“No wine for you today?”
She turned to see Giovanni standing next to her. She hadn’t seen him get dressed before she left his room; the way his body filled out his navy suit almost took her breath away.
He held up his glass. “It is delicious. You should taste it.”
“No, thanks. I can’t.” Tabitha could hardly look at him. “I’m too nervous,” she whispered. “I just need to stay focused and get through this, save all of my taste buds for the competition.”
“Once again,” he grinned, “the wine is your work, and not your love. It is a shame when you separate the two.” He winked at her when he took a sip, and Tabitha nearly staggered backward. How was anyone this handsome allowed to be in a room full of people? There really ought to be a law against Italian men coming to America and distracting women, she thought. They should be forced to stay in Italy, used only for international trysts and not allowed in the States, where they could tempt women away from their extremely important and nerve-racking career goals.
“Look,” she said. “As far as anyone here knows, we have only just met. And we are friends. No, we are work colleagues. Nothing more. Capiche?”
“By all means. I hardly know you. But I hope you will join me for lunch, and then afterward, ti accompagno safely back to your hotel room. I remember how lovely it was to walk you home after we shared a dinner in Italy.”
Tabitha’s chest tightened when he grinned at her, and then he turned to greet some of his friends standing near them.
The waiter arrived with her glass of water, and Tabitha held it to her forehead for a second to slow the pulse pounding in her temple.
She lowered it when she glimpsed her ex-husband across the room. Royal held court in a circle of men who stood apart from the crowd. Tabitha recognized most of them: Jack McDowell, the head of the International Wine Import/Export Regulation. Donald Purcell, the director of the Somm Fest. Bert Owens, owner of the biggest importer in the country. Not to mention several owners of the largest wineries in the United States. She recognized Royal’s body language, could almost predict every gesture. He moved with a tight, controlled magnetism that drew people closer to him when he talked. It always looked like people were leaning in to hear every word he said. He wore a knowing grin on his face as he told whatever story he was telling now, and the men in his circle roared with laughter.
“Looks like your ex-husband has friends in high places.”
Tabitha turned to see Mark McClintock standing next to her, also watching the group. Everyone else in the room went on with the conversation, but when Tabitha watched the other guests, she could see their eyes darting over to this group of men. What was it she saw in the faces of the other guests? Envy was the only word she could think of. Anyone would want to be talking to those men.
“He’s been in this business a long time,” Tabitha said. She watched Royal leaned in toward Donald’s ear, with one arm patting his back and the other shaking his hand.
“I’d say the men in that group control about ninety-nine percent of the American wine industry. Do you think that’s a reasonable guess? It looks like they are making some deals.”
“Yes, they are powerful men, but they aren’t making deals. They are social friends. We’ve had dinner with Donald many times. Well, we used to, back when— I mean. I’m sure Royal still does. They go back a long way.”
Just then, the director of the SommFest got the attention of the room by clanging a fork against his wine glass, and all conversation in the room quieted. Tabitha turned away from Mark, trying to blink away the confusion that had settled behind her eyes.
“If you could find your seats,” Donald said into the microphone, “we have a delicious lunch planned, and a great speaker after that. We’ll have plenty of time for socializing later this afternoon.”
Giovanni turned back to her and pointed to a table nearby. “Would you like to sit down?” he asked with the tiniest smile on his face. He noticed Mark next to her and held out his hand. “You are from Wine Life, no? I enjoyed your recent article about the natural wines of France. I am interested in turning my entire production natural within the next five years.”
“Giovanni Palmisano?” Mark asked. Tabitha sat down without looking back at them, spreading her napkin on her lap and smiling at her table mates. “I’ve been following your winery,” Mark continued behind her. “It’s great to see you here. I love to see the smaller producers show their wines at this level.” Tabitha refused to let herself look back, instead busying herself with the bread basket.
“Will you join us?” When Giovanni asked this, he touched Tabitha’s back every so gently, but then drew it back as if he’d touched a flame. Tabitha shot a look at him that said, We are not an us, pal. I am not your date. This is a one-time fling, and that is all.
She wasn’t sure how much of her telepathy Giovanni picked up on, but he smiled and indicated the whole table. “Our table, I mean? It appears there is an empty seat.”
“Sure, that would be great,” Mark agreed, and took a seat away from Tabitha. Giovanni sat between them, and she tried to effect the most neutral expression she could. This was nothing more than a work luncheon with colleagues. It did not matter that she had had amazing sex with one person at the table and was actively avoiding probing questions from another one. It’s just business, she reminded herself. You’ve got your big-girl panties on today, so woman up and handle it.
Technically, she thought, she didn’t even know if she was wearing panties; given the skin-melting sex she’d had with the Italian that morning, she didn’t know if she had remembered to put them back on. But that was neither here nor there. Panties or no panties, she could handle this situation.
Giovanni raised his wine glass at her, and she saw a hunger in his eyes that matched her own. She pretended she was interested in the salad in front of her, but let her leg drift over to his and wrapped her ankle around his calf. His expression did not change, but he dabbed his lips with his linen napkin, and when he placed it back on his lap, his hand landed on her lap, just briefly, and his finger grazed her inner thigh. She glanced at the challenge in his eye, but remembered that she had utterly failed the last time she tried to resist his charms. She crossed her legs and held his fingers between them for just a second before he lifted his hand again to pick up his fork. She could feel Giovanni’s eyes on her, but she pretended she was interested in the conversation across the table. Tabitha touched her finger to her bottom lip, gently stroking it as if distracted. She glanced at him again and bit back a smile when she saw the glazed look in his eyes.
Mark would for sure get a cover article out of that if she tore Giovanni’s clothes off right here on the table. How do you like your Rock and Roll Somm now, Mark from Wine Fucking Life, she thought.
Giovanni turned to answer a question Mark asked him, and Tabitha looked over to the head table, where Royal sat with all of the event organizers. He leaned his head in for what looked like an intense discussion. It was no wonder Mark had suspicions about his behavior—for a competitor in the SommFest, Royal was entirely too friendly with the top judges.
She held her hand over the wine glass in front of her when the waiter leaned over her to pour a red, and she sipped her water as she studied Royal laughing with the man next to him. At that moment, he glanced over at her. The smile faded from his handsome face and he looked cold and empty. It lasted for mere seconds, but she didn’t let herself break eye contact. She watched his gaze slide over Giovanni but then rest for a moment on Mark. Royal looked back at her for an instant, and she saw a calculation cross over his features. He tilted his chin down in a curt nod, a tiny motion that only she could see, but she did not move to respond to him. He turned back to his dining companions and the smile reappeared, suddenly warm and ingratiating again.
She turned back to her table and realized she still had the dinner roll in her hand. The salad plate had disappeared, and now there was a bowl of soup in front of her. She nibbled the bread, tr
ying to quell the nausea that overcame her. Mark was gazing at her, and she wondered if he had seen the silent communication between her and Royal. But his face gave little away; if anything, he looked sympathetic. She tried to force a smile, and he nodded and smiled back at her. He leaned toward her and spoke low enough that the rest of the table could not hear him.
“They look like mob bosses, don’t they? You can certainly understand why people question the integrity of Royal’s business, can’t you?”
“My business.” She met his gaze evenly. “The winery is my business, too. Are people questioning my integrity?”
Giovanni’s head turned between them, a quizzical look in his eyes, and then he glanced up at the head table. Tabitha saw his eyes go over the members sitting there, and an understanding came over his face.
“I told you that no one questions you the first time we talked, Tabitha.” Mark’s manner was as easy as if they were talking about the weather. “But a lot of people question your defense of someone like him.”
“I defend our winery. Which I have worked very hard to build. Ask me anything, you know I will tell you what I know. Better yet, why don’t you talk to him?”
“I did. Just before I came over to talk to you.”
“And what did you ask him?”
“He was telling that group that he’s going to have a thousand cases of boutique label Estate Petit Verdot. I asked how he could get that much juice off only five acres of PV grapes, given how low the yield has been recently.”
Despite her anxiety, Tabitha couldn’t hide her admiration. “Pretty gutsy of you to challenge him like that.”
Mark didn’t look impressed. “I asked very nicely. I’m a customer, too. An educated one, but still a customer.”
“And I’m sure he had a logical explanation. He always does.”
Mark lowered his chin and looked at Tabitha over the rims of his glasses, and she was struck by his grey eyes and the honesty in his expression. For just a moment, she had the distinct sense he wanted to protect her from something, and she felt a flash of gratitude for his kindness.
“He said that I was busting his balls worse than his ex-wife.”
She looked down at the soup in front of her; she didn’t want to eat but didn’t know what else to do. The breath had left her lungs and her skin went cold. Why would Royal have said something that cruel? Everyone in that group of back-slapping assholes knew she was his ex-wife.
Ball-buster. Mark couldn’t know that she and Royal had argued about the Petit Verdot. Tabitha didn’t think they had enough grapes, and pushed for a blend, but he had refused and said it would make a great varietal. In the end, she caved. Though they were married at the time, she didn’t call it caving. She called it compromising. But she would hardly call it ball-busting; she’d only been doing her due diligence for the winery that she co-owned. Even after she found the pussy pictures, she’d been nothing but supportive of him at the winery. Always a perky fucking cheerleader for his talent in front of their staff. Why would he throw her under the bus now?
Giovanni’s hand touched her thigh again, differently this time. He squeezed her knee, his hand strong and reassuring, and he continued talking to Mark about the restaurant scene in Italy. He glanced at her with a gentle smile, and it occurred to her that Giovanni was an exceptionally compassionate man.
It was a good thing he didn’t live here, she thought. Giovanni Palmisano was a man she could fall in love with.
15
She stepped out of the shower and used her towel to wipe the steam off the mirror. She glanced down at her phone. Still more than enough time, just like every other time she’d checked. A row of good-luck texts from everyone she knew. Gabrielle. Weston. Doug. Most of her friends from the winery. She let her eyes skim over them and looked back in the mirror.
For a moment, Tabitha berated herself. The most important event of her professional career and she’d allowed herself to be distracted by sex. Again. A good-looking man had derailed her at the event that might change her life. She could practically feel her mother’s disdain, a litany of admonishments she’d heard her entire life. “You’ll never have what it takes to make it in this business. You don’t have the commitment. You need to be laser-focused on your goals, not on your feelings.”
The opening notes of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” pounded through her brain, dun-dugga-dun dugga-dun dugga-dun. Starting fast and hard, without preamble, without warning, straight into the most intense part of the song that sounded both familiar and frightening at the same time. That was the only way she could explain how Giovanni made her feel.
So typical of me, Tabitha thought. After all these years of training, I choose this moment to go head over heels for someone who can possess me and wants to control me. Just like with Royal.
But she knew that wasn’t true. Not with Giovanni. Yes, she might be smitten with him, but comparing him to Royal was deeply unfair. Just listening to the way each of them talked about wine told her everything she needed to know.
She rubbed an unscented lotion over her body; absolutely nothing could interfere with her olfactory senses today. No matter what her mother said, Tabitha believed she’d been laser-focused on her career for a long time.
Maybe it was a good thing for her that Giovanni found her here. What might have happened if she hadn’t? She would have hidden in her hotel room. Obsessing. Studying her wine facts, testing and retesting herself. Checking her texts. Wondering what Royal was doing. Wondering whom he brought with him, whom he was sleeping with. Wondering if he would sabotage her.
Wondering if he was laughing at her.
But instead of obsessing about the Duke of Douchebags, she’d spent the last two nights thinking about how Giovanni’s delicious, hard body up against hers. She hadn’t glanced at her phone, thought about wine, worried about how she would perform against her ex-husband. She had only thought about Giovanni’s lips, and his warm, tawny skin, his strong hands, running her tongue along his carved jaw line. She glanced at herself in the mirror and saw a blush had crept across her face. She smirked at her reflection and yanked a towel from the wall rack. She hadn’t seen anything but flat darkness in her eyes for a long time. It was nice to see a sparkle there this morning.
She walked out to the hotel room naked, twisting her hair into a tight turban. Her body still thrummed with excited energy and Led Zeppelin, but now, instead of thinking it was fear, she wondered if it was excitement.
Only one winner of SommFest. Only one of them could win this international distinction that a somm had for the rest of his or her life. The tension level was phenomenal. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, hadn’t even been able to stomach any coffee this morning. She needed to get downstairs and start the show, because the anxiety was almost unbearable.
The elevator door opened, and Royal stood in front of her. His eyes were down, his hands clasped in front of him, his position almost prayerful. For an instant, just a brief, agonizing moment, she felt pulled toward him, toward the sexy cad she had fallen in love with. He looked almost vulnerable, but not quite vulnerable enough to seem weak. But the moment passed. Royal raised his head to meet her gaze, and his eyes were steeled and confident.
“Tabitha.”
She stepped in next to him without replying. The elevator doors closed and they stood facing the mirrored doors. Tabitha kept her eyes forward and did not let her gaze drift over to meet his eyes. Was he looking at her? She would not glance over to see, and kept her gaze locked on her reflection. Could he see Giovanni all over her skin? Giovanni was almost a physical presence here in the elevator with them. She pushed her shoulders back and squared her chin. Royal had undoubtedly expected to find her cowering in a corner, but instead, she was standing tall, Wonder Woman pose in this elevator, glittering with sexual energy and ready to roundhouse-kick anyone who got in her way.
Never, in this history of the world, had any elevator ever moved so slowly. Perhaps it wasn’t even moving. Maybe it had stopped, and
they were suspended between floors, the air between them thick and pulsing. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she refused to steal a glance at Royal. His expression would not have changed, she knew. He remained cool in the direst of circumstances. It was his superpower.
Maybe he had also bedded a stranger last night. Knowing him, it could have been two or three strangers, and he was buzzing with the same sexual energy as her.
Or possibly he had that dismissive look that he gave her when she had an idea or wanted to try something new. The Royal special—a combination of amusement and pity. She hated that look. It didn’t occur to her how much she hated it until right this minute. She’d had sex three nights since they were divorced and thought she was a Jedi. Royal would laugh at her arrogance. Well, goddammit, Royal, you weren’t there. You should have seen me. Some of those moves weren’t even legal. It turns out that the right partner can bend the laws of physics when it comes to Tabitha Lawson’s bed. Not that you’ll ever know, Earl of Chasingtail.
The door opened to the lobby, and he jerked his chin down in—what? A nod? A good-luck wish? A dismissal?
It could be anything. That was how Royal worked. He was in her head by not acknowledging her. He knew she’d obsess over that nod, knew that by not talking to her she’d design something in her head to drive her out of it, and out of the competition. The levels of his perfidy staggered her. She watched his back as he walked away from her, and only when the elevator doors started to close again did she rouse herself and step out. She didn’t go down the hall, though—she couldn’t force herself to follow him like a puppy. She let him walk away and then sank into a stuffed easy chair against the wall.
She breathed deeply. He wasn’t trying to get into her head. She was letting her fears take over. Be real, Tabitha. His Royal Highness, Sir Boobs on Toast, barely noticed you. Today or any other day.
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