Christine had assumed that Slade would kiss with methodical control. It was how he approached everything. Like adding up a column of numbers in his head. Or creating a graph of growth rates. Predictably ho-hum. Huge, huge mistake. The passion in his kiss had been methodical in its heart-stopping assault, but there was nothing controlled about it. What she’d hoped would be a brief moment of embarrassment, closing the door on any niggle of attraction between them, had opened the door to possibilities and complications. Worse. Slade’s kiss left her hungry for more. He was her boss. She couldn’t quit. Her career would be blindsided if she left before bottling even one vintage. Slade thought Harmony Valley residents were gossips? Try winemakers. He was her boss. If word got out, her path to starting her own winery would have a footnote. The wine wouldn’t stand on its merits as much as the feet of a romantic liaison.
