Free Let It Breathe by Tawna Fenske Page B

aloud.
    “Pretty,” Sheila cooed.
    “We won’t have to use the wine barrels and the board for tastings anymore,” Reese continued. “This one’s bigger, too—we can probably hold half a dozen people now.”
    Eric set down the wine case he was carrying and nodded at her. “That’s great.” He turned to Clay. “When did you find time to do that?”
    Clay shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Had to do something with my hands.”
    “Don’t you get porn on pay-per-view at the motel?”
    Clay thought about commenting that he didn’t watch X-rated movies, that it was part of his quest to be a better guy after rehab. Then he felt like a jerk for even thinking about porn with Reese standing right there. He wasn’t that kind of guy anymore.
    Reese rolled her eyes at them, oblivious to Clay’s inner turmoil. “You guys are such twelve-year-olds. Check it out, see how much sturdier the new bar is?”
    She gripped the edges of it and pushed on it the way Clay had done earlier.
    But something happened.
    One second, she was smiling as she leaned into the bar.
    The next, she was toppling forward as the wood gave way.
    Clay didn’t think. He just lunged for her, grabbing her hard around the waist as the board came loose and hit the concrete with an angry clatter. She felt warm and soft and dizzyingly perfect in his arms, and he held her tightly, not wanting to let go until he was sure she was safe.
    Reese’s mouth opened, then closed without a word.
    He slid his hands over her, trying to be professional as he inspected her for damage, but the feeling of her body beneath his palms just made him want to keep touching her.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling fast as she opened her mouth again.
    No words came out. She looked down at his arm around her waist. Clay released her, feeling embarrassed and aroused at the same time.
    Eric stepped between them and put a hand on the bar. “What the hell happened? Was that board not bolted down or something?”
    Clay shook his head, still too rattled to form a coherent thought. “No,” Clay said. “No, I’m sure—”
    He stopped. Hell, was he sure? He’d been distracted by Reese when he was finishing up. Maybe he hadn’t tightened them all the way. Or maybe the booze really had pickled his brain all those years.
    Sheila bent down and picked up a splintered piece of wood. She studied it for a second, then held it up for them to see. “Looks like termites,” she said. “Where’d you get this?”
    “Behind the barn,” Clay said. “I didn’t realize—” He stopped as he saw Reese rubbing her elbow. “Are you hurt?”
    Again , his conscience screamed. She’s hurt again because of you.
    “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little bruised. Can the bar be fixed?”
    “Termites?” Eric asked, turning to stare at Reese. “There are termites here?”
    She sighed. “I’ve got it under control, Eric.”
    “You knew about this?” He rolled his eyes. “Were you going to tell me? Jesus, we can’t have a termite-infested winery barn. Are you kidding me?”
    “I said I’ve got it under control,” she snapped.
    “What, with all-natural pest control again? You’re going to feed them bad tofu or something?”
    She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Well, would you rather I have an exterminator spraying God-knows-what chemicals around your precious wine barrels? Besides, once we’ve got the new facility built, it won’t be a problem.”
    “When the hell is that going to be?” Eric snapped. “With the bid all fucked up, we could be waiting a long time.”
    “Guys, cool it,” Sheila said, stepping between them and resting her hand on her husband’s arm. “Give Reese a break, honey. She just got the stuffing knocked out of her.”
    “My fault,” Clay said. “Really, I’m sorry.”
    “Forget it,” Reese said. “I’m fine, you’re fine, the bar’s fine. Can it be fixed?”
    Clay clenched his jaw and