The Winemaker

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I didn’t know temperature could make that much of a difference.”

  “The temperature at which we store the wine is also important. Wide fluctuations can damage the wine and the cork. Too much humidity can lead to mold in the cellar wood and the labels, and a too dry condition can cause the corks to crack and air leaks to ruin the wine. That’s why we regulate the temperature of the cellar, but we’ll get to that detail later. For now, hold the glass properly.”

  She adjusted her grip.

  He put his glass on the table. “Like that. Good,” he purred next to her ear. “Relax your fingers. You don’t have to hold it so tight. You’re not going to drop the glass.”

  His hand went to her shoulders, his fingers massaging the soft flesh around her neckline. “Too tense,” he said from behind her. “Relax. Drinking wine is a joyful experience.”

  Zenna rolled her shoulders, both in an effort to shake off his too-good touch and to relax. She rather wished he wouldn’t stand so close to her. She wasn’t an olfactory expert like he was, but he smelled delicious.

  “Now, roll the glass clockwise and tell me what you see.”

  Zenna flicked her wrist, forward and then back. She gripped the glass too hard again.

  Etán leaned with one elbow on the table, his other arm encircling her, taking her wrist lightly between his fingers. “You move the glass like this.” He swirled her wrist. “No, too tense. Relax your arm.”

  Zenna tried to relax her hand, her arm, her fingers, but having him so close to her, feeling his chest and the heat that emanated from his body flush against her back, made her as tight as a string. She took a big breath and tried again.

  “That’s better,” he said, his voice too warm against her ear. “What do you see?”

  Zenna breathed out the air she held captive in her lungs. Unintentionally her body leaned back into his with the movement. Warmth spread through her senses. She couldn’t help it. She felt herself leaning into him, her body having a will all of its own. Looking at the red liquid in front of her illuminated by the dim glow of the lights, she felt mesmerized, hypnotized. The heat of his body, the rumbling sound of his voice, the way his vocal cords vibrated against her back as he spoke, the way his scent crept around her like enveloping ivy, the way she felt safe deep down in the cellar, made her fall back into him, despite herself.

  “What do you see?” he repeated gently.

  Zenna blinked, and tried to focus on the wine. “A dark red. Like velvet. Shiny.”

  “Good. This is our 2003 Cabernet blend. We say the color shines an iridescent ruby. Don’t mind the jargon too much. You’ll get the hang of it.” He was still holding her hand, manipulating it now again into movement. “Look at the glass, where the wine has wetted the inside as you swirled it and then washed back.”

  “It leaves a thin trace. Transparent.”

  “Good. That is an indication of the wine’s sugar content.” He let go of her hand, but he didn’t move his body away from where he was pressing against her back. “Now, bring it slowly to your mouth.”

  The way in which he spoke made Zenna’s stomach turn warm even before the wine had gotten close to her mouth. She brought the glass to her lips.

  He touched her hand again. “Don’t drink, yet. Smell it.”

  She inhaled.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered over her eyes. It was like seducing her mouth, her nose, her skin, her hearing, all of her senses with wine, his voice, and his warmth. A girl could get used to this.

  “Focus,” he chided lightly. “Take a deep breath from the belly of the glass. What do you smell?”

  She inhaled again, filling her lungs with the aroma.

  When she hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed, his voice stroked over her again. “Don’t think too hard. Just tell me what comes up, the first words that come to mind.”

  “Berries. Wood. Lemon?”

  “Very good.” He let go of her hand. “A little off the mark, but not bad for a first time. Berries, fresh-cut cedar, and pencil lead, I’d say. Now, drink. First wet your lips. Take your time. Then let is slide softly, slowly onto your tongue, and feel it there. Let it rest in your mouth until the first fire of your taste buds pass. You will feel it tingling. Hold the feeling. When it passes, roll the wine around in your mouth. Make sure to cover the whole surface of your tongue, and your palate. Then you can spit it out and tell me what your mouth remembers of the taste.”

  Zenna did as he had instructed, feeling the fizziness of the alcohol teasing her palate before the ticklish sensation evaporated to make space for a deeper imprint of the flavors on her tongue. She smelled, experienced, and tasted all at once.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder again. “I know it’s hard in the beginning, but try to isolate your senses. You’ve already smelled, now simply focus on the taste. The smell is an important part of the tasting, but don’t mix too many senses into the equation. Just taste.”

  She rolled the liquid over her tongue and tried to banish everything else to the back of her consciousness except for taste. That was a dangerous thing to do because as soon as she had pushed her other senses to some secondary place in her mind, the taste in her mouth amplified, and with it her awareness of the man behind her. Feeling the shocked sensation of her knees suddenly weakening under the helpful screen of the table, she almost choked on the wine.

  Etán’s laugh was deep. “I said to spit it out, not swallow. We have to taste a lot still, and I don’t want to have to carry you back to the house.”

  Zenna’s head tilted back to alleviate the cough she had barely managed to contain. Her tongue flicked out and licked over her lips where drops of wine had accumulated.

  The small, innocent action was like a lightning bolt from where Etán was bent over her. Watching the soft, wet curves of her lips, he forced himself to straighten and to take the glass next to hers. He took the wine into his mouth, intending on showing her how the action was supposed to be executed, but instead, he found himself wondering how the warmth of her mouth would taste. He kept his cool as he elegantly spat his wine into the silver spit bucket next to him.

  “Like that.” Despite himself, he managed to smile. He left his empty glass on the table. “What did you taste?”

  Her eyes moved toward the ceiling while she thought. “Vanilla. Wood again. Sharp wood. Am I right?”

  As she spoke, Etán stared at her lips. For a second he was at a loss for words. He groped around for the description in his mind, but no phrases formed in his thoughts. He should be reciting it like a parrot, but the sentences he wanted to utter had nothing to do with the taste of the wine.

  For once in his life, it was hard for him to own and control his senses. He almost lost track of the tones and definition of the ruby red liquid. He knew why. Instead of the wine, his senses were filled with her. As he stood next to her, he smelled jasmine in her hair, apple with a tinge of aloe on her skin, the chili pepper cheekiness of her lips, and he felt like tasting her, from head to toe. His thoughts shocked him.

  He deliberately placed himself behind her again to avoid the mesmerizing stare of that foreign, honeyed gaze. It wasn’t the golden-speckled brown color of her eyes as much as the heat in them that unsettled him. In a good way. She was perfectly beautiful.

  He remembered the night in the bar when she had pressed her lips to his. He had refused to take advantage of that kiss because of her state, but now he stood behind her, and he knew he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to help himself. He knew he was going to break every rule he had put in place. The pulling force was stronger than his will to resist. He could smell her desire now, her heat. The oil in her skin had slightly altered. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet to face him.

  There was a question, but also expectation in her eyes. He looked at them for a long moment, drinking them in. They were more intoxicating than wine. The color was almost identical, ever so slightly different. One had to look very carefully in th
e soft light to distinguish the small difference in hue in the buttery yellow that melted into the brown.

  He took a step closer, pulling her to him simultaneously. Their bodies collided, heat against heat. His pale, green eyes smoldered. “I want to taste the wine from your mouth.”

  Zenna’s eyes widened as his hand lifted to caress her cheek. His fingers traced her eyes.

  “So pretty. So bewitching.” His thumb trailed to her lips, rubbing over the soft curves, pulling them slightly apart. “Drink for me.”

  There was command in his voice. The sensation shook Zenna to her core. She should be running. She should be climbing those stairs two by two to the safety of the night outside. Yet she stood fixed to the spot, looking into the pools of desire his eyes had become, feeling herself melting like caramel on a hot stove.

  His gaze held hers as he took her hand still holding the glass and guided it to her lips. She watched him, saw the passion flooding his eyes as she opened her lips and let the liquid slip inside. He took the glass from her and left it behind them on the table, never taking his eyes from her face. His head bent down. In an instant, his lips closed over hers.

  “Don’t swallow,” he commanded against her lips in a husky voice. His tongue traced her lips, lightly, softly. His fingers had tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so he could demand entrance to her mouth with his warm tongue. She gasped in pleasure as he stole the wine from her mouth, drinking it from her, exploring her lips and her depth with sure, strong, deliberate strokes.

  Her knees buckled, but Etán wrapped his free arm around her waist to hold her upright. He took every drop from her mouth until she felt drunk on desire. She was going to explode. Her body obeyed his every demand. She would give him all she had without blinking.

  Then, without warning, abruptly, he pulled his mouth away from hers, and looked into her dazzled, confused gaze. She wanted to protest, to argue the sudden loss of his lips that had slithered over hers just a second ago, but she couldn’t find her breath.

  “Tastes a lot better than Pisco.” He let her go slowly, testing her balance to ensure she wasn’t going to stumble. “Up for more tasting or was that enough for one night?”

  If this was the way he wanted to taste wine, she could go on all night. Blushing at her decadent thoughts, she bit her lip. How the hell did she get herself into this predicament?

  “I thought so,” he said, his smile tight again. “I think we’re both tired. We’ll continue tomorrow in the morning. When Cristian is here.”

  Zenna cocked an eyebrow. “Need your logistics manager to chaperone us while we’re tasting wine?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Preferably, yes. Don’t push me on this with that cocky stance of yours. I’m beyond control.” He turned and headed for the stairs.

  Zenna stared at him, gaping.

  He turned. “Coming? I think I’ll eat in my study tonight. Maybe Luca will be here for dinner to keep you company.”

  Zenna followed him blindly back to the house. She was confused as hell. She didn’t know what had happened in there. First he kissed her, and now he was pissed off about it. He wasn’t acting like he had a little sister fixation.

  He walked her into the house and wished her a good night at the front door, but turned as if on second impulse.

  “Zenna, I’m sorry if I got carried away in there. I think you should stop using that shampoo. You overwhelmed my senses. I just want you to know you can feel safe around me. I won’t jump you.”

  She flinched at his crude remark. Now he was blaming the fact he had kissed her on her shampoo? “That must be the worst insult I’ve been dealt to date. Kissing me because of my shampoo? Really. What are you? A walking shampoo ad?” She crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

  “And about that. Thanks for stocking up for me, but I’m a big girl, and I do normally get my own toiletries. Now that you mention it, get a shampoo that smells less good to you next time. I expect you to deduct all you had packed into my bathroom and bedroom from my first paycheck.”

  He looked at her, thoughtful. “I always make sure my guests or whoever stays over in my house have whatever they need.”

  “Well, in my case, don’t. I’m not your whoever needing whatever. I’m a person, with feelings. Don’t worry. Tomorrow I’ll wash my hair with vinegar so you can’t blame your temptation on my shampoo.”

  She could see he had trouble suppressing a grin and it was oil on her fire.

  “Vinegar?” he said smoothly.

  “I hear it’s good for conditioning,” she bit back, before storming past him down the hallway, swaying her hips and forcing loud clacks from her heels on the marble floor.

  Etán watched until she rounded the hallway corner. She was angry, and she had reason to be. What was wrong with him? He had never lost control like that before. He almost hadn’t been able to summon enough strength to stop when he had. One second more and...

  It wasn’t a position in which he should put a vulnerable woman, or one in which he cared to find himself. It wasn’t going to happen again he decided with determination. It was just too much for him—her smell, her chemistry, her... He couldn’t even put a finger on it. This was a moment of weakness that couldn’t be repeated. He was an idiot. He’d make it up to her. Tomorrow.

  Chapter Seven

  “You look and act like a bear with a sore tooth,” Luca remarked, watching Etán brooding over breakfast the minute he learned Zenna had been up at least two hours before him and beaten him to the office.

  Etán was always the first. He prided himself on being an early bird. Etán shot his brother a dark look. “Coming in to the office sometime soon?”

  Luca stretched. “I think I may. If she’s there, you know.”

  Etán’s pale eyes darkened. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Why not?” Luca smiled. “I don’t see anyone else staking any claims on her, Bro, and I like the way she thinks and feels, man. That chick has balls. Besides, she had a jerk of a boyfriend, and she needs a shoulder to cry on.”

  Etán put his newspaper down. “Yes. Remember that. She had a jerk of a boyfriend, and she doesn’t need another one.”

  Luca raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself, Bro. I’m not the jerk around here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Irritability laced Etán’s voice.

  “She stormed out here this morning, and, boy, she was angry. Give it up, Bro. What did you do to her?”

  “You were up that early, Luca?”

  “I’ve not been to bed yet. I only came in three hours ago.”

  “Good party?”

  “Excellent.”

  “I don’t want you drinking and driving, Luca.”

  “I didn’t drink,” Luca drawled.

  Etán nodded in understanding. “I see. A woman?”

  Luca grinned. “It’s not what you think. She’s just a friend.”

  “All the more reason to stay away from Zenna.”

  “I didn’t say that last night was serious, Bro.”

  “It never is with you,” Etán said in a fatherly tone.

  “Come on, give it up. What did you do to Zenna to make her so angry?”

  “Nothing.” Etán pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “It isn’t any of your business.”

  Luca’s eyes roamed over Etán’s body lazily. “Mother told us both to take care of her. I’m intending on doing just that. You, on the other hand, lead her on and then leave her cold. Wasn’t difficult to read her like a book this morning. What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Cut it out, Luca,” Etán bit out, “I’m not in the mood.”

  Luca crossed his arms behind his head. “That means you didn’t and have no intention, of getting into her pants. If you’re not prepared to lay a claim on her, follow your own advice and stay away. She’s a special girl. A nice one. You can’t keep rejecting her, man. You have to make up your mind.”

  Etán drained the last of his coffee before he headed for the
door. “If you decide to get involved in our family business sometime in the near future,” he said back over his shoulder, “come in to the office, but stay out of mine.”

  Luca sighed. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a rough night.”

  In the office building, Zenna lifted her head from the desk allocated to her. She was already on her third cup of coffee. She hadn’t slept all night. Adrenalin and anger had kept her awake. She blamed her frustration on one man, the one who was thundering through the door like a dark cloud ready to burst. It was just a physical need, a hole Marcos had left, she assured herself. She avoided his beautiful, piercing, ice green eyes. Instead, she looked away to the papers lining her desk.

  Etán barked out a quick greeting and some orders to the staff, before he marched to Zenna’s desk. “In my office.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but moved briskly to the only closed office at the far end of the open plan floor.

  Zenna shot Emmie, the secretary, a questioning look. Emmie shrugged, motioning Zenna to follow. ‘Quickly,’ she mimed.

  Zenna liked the tall brunette with the soft brown eyes. She grinned bravely, taking her new contract and walking with her head held high to Etán’s office.

  “Yes?” she said from his open door.

  “Come in, and close the door.”

  “I don’t think so. I may sue you for sexual harassment if I close this door. There’s no telling what my body lotion may do to you,” she said sarcastically.

  Etán’s look was one that spelled danger in the thunderous sense. For a minute Zenna almost panicked as he got up from behind his desk and strode toward her. She was aware of the curious glances from Emmie and Franco, the accountant. Instead of screaming or growling at her like she had expected, Etán gently took her hand, pulled her inside his office, and closed the door. He moved her to a chair facing his desk.

  “Sit.”

  She did, not because she wanted to, but because she was aware of the others looking in on them through the glass windows. She held the contract out to him.