A Taste of the Untamed

by Susan Stephens

  Now she couldn’t tell if he was smiling, frowning, or even laughing at her. He’d cottoned on very quickly to the fact that she could read a lot from a voice and was becoming increasingly clever at masking his opinion.

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she replied, settling for not making anything of his comment. ‘I’m looking forward to tasting the wines.’

  ‘Viticulture in this area goes back centuries,’ he said, going on to explain something of its history.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, realising that Nacho was actually treating her like an intelligent human being. ‘So you’re the guardian of history around here?’

  ‘That’s a nice way to put it,’ Nacho agreed, and this time there really was some warmth in his voice.

  Her first compliment, Grace registered—not that she was looking for any. Especially as they made her cheeks burn red.

  ‘I’m only sorry you won’t be able to see the old buildings we’ve been restoring,’ Nacho commented.

  She was taken aback for a moment, but then she realised she appreciated his frankness. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I process loads of mental images through my other senses. And don’t forget I have a whole library of images to draw on from the days when I could see. I’m lucky in that respect.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he agreed.

  For the first time she began to relax. Nacho’s candour suited her. To be treated normally was exactly what she wanted.

  ‘So, what are your impressions of Argentina so far, Grace?’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly lovely weather after a freezing cold British winter, and the people are very kind. And there are all sorts of wonderful new scents and sounds here.’

  ‘Horses?’ he suggested dryly.

  ‘Different,’ she said. ‘And there’s a sort of samba rhythm in the air.’

  Nacho laughed. ‘Still the romantic, Grace?’

  Was she?

  ‘Still mining for choice pieces of information to add to our forward promotion for your wines—if Elias places an order,’ she said coolly.

  They fell silent after that sally, each rebalancing their opinion of the other, she thought.

  Cocooned in darkness, she was given a chance to think back to the first time she’d seen Nacho. She’d found him frighteningly attractive, and in particular had seen something incredible about his eyes. He had such a keen stare it had seemed to suck information from her brain, while Nacho’s own thoughts remained guarded. She remembered he rode with a bandana to keep his unruly hair from his eyes. When she had first seen him dressed for polo, with that bandana instead of a helmet, she had thought he looked exactly like the king of the brigands as he led his team out. He was clearly the boss and everyone accepted his leadership.

  Maybe it was that edge of danger about Nacho, that sense of him having seen things and done things that might shock her if she knew about them, that perversely made him all the more attractive. An inconvenience she would have to get over if she wanted to appear businesslike tonight.

  ‘Grace?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She rejigged her thoughts. ‘I was just thinking—I mean, I was just trying to imagine your wine facility.’

  ‘I’ll describe it to you.’

  ‘That would be great,’ she said, surprised to find him so amenable. ‘Is the river close by?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  His voice had changed completely. She could have kicked herself. Of course she knew about the tragedy—everyone did—but there was something in Nacho’s voice she hadn’t heard before. Something that suggested that although his parents might have drowned in a flood there years ago the tragedy still affected him. What really surprised her was that Nacho had always appeared to be the ultimate in grounded men, but there was a strand of defensive anger in his voice, along with what could only be described as guilt and raw grief.

  ‘So, I gather you like it here?’ he said, changing the subject.

  She guessed that was a welcome relief for him, and needed no encouragement to enthuse about her experience so far.

  ‘Like it here? I love it,’ she said impulsively. ‘What was it like growing up on the pampas, Nacho?’

  She had said something wrong again, Grace realised when the silence thickened.

  ‘It was all sorts of hectic chaos,’ he said at last.

  ‘Go on,’ she prompted, eager to keep the faltering conversation going.

  ‘There was no privacy,’ he said, revealing the other side to Lucia’s coin.

  It probably hadn’t ever occurred to Lucia that her brothers had been fighting to express their individuality too.

  ‘Not nearly as much freedom as you might expect,’ Nacho went on. ‘And nowhere to go. When you’re young all you want is the city and the nightlife, and what you get here is miles of wilderness, mountains and the stars.’

  ‘And because you were the oldest you always had to look after your brothers and sister?’ Grace guessed. Grasping the nettle, she dived back into the past, where she suspected Nacho’s ghosts lay. ‘Lucia said that after your parents were killed you worked very hard at looking after them.’

  ‘I did my best,’ he said, clearly not willing to be drawn on this point.

  ‘That must have been hard for you,’ she probed.

  ‘Not really,’ he said, shifting restlessly in his seat. ‘Lucia had the worst of it,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Growing up must have been hell for her, with four brothers looking over her shoulders.’

  ‘God help her if she got a boyfriend, I suppose?’ Grace suggested with a grin.

  This time she could imagine Nacho’s ironic expression as he murmured, ‘So she told you?’

  As the tension eased a little she decided she would have to be patient. They’d get around to talking about Nacho eventually—she’d make sure of it. ‘What about your brothers?’

  ‘Ruiz was the perfect student,’ Nacho explained with a shrug in his voice. ‘He was also the perfect son and the perfect brother. In fact Ruiz never put a foot wrong. He always knew how to get on with everyone and how to get his own way. Diego was the dark side of that coin—dangerous, some said, though I always thought that was overstated. Diego was just deep.’

  ‘And what about the youngest? Kruz?’ she pressed.

  She heard Nacho scratch his cheek, the stubble resistant against his fingernail. ‘Kruz was a handful …’ He sighed. ‘Kruz was always in trouble.’

  ‘And you?’ she slipped in, sensing that talking about Kruz was opening up a whole can of worms. Nacho would probably prefer talking about himself—as difficult as she knew he found that.

  ‘Me?’ he said. ‘I spent most of my time getting Kruz out of trouble.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ she chided, realising he’d eluded her again.

  ‘I know what you meant,’ Nacho assured her. ‘And all I’m prepared to say on that subject is that what you see is what you get with me, Grace.’

  Right up to that moment she’d had no reason to disbelieve a word Nacho said, but now she did.

  ‘The gates,’ Nacho explained as the Jeep dropped a gear and began to slow. He brought it to a halt.

  ‘They must be big gates,’ Grace observed, noting the length of time it took for them to open.

  Nacho confirmed this, and then the Jeep growled and they drove on.

  ‘We’re approaching the old buildings down a long, tree-lined drive,’ he explained.

  ‘It’s brilliantly lit,’ she said. ‘One of the things I can still detect is a big change in light.’ She felt she had to explain this as she sensed his surprise that she should know anything about the light levels. ‘I’m really lucky in that I can still detect light. It has helped me to work out which way round I’m facing on many occasions. When you can’t see anything much, you’re happy to take what you can get.’ She laughed, but Nacho was silent.

  They drove in silence. She could imagine Nacho steering with just his thumb on the wheel at this low speed, perhaps sparing her a g
lance from time to time. She sensed he was totally relaxed and yet thoroughly observant—as he was on horseback, and as he had been at the wedding where they had kissed. Even when he was still she thought he gave off about the same level of threat as a sleeping tiger.

  ‘The building is old—mellow stone,’ he explained, breaking the silence as he brought the Jeep to a halt again. ‘It’s beautifully preserved. Right now the moonlight is making the stone glow a silvery-blue.’

  ‘And the sun will turn it rose-pink in late afternoon,’ she guessed. ‘There’s more light now,’ she said with interest, sitting up. ‘A different light.’

  ‘Wrought-iron lanterns hanging either side of the main doors,’ Nacho explained. ‘They give off quite a strong glow. It makes the mullioned windows on either side of the door glitter. How am I doing, Grace?’ he said with a hint of amusement as he applied the brake.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said with a small smile. ‘And how about the front door? No, don’t tell me. It’s huge and arched … stout oak with iron studs?’

  ‘Argentine sandalwood,’ he explained. ‘But otherwise that’s not a bad description, Grace. Welcome to Viña Acosta.’

  Where my trial by wine begins, she thought, releasing her safety belt.

  She climbed down carefully when Nacho opened the door, guessing his hand was there to help her if she needed it. She avoided it in the interests of independence, but she did feel it brush her back, where it lit a series of little fires she couldn’t ignore.

  Nacho let Buddy out of the back of the Jeep and when the guide dog came to her side she attached the leash to Buddy’s harness. ‘We’re all set,’ she confirmed.

  Nacho led her into a pleasantly warm entrance hall with a stone floor. It wasn’t large. She could tell that by the way their voices bounced off the walls and were very quickly muffled. The smell was distinctive and familiar. It reminded her of the tasting room at the warehouse, but here she guessed the woodwork would be impregnated with centuries worth of fruit and must and skins and juice.

  ‘This is the tasting room,’ Nacho explained as he opened another door. ‘There aren’t any steps.’

  Grace had already guessed as much from the way Buddy was leading her, but she thanked Nacho for the warning.

  ‘If you’d like to sit down, Grace?’

  Recognising this request, Buddy led her across an uneven stone floor to a wooden bench. He stopped when Grace felt it nudge her legs. She reached forward to feel for the table she knew must be there and, gauging the space in between bench and table, she slid into the seat. While she was unhitching Buddy’s harness she heard a rug hit the floor.

  ‘He might as well be comfortable while we do this,’ Nacho explained.

  She smiled, remembering Lucia telling her that where animals were concerned nothing was too much trouble for her brothers. But if you were human …? Basically, forget it.

  Now she could hear glasses chinking, and bottles being moved around. ‘Are we alone?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Nacho confirmed as he put bottles on the table. ‘I had some of these wines opened earlier.’

  ‘Good idea,’ she said, and knew that just when she should be at her most professional she was feeling disorientated again. This was a familiar feeling in new surroundings, and one she would have to conquer, but there wasn’t time tonight. At least she was sitting down. It wouldn’t be the first time she had tripped over something. Even with Buddy’s help, she sometimes forgot her restrictions and went flying.

  But that wasn’t going to happen tonight, Grace reassured herself firmly.

  ‘Buddy?’

  Hearing the big dog shift position, she was pleased to note he wasn’t too far away. Buddy knew he was still on duty, but he hadn’t heard the imperative note in her voice that called him to action. She mapped the table in front of her, feeling for glasses and bottles and other hazards. She always put down mental markers so she could understand her surroundings better. She listened intently as Nacho poured. Even the sound wine made as it glugged from the bottle told a story.

  As the sound of her rapid breathing compared to Nacho’s steady inhalations told another, Grace realised, consciously steadying herself.

  ‘Right. Are we ready?’ he said. ‘I’ve labelled the bottles and glasses on the bottom, so that I can’t see them when you swap them round.’

  ‘An even playing field,’ she agreed.

  She had to concentrate fiercely and not think about that husky voice with its intriguing accent, or those dark eyes watching her every move.

  As she tasted the first sample she could only wish Nacho’s thoughts were as easy to read as the wine. Elias had described him as a gifted amateur, and when it came to wine no doubt that was true, but where women were concerned Nacho was a master of his craft. It was a thought that made her tremble with awareness.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What do you think so far, Grace?’

  What did she think? Where wine was concerned she was utterly confident. Where Nacho was concerned she was out of her depth.

  ‘Grace?’

  She tensed when he came to sit beside her on the bench. She hadn’t expected that.

  ‘Spit or swallow?’ he said.

  She almost laughed. Nacho’s blunt question while his hard thigh brushing hers was just the wake-up call she needed.

  ‘At this initial informal tasting I’m going to drink a mouthful of each wine.’ She explained why. ‘I like to hold it in my mouth and then feel the wine run through me. My stomach usually has something useful to say. I’ll need water and coffee beans—to clean my palate and clear my nose. Every sommelier has their own way of doing things and this is mine. Don’t worry, I’ve brought them with me.’ She reached into her bag.

  ‘Whatever it takes,’ Nacho agreed.

  ‘Not bad,’ she commented after tasting the first couple of wines. ‘But not great. And don’t even ask me to touch this one,’ she added when Nacho pressed a third glass in her hand. The smell was enough to put her off. ‘Please don’t waste my time with cheap tricks or rejects. I thought time was important to both of us.’

  She felt his surprise, though he made no comment. He was cool. She’d give him that.

  She wasn’t cool, and breath shot out of her lungs when their fingers touched over the next glass.

  ‘Very good,’ she said, recovering fast. Burying her nose, she inhaled deeply. ‘This is really very good.’ She lifted her chin and wished she could see Nacho to show him her enthusiasm.

  ‘It’s a deep cardinal-red with bluish purple tones,’ he explained.

  ‘Young,’ she added, taking another sniff. ‘Full of the scent of ripe black fruit …’

  ‘And?’ Nacho prompted.

  ‘And very well balanced,’ she said, sensing his face was very close. Swallowing deep, she tried to concentrate. ‘This is one of the best young wines I’ve tasted this year.’

  ‘I have another, older wine I think you’re going to like …’

  She relaxed as he pulled away, and yet ached with disappointment that he had.

  More wine was poured. She heard Nacho take a sip and imagined him savouring the ruby liquid in his mouth. ‘I hope you’re not cheating.’

  ‘I don’t need to cheat, Grace. Here—taste this …’

  Somewhere in the room a clock was ticking as the tension mounted between them.

  ‘What do you think?’ Nacho prompted, ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Yes …’ She straightened up. ‘This is an exceptional wine. It’s older, richer and more complex than any wine I’ve tasted in England. I can detect more than one variety of grape.’ She named them.

  ‘You have an extremely discerning palate, Grace.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re paying me for?’ she said with amusement.

  He liked the fact that Grace stood up to him, but as she went on to describe traces of chocolate and cinnamon, with hints of blackcurrant and cherry, he liked her a lot more. Not because of her expertise in wine, but because of the way his thoughts wer
e turning to ruby-red wine moistening beautifully drawn lips, and drinking from those lips before sinking his tongue deep into Grace’s mouth to capture the last drop, before moving on to lap more wine from the soft swell of her belly.

  With his mind happily employed, he spoke his thoughts out loud. ‘Is there anything I can do to speed things up?’

  ‘If you mean can I guarantee an order now?’ she said, breaking the spell, ‘I’m afraid the answer’s no. I need to know a lot more about your production methods before we can reach that stage.’

  He was disappointed in Grace’s businesslike manner. He was more disappointed in that than in the fact that placing an order for his wine wasn’t immediately forthcoming. The Acosta name generally provoked a certain type of response—and delay or refusal was unheard of. But not with Grace, it seemed.

  His brooding gaze lingered on her face. She had stood out for him at Lucia’s wedding amongst all the flashy birds of paradise and she was lovelier than ever now. He found her bewitching, and he knew there was steel lurking beneath that calm exterior, making the playing field between them more even. So where he might have stood off at one time, bound by respect and restraint, those barriers no longer stood between them.

  ‘I can reassure you that so far everything looks very promising,’ she said.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said.

  Grace had missed the irony. Or had she? What was hiding behind that composed front? Familiar with secrets, he knew the signs and suspected Grace’s brave front hid a world of self-doubt. It occurred to him then that she must have cried at some point about her loss of sight. She must have railed against her fate. Who had held her when she had broken down in tears? Had anyone? She reminded him of a wounded bird that was determined to survive—which made his recent thoughts seem like those of a cold-hearted predator wheeling overhead.

  ‘The flavours of this wine are complex, and the aroma is particularly distinct,’ she said, burying her nose and inhaling deeply.

  ‘On that we’re agreed,’ he said, far more interested in watching Grace now than in tasting the wine.