Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 543

Chapter 543

Gwen’s POV

The wine cellar was exactly how I had imagined it.

It was small and rustic. The stone walls were worn smooth by time, keeping the air cool even with the harsh winter raging outside. The scent was intoxicating. Aged oak, fermented grapes, damp earth. There was something comforting about the place, something that made my chest loosen in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

Nick switched on a few hanging lights along the low ceiling. Soft, golden light spilled across the uneven walls, casting dancing shadows. Wooden barrels of different sizes were lined up in tight rows. Some were stacked on top of each other. Others were pressed against the walls. Metal shelves held dusty bottles, their handwritten labels marking years and varieties.

It was very cramped.

“We need to reorganize these barrels,” Nick said, pointing toward a corner where several of them were piled together messily. “Some of them are blocking access to the ones that are almost ready for bottling.

We’ll have to move them.”

I nodded and followed him.

The space between the rows was barely wide enough for one person to pass comfortably. With both of us in there, it was impossible not to touch.

Nick took position on one side of a particularly large barrel and gestured for me to stand on the other.

“Ready? Let’s roll it over there.” He pointed to an empty spot a few feet ahead.

I placed my hands on the barrel, feeling the rough, cold wood beneath my fingers. Nick counted to three, and we pushed.

It was heavier than I expected. Much heavier. He had to put in real effort to get it moving.

As we rolled it through the narrow space, our bodies drifted closer and farther apart in a natural rhythm set by the movement. My shoulder brushed his chest. My hip grazed his when we had to adjust our

direction.

Every accidental touch sent a spark of electricity across my skin.

And I knew he felt it too.

I saw it in the way his jaw tightened. In how his breathing sped up just slightly. In how he avoided my eyes, focusing intensely on the work as if it were the most important thing in the world.

We moved three more barrels like that.

With each one, the space seemed to shrink. The touches became more frequent. The tension grew

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thicker.

When we were finished with the barrels on the floor, Nick looked up at a high shelf where several old

bottles sat in disarray..

“I need to reorganize those too,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Damn it. I forgot the ladder.”

I followed his gaze.

It was high, but not ridiculously so.

“I can reach if you lift me,” I said.

And I saw the exact moment he processed what I had just suggested.

His eyes widened slightly.

“I… I can go get the ladder. It won’t take long.”

“Nick.” I placed a hand on his arm. “It’ll take you ten minutes to go upstairs, grab it, and come back. Or you can just lift me now, and we’ll be done in thirty seconds.”

I watched the internal battle play out behind his green eyes.

Practicality won.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice a little rough. “I’ll hold your waist and lift you. You grab the bottles and organize them by year, left to right. Can you see the dates on the labels?”

I nodded.

He stepped in behind me, and I felt his large, warm hands settle on my waist.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Through the thin fabric of my blouse, I could feel every finger. Every tiny movement.

“Ready?” he asked.

His voice was so close to my ear that I felt his warm breath against my skin.

“Ready.”

He lifted me with surprising ease, as if I weighed nothing at all. Suddenly, I was in the air, perfectly positioned to reach the shelf.

And completely dependent on his strength to keep me there.

I tried to focus on the bottles.

I really did.

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But it was hard to think about dates and organization when I could feel the heat of his body against my back. When his hands held my waist firmly. When every small adjustment made my body press more tightly against his.

I grabbed the first bottle and slid it to the far left.

Then the second.

Then the third.

And then, maybe on purpose, maybe not, I leaned forward a little more than necessary.

My shirt rode up a few inches, exposing a strip of skin along my stomach and lower back.

I heard Nick inhale sharply.

I smiled to myself and kept going.

I moved in ways that forced me to stretch. To bend. To shift my body against his hands in ways that were completely unnecessary for the task.

“Gwen…” His voice came out tight, almost like a warning.

“Hmm?” I replied innocently, reaching for another bottle and arching my back as I did.

His hands tightened around my waist.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” I asked, turning my head slightly to look at him over my shoulder. “I’m just organizing the bottles the way you told me to.”

Our eyes met.

And what I saw there made my stomach twist.

Desire. Pure and simple.

He wanted me.

He wanted me so badly he was visibly fighting himself.

But he was still fighting.

“I’m done,” I said, sliding the last bottle into place.

He lowered me immediately, like holding me for even one more second was dangerous. The moment my feet touched the ground, he stepped back, putting a safe distance between us.

He was breathing a little faster than normal. His hands opened and closed at his sides, as if they could still feel the shape of my waist.

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Chapter 543.

I took a step toward him.

He took a step back.

“Gwen…”

“Nick,” I said softly. Lower. Gentler. “Why do you keep running from me?”

“We’ve talked about this,” he replied, but his voice didn’t have the same firmness as before. “We chose to

wait.”

“That was before,” I argued. “Maybe… maybe we can change our minds.”

I watched the struggle play out across his face.

Desire versus control.

Want versus reason.

Reason won.

“No,” he said. And this time, his voice was steady.

I sighed, frustrated, but knowing I wasn’t going to win this battle.

Not today.

“Okay,” I agreed, stepping back. “So… let’s go to the tasting, then?”

Relief washed over his face.

“Yeah. Let me grab the wines and the cheeses.”

He moved through the cellar with practiced ease, pulling three different bottles from a shelf and grabbing a covered plate of cheeses he had prepared earlier. He also picked up two wine glasses and a

corkscrew.

He set everything on a larger barrel that served as an improvised table and gestured for me to come

closer.

The tasting was… surprisingly intimate.

Nick opened the first bottle, a lighter red, and poured a little into each glass. He showed me how to swirl the wine, how to hold it up to the light, how to inhale deeply before tasting.

“…but you probably already know all that,” he said with a smile.

Then he cut a piece of pecorino and offered it to me.

He didn’t put it on my plate.

He held it between his fingers and brought it to my mouth.

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I parted my lips and accepted the cheese. My mouth brushed lightly against his fingertips in the process.

I saw his eyes darken.

We tasted all three wines like that. Him explaining the differences. Me asking questions. The two of us

laughing.

“That was…” I started when we finished the last glass.

“More fun than I expected,” Nick finished, a soft smile on his lips.

There was something different about him now.

More relaxed.

More open.

“It’s nice,” he continued, almost like he was talking to himself. “Doing something I love with someone l

care about.”

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning.

I stood there, holding my glass, studying his face. Part of me wanted to leave that perfect moment untouched.

But another part of me, the curious part, couldn’t let it go.

“Was it like this with Renee?”

Nick froze.

His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes locked onto mine, studying me intensely, like he was trying to figure out how I knew that name.

The cellar fell silent. Only the distant sound of dripping water and our breathing filled the space.

“No,” he said finally, his voice low but clear. “It wasn’t like this with Renee.”

I bit my lip, debating whether I should push. But I needed to know.

I needed to understand.

“And you…” I paused, searching for the right words. “Do you want to tell me what it was like?”

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