Just a Taste Page 11

  “They have their uses.”

  He placed his hands palms down on the table, and after a moment’s hesitation, she—God help him—spread one of her hands over his. Her left hand, bare of jewelry, and despite those long, elegant bones it looked tiny in contrast.

  Pale, tiny and incredibly erotic.

  “Big hands,” she said, low and husky, “have their uses.”

  Seth picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. More civilized, he decided, than putting it where he wanted it. Then someone—probably Robert, although Seth didn’t bother checking—chimed silver against crystal until the cacophony of conversations and the loud, hammering pulse in his head and between his legs dimmed to a low hum. Amazing. All these other people in the restaurant—at the same table, even—and his focus had narrowed to one. For how long they’d been immersed in their own sensual vacuum, he had no clue.

  He turned now, pretended to listen as his friend formally launched Casinelli’s 2001 pinot noir. Robert kept it short and sweet, ending with “let the wine speak for itself.” Much applause then a hundred-odd enophiles reached for their glasses.

  Seth watched Jillian go through the motions. Nose in glass, the long inhalation, the longer moment of reflection before she lifted the glass to her mouth. She took her first taste and her eyes drifted shut as she held it in her mouth. The heat of her rapt expression, the subtle movement of her throat as she swallowed, the ruby sheen on her lips: they all combined to create a moment of near-violent longing in Seth.

  To generate such passion, to watch those lips part so softly, to see that same rapture when his mouth was on her, tasting her, driving her wild with pleasure.

  “As good as anticipated?” he asked, and his voice sounded about how his body felt. Hot, gruff, hard.

  “Mmm, better, although that may be partly due to anticipation.” She sipped again, contemplated, her eyes focused somewhere deep within herself. “Silkier than last year. Big hit of fruit. Rich cherries, some raspberry. And there’s a floral note that reminds me of the ninety-seven.”

  Seth picked up his own glass, sniffed. “You can tell the vintages apart?”

  “I’ve scored a hundred percent on blind horizontals and verticals.” She frowned. “Does that sound conceited?”

  “It sounds…interesting.” And erotic. Jillian, blindfolded and horizontal.

  “Interesting in what way?”

  He smiled slowly as the idea took form. “Interesting, as in, would you like to prove it?”

  She looked up from her glass, a stillness in her eyes, her face, her body. “How?”

  “I have a pretty decent collection.”

  “Of pinots? Of Sophia’s pinots? How?”

  Seth shrugged. “I told you the Neumanns were friends.”

  “And, what, they just send over a bottle each Christmas?” Her gaze swung toward their hosts and back at him. She coughed out a strangled laugh. “They do, don’t they? They actually send you bottles as gifts.”

  What could he say? She was right.

  Slowly, disbelievingly, she shook her head. “And you made out as if you were a complete philistine. You encouraged me to rabbit on about pinot noirs and about Sophia’s wine.”

  “I have the wines. Doesn’t mean I know a blessed thing about them.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “It’s a cliché, but I know what I like to drink and that’s my only interest in wine.”

  Apart from this fantasy of licking the stuff from your body.

  “So.” He turned the glass through his fingers. “Are you up for the challenge?”

  “A blind tasting of Casinelli pinots? You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  “You told me not to mess with you over these wines.”

  She moistened her lips. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  Seth savored the spun-out moment as he waited for her answer, the anticipation, the expectation, the certainty of what she would say.

  “Okay.”

  Nine

  “O h, no, Seth. No, no, no!” Jillian held up both hands in combination denial and horror. “You are not going to open all those bottles.”

  “Backing down?”

  After growing up with brothers, Jillian could pick a taunt a country mile away. Even when delivered in a deceptively soft and silky tone. She lifted her chin. “I’m trying to stop you doing something completely crazy.”

  Seth gathered up the half dozen bottles he’d selected from the mind-blowing collection in his cellar and tilted his head toward the stairs. “After you…Chicken little.”

  Jillian only moved to narrow her eyes. “I won’t let you waste thousands of dollars on testing my palate.”

  “This—” he lifted the bottles of red gold in his hands “—didn’t cost me a dime.”

  “Be that as it may, they’re worth big money. I won’t let you open them.”

  Amusement flickered over his face. “How do you plan to stop me? Are you going to confiscate my corkscrew?”

  She threw her hands in the air and marched to the stairs. “Your wine. Your money. Your loss.”

  “No,” he said softly as she brushed past him. “Not my loss.”

  A stinging retort in the making, Jillian paused on the bottom step and looked over her shoulder and into his eyes. Not a glimmer of laughter remained in their deep, dark depths. Only heat and a stunning predatory intent. The breath caught in her lungs, caught and hitched and shifted her mood from foot-stomping aggravation to heart-thumping awareness in one stalled second.

  “And on the crazy front—” He leaned in close and shocked her with an open-mouthed kiss to the back of her neck. “Too late.”

  By using very specific instructions—left, right, up, up again—she managed to coax her legs into carrying her up the steep staircase.

  Too late? Oh, yes, much too late to stop the slide into complete sensual thrall with this man.

  Crazy? Oh, yes, crazy to know without a backward glance that he watched her, all the way up those stairs and into his huge open-plan living area, every step of the way. That knowledge emanated from the base of her back and shivered up the length of her spine. Then, like the spill of wine from an upset glass, it spread through her body in red ripples of heat.

  Crazy, too, that his watchful intensity no longer made her uncomfortable. All through that wonderful dinner she’d felt his attention with a mixture of quiet nerves and deep self-awareness and secret delight. It had been so long since she’d been on a first date that she’d forgotten the thrill of anticipation.

  The not knowing how the night might end.

  Well, she still didn’t know. She had come home with him, but this was a family home, shared with a daughter and a housekeeper. She had no reason to believe there’d be anything beyond the wine-tasting test, no grounds for the weird sense of their aloneness as she watched Seth deposit bottles and corkscrew and glasses on a low glass table.

  No reason, either, for the leap of her pulse as he reached up to slide his loosened bow tie from his neck. In the taxi they’d shared on the drive back to Napa, he’d shed his jacket and untied the tie. “Feels like I’m trussed and bound,” he’d said.

  But now—

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her stomach jumping with nerves as he stretched the length of fabric between his hands and started toward her.

  “You did say a blind tasting?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “This is your blindfold.” He stopped in front of her. “If you still want to do this.”

  “Yes, I just—” Her gaze skittered toward the staircase and back. “What if someone comes downstairs?”

  “Rachel is sleeping over at Rosa’s. We’re all alone.”

  Jillian’s pulse raced. Was she ready for this? For being alone with this man and doing all the things he’d told her he wanted to do with her? She sucked in a slow breath. One step at a time, she told herself, starting with the tasting test. This she could do. Blindfolded, she would be better able to
concentrate on the wine and not on Seth with his crisp white shirtsleeves and dark male aura.

  With an accepting shrug, she turned around. Her belly swam with nerves and anticipation as he moved close behind her and covered her eyes with the slice of black silk.

  Oh, how wrong could one girl be?

  Instead of blocking him out, the darkness intensified Seth’s nearness. The tie carried his scent—nothing artificial, just earthy, sexy man. And he stood so close that their bodies brushed with charges of electric friction as he worked to fasten the tie.

  The task seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time, between the slippery fabric with its undulating widths and his big hands trying not to catch her flyaway curls in the knot. Her chest constricted, tight with the knowledge that he would take the same care of her, with her, in his bed.

  Oh, yes, she could do this. In the dark, with her senses filled with Seth, anything was possible. Anything, except standing here passively while he fiddled and diddled….

  “To get the wide part over my eyes, you need to tie it here—” she found his fingers and moved them to her temple “—instead of at the back.”

  “Right.”

  The word was low and thick; his breath fanned the side of her face; her body gravitated toward the source of heat. Could he be any slower? Any more of a tease?

  “Stand still,” he growled. “I’m nearly done.”

  Yes, and so am I, she almost growled back. But then his big hands were on her bare shoulders, turning her to face him. “Can you see me?”

  I can feel you, smell you, all but taste you in my blood, but…

  She shook her head. “No.”

  His grip on her shoulders tightened for one long, dizzy moment when she thought he might bend down and kiss her—please, yes!—but then his hands dropped away. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Standing’s fine.” I think.

  A low grunt of acknowledgment and he moved away. To the table, she imagined, to the expensive bottles of pinot that waited. A dozen thick, thudding heartbeats later she heard the distinctive suctioning sound of decorking, and that jarred her out of her sensual stupor.

  “Please, just start with the one.” She pressed her hands together in entreaty. “I can’t stand to see you waste those.”

  No answer, except a clunk—metal corkscrew against glass?—and the liquid slush of pouring. Then the sense of movement, the whisper of fabric, the shift of air, the scent of man in her nostrils.

  The sweet tremble of desire deep in her belly.

  He pressed a glass into her hand. Wine, Jillian thought, as her fingers folded around the stem, grounding her in a familiar world.

  “We’ll start with one,” he said. “Seeing as you asked so nicely.”

  Jillian smiled her thanks, for that consideration and for the several steps he took back out of her space. Now she could at least try to concentrate on the wine. Normally she would have let it breathe, but this wasn’t normal. She swirled the wine in her glass, wished she could—

  “You need help getting the glass to your mouth?”

  “I’m sure I can find my mouth, even in the dark,” she said, surprising herself with her prim tone. She swirled some more. “Since this beauty hasn’t breathed sufficiently, I’m helping release the aroma.” She lifted the glass, surprising herself again, this time with the steadiness of her hand. “And holding it to the light to check the color.”

  His low smoky laughter slid through her. “Would you like me to do the honors, seeing as you’re at a disadvantage?”

  “Please.”

  He didn’t touch her, but she felt his nearness, the nudge to the base of her glass, lifting and tilting it for his inspection.

  “Well?” she prompted. “What color do you see?”

  “Red.”

  Laughter exploded from her throat, laughter and backed-up breath and tension. A whole big barrel full of tension. “You don’t want to try for a more specific description? Like, which shade of red?”

  “Like your dress.” Fingertips brushed over the one shoulder strap. “Pinot noir.”

  The soft touch shivered through her skin, and the weight of his words echoed through her memory chords. Frowning, she searched for the time he’d said those words in that exact tone. In the tasting room. Yes. “That afternoon with the Red Hat ladies, you described my mood as pinot noir. What did you mean?”

  “If you were a wine, that would’ve been my pick. That day, pinot noir.”

  “And other days?”

  “A cool white, a summer sparkly, a bold red. But as I said, I don’t know wines. Only what I like.”

  Jillian pictured the hitch of his shoulders, felt a similar hitch in the region of her heart. He’d really seen that many facets of her personality?

  “You’re a bit like a blind tasting.” He fingered the blindfold at her temple. “I never know what’s in store.”

  Oh, my.

  “So, we’ve established you’re holding a pinot noir,” he said, steering her attention back to the glass that remained steady in her hand. Amazing given the fine tremor in her blood and her flesh. “What else?”

  She swirled that glass, the familiar, the anchor, but her senses were jarred, her perception askew. Amazing that he hadn’t completely floored her with those seemingly casual comments. Amazing that she hadn’t seen this coming, given how often he’d slayed her in these past few weeks.

  This…wow, she did not know what to call it, did not want to put a name to it. Deeper than infatuation, richer than lust, scarier than sexual fascination. And, blast it, she liked him.

  Momentarily rattled, she stuck her nose in the glass and sniffed deeply. Again, until the aromas filled her senses and drove out the disturbing sense that she’d strapped herself into a roller coaster. She sipped and tasted until her world rocked back on its axis. Safe and steady again, she felt the texture in her mouth, chewed on the flavors, and her confidence skyrocketed as the complex layers revealed themselves.

  Too easy. This wine she would pick through a head cold. In the middle of a roller coaster ride.

  “This is the ninety-nine,” she declared with a satisfied smile. “The nose is knock-your-socks-off intense—a distinctive personality you can’t mistake. Earthy and brooding. Robust. There’s a bigger structure, more complex than the ninety-eight, but still the Casinelli mouthfeel.”

  No confirmation needed, she knew she was right. That knowledge danced through her like a cocky Travolta two-step.

  “If you were a wine—” she lifted the glass in a smiling salute “—then this one is you.”

  “An expensive pinot?” he asked after a thick beat of pause. “Are you sure about that?”

  Was she? That day in the tasting room, he’d struck her as a big, bold, full-bodied cabernet. Other days he seemed so centered and together and confident, like a perfectly balanced Shiraz. Tonight at that dinner, the smoky chocolate notes of a merlot.

  She moistened her lips as the possibilities shivered through her body. Too tempting, this chance to compare and contrast, with her senses primed by black silk and one of the valley’s finest wines. “Perhaps my call was premature. Perhaps I do need to reassess.”

  Silence, when she’d expected a teasing comeback. Silence that ached in her breasts and tightened in her nipples as she felt him move closer, felt him take the glass from her hand. Oh, no. Her humming senses, her aroused body, her soaring confidence all took immediate umbrage.

  If she was doing this, she was doing it.

  Before he could react, she ducked under his arm and around behind him, using his big, solid body to anchor herself in the darkness. Her hands were on his sides, just below his waist and spanning the fine sleek fabrics of his shirt and pants.

  Through both, his body heat scorched.

  Jillian inhaled deeply, for strength and to control a sudden attack of lightheadedness. Then she commenced her analysis. “Appearance is tough to call, given I can’t see a thing, but I’m guessing this is a big red.” She s
lid both hands higher and spread them against his back. “Surprisingly fine texture, although…”

  It was only his shirt, and she wanted to feel skin.

  Emboldened by the dark, by the guise of the “wine-tasting” experiment, and by the way he stood still and compliant beneath her hands, she fisted her fingers in the fabric and tugged it clear of his trousers. Using her hands on his body for guidance, she worked her way around to the front and started unfastening.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, low and throaty.

  “The first step is opening the bottle. Letting it breathe.” With a side of his open shirt in each hand, she leaned in until her nose all but touched his throat. “Aroma is the most important part.”

  “Why is that?” Deep, close, his voice seemed to rumble from his chest. Fortuitous that she didn’t need to think to answer because Jillian had ceased thinking. Now she operated on senses, on a purely visceral level.

  “A good wine has its own distinct aroma. Very recognizable.” Like Seth, she decided. She would recognize him anywhere, purely by her body’s reaction to his scent. She breathed deeply, her senses so heightened by his nearness that they quivered. “The nose picks up so much more than the palate, so while the aromas are still in your nose, you take your first sip.”

  She thought about tasting the hot skin of his neck, right there where she had sniffed, but at the last second suffered an attack of temerity. Instead, she stretched up on her toes and tasted his mouth. A slow sip from his lips that stirred her blood like the first juice from the presses.

  “White pepper, a little heat,” she whispered. “Rich, velvety mouthfeel.”

  “Mouthfeel. Is that what it sounds like?”

  “Mmm.” She rubbed her lips against his, purred somewhere deep inside, then ducked back for another slow taste. “It’s all about how the…wine…feels in your mouth. As opposed to body, which is the weight on your tongue.”

  She stroked his bottom lip with her tongue, and that was it. No more games, no more teasing, no more lessons in the art of wine. Strong, bold, assertive, he took her face in his hands and her mouth with his tongue. Just a meeting of mouths and bodies and a desire that shuddered through them both. She couldn’t get enough of his kiss, of his hands on her face, in her hair, and—thank you, finally!—on her body.