by Chloe Blake
“I did not, but I assume they didn’t show the twenty-hour days picking grapes in the sun or the de-stemming by hand when the machine gets clogged.”
“No. They showed the ladies stomping the grapes with their skirts raised.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Of course. The part a vintner lives for. The stomping of the grapes is no longer a necessity. We have large shiny machines now, but it’s a ritual we do before the autumn harvest. We use the ritual grapes for our house wine—wine only for the family.”
“That’s lovely.”
“It’s been our custom for five generations in France. My grandmother still stomps, but with my mother and wife gone, our female energy has dwindled to her, my aunts and a few cousins.”
“Maybe if I can ever walk again, I can come and help.”
His lids lowered. “I’d love to have you.”
“Five generations is a lot of tradition.”
“Tell me about it. It doesn’t leave a lot of room for new ideas. Innovation is seen as destruction.”
“You innovated and were successful, though.”
“Yes.”
“Is some of your success sitting in that cask room?”
His eyebrow popped up. Don’t trust her. He was about to say no, give an excuse. Anything to keep her far from his plans.
She grinned at his hesitation, and his gaze focused on her lips. Decision made.
“You want a taste?”
Chapter 7
“Let it breathe a little. Then tell me what you think.” Destin towered over her, waiting, watching, anticipating her party trick. At least they were getting along, she thought, her mind running over their unusual circumstances. Any mention of the sale had him closed off and frowning, but he was inviting when it came to his wines.
She reached for her goblet, giving the dark cherry-colored liquid a habitual swish before tipping it to her mouth. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she couldn’t resist the urge to run her tongue over them. She wondered if he realized that he licked his own lips in answer.
The minute the wine hit her tongue, she splashed into heaven. Any echoes of awkwardness peeled away as her palate was bombarded with a full-bodied varietal infused with rich flavors. She tapped her tongue on the top of her mouth and sucked in a slow breath. Vanilla, coconut and sweet wood—probably from the light oak barrels she had seen in the other room. The dark undertones in the wine placed it as a Cab Franc, which made sense, since she had tasted something similar at dinner the night before.
But there was something different and more vibrant here. Could it be something in the aging process?
Destin shifted his weight and let out the breath he’d been holding, but his focus on her didn’t waver. She took another sip, swished it around her mouth, tasting again with laser-sharp focus. A floral note teased her tongue, but the subtle flavor eluded her. Violet? She took another sip and shook her head. Basil? Her tongue swiped her lips. No.
“You’re killing me,” Destin grit out.
“Black currant, plum, black licorice, tobacco,” she started.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his gaze told her there was more, as did her palate.
“Coconut, vanilla from the oak.”
His brows raised in challenge.
“And a floral note in the finish that I’m still working out. This is a beautiful wine, Destin.”
He didn’t smile, but his face radiated satisfaction. “Thank you.”
“So, was I right?”
He studied her and nodded slowly. “You have quite a gift.”
“It’s similar to the wine we had last night, but fuller. More explosive on the tongue.”
His eyes snapped to hers. “You can tell the difference?”
“Absolutely. This one is crisper. Your father’s wine had heavier wood and earth flavors.”
“It was one of the first wines I created and produced.”
“Oh! I thought that was your father’s.”
“It is his.” She caught the change of tone in his voice. “Technically.” Destin walked back into the cask room.
Half a glass later, Nicole was surprisingly baffled and impressed at the complexity of the wine. A wine like this would sell for hundreds of dollars a bottle.
Nicole bet all of those casks were filled with wines created before the fire, and she estimated that many would be mature. If she was right—and she usually was—there was about two thousand bottles’ worth of wine in there that could be sold in a year and used as capital to fix the irrigation pipes and replant. So why wouldn’t they rebuild?
It wasn’t her concern. She was there to show, sell and get her promotion. Not save a dilapidated winery or its even more dilapidated owner. He clearly hadn’t moved on, and how could he when everything in here probably reminded him of a lost life? Destin probably didn’t realize it, but the sale would be good for him.
A streak of satisfaction caused her to sit up a bit, and she recalled their meeting last night. He’d called lawyers “soulless.” She’d taken offense, of course, but mostly because it was true. While she tried to use her degree for good, there was a downside to her occupation that she had to ignore in order to be successful. Development deals were always at the expense of long-time residents; many home sales were executed because of financial trouble.
There were times she felt she made money off other people’s pain. But this was different. This deal made her feel like Mother Theresa. The Dechamps family healing was in her hands. Not to mention this deal, and the promise of a new life that would be her path to healing, too.
“I’m going to finish up in here,” Destin said, reappearing behind her. He grabbed the wine bottle and refilled her glass. Then his own. “I have some books in the back if you’d like to try to relax.” He winked. She was pretty sure she blushed in return.
Her gaze followed him back to the alcove and fell to his tight-fitting cargo pants. His whole body looked solid. Horrified at her thoughts, she tore her gaze away and took another sip of wine—the culprit of her wandering thoughts, no doubt. She needed to slow down, but the wine was so good.
She could see a shadowed outline of him bent over as he rummaged through something in the darkness of the alcove. Then he lit an oil lamp, and he was bathed in an ethereal glow. She couldn’t look away.
As if called, the dog popped up from his rest, plucked a rawhide bone from the floor and sat by his master. With a smile, Destin turned and ripped the bone from the dog’s mouth for a small toss. In seconds, the dog had retrieved it and was waiting patiently with his toy in his mouth for another go. After a few throws, Destin turned, sipped his wine and went back to his project.
Undeterred, the dog made his way to her side. His soulful eyes looked into hers, and she got sucked into playing fetch. With each pitch to the dog, Nicole suspected that Destin wasn’t cleaning, as he’d claimed.
“Good boy, Magnus. Go lie down.” When the dog didn’t budge, Destin repeated himself in Portuguese. The dog lowered himself just a few steps away. “Magnus isn’t very worldly. He only speaks Portuguese.”
“I won’t hold it against him.”
“And if you haven’t noticed, he’s quite clingy. I suspect he is part sheepdog. Herding is instinctual, so he gets antsy when we move around.”
“That’s kind of cute.”
Destin held up two books. “By chance, are you an Oscar Wilde fan? It’s in English.”
A scorched leather-bound copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray was balanced in his fingertips, bringing the fire to the forefront of her mind. She saw now that the covered furniture, the food, maybe even the dog, were all items he had pulled from the rubble. She wondered how this book had survived. She wondered how Destin had survived.
“Or Steinbeck? Of Mice and Men? Although this copy is in French. I have more, but they’re in Portuguese.” He paused. “They we
re my wife’s.”
She nodded. Maybe that explained why he couldn’t let go.
“Dorian Gray it is.”
She had no idea how much time went by as she sat and read while Magnus worked on his rawhide nearby. She twisted around toward the closed cask-room door where Destin had gone.
It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard any storm sounds in a while. It had been hours; the storm had to have stopped.
The dog set down his bone and watched as she carefully lowered her ankle to the floor, whipped off the blanket and stood. She limped to the door and pulled it open. A muffled thunder crack filled the stairwell, and she could hear the rain pelting against the wooden door above.
Hopes dashed, she closed the door, and the dog seemed to lead her back to her spot at the table. She bundled up and sipped her wine, wondering if Gustavo had called the hotel to check on her. She’d been supposed to call him after finishing her tour.
She thought of Dani and Liz, and wondered what they were doing. Her best friends were probably at brunch getting tipsy on mimosas, scanning for men and trading gossip. She wanted to be there so badly. She couldn’t wait to tell them about this.
Nicole drained her wine, feeling cozy and a little floaty, and...oh, no. She hoped wine cellars had toilets.
She knocked on the cask-room door and shouted, “Um...is there a bathroom?” She already knew the answer, expecting some sort of bucket situation. He cracked the door just enough so his body was visible, and his eyes told her what she already knew.
“There’s an outhouse about fifty yards from here.”
“It’s still storming. I can’t hobble out there.”
“I could find a bucket—”
“Absolutely not,” she said, horrified. Her dignity was already holding on by a thread. It wasn’t the 1600s, where chamber pots were the norm.
“Then you’ll have to wait out the storm.”
She affected a pleading look and a sweet smile. “Are you sure we can’t take my car out of here? It’s an SUV with four-wheel drive.”
“You want me to carry you out to your car in the storm, then drive us down the washed-out roads where there are no guardrails or any guarantee that the roads are clear of fallen trees?” He looked away and bent behind the door, then set an old ceramic plant pot down next to her. Her jaw dropped at the same time that he shut the door.
She let out a sigh and began to chew on the inside of her cheek, not only to distract herself from the increasing urge to relieve herself, but to think of some serious insults to hurl his way.
Ignoring the pain in her ankle and hopping furiously, her movements so aggravated that the dog whimpered, she made it to the door and whipped it open. The bang it made against the wall echoed. The rush of rain only spurred her on; she wasn’t going to let Mother Nature or that arrogant Frenchman best her.
She made it to the first step and let out a loud yelp when strong arms grabbed her, twisted her around and pulled her into a hard chest. His breath was hot against her ear, and his beard brushed her lips when she moved to grasp his shoulders. With her nose in his throat, she inhaled him, and was surprised by a natural, spicy scent of forest and firewood.
He set her down at the top of the stairs and opened the outer door to a torrential down pour.
“Here is what we are going to do!” he yelled over the rain. “I am going to go get my Jeep.” He grasped her arms and brought his face to hers, eyes wide. “Do. Not. Move.” Magnus gruffed at her side, as if to accentuate the order. “I’m going to pull up to the door, help you in, and I will do my best not to get us killed on the way to my home. Got it?”
She nodded and shivered as the wind blew rain against them. She was getting spritzed, and she could tell by the darkening stain on his shoulders that his whole back was soaked.
Magnus followed Destin out into the night, and she cursed under her breath when she could no longer see them. The rainfall coming from the dark sky was relentless. Scattered lightning flashed lavender in the distance. Without the barrier of his body, she, too, was wet to the bone. Ironically, she no longer had to pee.
It felt like it took forever, but suddenly two headlights and what looked like an army Jeep stopped just a few feet from her. Rain pelted Nicole’s eyes, but she saw Destin jump from the vehicle and come toward her. Suddenly she was in his arms, moving quickly to the other side of the Jeep. He placed her inside roughly and slammed the door.
She jumped when Magnus licked her shoulder from the backseat. Outside, Destin secured the cellar door, then jumped into the driver’s seat. He was breathing heavily, his wet hair spiked, his shirt sucked tight across his torso and bulging arms. The open V at his neckline gaped, and the skin there glistened. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.
“Ready?” He turned to her, his gaze dropping to her shirt, which had been made completely see-through by the rain. She didn’t care; a part of her wanted him to look. He turned away and clicked the hot air on high. The warm blast helped her find her voice.
“Yeah. Ready.”
Chapter 8
Even at the slow pace Destin was driving, they fishtailed out of the forest and onto the soupy roads. The wipers were set on high, but Nicole could see nothing except for what was right in front of them—mud splash and rainfall. Her seat belt cut into her torso as they bounced hard over fallen tree branches, and Destin’s jaw clenched as he handled the steering wheel.
They skidded and swerved, Destin’s arm going out across her body. She felt them turn, then trees thumped against the sides of the Jeep as they drove. Branches pelted the side of the car as a large gate rose before them.
Destin flipped his key fob up and pressed hard, but nothing happened. “Shit. The electricity is out. Stay here.”
Jumping from the Jeep, Destin crossed in front of the headlights and pulled at the gate, manually sliding it to the side. He jumped back into the Jeep and they bounced and dipped along an unpaved lane that led into a gated community.
Destin whipped the Jeep into a right turn and stopped just in front of a dark structure. He hurried around the car and helped her to the front door.
“We made it,” he said, fiddling with his wet keys.
“Thank God,” she breathed, her skin so wet the warm wind made her shiver when she climbed out of the car. “Not to sound ungrateful, but I left my purse in the cellar.”
“We’ll get it tomorrow. I locked it up. Hang on to me.”
She clutched his shoulder and hopped over the dark threshold. Even with the door still open, it was difficult to see inside.
“Stay here. I need to find my flashlight.” She stood in what she thought was a foyer, shaking from the chill of her wet clothes, willing her eyes to adjust. Magnus breathed rapidly beside her, his wet fur against her leg a comfort. She hated the dark.
Banging, shuffling and a muttered curse came from different parts of the room. She squinted in each direction. Destin had become a hulking figure moving away into the dark. Rain continuously pelted the roof and the windows. Lightning flashed through a giant bay window on the other side of the room, and for a second she glimpsed a kitchen to her right and a wide-open living room right in front of her. But where was Destin?
“Destin?” Could this get any creepier? She felt Magnus shake his fur out and move away. She tensed even more. A door opened. “Where did you go?” Her question was directed into the darkness.
“I’m right here. I...” he said, suddenly only a few feet away from her. He didn’t get a chance to finish as Nicole let out a scream that had Magnus barking. She heard a match strike. Destin’s face and form became illuminated by a skinny white candle. “Sorry,” he said with a smile that looked more mischievous than apologetic.
Behind him was a spacious kitchen with a rectangular island, dual ovens, a microwave, a refrigerator and the largest wine locker she’d ever seen.
She
placed her hand over her heart, willing it to slow. “I think I’m about to have a heart attack. I, uh, I don’t like the dark.”
“I see.” Chuckling, he handed her the lit candle and laid several more unlit ones on the counter. “I must have left the flashlight in the wine cellar. I found these.”
He pulled mason jars from a cupboard, placed a candle in each one, and then turned to Nicole. “Can you make it to the couch?”
Candle in hand, Nicole hopped to the middle of the room and, instead of sitting, provided a beacon of light while Destin strategically placed candles in each dark corner. The glow of each candle revealed more of what she had glimpsed in the lightning flash: a large open family area with tan leather armchairs and a beige L-shaped couch, a corner sitting area by a small liquor bar and bookshelves, and a small dining table right under the bay window. What he called a small château was more like a sprawling estate, and could have graced the cover of House Beautiful.
“Where’s Magnus?” Nicole asked, scanning the hardwood floor covered strategically in luxurious, fluffy rugs.
“Probably on his bed in the other room.”
Nicole leaned on Destin as they crossed into an adjacent room with storage shelving. Magnus was lying on a flat pillow. He dropped a toy from his mouth and stood when they entered. Two pairs of rain boots were against the wall next to a side door.
“A mud room,” Nicole said as she noticed the concrete floors. “How many rooms do you have?”
“You’re not selling this, too, Nicole.” The light played on his jaw and cheek. Too sexy.
“I’m just asking. And you never know,” she said as they turned back into the living area. “You may want a change. I could get you a ridiculous price for this.”
He grunted his disapproval. “Enough of the tour. We have to get out of these wet clothes.”
They managed to make it to his bedroom. The candle exposed a massive oak bed and a single chair covered in clothing. A floor-to-ceiling window with French doors took up most of the east wall.