This?

I have no idea how to respond, and it occurs to me that may be exactly what he’s going for.

I clear my throat. “So you see, I can’t possibly meet you at your place tonight.”

More waiting.

Now his smile is definitely forced. The tension around his lips and jaw is palpable.

Finally, he speaks. “After, then. Nine o’clock.”

What? He’s not going to demand that I break the date? He’s not going to demand to know who I’m seeing? He’s not going to demand…anything?

I may love Dale Steel to within an inch of my life, but I don’t know him.

I don’t know him at all.

I want to go to his place more than I want my next breath. I’d gladly break the date with Brendan if I thought Dale and I had a future. But I don’t know how Dale feels about me. I know only that—despite his initial criticism of my hair out of a bottle—he’s attracted to me physically and he wants me. That much is more than obvious.

But emotionally? He’s a closed book. He may feel nothing at all for me other than lust.

I like being lusted over. I like sex.

With Dale, though?

I want more.

I want it all.

And I have to face the fact that he may never be able to give me the love I desire.

The love I deserve.

Do I give up a date with a man I like, but don’t love, for a night of passion with a man I do love but who may never love me back?

Do I follow my head or my heart?

I’ve never had to make a decision like this, for although I’ve had my share of dates with men I like, I’ve never been in love before. My head and heart have always been in sync.

Until now.

I inhale. Exhale slowly.

I’ve made my decision.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “The answer is no.”

His tense smile erodes on his face. His green eyes burn with… Is it anger? I can’t tell, except that it’s not anything positive.

I wait.

And I wait.

When I’m convinced he won’t respond, he finally does.

“Change your answer,” he says, his jaw clenched.

God, I want to. I’m ready to sell my soul to the devil himself to have Dale kiss me, touch me, make love to me.

But I have to think with my head, not my heart.

“I’m sorry, Dale. I can’t.”

“You can.”

That voice. That rich Syrah voice. I inhale once more. Exhale. Try to ease the sweet pain in my nipples, the throbbing between my legs.

“I can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow for the tasting.” I turn and leave the tasting room.

I leave the winery and walk to the office building where I parked the car—loaned to me by Talon and Jade—this morning.

Dale didn’t tell me I could leave for the day, but I do anyway. It’s nearly four, and my body is betraying me. I wanted so much to say yes. I wanted so much to cancel my date.

I wanted…

But wanting is no longer enough.

I’ve spent my life taking what I want from men. Being content with sex alone. They were, so why shouldn’t I be?

But now that want has turned to love.

And as much as I yearn for Dale, for his body touching mine, it will no longer suffice.

I sigh.

I’ll give in.

Eventually.

If he keeps trying, that is.

But today, I stand my ground. I show him that I’m not that easy. That though we’re as physically compatible as any two people can be, I need more.

I will no longer settle.

Chapter Twelve

Dale

I want to run after her, tell her I love her. That I’ll do anything to have her.

But I can’t.

Because right now, my rage consumes me, overtakes me, and if I go after her, I’ll take it out on her.

On the woman I love.

The woman I love who’ll be kissing another man tonight.

Darkness surges inside me. I grab a handful of my hair and tug. Hard.

Focus. Have to focus.

Just need to get home, and then I can blow like a fucking volcano. A hurricane. A tornado. Every act of God that destroys…

That’s what I am right now.

I know it deep within my soul.

If only those who tormented me still lived. I’d have an outlet for my wrath.

But they don’t.

That ring was shut down long ago, and those who tortured me are either dead or imprisoned.

So where do I focus my rage?

Where?

Not my family.

And as angry as I am, not Ashley.

I love her. I wish her no harm.

But on her date…

Who is she seeing?

And where did she meet him? She’s been here for little more than a week.

Fuck.

Last night. She and Mom went into town. Mom said Brendan Murphy was taken with her.

That’s it. It’s got to be.

Her plans tonight are with Brendan Murphy.

Fuck him. I wanted to break his nose just hearing Mom say he was taken with Ashley.

Now?

I want to break him.

My fists clench. I want to punch him, kick him, fucking end him.

And as much as I know these feelings are irrational, I don’t care.

I drive home quickly, paying no attention to the road, so blinded am I with rage.

I screech into my driveway, leave the truck, and enter the house. Penny paws at me, but I let her out quickly, making sure she has ample water. She’s only a dog, but I don’t want any witness, human or canine, to what I’m about to do.

I head to the basement of the guesthouse. I’ve converted part of it into a home gym. It gets little use, as the physical nature of my work—and my good genes from Cheri Robertson and Floyd Jolly—who knew?—keeps me in good shape.

Today, though, I’m glad for the Century BOB torso training bag I purchased a while ago when I was studying taekwondo on my own.

Bob’s face is plain and his painted-on hair is blond, but instead I see Brendan Murphy’s red hair and blue eyes staring at me, his strong Irish jaw taunting me, jeering at me.

She’s mine.

She’ll never be yours.

You don’t deserve her.

You’ll never love her.

His last silent words ring untrue. The truth is that I do love Ashley.

But my love for her is what unleashed this wrath in me. Unleashed it on the world.