Chapter Twelve
Matt
I AM ON top of the f**king world. I fell asleep with Bryn in my arms, her naked body wrapped all around mine, her fragrant hair in my face. We woke up twice in the middle of the night, coming together easily, so easily, both times. The first was by my initiative, when I started kissing her down the length of her body, between her legs, until I had her writhing and coming apart beneath my lips and tongue.
She returned the favor, sucking me so deep inside her mouth I groaned loud enough to probably wake up the entire floor of the hotel. She made me come in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
The second time, she woke me up. It was her turn to rain kisses all over my body, driving me crazy with her lush, wet mouth. She finally grabbed a condom, slipped it on me and then rode me into oblivion, making herself come by grinding against my cock.
That had been hot. So hot I gripped her body and flipped her over so she was pinned beneath me and I drove myself inside her again and again, coming until I was a gasping, exhausted mess.
We collapsed in each other’s arms, slept the rest of the night away until the alarm on my cell phone woke us up, reminding us of our sole purpose for being here.
The Savor conference.
We took a shower together before she slipped into a robe and snuck into her room, where she continued to get ready. We then took a taxi together to the conference since the weather was shit.
I held her hand the entire ride over, our fingers linked casually together, a representation of our relationship and how I was feeling. Usually that sort of shit scares me to death but not this time. Not with Bryn. I want her in my life. I don’t care that she works for me. Hell, she can become my partner, helping me run the winery, making decisions—everything she already does.
I love the idea so much I know I’m going to mention it to her later tonight when we meet up again after the day’s activities at the conference are over. She might balk and say she doesn’t deserve the position, and that’s one thing I’ve realized since I’ve started working with her: Bryn doesn’t believe in herself very much.
She should though. She’s talented and smart and keeps me on track like no one else. She offers thoughtful opinions and is always, always thinking ahead when it comes to the business. DeLuca Winery is always at the forefront of her thoughts and she’s exactly what I need.
Bryn is all I need.
I move through the day like a giddy ass**le in love, which is sort of how I feel. I can’t concentrate, can’t focus on what the speaker is saying at a very important, highly anticipated keynote I’m sitting in on. Instead I bounce my foot against the floor, thinking of last night. How Bryn felt in my arms. The taste of her ni**les. The sounds she makes and what she looks like when she comes. That satisfied little smile that curled her lips this morning when I rolled her over and told her she should join me in the shower.
Yeah, I can’t let any of that go. I don’t want to let any of it go. I really think Bryn and I could make this happen.
First I need to confirm that she’s interested in taking it further than a simple affair while we’re out of town.
When I finally make it back to the hotel, I know she’s already there since she texted me about an hour ago. I’m eager, ready to tell her my grand ideas about our personal and business future together, planned when I should’ve been listening to the state of the future of winemaking.
Ah well, f**k it. I’d rather think about Bryn.
But the moment I enter my hotel room I can sense the mood has changed. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed—I gave her a key before we left earlier—her head bent as she scans through something on her phone. Her shoulders are slumped, her hair falling forward and shielding her face. There’s something wrong.
I can feel it in the air.
“Hey.” I say, letting the door shut softly behind me. “You all right?”
She lifts her head, her watery gaze meeting mine, and my heart lurches in my chest. She’s been crying. Why? Over me?
God, I hope not.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I rush toward her, and she holds out her phone, averting her head so she doesn’t have to look at me.
“Read this,” she says, her voice rough with unshed tears.
I take the phone from her, see that she’s brought up an article from a prominent gossip site. There’s a hazy photo of Bryn and me at the window, her skirt bunched around her waist, white panties on brief display. You’d have to be an idiot not to realize what we’re doing. I’m standing behind her, my hands resting on her hips.
The headline alone makes my heart drop into my toes:
Former Baseball Player Matt DeLuca Rounds the Bases With His Secretary!
“Shit,” I say aloud as I sit heavily on the edge of the mattress right next to her, skimming the article. It goes on about Bryn and me, how she’s worked for me since I took over the winery, and we’ve been having a heated affair for months. The unidentified source talks about our supposed affair and how it will be the eventual demise of my new business venture if I don’t watch it.
The final nail in the coffin? The source goes on to say I’m just like my father, who’s been embroiled with one scandal after another ever since the beginning of his career with the Oakland A’s:
“Like father, like son, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Though at least the dad always seems to land on his feet. We’ll see if his son can do the same.”
“Who the f**k could’ve done this?” I ask grimly, thrusting the phone back toward her. I have my suspicions. I just don’t want to say them out loud yet. “We need to figure out who’s behind every word of this stupid, deceitful article.”