Jennifer Hayward - An Exquisite Challenge

“That much?”

He nodded. “Winemakers like to call it the Angel’s Share.”

She smiled. “I love that.”

“Very apt, no?”

They took the wine back to the dining room and sat at the ornately carved showpiece of a bar. “So where was she murdered?”

His mouth tipped up on one side. “In the last barrel room we visited.”

“And whose ghost is supposed to be down here?”

“Janine’s. Apparently she paces the cellar demanding to be brought back to life. She considers the whole situation unjust.” He shrugged. “I say apparently, because I haven’t heard or seen her since I’ve been here.”

Thank God for that. Her breath left her in a whoosh. “Time to drink.”

“Alexandra Anderson,” Gabe drawled slowly, studying her face. “You aren’t afraid of ghosts, are you?”

She waved her hand in the air. “Let’s just say they’re not one of my favorite things.”

“Interesting.” He lowered his tall, lean frame onto the stool beside her and slid a glass across the bar. “We’ll start with the lightest ones. First the Zinfandel.”

She took a sip. “Too fruity.”

“Lots of people find that.”

Next came the Pinot Noir. It was better. Smoky, maybe? She wrinkled her nose. “Too light.”

His mouth quirked. “What are you, Goldilocks?”

She smiled. “Next?”

He pushed the second-deepest-toned red toward her. She took a sip. This time the smoother, richer tone of the wine curled itself around her tongue in a mellow greeting she was fully on board with. “Mmm. This one is good.”

“I should hope so.” Humor darkened his eyes. “It’s our gold-medal award-winning Merlot.”

She took another sip. It really was good. Rich, smooth and so easy to drink... A warm glow began to spread through her body as the combined effect of the different wines and a lack of sleep hit her. She pushed her empty glass toward him. “Next.”

“Easy, tiger. You still have two more to go.”

“Two?”

“Our Devil’s Peak is behind the bar. Just getting it labeled.” He flashed her one of those schoolteacher looks of his. “What did you notice about the last wine?”

She frowned. “I dunno. It’s heavier but still soft.”

“Exactly. Merlots are softer and fruitier than a Cab, yet display many of the same aromas and flavors—black cherry, currant, cedar and green olive. You can even have mint, tobacco and tea-leaf tones in them.”

She snorted. “Green olives? You don’t actually believe all that mumbo jumbo, do you? I mean, have you ever tasted green olive in a wine?”

“Sì.” He gave her a condescending look. “I have.”

She surveyed the twist of his lips with an inner growl. He was so smug. So confident. She wondered what it would take to knock him off his peg. To kiss him again, except this time ruffle that deep, dark packaging and see what happened.

Which couldn’t happen, given their agreement. But fun to think about nonetheless...

“And this one?” She summoned her best dutiful-schoolgirl look. “Must be a Cab.”

He nodded. “From 2006. Our best year. Try it.”

She tasted it. It was rich and dark and so good she wanted to eat it up. “That is a wine.”

“The king of all reds, infatti. Cabs are the world’s most sought-after grape—they take five to ten years to achieve an optimal flavor, and they’re worth every minute of it.” He gestured toward her glass. “You should taste plum, cherry, blackberry and a hint of tobacco in that one.”

She frowned. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Lex,” he said darkly. “Focus. You aren’t going to get a feel for this unless you try.”

She took another sip, rolled it around her mouth and swallowed. “Maybe the spice?”

“Not spice, tobacco.”

“I can’t taste it.”

His lips moved but no sound came out. He looked as though he was counting to five. Was he counting to five?

“Gabe...”

He shook his head and waved a hand at her, as if he’d given up. She pouted. Really? Could it be this hard?

He walked around the bar and pulled out a bottle without a label. “Now for The Devil’s Peak.”

She perked up. This was what it was all about.

He poured them some. She pulled her glass toward her lips. “Lex—” He muttered a curse and came around the bar. “You don’t drink wine like you’re slinging beer. You savor it.”

“That’s pretentious garbage.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled the glass away from her mouth. “It’s not pretentious garbage, it’s how to drink wine. First,” he instructed, guiding her wrist in a smooth, circular movement, “you swirl it in the glass to smell the bouquet. It’s important to get that first scent of the flavor to taste it correctly.” He pushed the glass toward her nose. “Now you inhale.” She did and lo and behold, an intense shot of berry filled her lungs.

“Cherry,” she crowed triumphantly.

“Hallelujah.” He held his hands up. “So what’s the other grape it’s blended with?”

She bit her lip. Thought hard. “Merlot?”

His teeth flashed white against his swarthy skin. “Esattamente.”

She tried to ignore how everything he said in Italian sounded sexy. How he was standing so close to her she could smell that earthy, spicy aftershave of his, bringing back heady memories of the kiss. Hell. She forced herself to focus on the issue at hand. The wine was rich like the previous Cab, smooth like the prize-winning Merlot, but there was also something else...something special she couldn’t put her finger on. “Lots of wines blend Merlots and Cabs, though, right? What makes this one so special?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Chemistry. We add the mystery ingredients, play with the yeasts and use our proprietary processes to get that perfect blend.”

So how did that play into her theme? She racked her brain. Tossed around a couple of ideas. Then a lightbulb went off in her head. Maybe that was her theme...

Chemistry. There were a million innovative ways she could make it come to life at the party. It was perfect.

“You,” she pronounced, poking her finger into his chest, “are brilliant.”

“I’m glad you’ve seen the light,” he responded dryly. “Care to share?”

“Not yet.” She wasn’t stupid. She needed to have this idea fully baked before she put it in front of Mr. Flawless here. “On Monday when I can show you the full concept.”

“Prudent of you.”

She ignored the tilt of his mouth. She could be prudent when she needed to. She did have some restraint. Another sip of the glorious wine kept the ideas flowing. She rolled it around her mouth. Yes, she could definitely get inspired about this.

“We haven’t talked about who’s going to speak to the media about all this brilliance.” She lifted a brow. “You? Antonio?”

“Me. Riccardo doesn’t want to leave Lilly alone and Antonio isn’t coming.”

She frowned. “Why? The press eat Antonio up. They love his big personality, his theatrics. He can do the big-picture historic stuff.”

His face tightened. “I’ll do it. Antonio isn’t available.”

“What do you mean isn’t available? How can he not be available for this?”

He picked up the bottle and jammed it on the shelf behind the bar. “Antonio doesn’t believe in this venture. He doesn’t believe a decent bottle of wine can be made outside of Italy and if he were to come, he’d say something damaging that would hurt us. I don’t want him here.”

“We can message him so he doesn’t go off track. Make sure he knows what he can and cannot say. I really think—”

“No.” The force behind the word stopped her in her tracks. His face was a thundercloud of black emotion. “Find another way to get press coverage, Alex.”