Shallow, p.7
Shallow, page 7
Veronica opens the door, pausing for a moment before she says, “I’m giving Rebel a tour of the wine caves tomorrow afternoon for her article. We will be there around three.”
“So?” I blow out a breath, thinking her lecture was over.
“So,” she pauses. “I hope you’ll make a different choice than Ryder has.”
Chapter 7
Rebel
My fingers run over the buffed, damp walls. For someone who writes about food and wine for a living, being allowed to explore a wine cave like this one—at an exclusive winery—is like walking into a temple. I inhale the musky, damp air. It's mixed with the smell of smoky oak. I can’t help but feel peaceful. It’s overwhelming how tranquil this place is.
“Wine caves are one of the most environmentally friendly and efficient ways to store and age wine,” Veronica speaks as if we’re in church. “During the aging process, the wine needs to be kept cool and in high humidity. Hence the tropical temperature in here.”
I flatten my palm on a barrel. “The humidity reduces evaporation by three percent.”
She smiles and nods. “You know wine making.”
“Well,” I exhale. “It is kinda my job.”
“Your job doesn’t suck.”
“Neither does yours.”
“I guess,” she snorts. “These caves keep the barrels at about 55 to 60 degrees. The humidity averages 80 percent. It’s a delicate balance. One mother nature creates.”
I pinch my brows, taking in the tunnel and all its décor. The design is way too perfect to have been created by mother nature. “So, these tunnels and caves were hand-dug?” I question, confused. “I ask because the concrete had me thinking they were blasted.”
“Umm, yeah,” Veronica answers, distracted. Her gaze flickers from me down to her phone. I watch as she silences the ringer and returns her preoccupied focus back to me.
“So, what is it about the winemaker that's so secretive?” I try to sound nonchalant.
She bites her bottom lip before responding. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it's not normal for a winery owner to be so anonymous. So mysterious.” My eyes hold hers, searching her gaze for answers. “Also,” I draw out. “There is all this security strategically positioned around the vineyard. Is he famous or something?”
Before she can answer, her phone buzzes again and she glances at it with an expression of annoyance. “Rebel, I’m sorry, I have to take this call,” she states, already taking her leave. “Will you be okay for a moment in here on your own? I shouldn’t be too long.”
I wave her off. “I’ll be fine. I could spend hours in here, take your time.”
“Thanks.”
I look around. Yeah, these caves weren’t created by mother nature, they were definitely blasted. It’s odd that Veronica wouldn’t know the difference. Shaking my head, I stare at the wrought iron black chandeliers lining the tunnel’s arched ceilings. The ochre tinge emanating from them bathes the entire cave in a warm amber hue. Even the iron sconces on the walls give off the same warm light. It’s all so elegant and dramatic. GV is a state-of-the-art winery, cutting-edge and sleek in design.
The caves are finished in a polished concrete and are accented by a lustrous and posh Spanish design. The room next to this one has an extended reclaimed wood table and chairs. Veronica mentioned they use it for tastings and food and wine pairings. She also pointed out, several times, that GV Wines isn’t open to the public. Any functions here in the caves are private events by appointment or invitation only—this place is oddly sacred.
And off-limits.
I must admit, I’ve written a lot of food and wine pieces and traveled quite a bit, but I’ve never seen a wine cave as elegant as this one. It’s breathtaking. Even the glass elevator to the private residences is art worthy—like a piece that belongs in a museum.
I take a few photos for my article before heavy footsteps approaching have me looking over toward the doorway. Prepared to see Veronica again, I startle when two security guards move into the tunnel with me, flanking the entry. Two more appear behind me. An eerie feeling suddenly presents itself within me as one of them talks into a mouthpiece.
A moment later, a tall, dark shadow begins to emerge from the arched entry, and an ominous feeling runs through the cave’s tunnel, carrying with it a heavy masculine scent.
The security team stands at attention, ignoring me and my heightened sense of awareness and panicked confusion. The dark shadow steps into the light. Authority is emanating from him. All four guards stand an inch taller at his appearance. The tension in the air goes up a notch, and goosebumps run down my arms—not from coldness.
Ever so slowly, the shadow reveals himself in the glow of the amber light.
As he does, all the air leaves me.
The stranger steps closer, and I take a step back.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. He stops when we’re only a foot apart, close enough that I can see the flecks of gray in his eyes. Close enough that I can see the way they seem to darken when he looks at me.
He towers over me, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. His golden hair is slicked back away from his face, accentuating his high cheekbones, strong jawline, and full lips. But it’s his eyes that have always captured me. They’re a deep, stormy color, like the ocean during a storm. And when he stares at me, like he is now, they seem to look right into my soul. Awaken it. It’s as if he’s a part of me, and my soul recognizes that.
He’s wearing an expensive black tailored suit with a white shirt and no tie. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a glimpse of his tanned chest. He looks like he just stepped out of a magazine. As he comes closer, I can see the flecks of gold in his stubble, and the thinnest of lines around his eyes. Time seems to have only made him more handsome. There’s a raw power and sexuality about him that makes my heart race.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice slides over me the same way it did in Paris.
Only he isn’t the same.
Not at all.
He’s become more since I last saw him.
More good looking.
More dangerous.
More mysterious—darker.
Just . . . more.
My heart rate picks up again. It pounds in my eardrums. But I can’t look away from him. His presence has awakened all my senses, again. I grit my teeth, hating how I react to him. Hate is a strong word. I try to remind myself of that. But it’s hard when he makes me feel so . . . alive. Crazy. And peaceful. He steps closer and I take a shaky breath.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice low and concerned.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. At my quiet response, he cocks his head to the side, studying me as if he finds me puzzling, yet amusing. He’s taller than I remember. I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He looks down at me, and for a moment, it’s hard to breathe. He was devastatingly handsome before, but now, he’s even more so.
Stormy eyes hold mine, flashing with a bit of curiosity as he stares at me. “Are you sure?” he asks in a deep, raspy voice that sends shivers down my spine.
Yeah, I still have got nothing.
My palms flatten on my stomach in an attempt not to vomit. My stomach does flip flops at his sudden reappearance in my life. And here of all places. Focused on his looks, I hadn’t noticed that he’d moved closer to me. Now, he’s standing just a tiny breath away.
He smiles with a tired softness around his mouth. When I’d first met him, he was full of callousness; it’s still there, but it feels as if it’s diminished a bit. The energy in the room pulls to him as if he’s a magnet. It’s as if the world around us exists to spin around him.
Shaken and confused, I don’t move. My emotions are all over the place. I can barely move. Forcing myself to look at the ground, I try to get a handle on myself. “What are you doing here?” I manage.
“I’m sorry?”
At the confusion in his tone, I raise my head and look him in the eyes, waiting for him to recognize me. With each second that passes, my heart sinks, and my breathing evens out. My skin is clammy. I can’t tell if it’s from the humidity in the cave or my nervousness.
I take a deep, shaky breath, waiting for a sign of recognition. But . . . there is none.
He just stares at me with a bewildered expression. There is no recollection behind his tired eyes. Feeling as if someone has slapped me across the face, I press my lips together. He doesn’t know who I am. The hurt must be evident on my face. If it is, he doesn’t notice.
He takes another step toward me, and his words are like a knife to the gut. “On behalf of GV Winery, it’s a pleasure to host both you and the magazine,” he states. “I trust that Veronica is getting you everything you need to do your job. Information? Photos?”
I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. All the air rushes out of my lungs, and I feel lightheaded. My vision swims, and my fingers grip my upper arms. When the world finally stops spinning, I take a shaky breath and try to school my features.
It's been twelve years. I've changed just as much as he has, if not more. I shouldn't be surprised that he doesn't recognize me. But it still hurts. I take a step back from him, trying to give myself a moment to compose myself. To regain my confidence and voice.
“Yes.” I swallow and manage a weak smile.
“Veronica thought I should properly introduce myself to you.”
“Did she?” I try not to sound as annoyed as I am.
He dips his chin, looking me in the eyes. “It’s nice to meet you…,” he trails off.
Not knowing what to say or how to feel, I simply exhale, “Rebel.”
“Rebel,” he repeats with a crease in his brow.
Ironically, I’m standing in a room full of wine, and yet, when he says my name, my throat becomes so damn dry. He extends his hand to me, and I just stare at him. Completely dumbfounded. He’s watching me, hesitantly. I’m sure in his eyes I must look like a crazy person. For a split second, I wonder if I should tell him who I am. But the longer I stare at him, the more certain I become that he won’t remember me. And why would he? We only met once, and it was brief. And so long ago.
Disappointment settles into my chest.
A hint of concern falls from his gaze. “I’m Gunner.”
Coming to my senses, I lift my hand and slide my palm over his. When our hands connect, a flame flickers to life. It’s as though every fiber in me recognizes his touch. His grip is firm and warm. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to react to the moment of pleasure that jolts through me at the contact. I look at him; he seems unfazed.
Nothing prepared me for this moment.
When I daydreamed about seeing him again, I thought he’d be excited or surprised.
Never did I think he’d forget me.
I force myself to take a deep breath and respond calmly. “Rebel Wade. Nice to meet you.” My heart rate picks up again as I try to process everything that's happening.
It feels like a dream, but I know it's not.
This is really happening.
He looks down at our hands and then back up at me. A small smile tilts the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. We stand here for a moment, not saying anything.
I right myself a bit. “Is Gunner a first name? Or last?”
“Both.”
Of course, it is.
Thrown off-balance, I inhale through my nose and meet his intense gaze. Why does he have to be so mesmerizing? The man exudes dominance. The first time I’d met him, the long blonde strands of his hair fell across his forehead, framing his narrow cheekbones.
Now, his cheekbones and jawline appear stronger.
Rugged.
A full shadow of blonde facial hair only adds to his I’m sexy as hell appearance. Twelve years ago, it was only a light dusting. His stormy eyes are darker too. Not in color, but there is less light in them if that makes sense. They look like they can reach out into your soul and possess it. Possess you. I want that, to be possessed by him. I like that I’m still drawn to him. The pull he has on me. It’s euphoric, like floating. Or flying. It’s addicting.
His presence is comforting and afflicting all at once. The way he just stands there, watching and assessing me. It’s predatory, yet captivating. I could be in his presence all day, and it wouldn’t be enough. Everything inside of me wilts under his gaze—I melt.
Gunner speaks, causing me to drop my gaze to his lips. “I trust Veronica has taken care of you. Helped you to settle in? Made you comfortable during your stay with us.”
“She’s been very kind.” I can’t hide the hurt constricting my throat.
“Has she been helpful with your article about the winery?” he inquires.
Adrenaline races through my veins at the casual sound of his voice. For some reason, it feels like he’s intentionally trying to avoid knowing me. Pretending I don’t affect him.
Clearing my throat, I nod and squeak, “She has.” I inhale. “The small bit of general and generic wine information she’s gotten off the internet has been mostly accurate.”
His eyes hold mine, setting my nerves on fire. How can he look at my face and not remember me? Remember that night. I’ve never forgotten him—I couldn’t if I wanted to.
“She’s new.” The smooth huskiness in his voice has my stomach twisting.
“I’ve heard,” I whisper.
Our eyes lock.
I wait, willing him to recognize me. Nothing. Instead, with one simple tilt of his head, he has me questioning who he is. How has he had this hold on me after all these years, and yet, he doesn’t even remember me? The unexpected swelling storm he’s causing deep within my soul is overwhelming. Frightening. All consuming. Maybe borderline pathetic.
The sudden urge to know everything about him surges through me. What secrets lie beneath the stormy gray eyes that lack emotion or light, except when they look into mine? I need to know all of it. Out of nowhere, I’m right back where I was all those years ago.
Our intense connection never drifts from one another. Time seems to stand still. His gaze bores into mine, unraveling all the emotions I’ve been hiding away for so long. There isn’t an inch of my skin that doesn’t feel his searing gaze. I try to breathe, but everything hurts—my heart, my lungs. It hurts to be standing in front of him again. I’m gutted.
Veronica walks back in but slows her approach as she looks between us.
“You’ve talked,” she states, sounding taken aback.
I ignore the caution and surprise in her tone and hold Gunner’s gaze.
“I was just leaving,” Gunner says softly.
“Don’t on my account,” Veronica replies quickly.
He offers me a forced smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wade.”
“Wait,” I blurt out, panicked, and grab his wrist.
At the contact, he looks down at where I’m touching him, twisting his face as if in pain. Interesting. “I’m late for a meeting,” he rasps out, as if I’m hurting him deeply.
“Sorry.” I release him as everything spins around me. “I’m to interview you for the article I’m writing,” I ramble, desperate, worried that if he leaves I won’t see him again.
Gunner pulls his arm back, playing with his cuffs. “I’m sorry. I-I can’t.”
“It was part of the agreement with the magazine.” I exhale. “After all, the article is about the winery and its mysterious owner. That’s you. An interview would be helpful.”
“I’m sure Veronica can provide you with all the information you need.”
“What I need is you.” At this, his eyes drag down over my body before lifting and holding mine again. “I mean—” I swallow, pausing. “I need to interview you. Or my boss will kill me,” I go on. “Probably with shellfish, given that I’m highly allergic to it.”
“Does your boss threaten your life frequently?” He sounds mad.
“Only when I don’t do my job,” I joke.
Gunner studies me for a beat. “Fine,” he finally relents.
I release the breath I was holding.
His voice grows thick. “Veronica, please add Ms. Wade to my schedule tomorrow afternoon. Also,” he pauses and smirks. “Please make a note that she’s allergic to shellfish.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Veronica draws out, sounding bored.
He doesn’t look away from me as he backs out of the room, and Veronica and I watch him go. The security detail follows closely behind him as the cave empties.
Veronica clears her throat before she speaks. “Wow, well, that was…intense.”
I bring my hand up to my chest and rub at the pain settled there. I can’t believe he was here. I can’t believe I saw him again. It was intense all right. The word doesn’t even begin to cover what just happened between us. For a moment, I just stare hard at the place where he was standing.
His energy and scent still linger in the spot—I still feel his presence.
“I can’t believe he didn’t remember,” I whisper, feeling as if I’ve been punched.
“Remember what?” Veronica’s voice causes me to open my eyes and glance at her.
My chest hurts. I don’t want to tell her that he’s the guy I met in Paris. For some reason that feels private. And to be honest, I’m not sure she’ll understand my reaction.
“That I was supposed to interview him,” I lie quickly.
Veronica stares at me for a moment before lowering her phone and voice. “A little piece of advice, friend to friend. Underneath the good looks, the expensive suit, and the enigmatic personality, Michael Gunner is not someone you want to get involved with.”
Michael—Michael Gunner is his full name.
“Personally or professionally,” she finishes.
“I don’t understand.” I frown. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Not him per say, the Gunner family. It doesn’t look like it from the outside, but once you’re inside, you soon realize they don’t place a value on anything or anyone. Nothing is sacred. Not humanity. Feelings. Or life. They’re soulless. I know that firsthand, Rebel.”
