And, just like that, she got it.
Rick truly did not care one bit what other people thought about his appearance.
He dressed to please himself and if the rest of the world did not like it—that was not his problem.
This was no act designed to provoke a reaction or a cheap media gimmick to attract some extra press coverage because he was so deliberately different from other wine merchants in the city.
He was Rick.
Take it or leave it. That was him.
No artifice, no pretence, no insincere gestures to placate his audience.
He knew who he was and was totally happy inside his skin.
He was the real deal.
It blew her away. And terrified her so much that it was not even vaguely funny.
Rick Burgess was exactly the kind of sex on legs man that she had been avoiding since the day her dad was arrested. She knew the type and she had tasted what it felt like to be consumed by the fire on the altar of their all-powerful ego. And she never wanted to be burnt alive again.
The problem was, back in Elwood House she’d been surrounded by the familiar rooms and furniture and high-tech presentation equipment and other people.
They were her security screen.
But at that minute in this public street she felt as though they might as well have been the only two people on the Embankment that evening, with not even Aunt Margot’s dining table between them.
Her gaze simply could not move away from that powerful dark face as he strode towards her. It was as though he had a huge magnet which was pulling them closer and closer together, making it impossible for her to break the connection.
All of the carefully worded and highly professional refusals and excuses she had planned in the kitchen when she was clearing away vanished from her brain, wiped out by the stunningly relaxed and sexy-as-hell smile he was giving her. The corner of one side of his mouth lifted as he strolled closer, creating crease lines in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes.
Perhaps she should have looked Rick Burgess up on the Internet instead of cleaning the house and polishing it back to perfection. It might have given her some ammunition to fire at him and scare him away.
Which was what she wanted...wasn’t it?
To politely turn him down while still keeping the bookings.
What other reason could there possibly be?
So why did she find it so difficult to lift her chin and take the few steps to close the distance between them?
‘Nice earrings.’
‘Nice boots.’
He smiled and replied with a small shoulder shrug. ‘My mother told me that I should smarten myself up before the meeting today. And, like the good boy that I am, I always do what my mother tells me.’
She replied by raising her eyebrows. A good boy? She doubted that very much.
Her silent gesture must have hit home because he strolled forward and startled her by nudging her ever so gently along one side of her arm.
It was the touch of a friend, not someone she had just met.
How much more outrageous could he get?
Then that amazing wide mouth broadened into a smirk of a smile and his grey eyes focused on the river.
‘Yeah, I concede that one. Maybe not a good boy all of the time. But hey. It’s nice to have something to aim for. As you know. But let’s not talk about business. Not yet, anyway. This is way too nice an evening.’
He sniffed and looked around. ‘You know, it’s been years since I was on the South Bank. But, as it happens, I know a family-run Tuscan restaurant right on the river you might enjoy. Willing to risk it?’
Risk it? No, thank you. She gave up on risk a long time ago. Not when she had experienced first-hand the fallout from other people taking risks they should not have.
On the other hand, there was no point arguing in public with a company director who could put Elwood House into profit with one contract.
She could risk his choice of restaurant for a few hours, even if it did turn out to be a kebab shop.
‘That sounds perfect. Do you need a map?’
‘Maps? Maps are for people who don’t know where they are going. Where is the fun in that? Oh no,’ he said and, without asking permission, he took hold of her hand and looped it over the crook of his arm, capturing her and holding her tight. ‘Let’s rock.’
FOUR
Must-Do list
This is NOT a date—simply drinks and dinner with a prospective client. Stay charming and professional at all times. Do NOT flirt with the handsome man who wants you to buy his wine. He probably has a lovely wife and family back home. Ignore any advice from Kate and Amber on dating techniques.
Do not panic or blurt out your life story if the conversation flags.
Keep your taxi money handy—you will be going home alone.
Twenty minutes later Saskia strolled out of the ladies’ room at a wonderful Italian restaurant she hadn’t known existed until that evening, just in time to see Rick being back-slapped by the rotund father of the family while Rick chatted away in fluent Italian to the two sons who took care of the bar and waiter service on a Monday evening.
He might have been part of their family.
How had he done that?
The other diners in the packed restaurant were certainly enjoying whatever story he was regaling them with.
In fact they were almost disappointed when Rick broke off mid-anecdote to go back to their window table and pull out a chair for her.
It was strange how the most delicious-smelling piping-hot rosemary and olive foccacia suddenly appeared on the table with a bottle of the best wine on the list, which the owner himself insisted on opening and checking before pouring Saskia a generous glass and then he turned to Rick, who joined in the joke. He swirled the glass with an over the top swagger, inhaled and then guffawed with appreciation—which led to even more waving of arms and laughter from the kitchen area.
Rick turned back to Saskia and raised his glass. ‘Your health, lovely lady. This food smells good. Mind if I go first?’
‘Dive in. Okay, I am impressed. You speak excellent Italian for an American wine merchant.’
‘Born in Scotland, moved to Napa aged twelve, but spend most of my time in the French Alps close to the Italian border,’ Rick replied between bites of foccacia. ‘I might have picked up a few words. And this is great. Try some.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ she replied and sat back and looked around the restaurant for a few seconds. The stress of the day, the week and the month seemed to ease away in this cosy atmosphere. She felt her shoulders drop as she relaxed and enjoyed the moment.
‘That must have been difficult,’ she whispered.
‘Difficult?’ Rick looked up.
‘Moving to another country when you were twelve must have meant leaving your friends and relatives behind. Not easy for a young person.’
He opened his mouth, paused and then closed it again, his gaze scanning her face. ‘No—’ he shrugged after several minutes ‘—it wasn’t easy at all. But my parents and older brother helped me settle into a new life. Of course, once I saw what the sports facilities were like I had a great time.’
‘Modest too. Well, it seems that you are full of surprises, Mr Burgess.’
He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Mr Burgess is my dad. I only answer to Rick. Okay? And I’m pleased that you like it.’
She waved one hand daintily in the air and tore off a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth.
And the explosion of flavour hit her hard.
Wow.
She looked over Rick’s shoulder at the patron, who winked at her from the bar.
Winked.
‘Do you know,’ she managed, between more bites, ‘I have been eating in Italian restaurants all over London with my aunt since I was ten years old and this is the best foccacia that I have eaten, and the wine...’ she picked up the bottle and peered at the label ‘...is from a tiny estate just north of Florence.
I have been trying to persuade them to supply me for months. It’s fantastic.’
‘Wait until you taste the fresh pasta with anchovy and tomato sauce. Mario’s mother is in there making it herself, just for us.’
‘How? Why? Or do you normally have this effect on complete strangers?’
He smiled and rested his elbows on the table so that he could lean forward into her space.
‘The recommendation came from Mario’s nephew and his new young wife. Yesterday morning I was putting together a business plan for their fledgling winemaking operation a few miles closer to the sea from where this wine was made. It’s going to mean a lot of hard work but the vines are old and run deep in the poor soil. They are going to go places. And the family are right behind them.’
Then he leant back. ‘They are just one of ten young winemakers who will have their work showcased by RB Wines. They’re excited, I’m excited. You see, I am buying all of their wine. Every last bottle. I am their only customer and I have signed a contract to say that their wine will only be available from one shop. The flagship store I am opening in the spring.’
‘But Burgess Wine is a huge online operation. Doesn’t it make more sense to sell their wine around the world?’
‘You’re right.’ Rick shrugged. ‘My family have worked hard to expand the online wine business to cover most of the West Coast of America. But not Europe. Plus these growers are only making a few hundred cases every year at most, which is not nearly enough for the online trade. Different style. Different market. Different customers. They are taking a risk, of course. If I can’t sell their wine in London...’ He flipped his hands into the air in a very Mediterranean style.
‘You go broke and so do they.’ Saskia sighed out loud and took another long sip of wine. ‘You are asking prospective customers like me to spend money on an unknown winemaker based solely on your recommendation and hoping we are happy with the results. That is one brave marketing plan.’
‘I suppose that is what it comes down to in the end, yes.’
‘I see,’ she whispered and focused her complete attention on the crumbs left in the bread basket, her lips pressed tight together.
A roar of laughter rang out from the man across the table and she sprang back and looked up into Rick’s face. His whole body was shaking and he had to wipe away the tears from his eyes before shaking his head and grinning at her.
‘Please promise me that you will never take up a career as a poker player. Oh dear, the look on your face was priceless.’
‘I am delighted to have provided you with such amusement,’ she sniffed.
His response was to reach across the table, pick up her hand and kiss her knuckles before lowering it back to the table.
‘I’m not laughing at you—’ he smiled ‘—just your reaction. It was the perfect confirmation of what I already suspected. Did you really think that I picked these winemakers out of the phone book by closing my eyes and sticking a pin at random on the pages?’
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘It has taken me two years of tracking down a shortlist of growers based on word of mouth recommendation from people I trust in the business. Then I spent my time and money sending in a team of experts who can pull together a complex combination of geology and climate and do all of the background checks before we went to the vineyard and met them in person. These are not ten random growers. They are the future stars of the winemaking world. And I got there first.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘But you don’t see that when you look at me. Do you? You don’t see the work and the long hours that go on behind the scenes. You see Rick the maverick sportsman.’
He held up his hands as she tried to bluster a response. ‘Well, do you know what? A few years ago you would have been right. I didn’t come into the wine trade by choice. But once I make a commitment to do something, I stick to it.’
Rick tipped his head towards her. ‘I do things my way. I don’t stick to the rules and dance to someone else’s tune. I know who I am and I know what I want. And sometimes people have a hard time coming to terms with that.’
He switched on that killer smile that left no doubt at all in her mind that he was used to getting precisely what he wanted, from any female of any age in a hundred yard radius.
‘Now, I am talking too much about myself. It took me a few minutes to make the connection between Elwood House and the Elwood Brothers wine merchants. I only went there once—’ Rick saluted with his bread ‘—and it was an education. Shame it closed. Professional curiosity. Where do you buy the wine for those cellars you showed me today? Not from Burgess Wine—I checked.’
‘From the growers, mostly. Aunt Margot was quite a character and there was a time when Elwood House was a sort of unofficial bed and breakfast hotel for any passing winemaker who was in town. She had an address book other wine merchants could only dream of.’
‘Add me to that list. That must have been an amazing experience.’
‘Oh, it was—I was sent to bed early on many occasions when things were getting a little too jolly in the kitchen, if you know what I mean. There are some real eccentrics in the wine business. Luckily for me, they kept in touch after she passed and they’re still willing to ship me their best vintages at market prices. The clients certainly appreciate the quality.’
‘I can vouch for that. Do you still talk to the Elwood side of your family?’
‘I am sorry to say that I am the last of the line and my mother has her own life.’ Saskia looked up from her glass. ‘What about your parents? Burgess Wine is based in California now, isn’t it?’
‘Aha. So I am not the only one who hit the Internet today. No need to blush. You already know the office is in the Napa Valley. A long way from central Scotland where they started, but it’s where the wine producers are based so it makes perfect sense. And the climate is slightly better.’
‘Just a bit,’ Saskia replied, feeling a lot more relaxed when he was talking about his family and not hers. ‘Oh, my goodness. Look at that!’
* * *
Rick sat back in his chair opposite Saskia and watched her inhale the aroma of the huge bowl of the most delicious pasta, then turn to the chef with a grin and chatter away in perfect Italian, much to Mama’s delight, who couldn’t wait to share the recipe.
Apparently, adding a ladle of the pasta water to the sauce made all the difference!
It was worth letting his cheese melt just to look at her.
He had half expected Saskia to wear her business suit and a body armour type of corset, but instead he was enjoying dinner with a girl who could have been poured into a wrap dress which clung to all of the right places and gave a man just enough of a tantalising glimpse of what lay beneath to click the right buttons.
Combine that with a brain and an attitude which made him stay awake and pay attention and he was more than interested in Saskia Elwood the woman as well as the heir to the Elwood name.
At Elwood House she was the body in a suit which he couldn’t resist. But here? Here, she was a knockout.
Not that he would ever admit it, of course, but it had thrown him when Saskia had asked about his move to California as a boy.
How could he possibly explain to this girl just how tough it had been? Anger at the injustice of being dragged away from everything he knew and having no say at all in the decision was the one common emotion he remembered only too well from those terrible first few years. It hadn’t helped that his elder brother Tom had been the seventeen-year-old genius who’d excelled in every academic subject he’d turned to at their new high school in California.
Not that he blamed Tom for being the academic son in the family. That was who he was. But the brighter Tom’s star had shone, the more the young Rick Burgess had become a damp firework. And the more the teachers and other pupils had compared him to Tom, the angrier he had become at the injustice and ridicule he had to endure.
Pity that his parents had been too busy work
ing every hour of the day to build a new online wine business to notice that their second son was desperately unhappy.
But he had been honest with Saskia about the sports. Without a physical outlet for his suppressed anger and resentment, he could have turned that energy into something far more damaging.
Saskia waved at Mario and Rick joined in the laughter for a moment before tucking into his food.
Perhaps it was not so surprising that Saskia had picked up on that part of his life?
Angie had come up with so much background material on the Elwood family that he had barely had time to skim-read the essentials when they’d got back to the London office. But one thing was clear. Saskia Elwood Mortimer had become Saskia Elwood for a very good reason. Her father.
It had taken him all of five minutes to work out that Hugo Mortimer would not be winning any prizes as a father and a husband and as a property developer he was a disaster. Dropping the Mortimer name made sense for a teenage girl who was the daughter of a man whose embezzlement scandal hit the headlines around the world. Worse, it was an investment scam that had finally taken him to the law courts and a long prison sentence in an American jail.
Saskia Elwood had every reason to be cautious around men with big ideas and bigger promises.
He got that. Better than she might imagine. He was not Tom. But he shared Tom’s drive and determination to do what he had to in order to achieve his goals. He always had.
It was time to get creative and do something nobody expected him to do.
He had spent most of his life pushing the boundaries and asking forgiveness later; much to his parents’ despair.
Life was not for hanging around waiting for other people to give him permission.
And he had absolutely no intention of changing that philosophy any time soon, even if that meant cutting corners a little when it came to making his store a triumph of innovation and excitement.
Blame It on the Champagne Page 5