Page 71 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
He winced a little as he sat down beside her, hoping the stones weren’t coated in something that would stick to his pants. He liked these pants and walking around with dirt or sludge on them wasn’t the look he was going for, especially on a date with a beautiful woman.
She had the wine bottle out quickly and expertly opened it. She handed him the bottle. “First taste is yours.”
He pursed his lips as he took it. “We’re not using glasses? Jacqueline, I’m shocked.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder, staring up into his eyes. “Just because I’m a sommelier doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy drinking out of the bottle. In fact, there are some vintages that absolutely demand it. Like this one.”
Hearing her talk about wine was its own aphrodisiac. “Tell me what we’re drinking.”
“It’s aCôtes du Roussillon, Les Aspres La Romanie2013, byChateau Planeres,” she said, pointing to the label as if presenting the bottle for a proper tasting. “The region and the wine are both under the radar. Not very expensive—yet. The quality is worth three times the price, and it’s the kind of wine I like to pitch to wine enthusiasts and investors because I think it’s going to take off.”
It occurred to him again that it was too bad expensive wines couldn’t be sampled. You had to really roll the dice. It reminded him of how he’d always wanted to taste Pappy Van Winkle to see if it was as good as people said. So after a big launch, he’d forked out the cash for a bottle. He’d been underwhelmed. It really was too bad you couldn’t taste a truly expensive wine or liquor without more guarantees.
“I’m sure the family who makes it has been doing this a long time, right?” he teased. “I know you now.”
She kicked out her feet happily at that. “I’m glad, and yes, this vintage was made by an old Roussillon family. Their area is thick with history. Disastrous harvests around the turn of last century, revolts—”
“You get all flushed when you talk like that,” he said, pitching his voice low. “It’s very sexy.”
She tried to give him a serious face—that sexy look a woman gives when she’s trying to show a guy that he’s being a little fresh but she likes it. “Take a drink and see what you think.”
“Plum for sure.” God, he stunk at guessing, especially around an expert. “Leather?”
“No,” she answered crisply, taking the bottle for a drink. “Dark fruit. I would say a hint ofsous-bois.”
“I have no idea what that means,” he said as she handed the bottle back to him.
“It means undergrowth in French, and maybe the easiest way to explain it is to think of all the tastes, aromas, and flavors that come to a wine from such a place. You might say loamy or think of powdered limestone.”
God, he was so out of his wine league. “Nice. I learned a new term. Jacqueline, I’m really glad you texted me tonight. If it were up to me, I’d spend every day with you, even if all we do is drink wine that tastes of undergrowth from some under-the-radar place.”
Her lips twitched. “I like spending time with you too. You know…you’ve gained my regard and trust in a very short time. I usually—”
When she paused, he turned and gave her his full attention. God, this was what he’d been waiting for, right? But she suddenly looked a little unsure again, and he felt a flicker of guilt about the trust thing. “You usually what?”
She blew out an uncharacteristic harsh breath. “I normally make up my mind slower. Maybe it’s that you’ve taken Pierre in and won him over. I can’t tell you how long I wandered around in shock after Pierre said he wanted to stay with you.”
“Well, that was mostly Madison, although he and I get along great.” Dean picked at his threads. “You’ll have to see the new chef’s outfit I had made for him in person. The photos I texted don’t do his regal presence justice.”
That had her taking his jaw in both her hands and kissing him so sweetly, so sexily, he thought he was going to slide right off the ledge and into the Seine. Now that would be a French ending. Finding love and happiness right before drowning. He was laughing when he broke away, and she was smiling as well.
“Dean, it’s because I trust you that I have something else I would like to ask of you.”
“Anything,” he responded, setting the wine bottle down and taking her hands in his. He would tell her everything, he promised himself, if they won the cave, and after that, he’d never keep another thing from her. “Say the word.”
She hesitated a moment before saying, “I’ve told you that my sister won’t honor my father’s wishes and give me his cave.”
He jolted at the shift in topic. Whoa! Had she discovered their involvement? “You did, yes,” he managed casually.
“I had this crazy idea.” She clenched his hands and met his eyes, her mouth working like she was trying to drum up her courage as his heart raced. “I wondered if you would be willing to put in a bid for me. Under your name.”
He jerked back, nearly unseating himself, but she tightened her grip so he didn’t fall right into the Seine.“What?”
“I thought you—or Nanine’s maybe—might want, say, half the bottles of the cave while I took the rest. I mean, I can’t afford all the bottles at the moment, but I think I can start my business with half. Is this too much to ask?”
Too much to ask?My God, was she psychic? Or was this more Paris kismet, because this was his exact plan, and here she was, offering it to him. He blinked as he realized this was the answer to his every issue. He must be under a lucky star tonight.
“For you,ma belleJacqueline, I would do anything.”
