cuffs to show off those forearm muscles I drooled over during our photoshoot. That shirt hugs his torso like a second skin, hinting at the sleekly muscled body underneath. It looks so soft and touchable, it must be made from cottontail bunny fur and angel wings. I ball my hand in to a fist so I don't reach out and stroke it.

"It's warm in here." I fib. Ian eyes me with mock pity. I can't blame him; it's a sad attempt to avoid admitting the filthy nature of my thoughts. Better try again.

"I was thinking," I say instead, "that it's an absolute miracle to see you with a smile on your face instead of a scowl."

"I'm not always a cranky bastard, darling," he purrs. "Some days I'm merely a bastard."

I roll my eyes at his foolishness, although I can't deny how much I like seeing this new, playful side of Ian. It feels like getting a peek behind the curtain of his rock star persona. My younger self would've given anything to know what he was really like after too little sleep and too much caffeine. Remembering the reason for his lack of sleep makes me blush all over again. I pick up a brochure and fan myself, as if I can swish those memories away with a stiff breeze.

We survey the mild chaos swirling around us. The staff bustle around putting all the last-minute touches in place. The place has been utterly transformed.

Ian wants InWard Joy to be a real blend of his life. Not just celebrating the height of his celebrity, but all of him. I think we've managed it. I found a florist who was happy to incorporate cuttings from the vineyard into the tabletop display. They've become the star of today's event. Almost all the decor is natural. I was surprised and pleased when Ian insisted on it. But he refused, in his words, "to faff about with a fuck ton of frilly shit" that he couldn't even re-use, and the massive bins he would need sent him over the edge.

The food, too, was Ian's idea. He was determined to combine the native foods of the Pacific Northwest with his English and Southern roots. On that score, at least, The Connor Group was happy to go along with our vision. They're providing catering of locally sourced food prepared from the Hotel D kitchens. They even helped us to source sustainably made dishes and glassware, as well as compostables for one-off events like today. Their head sommelier helped us choose which dishes would go best with the wine.

"How are you so calm?" I ask him. "Most of my clients are absolutely frantic on the first day, even when we're doing a soft opening."

"Everything's ready," he says, almost to himself. "I've done my part. I have to trust that everyone else has done theirs. I let go and let the universe take control."

"Is that why you were out of bed by five, riding around the property?"

He grins, not at all ashamed to be caught out. "Well, I trust the universe, but Mother Nature is another story."

Kel, another member of the Behind Closed Doors staff, is in charge of the day's schedule. She approaches us now, ushering us toward the arriving golf carts full of guests.

Many of the folks on the guest list are Ian's friends and family. Over a long career, he's acquired quite the list. We've also used the Courage fan clubs, running a contest, and have flown out the winners to come visit the winery and receive a special edition of their twentieth anniversary album.

We've sent nearly three hundred invitations. About half have RSVP'd, though because it's a less structured kind of event we aren't sure if folks will simply show up. We've made sure to have tons of food just in case, and found a place to donate leftovers if there's too much. I've also arranged for several local food and wine reporters to be here.

"Do we have time for one more trip around the property?" Ian asks Kel. She's a pro — utterly unflappable. Even though we both know there's no way we can manage it.

"Let me check," Kel replies. She steps away and consults the schedule, making sure there's nothing on there that can moved at this late date.

"Ian, whatever happened to letting the universe take control?"

"Sorry, I was being a bit of a prat." His voice is a husky rumble that makes my nether regions tingle. "I wanted a moment alone. I needed to tell you I'm hoping to drag you into one of these quiet little corners and have my way with you, lovely."

"There's no time for that," I murmur, biting my lip to suppress a grin.

"But now you'll be thinking about it for the rest of the day, won't you?" He arches a brow at me, and that filthy smile of his makes my heart skip a couple of beats.

I'm about to reply when a lovely voice trills "Ian? Darling boy, is that you?"

We turn toward the sound. A striking older woman approaches us. She's the epitome of mature glamour. Her platinum blond hair is mostly covered by one of those enormous straw hat with a wide brim. It frames her face to perfection. Her bright blue eyes sparkle with just the right amount of carefully applied shadow, while her cheeks and lips are done up in a soft flattering pink. She's wearing a lovely summer floral dress in navy with patches of silver shot through it beneath a crisp white blazer, with a navy purse and slingbacks to match. Despite the fact that he looks like Ian, twenty years older, I almost don't notice the handsome gentleman following her, in his navy suit and silver tie.

"Mum." Pure relief shines on Ian's face, and that sexy half smile turns into a full-blown boyish grin. "Dad. I wasn't sure you'd make it." He shakes hands with his father, and kisses somewhere near his mother's cheek. He can't resist giving her a proper hug, though. She allows it for a few moments before pulling back and looking up at her boy.

"Sweetheart, the property looks just wonderful." Her voice is an interesting mixture of the American South and London's Fleet Street. "I cannot imagine how much work it all was."

"I've had quite a lot of help," he says. "Especially from Daisy." They all turn toward me. Ian, for no reason at all, throws his arm around my shoulder.

"Mum, Dad, this is Daisy Green. She's my professional minder."

"Is that right?" his mother asks. She turns those sharp eyes on me. Uh oh. I know that look and that tone. That's the way your mama gets when you introduce her to the ‘friend' who you've already told her is absolutely not your girlfriend and could she please be cool about it?

"Daisy, these are my parents, James and Barbara Worthington." I'm confused for a moment, before I remember that Courage's manager added Jones to Ian's last name to make him sound more posh. Meeting his parents now, it seems like the manager was gilding the lily. Ian's folks are extremely posh as is.

"It's lovely to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington," I say, casually slipping out of Ian's embrace. "I've been wondering about you."

"Is that right? Why is that?" James asks.

"Well, Ian's been wonderful to work with. He's a very, um, creative problem solver. I'm assuming he picked up those skills at your feet?"

"Ooh," Barbara says, offering her spouse a brilliant smile. "She's got your number, James."

She turns back to me. "Flattery is the quickest way to my husband's heart."

"I promise you, it's the truth," I reply. "I've enjoyed working with Ian very much."

Mr. Worthington lets out an amused laugh. "Interesting. I've often found working with him to be an exercise in frustration."

"Dad!" Ian protests. "I'm trying to get Daisy on side. You're not helping."

He shoots me a wink. I don't return it. I ignore the tiny frown that settles between his eyebrows.

"You don't work for Ian, then?" his father asks.

"No. I'm with Behind Closed Doors. The Connor Group hired us."

"Not Olivia's company?" Mrs. Worthington asks. At my nod, she beams. "Well, isn't it just the smallest world?"

"Our son Tyler is best friends with Olivia's older brother." Mr. Worthington explains. "The kids all grew up together. Ty sends his regrets, by the way."

"I think now that we've hit our forties, you're required to stop referring to us as ‘the kids,' Dad." Ian's voice sounds more than a little tense.

"At any rate, we're very proud of them," Ian's mother interjects. "Ty is doing something brilliant with the computers. I don't pretend to understand it. All I know is he's very successful in his role. He's a vice president of oh, something or other."

His dad jumps in. "And while Ian's career has been...unconventional, we're thrilled to see him diversify his interests and take on this new business."

I'm not entirely sure how to respond. There's a pained look on Ian's face, beneath the bland smile he wears. I suspect this is a longstanding argument between him and his parents. Their love for him is obvious, but so is their frustration that he didn't choose something respectable the way his brother did.

It's not my place to make them understand his choices. It's not my place...

"Part of the reason I took this assignment was getting the chance to work with Ian," I announce, giving them my best smile. "My friends and I were huge fans of his, back when he was with Courage. Their music really spoke to us. It gave us the language we didn't have for all of our teenaged angst, you know?"

Mr. Worthington's brow inches up the tiniest fraction. "That's an interesting perspective. Perhaps we were not the right age to appreciate them."

"I actually had a poster of him on my wall." Ian's jaw drops as his parents blink at me. I plunge on. "Of the band, I mean. Not only Ian. But their songs were about big feelings, and wanting to be more than I felt I could be. They inspired me. It's why I do this work now. To help others realize their potential."

"Isn't that marvelous?" Mrs. Worthington gives me another one of those sharp, assessing gazes. "I'm impressed that all those years of music lessons helped you to help this lovely young lady."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Ian." Kel's tone is firm, yet apologetic. "It's time for the next phase."

"Thanks, Kel." Ian kisses his mother's cheek a second time, and offers his father a brief salute. "Excuse me, Mum, Dad. I'll catch up with you later. Daisy?"

"Right behind you." I nod at the Worthingtons and quickly follow Kel and Ian.

"That was your fifteen minute warning," she says. I'd built in nice big gaps so that Ian didn't feel rushed at any point in the day. I'm grateful Kel was around to keep us on track. I didn't know how handy that would be in getting away from this awkward conversation.

We're silent as we walk back toward the tasting room. I purse my lips. He's not going to ignore what I said. He can't. Never mind that we're heading into the opening of this winery, one of the biggest days of his career in years. This is too good to pass up.

"I just want to know one thing," he drawls. He's taken on a bit of his parents' mishmash of accents.

"Yes?"

"Which poster was it that you had on your wall? Because we had half a dozen of them, easy."

"Never you mind which one it was," I say primly. "That is between me and my old bedroom door."

"I bet it was the one on Bondi Beach, in those tiny swim trunks. That one was the most popular."

I don't respond. Nothing good can come of this conversation.

"I'm just curious. You've been objectifying me since you were a tiny slip of a girl. I think I deserve?—"

"Oh, my cheese and rice. I. Am. Not. Telling." The heat in my cheeks has probably given it away.

As we pass from one room to the next, Ian grabs my hand and pulls me into his office. I follow him willingly. He sits on the corner of his desk and stares at me until I ask, "What?"

"Are we okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have I done something wrong?" That tiny frown deepens as he folds his arms across his chest. "I want to make sure that you don't regret last night."

I look away, unable to meet his gaze. "No. No. That was... extraordinary. I do not have a single regret about our time together."

"But?"

"But that's personal. This day is all business. I like to keep a clear line of separation between those two parts of my life."

"So no putting my arm around you in front of my parents. Gotcha."

I sigh in relief. "Right. Your mother looks like she's ready to marry you off to the first woman who'll take you. I am not trying to be in the path of that hurricane."

"She'll get over it, I promise you. But you know what?" He takes my hand again and pulls me toward him. Our bodies line up from top to toe, touching at hips and waist. My nipples immediately harden, pressed up against his chest. Ian bends down, touching his forehead to my own.

"What?" I say, breathless.

"We're alone now, aren't we?" My eyes are closed, but I don't need them to picture the sexy smile he's got on his face. I can hear it in his voice.

"We are indeed." I lick my lips. Ian's thumb traces the path my tongue took. I shiver in response.

"And what are we going to do about that?" he asks.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He just slides his hands beneath my hair and pulls me in for an utterly devastating kiss. Ian's tongue explores every facet of my mouth, learning the shape and taste of each breath and gasp. Lust explodes through me as I match him, stroke for stroke. He makes a satisfied noise that rumbles through my mouth, my skin, my body, and I press myself closer into him, trying to get nearer, ready to melt into him and never come up for air.

I should resist. I have every reason not to let this heat build between us. But I can't give this up. I'll never be able to walk away from this man. That thought should scare me, but I'm too far gone to care.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back from me with a self-aware laugh. "Damn, woman. We have to stop, before I end up taking you right here on the bloody desk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I whisper against his lips. He chuckles, and opens his mouth to speak.

Whatever he was going to say is lost in the ether as we both jump at the rattle of the doorknob. We break apart as the door opens, and in walks the last person I expected to see. I must be hallucinating.

"Roger?"

"Hey, baby girl. Long time no see."