Page 23 of Bottles & Blades
And thirsty.
“Enough?” he asks.
I nod and reach for the glass of wine, but he beats me to it, snagging it from the table, leaving the decimated plate next to my laptop and cards and pens. Frowning, I ask, “What are?—”
In answer, he just lifts the glass to my lips.
“I—”
He leans close, his voice a rasp in my ear, his spicy scent teasing my nose.
Then he tips up the glass, splashing a small sip of the wine onto my tongue, and asks,
“What do you taste?”
Eight
Jean-Michel
She inhales sharply.
Then promptly chokes.
“Shit,” I mutter, quickly setting the glass down, gently reaching around her and smoothing my hand up and down her back. “Easy now, buttercup.”
She coughs. “Sor?—”
“Easy,” I order. “Just take your time and breathe.”
“Sorry,” she rasps, not taking her time nor stopping to breathe.
“Tiff—”
“I’m a mess,” she says, her voice still rasping out of her. “Choking on a hundred dollar bottle of wine.”
“It’s a two-hundred dollar bottle.”
Her eyes go wide, but before she can start choking again, I pick up the glass. “Drink,” I command, “and tell me what you taste.”
Now her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Humor me.”
A spark of irritation that has my already unhealthy interest in this woman growing. Spine and steel. Sweet and soft.
“Why?” she asks again.
“Humor me,”Isay again.
She sighs then takes the glass from my hand when I hold it out to her. I watch the nostrils on her cute little nose flare as she inhales.
“What do you smell?”
“Why do you care?”
“This is my job and something I enjoy.” I shrug. “I’m curious.”
“Hmm.”
