Private Tasting

by Nina Jaynes

  Table of Contents

  Private Tasting

  Copyright

  Private Tasting

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Thank You

  Private Tasting

  by

  Nina Jaynes

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Private Tasting

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Nina Jaynes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, February 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-261-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Private Tasting

  Lucio raised a goblet of red wine to his lips, and Beth Munroe pretended not to be jealous of the glass. God, what she wouldn’t give to take it from his hand, straddle his muscular thighs, put her mouth on his skin, and have him tremble under her touch. She wanted to slide her tongue along the hard line of his jaw, feel the rasp of his five o’clock shadow scrape along her taste buds. To slip her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, tangle her fingers in the rough curls of his chest hair, and hear him hiss with pleasure.

  Take his clothes off.

  Turn him on.

  Fuck him until he couldn’t remember his name.

  Let him fuck her until she couldn’t remember hers.

  Her breath hitched as he caught her gaze and smiled.

  “What is it you Americans say? A quarter for your thoughts?”

  His voice, deep as thunder, rumbled through her, and the sultry kick of his Italian accent was lightning to her senses. “Penny,” she said, shifting on his sumptuous leather couch. She tucked her legs underneath as the cooling breeze from the Sicilian evening wafted past. “Penny for your thoughts.” She drained the last of her wine and let the slow rush of alcohol warm her limbs.

  Not that they needed heating. The six-foot-two-inches of raw male sitting in front of her was doing a great job of making her temperature rise and her insides go hot.

  And wet.

  Lucio De Luca, one of Sicily’s most eligible bachelors with a reputation and a sizzle to match. Blue-black hair, eyes the color of roasted almonds, and a mouth—shit. She fantasized about his lips on her tits, those teeth tugging, biting, nibbling.

  Beth shifted, trying to quell the need pulsing deep inside, but God, that mouth. She wanted her pussy on it, his tongue inside her wet center. Her body pulled tight, desire and frustrated need twisted her stomach. She took in a sharp breath, and fumbled for the thread of their conversation. “Penny,” she repeated. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  His teeth gleamed white against his tanned skin. “Your thoughts are worth far more to me, cara. I will give you a euro for one.”

  She only had one—take me to bed. Her stomach gave an excited kick, and her panties dampened. She wanted Lucio, needed him in the most primal way. And she was going to get him. Beth was tired of lusting for him, dreaming of him. Tired of pretending her fingers were his, that her vibrator was his cock.

  Tonight that was going to change.

  “Beth? What are you thinking?”

  That she was going to enjoy him for as long as he wanted to share his sexy body—a night, a week? She didn’t care. Beth was going to screw him until the memory of his touch was in her molecules. Her gaze drifted across the wide expanse of his chest. She smiled. “The wine is delicious.”

  He reached for her empty glass, slipped it from her fingers. “You’re flattering me.”

  “Telling the truth. Your vineyard is a shoo-in for an award—many of them.”

  His black brows puckered, and he halted in the midst of pouring her another glass of Chianti. “Shoes?”

  He resumed his task. Dark ruby liquid slid into the crystal goblet. His smooth movements, the play of his large hands against the slim stem, was doing more to inebriate her senses than the previous two glasses of alcohol. She wanted him to hold her with that gentleness, then put his mouth to her and drink his fill.

  He handed her the wine. “Tell me why shoes will win me an award.”

  “Sorry. You’re…” As she tried to think of the correct term, Lucio bent to collect a square of brie. Fire crackled in the fireplace. Shadow and light danced across the thick ebony locks of his hair, caressed the hard line of his square jaw, and kissed the slope of his nose. She forgot what she was thinking.

  “Beth?”

  She heard the amusement in his voice. Closing her eyes, she took a long, slow pull of the wine. He was the only one who could turn her name into an aphrodisiac. “Um—” She shook her head and drained her glass. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

  Shadow clouded his eyes. He reached for the empty goblet and refilled it. “Perhaps it is too strong for you.”

  Beth took the glass, brought it to her lips, and took a long pull. No, he was the right kind of strong. The kind every woman wanted to handle. Her skin flushed with the fantasy of his cock inside her, her legs aching from spreading them wide so he could fuck her deep and hard. She set down her wine before she dropped it. “More.”

  He shook his head. “It’s half-full. You never drink this much.”

  Beth leaned forward and reached for her glass.

  Lucio matched her movement. The large outline of his palm and fingers came into view and filled her vision. The tan of his skin, the crisp curls of hair, his long, square fingers. He pushed the glass from her reach.

  What made her mouth go dry wasn’t his speed or agility. It wasn’t even the protectiveness in the action. It was the power. The authority. The glass had skated down the table with his movement. But the liquid inside hadn’t rippled. It had stayed so steady, it may as well have been solid.

  It proved that he wasn’t just strong. He was gentle. And the possibilities of having that combination in her bed sent liquid pooling between her legs.

  She took a breath. “I’m celebrating.”

  His sexy mouth puckered. “Celebrating.”

  “I’m free.”

  “You’re intoxicated.”

  “You’re intoxicating.”

  The double entendre was lost in translation because he frowned. “Perhaps it is not celebrating but mourning the ex-boyfriend?”

  Mention of that jackass made her eyes snap wide. “Michael?”

  Lucio’s mouth pulled down. “I told you, you give your heart too freely. Ever since I have known you, you’ve had a man in your life.”

  Six months. Ever since she’d come to Italy to work in the marketing division of Oldani fashions.

  Her gaze traced the long line of his legs. “You never give your heart.”

  “Bah. Love. Why can’t a man and woman have a good time without having to promise their organs to each other?”

  “This from the man who’s never lasted more than three months in a relationship.”

  He drained his glass and tipped it at her. “You get your heart involved, and there is only one way it can end—by breaking. Michael. What did he do? Why are you thinking of him?”

  She laughed. “No, he’s not in my mind.” You are. In my mind, my body. You
possess my every thought.

  He watched her, his dark eyes full of compassion and understanding. Another reason to love him—lust for him, she hastily corrected herself.

  “Beth?” He shifted closer, bringing the scent of male and heady cologne with him.

  She shivered, her skin prickling with awareness of him.

  “Are you cold?” Lucio pulled her into his broad chest. He glanced to the open French doors where the Italian night pushed the scent of grapes and grass and made the gauzy white curtains ripple.

  “Yes,” she lied. “I’m cold.”

  He pulled her tighter, and she sank into the soft mat of his cotton T-shirt. “What did he say?”

  She blinked, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the dark acidity of the grapes on his breath. “Who?”

  “Michael.”

  She smiled at the involuntary contempt that always infused his voice when he spoke her ex’s name. Then frowned as the memory of their last meeting came to mind.

  “Ah, I see it on your face. What did he say to you, cara?”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  He made a sound, low in his throat, and her body purred in response.

  “I want to talk about tonight. About why I’m here.”

  “Michael.”

  “No! Not him.” She jerked upright, but he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and easily pulled her back into the hard frame of his body.

  “You always come over when you break up with a boyfriend and want to talk about it.”

  Okay, that was true. “Maybe, but tonight—”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Can we talk about what I want?”

  “No.” Teasing mixed with the imperious arrogance of a man used to both commanding and having his orders obeyed. “Cara. What did he tell you?”

  She said nothing.

  “Beth.”

  “He said I was a sexual coward,” she blurted the words and heard Lucio hiss. Spinning out of his embrace, she knelt beside him and put her hands on his hard chest. His muscles tensed under her touch, and the warmth of him seeped into her. “Because I—”

  Lucio placed his fingers on her lips.

  She closed her eyes, giving in to the sensation of his skin against hers.

  He traced the outline of her mouth, and blood rushed to the places he touched. Blood rushed to the places he didn’t touch. “You don’t have to explain, Beth.”

  She blinked and met his gaze.

  “He was an idiot, and I never understood why you dated him.”

  Because he was available. Because, in the right kind of light, he looked like you, and when I closed my eyes, I could pretend it was you between my legs, not him. “I’m not a coward,” she said, seduced by the way her lips moved against his finger. “I just didn’t have the right partner.” She didn’t have Lucio.

  Beth took a deep breath, met and maintained eye contact, and opened her mouth to ask him the question that had driven her to his door.

  Only, before she could say anything, he was moving with fluid grace to a standing position. “You will find him.” He smiled, genuine, and held out his hand. “I think you’ve had enough wine. Let me walk you home.”

  She saw the warning in his eyes. Mortified, she stumbled to a standing position. He’d known what she was going to ask.

  And he’d rejected her.

  ****

  Lucio stepped away from Beth’s front door, making sure he heard the lock catch before he allowed himself a breath. He pressed his forehead against the wood and tried to ease the ache in his cock. The goddamn twist in his insides. Madre di dios.

  He’d been waiting for her, dreaming and lusting for her since the moment he’d first seen her. And tonight, tonight, she decided to ask him to bed.

  And he’d done the impossible. He’d turned her down.

  Because she was drunk. Because she mourned that jackass. They could pass for brothers, he and Michael. In her inebriated state, had she reached for him so she could pretend he was Michael?

  The thought made his dick go limp.

  He pushed off and headed down the flagstone path and back to his villa.

  Maybe she’d been serious. He’d seen the look in her eyes. The same desire he felt for her had been reflected in her blue irises.

  What if—? He kicked at the pebbles on the road and set the stones skittering, their surface made silver by the moon. Beth. She wasn’t a drinker. He couldn’t be sure, and there was no way he’d ever do anything to hurt her. Lucio shoved his hands in his pockets and, shoulders hunched, his head full of too many thoughts, he headed home.

  ****

  The candlelight flickered, catching and reflecting the overhead chandeliers. Cold air from the vents made Beth’s skin goose-pimple. She shivered in the black silk dress, pretending she wanted to be here and tossing artificial smiles at the guests of the annual wine festival. God, she did not want to be here. Not when she hadn’t seen Lucio since that disastrous night.

  No texts, emails, phone calls. Part of it was his schedule. He was one of the organizers of the festival, and she knew the past few days had been insane. But the other part…the other part kept her awake and chewed at her stomach. He hadn’t called, not because he couldn’t find time, but because he didn’t want to talk to her. Maybe tonight was the best way to see him. In public. A crowd to watch them. To supervise and chaperone.

  She sighed and pivoted from her place by the curved staircase. The movement caused the soft fabric of her gown to brush against her bare legs. A week ago, she’d mapped out this night. Her grand plan to seduce Lucio would’ve been successful. Instead of rejecting her, he’d led her to bed and taken her into the erotic places only he could access. And tonight, she would’ve returned the favor. Fucked him. Sucked him. Made him scream her name.

  Too bad her plan had imploded. The only place he’d taken her that night was to her house. Then he’d left her alone and lonely in her bed.

  The fantasy had died, but she’d lived it so long, it was almost unconscious to dress the part of the seductress. From her hair, strategically upswept to fall at one pull of the ivory stick holding the strands in place—to the dress. Floor length with a halter top, the fabric was tight enough to hug her curves, loose enough for—she closed her eyes. Her imagination flashed to Lucio, standing behind her, sliding the fabric up her legs. Her nipples puckered. Her breath stopped.

  God, his hands. Tan and strong. Calloused and rough from his time in the fields. How would it feel to have them on her breasts. Warm and heavy, cupping the round swells, squeezing until she cried out with pleasure? His breath hot on her neck, his tongue—shit. She was getting wet. Beth put her hands on her hips, tilted her head back, and lifted her gaze to the ceiling. When she looked back at the crowd, she saw him.

  Lucio, standing at the top of the staircase. He wore a tuxedo, his skin made richer by the ebony fabric. His broad shoulders filled the jacket, tapered to his lean waist, and breath-takingly long legs. Her mouth went dry, and when he moved down the steps with his trademark sensual, primal grace, she forgot how to breathe.

  By the time he reached her, she’d managed to take a breath, but as he smiled, spoke her name, and leaned in to kiss her cheek, her heart contracted with the memory of his gentle rebuff. He pulled away and met her eyes, but not before she could fully hide her emotion.

  “Beth?” His dark gaze searched her face. “The other night—”

  She forced a smile. “Forget it.”

  “You seemed…you drank a lot. I was only trying—”

  “I know.” She put her hand up to stop him as he opened his mouth. “But I’m a big girl, Luico. I knew—know—what I want.”

  “Still,” he spoke slowly. “You’d had wine before you came over—”

  “It wasn’t your label.” She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze. “When it comes to your brand, I can handle more than you think.”

  His eyes clouded—maybe. Maybe it was the shadows in
her that made her see shade in his almost black pupils.

  “The event is beautiful.” She shifted away from the scent of him, the heat of his body.

  “Thank you—Beth—”

  She heard the hitch in his voice, the subtle signal that he wanted to keep the discussion going, but the Master of Ceremonies stepped to the podium. Lucio gave her one last, assessing look. His dark gaze bored into her as though searching for the truth of that night, the truth of this night, then he gave her a small smile.

  The woman on stage went into the usual spiel, thanking the organizers, bringing attention to the family who owned the massive estate where the gala was being held, greeting the guests, then moved to the first item on the program—the film that detailed the history of the various vineyards. The guests moved to form a small cluster in the center of the room. Lucio took Beth’s hand, silently directing her to allow the men and women to precede them. By the time the lights dimmed, she and Lucio were at the back of the crowd, but still close enough to hear the rustle of the silk and crepe dresses.

  The opening credits rolled, and she felt him step close. Very close. The firm length of his body pressed against her, making her acutely aware of the heat and breadth of him, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and the underlying masculine smell that left her trembling. “Lucio? Is—”

  Her whispered question was cut short as his hands wrapped around her waist. This was no friendly, platonic touch. His intention transmitted itself in the confidence and power with which his fingers curled around her hips.

  Her heart kicked and dived.

  “You look beautiful tonight.” He trailed his finger along her temple and down her jaw.

  She turned into his touch, closed her eyes, and let her lips brush his skin. “Do you like my dress?”

  His touch smoothed along the fabric at her waist. “Almost as soft as your skin.”

  “I thought of you when I bought it.” She paused. “Thought of what you might like to do to me when you saw me in it.”

  His body tensed. “You wore this for me?” Sex and lust throbbed in his voice.

  “I’m not a sexual coward,” she said. “I’ve just never had the right partner.” She took a breath. “I’ve never had you.”