“It’s loud!” Emma said, keeping pace beside me.

I nodded. “You okay?”

“Better than okay. This is amazing.”

Carefully, I placed my hand on her lower back and guided her inside, showing her how to put on her headphones and talk into her microphone.

The pilot smiled at us and gave us a thumbs-up, which Emma returned with a grin before screaming into her microphone.

“What on earth made you think of a helicopter?”

“It’s a great way to travel.” I returned her grin as we lifted into the air and began our journey. The whole way, Emma gripped my hand, almost like she was afraid she might fall out of the helicopter without my support, and I gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

I shook my head. “You’ll see soon enough.”

The city skyline became nothing by glittery peaks and gray valleys as we ascended, and Emma stared down in amazement, pointing at the tiny skyscrapers with her mouth agape.

“This is incredible.”

“It is nice, isn’t it? It’s even better from the front.”

“You can fly one of these things?” Wide-eyed, she stared at me, and I nodded again.

“It’s a passion of mine,” I admitted, again revealing more of myself without even realizing it until it was done.

How did she manage that? To draw me out of the titanium shell I’d built around myself so easily?

“You should have piloted. I’d love to see you fly,” she replied with a grin.

“Maybe next time.”

Damn it. Not a promise, per se. But with every moment we spent together, I was digging in deeper. Committing more. Protecting myself less.

All it took was one squeeze from her soft little hand to send that thought skittering away again.

I was happier than I’d been in days. Years, maybe. No fucking way I was going to let myself ruin it.

We soared over the city, then past the rocky coastline of Massachusetts, taking the scenic route as I’d instructed our pilot. Finally, we came to rest on the helipad my favorite winery had added last year at my request.

I thanked the pilot with a nod and helped Emma from the helicopter. Then I guided her away again as the wind whipped our faces and the pilot ascended, leaving us alone at last.

When the helicopter was a speck in the air, the buzz of the blades was replaced by the gentle hum of bugs and birds in the woods beyond. I took Emma by the hand, leading her toward the entrance of the winery, and the owner came out to greet me per usual.

“Mr. Kingsley, we haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hey, Edgar, great to see you again. You have our room ready, I trust.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Kingsley. Absolutely.”

Edgar’s gaze wandered to Emma, and if I didn’t know he was happily married—to a man—I might have slugged him.

“Edgar, I’d like you to meet Emma.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear.” Edgar extended his hand to Emma.

“You too, Edgar. Really nice to meet you.”

“Your cart is ready.” Edgar motioned toward the golf cart that sat a short distance away on a gravel path.

I hopped in the driver seat and Emma slid in next to me, and we took off down the path toward the private tasting room I’d reserved for the day. Admittedly, Edgar wasn’t happy with me when I told him to move the small wedding party he had scheduled because I’d like to bring a date here today, but he made it happen.

“This is stunning, Gavin. It’s so peaceful here.” Emma’s voice was in awe as we drove through the picturesque pathway to the vineyards. Huge old oak trees and towering pines were set against rolling hills, and ahead, acres and acres of grapevines twined around trellis posts.

“Here’s our stop. I hope you’re hungry.” I pointed ahead to an intimate tasting room. The small stone building was covered in Boston ivy and smelled powerfully from the rows of clay pots filled with every herb imaginable.

“Mr. Kingsley!” Cecily, the sommelier, waved vigorously at us as we pulled up.

“Do you ever get tired of that greeting?” Emma asked me.

I shook my head and took her hand, leading her inside the tasting room. Cecily beckoned us forward.

“Good afternoon. We’ve paired a few of your favorite wines with some local seasonal treats selected by our chef. Please enjoy. I’ll be around in the vineyard if you should need me.” And with that, she was gone, stepping out the French doors of the private cottage and closing them behind her.

The winery had pulled out all the stops. Mountains of cheeses, mounds of figs, crystal bowls filled with amber honey, pillows of spiced butters, and an array of homemade breadsticks covered the elegant table alongside a selection of my favorite wines—red, white, and even rosé. Each was labeled with a suggested food pairing, and Emma ran her fingers over the elegant tabletop as she read each tiny sign.

“You arranged for all of this?” she asked softly. “How did you even know about this place?”

“When you go to as many events as I do, you end up trying a lot of wine. This is my favorite. I called and asked them to set up a special date for us today.”

She shook her head. “All this . . . it’s incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let’s dig in.”

Emma didn’t need to be told twice. Picking up one of the earthenware plates from a corner of the table, she loaded her plate with stuffed figs, fresh grapes, goat cheese, and olive-oil breadsticks before pouring herself a small measure of red wine.

We took our plates to the small seating area that overlooked a large picture window, sinking down into plush leather armchairs, our plates balanced on our knees.

“It looks like you’ve gotten a good amount of work done on your grandmother’s place,” I said.

She beamed. “Did you notice? It’s been incredible. All the moldings are fixed, and I found an old rocker just like she used to have by the bay window. It’s really coming along.”

“Who did you hire?” I asked, taking a sip of red wine.

She blinked. “Hire?”

“To do the work for you?”

“Nobody.” She took a bite of her fig and cheese. “I watched some very informative YouTube videos, though.”

“You did all that yourself?”

Emma nodded, and I found myself yet again amazed by her.

“Impressive.”

“I like to think so.” She grinned. “I may have to get a contractor for my kitchen counters soon, though.”

“Or you could entrust things to a team of brothers you know,” I offered. “We’re pretty handy.”

She grimaced. “I don’t know about all that. You and Cooper together, in my house . . . all that testosterone and masculine energy. I’m not sure I could handle that.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Emma

As I watched Gavin take another sip of chilled pinot grigio, a sense of euphoria washed over me. I had no idea he had it in him to plan something so extravagant.

And against all odds, I was falling for this man, for his dominant personality, sexy attitude, and even sexier physique. He was a high-maintenance man, unlike anyone I’d ever been around before. At times, he was such a hard-ass, so demanding and intense. Other times, it was like he was my own personal Prince Charming, taking me away on a helicopter, making sure I’d eaten, and telling me I was beautiful. It was all so dizzying.

This certainly felt like more than we’d agreed to. I was supposed to accompany him to business dinners and charity events, not be whisked away for romantic afternoons at his favorite vineyard.

“Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking,” he said.

“What?”

“You don’t really drink and I’ve brought you to a vineyard. It’s not my smoothest moment.”

Smiling, I leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Are you kidding? I love it here.”

And I loved this side of Gavin even more. He was being so real and vulnerable, sharing a piece of himself with me.

Despite my heart’s warning, despite the alarm bells ringing in my head, I was developing real feelings for this man. Briefly, I wondered if I should end this—demand that he and his brother release me from this strange arrangement, and go off on my own to collect myself before I made a horrendous mistake. But the other half of me knew it was already too late. I was Gavin’s, like it or not.