Worship And Other Love Rituals

Chapter 9

The rain slapped me across the face with stinging hatred as I ran blindly through the vineyard. Tears and raindrops had blended into an indistinguishable soup on my face. What a foolish, foolish soup I had stirred up! I was utterly lost, soaked to the bone, tears, and snot streaming down my face in ugly unison. The twisted grapevines leered at me like drunken perverts, damp leaves slapping at my skin, mocking my downward spiral.

I thought I heard Ethan calling after me but I was in no state to be found, let alone soothed. No sir, I had well and truly botched this one up. How had I let things progress to this point? One minute we're discussing the weather like civilized human beings and the next, I let him get his tongue halfway down my throat!

As I blundered through the muddy rows, cursing my clumsiness due to the still swollen ankle, a strong hand shot out and caught my arm in an iron grip. I jerked to a halt and found myself face to face with the very masher of grapes who had gotten me into this pickle. Ethan's normally perfectly coiffed hair was plastered against his forehead in wet tangles, giving him a feral, half-drowned look that was somehow still strangely appealing.

"Clara, what on earth has gotten into you?" he panted, brows drawn with worry.

I let out an embarrassing honk of a sob in response. How does one politely explain the feeling of lust, the longing but mixed with the fear, the past trauma? I wanted to melt into the mud. Instead, I collapsed against Ethan's sturdy chest and bawled into his already saturated shirt. The musky scent of earth and grapes wafted up, reminding me all too vividly of how we had ended up in this position. It was all too much.

"Ethan," I snuffled, voice muffled by mucus.

The rain was really coming down now, like someone up above had accidentally knocked over a bucket of water. Ethan and I just stood there staring at each other, the air thick with all the things we weren't saying. His silence went on so long that I started to wonder if he'd somehow forgotten how to talk.

Finally, he opened his mouth and what came out was barely more than a croak. "Clara," he said, and I knew right that instant, his eyes were dropping south of my face because I felt my nipples getting hard.

I tried to cover up but it was no use - this white shirt of his was soaked through and clinging to my body like a second skin. If Ethan looked any closer he would be able to see the imprint of each freckle. The heat rose in my cheeks and I was sure I was glowing like a stoplight, which was really going to help improve the mood.

I CAN'T RESIST THIS MAN. Never.

But then something weird happened. Instead of quickly looking away like a gentleman, Ethan reached out and cupped my entire face in his hands. They were all rough and calloused from working in the vineyard all day but his touch was surprisingly gentle. We just stared at each other as the tears rolled down my cheeks and I started to wonder, was he going to kiss me or give me a zit facial? I was not sure which would be weirder in that moment.

The anticipation was killing me when suddenly, without any warning, his lips were on mine. Holy moly, I thought, he was really going for it. The kiss started out tentative but then got more aggressive like we were both trying to crawl inside each other's mouths. His arms wrapped tight around my waist and I could feel his heart hammering against my chest. It was not a bad way to shut my brain up for a few minutes after the morning I had.

Before I knew it we were full-on making out in the grapevines, the rain pouring harder all around us. I felt like I was in some cheesy romance movie but hey, it was probably the most action I had seen since moving to this tiny town. We were grabbing at each other like our lives depended on it, getting soaked to the bone but not really caring. His mouth tasted faintly of grapes from the vineyard, plus there was a musky, woodsy scent clinging to him like old spice and dirt. Total man flavor.