Page 25 of Legs

Sophia.

She was a few feet away—the woman who’d used me, chewed me up, and spat me out. The woman I hadn’t seen in two fucking years. Her blond hair was shorter, no longer to her waist, but her lips still shone red, her ample curves emphasized in a tight red dress. The dress we’d bought together in Greece. That was also where I’d purchased the engagement ring she’d refused. I stumbled back, history and memories slamming into my chest.

What a goddamn week. First the blind Pinot Noir tasting, a sip of my family’s wine secreted onto my tongue. Now Sophia.

Rachel appeared in front of me and placed her hand on the center my chest. My heart nearly leapt into her palm. “You okay?” she asked.

Our first round in the cellar, the same sympathy had softened her face. Right before she’d marched over and sat beside me. Her position now blocked Sophia from my view, and bitterness redirected my shock. “My ex is here, and I haven’t seen her in a couple years.”

Instead of removing her hand, she flattened her palm. “I’m guessing the relationship didn’t end well?”

Understatement of the century. “If her turning down my proposal constitutes not well, then yes, I’d agree.”

She glanced over her shoulder, still touching me. “The blond?”

I grunted, pulled between preserving Rachel’s closeness and getting the hell out of Dodge. I chose immobility.

And maybe Sophia’s appearance was a gift. A way to bury our past and, more important, a way to get Rachel alone. Convince her to hear me out. Plus, she could use my help. I placed my hand over hers, locking her palm against my chest. “I need a favor.”

She flexed her fingers, and her nails bit through my shirt. “A favor because you spent an hour flirting with me, then blew me off?”

That hurt almost as much as seeing Sophia. “I want to explain that, and I’d like to show my ex, Sophia, I’ve moved on. If you play along, I’ll come clean about my shitty behavior and help you with the Cab tasting.”

She stiffened, frustration in the set of her jaw. Unsure if I’d made headway, I added, “Were you planning on tossing a green pepper in your basket? You can’t study Cabernet Sauvignon without it.”

Her gaze darted from the green pepper display to her basket, then back to my face. Her hand relaxed under mine. “You have a deal. But only because I need to nail that tasting.”

“Of course,” I said. Except she wanted to nail me, too. She’d admitted as much last session.

Not wanting to give her a moment to rethink, I placed her basket by our feet and wrapped my other arm around her waist, pulling her against me. “This okay?”

She pressed her breasts to my chest, a soft sigh puffing against my cheek. “Yeah, okay.”

I was more than okay. I should have been a mess, the acid left in Sophia’s wake still eating at me, but Rachel dulled the ache. She also revved my libido, my cock thickening at the contact. Sophia was examining broccoli, filling her cart, working our way. I focused on Rachel, the freckles dotting her cheek, the silkiness of her blouse under my grip. I brushed my lips over her jaw. Then I stole a taste, just below her ear, savoring the feel of her. She all but melted.

The woman wanted to nail me, all right, and the feeling was mutual.

A thousand emotions should have been warring, Sophia’s reappearance something I’d dreaded, but I could only focus on one: craving. Desire for Rachel. We were in a public place, kids hanging off grocery carts, men and women ticking through their shopping lists, but Rachel’s hips were pressed to mine. Her hair tangled with the scruff on my cheek, need in her breathy sounds. My resentment toward Sophia was still palpable, but holding Rachel close dimmed my turmoil.

Unwilling to let the moment pass, I whispered, “Your place or mine.”

Her hips pulled back. “Mine. But only for the tasting.”

She was full of it, intent on denying our attraction. Not that I blamed her. After the stunt I pulled, I was lucky she hadn’t kneed me in the balls. I opened my mouth to say as much, when Sophia passed my field of vision. It was now or never.

I gripped Rachel tighter, pulling her into my side. “Sophia?”

Sophia went rigid at my voice. She glanced at me, then away, then back again. Her mouth opened in shock. “Jimmy? Is that you?”

My transformation the past two years had been gradual. For me, at least. My hair growing longer, the first tattoo, the second, the nipple piercings—parts of myself I hadn’t realized I’d denied. Growing up, all I’d ever wanted was my father’s approval. I’d spend extra hours picking grapes, wave my report card in his face, date the right girls.

Until Sophia. I gave up everything for her, and she threw it in my face.

Here I was, a stronger version of myself in some ways. An asshole, maybe, something I needed to fix, but my confidence had grown. I may not have looked the part of the former heir to one of Napa’s most successful wineries, but I was finally me. I liked sex a little rough. I dug the burn of a tattoo gun digging into my skin, the sharp stab of a piercing needle. Sticking a tight turn on my Harley was a thrill. All these things I’d kept in the shadows were visible to the world, and Sophia barely recognized me.

“It’s been a while,” I said. “Thought you’d moved to New York.”

Her mouth still hung open, until she shook her head. “Jesus, Jimmy. What happened to you?”