by Casey Dawes
If only her body was as obedient as her mind. While showering, she luxuriated in the feel of the soapy sea sponge gliding over her skin, perking her nipples to round nibs and electrifying the sensitive spot between her legs.
She twisted the knob to cold to drive lust out of her mind and leaped out of the shower when the icy needles penetrated her skin.
The effort didn’t work. She slipped on her finest French lace bra and panties, a form-fitting cashmere sweater, and jeans. Strappy black sandals with three-inch heels tempted her. Totally impractical for walking around vineyards. She stuck with practical sneakers, but took the heels. Just in case.
She shivered.
Make-up perfected and a pair of topaz earrings dangling, she pulled her car out of the garage and drove the short distance to the hotel Marcos had told her he was using.
When she walked into the lobby, Marcos was sitting on one of the couches, reading a paper. He stood when she entered the lobby, looked her over, and smiled. He tossed the paper on a nearby table and walked rapidly to her. Taking her hands, he said, “You look ravishing this morning. I’m looking forward to our day.”
Then his lips brushed hers. Again.
Heat rushed through her and she longed to pull him closer and explore his mouth with her tongue.
This wouldn’t do.
She slid her hands from his. “The car’s outside.” She turned away from him and led the way out the door, sure her cheeks were flaming red. Her heart raced as she tried to steady her breathing.
Marcos caught up with her and took her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he pulled her to a stop. “I have embarrassed you. I should not have kissed you again.”
“Um. No. It’s probably not a good idea.”
“I see.” He scrutinized her, as if he was trying to determine how sure she was about the statement. He finally released her hand and looked around the parking lot. “Somehow I think that is your car.” He pointed out her red sports car.
“Guilty,” she said.
Once they were settled in the car, he apologized again. “I do not mean to make you uncomfortable. I appreciate beautiful women and sometimes I act without thinking.”
“It’s okay.” The problem wasn’t his kiss. The problem was she wanted more.
He shook his head. “I forget that we do not know each other very well. I am so easy with you, it feels as if we have been friends forever.”
“Would you greet a woman like that in Italy?” she asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer.
“If she was as beautiful as you are, bella, I would certainly do that.”
She smiled, unable to help herself. “You sure know how to flatter a woman.” Her chest ached. She was one of many.
“It is not flattery. Flattery is empty … a nothingness meant to sound pretty.” He paused. “I do not know exactly how to tell you what I think. I do not want to offend you again. For me, a woman is like a 2000 Margeaux — complex, mysterious and sensual. I appreciate a woman the way I appreciate wine. I enjoy to get to know all the layers that make up her beauty.”
He stole her breath away. She concentrated on her driving, navigating the twists of Highway 17 rising out of Scotts Valley, grateful she had to focus. How could she respond to the flowery words?
She grew warm, even as they slid under the darkening boughs of the redwoods that lined the road.
“Have I offended again?” he asked.
“No,” she answered. “What you said was lovely. I just don’t have a response.” Were the words meaningless poetry? “You must have a string of lovers back home if you talk like that all the time,” she blurted out. And immediately regretted it.
He laughed. “Elizabeth, I like that you say what you think. It is a wonderful American trait. We Italians, we dance around a subject, cloaking it in mystery and challenging the other person to guess at our meaning.” He gave a soft chuckle again. “But, no, I do not have, what did you say, ‘a string of lovers’ in Italy.”
“Oh.” Could he really have been talking about her?
They emerged from the tree-lined curves to the flat top of the summit. The sun glistened on the mountaintops of the Coastal Mountains, while the valleys remained shrouded in fog.
“It is so like our mountains at home — the sun and the clouds. I am hopeful, I will find the land I am seeking here,” Marcos said.
A cobalt blue BMW sped past and cut in front of them, causing Elizabeth to tap her brakes to free up space between them.
“But this road!” he continued. “It is a menace. The drivers are worse than Italy. Last night all I do is crawl, crawl, crawl, up and down. Today we are on a racetrack.”
She laughed. “That’s what Highway 17 is like — one of the most dangerous roads in California. I don’t use it very much.”
“I am happy you don’t drive this road often. I would not like to think of you being in danger.”
What did that mean? How often did he think of her?
She pushed the thoughts from her mind. She was overreacting, looking for something that wasn’t there. Besides, he was from Italy. He was leaving on Monday. She’d never see him again.
So what was the harm of a little kiss?
Heat flooded her body, teasing out a desire that had been too long dormant.
That was the problem with a little kiss.
Kisses led to touches, which led to …
“How much do you know about Stargold?” she asked the man next to her.
• • •
A half hour later, the car was climbing the narrow switchbacks that led up the side of Montebello Ridge to Stargold Winery.
“You have wonderful winding roads in the Santa Cruz Mountains,” Marcos said. “And insane people with bicycles,” he added as a fifth cyclist narrowly avoided the car as it sped down the mountain pavement.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “They’re crazy.” She could never take a risk like that.
The sun was high when they reached the winery parking lot and she pulled to a stop.
“Magnificent!” Marcos exclaimed after he got out and ran up the garden steps to the top of the ridge. “You can see the whole Silicon Valley.” He gestured to the view with his arm.
“You can even see San Francisco today,” she said, pointing north where the familiar points of the city’s skyline shimmered like an island in the sky.
“Ah, this is a magnificent place for a vineyard.” He slipped his arm around her.
She pulled away and walked toward the steps.
He caught up with her. “Ah, I see I have done it again. I am sorry. In Italy, we touch each other often. In America, not so much?”
She shook her head, but was quiet. His touch had electrified her, but she didn’t want to give into the desire. “The tasting room is over here.” She walked toward the door.
“Maybe we will be able to enjoy a bottle of their wine at the picnic tables?” He gestured back up at the hill. “They have perhaps cheese and bread for sale?”
She shook her head and then grinned at him. “They don’t sell food. But I have a picnic basket in the trunk of the car.”
“Bella!” He opened the door for her and gestured for her to enter. She noticed he was careful not to touch her.
Well, that wasn’t what she wanted either. Who knew that showing a sexy Italian vineyard properties would become so difficult.
She took a deep breath and inhaled the rich aromas of fruit and caramel that wafted around the room.
“Welcome to Stargold,” called a thickset woman behind a polished pine bar.
When they reached her position at the wine-tasting bar, she said, “Here are today’s selections. You have a choice of four for a fee of five dollars.”
“What would you recommend?” Marcos asked Elizabeth.
She pointed out a few of her favorites and he made the selections.
“Very nice,” the woman said. She reached under the bar and placed two wide-bowled wine glasses on the bar, then chose a bottle from th
e line-up on the rear shelf. As she poured, she told them about each wine. Marcos asked detailed questions about the vineyards that provided the grapes. Elizabeth became fascinated with the questions and answers, learning more about growing grapes than she ever thought possible.
When they reached the estate Cabernet Sauvignon, Marcos asked if any of the vineyards on Montebello Ridge were for sale.
“Let me check,” the woman said. She went to a side office and made a phone call.
While she was gone, Marcos turned to Elizabeth. “Thank you for bringing me here. The wine, it is magnificent. Such a luscious mouth-feel. Good techniques and outstanding grapes. You can almost taste the limestone from the soil. Owning a vineyard on this ridge would be good.”
The woman came back and shook her head. “The vineyard I thought was for sale sold last month to some investors from the valley.”
“That is too bad,” he said.
“But, I did hear that a vineyard up Jarvis Road might be for sale. You might check that out if you’re interested in Pinot Noir at all. It’s supposed to be a great area for that.”
Marcos’ eyes were bright with excitement. “Do you know where that is?” he asked Elizabeth.
“I think so.” She remembered seeing signs for Jarvis Road off of Highway Seventeen.
“We can go today, perhaps?”
Her carefully laid-out plans were going awry. “We should check with the real estate people first.”
The pourer scribbled on a piece of paper. “These are the most likely realtors. They have a place in Saratoga.”
“Good. In the meantime, we will take three bottles of the estate Cabernet.”
Elizabeth widened her eyes. A hundred and fifty dollars for three bottles of wine, even good wine, was a large expenditure for her.
“Could you open one of them?” he asked the woman.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened more. A fifty dollar bottle for lunch?
Once the transaction was settled, he said, “If you will give me your keys, I’ll retrieve the picnic basket. You can take this and find the best table.” He handed her the open bottle of wine and two glasses the winery had provided.
Elizabeth found a table at the top of the rise, the valley spread out below them. She watched Marcos, laden with the wicker picnic basket, climb the stairs with ease. He was lean and agile, not broad-shouldered like her husband had been, but graced with the slim body of an athlete.
Except that his sport was grapes. She glanced over at the gnarly vine to the left of the table and then returned her gaze to Marcos. His eyes met hers and heat simmered through her body.
How she wanted him! She imagined his long fingers caressing her, lifting her sweater over her head and …
“What are you thinking, cara? You look lost in the middle of a sweet dream.”
Her cheeks flamed. She smiled at him. “Just thinking of our visit to your vineyard in Italy.”
He rested the basket on the table, turned and studied her. “It was a nice visit, but I do not think that is what you were remembering.” He placed one of his hands on her shoulder and lifted her chin with the other. “What taught you to be so afraid of being a sensuous woman? You are so beautiful, cara. Everything you do shows me you desire to bite into life as if it was ripe fruit. But you are afraid to let its skin touch yours.”
He released her and walked to the vine and crouched beside it. “You are like this vine, I think. There is struggle in the past and maybe you think of yourself as this twisted shape.” He plucked a purple grape from the cluster that hung from one of the delicate shoots and brought it back to the table. “But you are also like this fruit. It has taken the pain of the past and converted it into something sweet and complex. Taste.”
She took the grape, her fingers brushing his as she did so. The touch was soft, but electrifying. Eyes on his, she put the grape to her lips and felt the warmth of its flesh against hers. Tentatively, she took it into her mouth and bit into it.
He handed her a napkin. “Spit out the seeds, cara. They are bitter.” Marcos’ voice washed over her. She concentrated on the textures and tastes in her mouth — the tart skin and succulent sweetness of the pulp.
Why didn’t she allow herself the luxury of exploring a sensation with her own being?
How could she with Joe’s betrayal fresh in her mind?
She spit the seeds into the napkin, wiped her mouth and looked at Marcos. Would making love to him wipe out the memory of Joe?
Marcos stepped toward her, took her in his arms and kissed her.
The kiss was more than the brush Marcos had given Elizabeth earlier. He pressed his mouth against hers, seducing her with caresses of his lips against hers. He smelled of citrusy aftershave, the scent awakening her senses with its tart aroma.
She moved into him, snaking her arms around his waist and flattening her palms on the hard muscles of his back. He pulled her closer, his mouth continuing its dance against hers. There was no demand with those lips, no teenage lust or middle-aged compensation. The seduction of her mouth was elemental, driving toward an inevitable conclusion.
A spark awoke in her and zapped through her nerves. Her desires built and she wanted him to take more than he was giving. Her lips softened and slightly parted.
He must have felt the change, because he slipped his tongue between her lips and caressed the inside of her mouth.
Her breathing sped up and her heart raced. Her tongue found his and then she swept her tongue into his mouth. He tasted of rich red wine.
Her eyes fluttered open and she caught his gaze on hers. His dark brown eyes stared intently, as if he were gauging her response. Intensity rose and she moved her body closer to his, feeling her breasts flattening against his chest.
Suddenly, she wanted more. More of his kiss, his body against hers, naked skin against skin. She wanted to feel the sun kiss her bare breasts as they lay naked in the sun at the top of this ridge.
Damn!
She pulled back.
He looked startled. Rubbing his hand up and down her arm, he asked, “What is it, cara? Have I made you uncomfortable again?”
She laughed nervously. “You could say that.” She swept her hand to indicate the winery, which had become active. “We were making out as if we were in a private place, instead of being out here in front of God and everyone.”
“So, it is bad to show affection in public in America?” His raised eyebrows showed his disbelief in that statement. “Or … ,” he shifted his hands to hers, “ … is it only you who think it is bad to show affection?”
She pulled her hands from his, walked back to the table and began to remove items from the basket, her hands still trembling with arousal.
He walked behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “What are you so afraid of?”
She plunked the brie on a plate and turned. “I don’t know,” she lied. “It seems too sudden. And you’re leaving in two days, so why get involved? It will lead to trouble.”
“It was only a kiss.”
“That was not ‘only a kiss.’” She glared at him. She’d been down this road before. It led to heartache and betrayal.
He dropped his hands. “You are right. That was not just a kiss.” He began to help her unload the basket. “I am attracted to you, Elizabeth. I felt it when we were in Italy. You make my soul feel good. And yet,” he looked at her and grinned, “you excite me here on earth as well.”
She had to smile back.
“Can you relax enough to let us see what happens?” he asked.
“Why?”
“Because it would be interesting.”
She laughed. “It’s a dead-end. You are leaving on Monday.”
He shook his head. “You Americans. Always need to be in control. True, I am leaving on Monday. But you are a free woman and I will be back in the States someday soon. I am determined to make California wine.” He walked back to her. “Take a chance, cara. We will be careful. We will not do anything we both do not agree to do.
Fair enough?”
She hesitated.
What the hell.
“Fair enough,” she said.
“Good.” He resumed emptying the basket. “Now shall we enjoy this beautiful feast you have made?”
Chapter 13
Marcos kept his word. He didn’t make any attempt to touch or kiss Elizabeth, much as he longed to do so. They gradually shifted back into an easy conversation interspersed with quiet moments of contemplation.
“Thank you for this wonderful introduction to the wineries of these mountains,” he said as they finished up the last glass of wine paired with a few squares of dark chocolate. “It is the kind of day I enjoy. The sun is so warm, I can feel the grapes ripening beside me. The scenery is indeed unique. I cannot believe we see San Francisco, yet it is a few hours away by car.”
He wanted to add something about her beauty, but held back. She would probably become nervous again, like a skittish young animal.
But she was extraordinary. She had the luminous skin of a woman who paid attention to such matters. Her brown hair glistened in the sunlight; dark sunglasses reminding him of an exotic looking actress. Her small size belied the strength of her inner core.
She was beautiful in and out. Suddenly, he realized she was right to be fearful. Elizabeth wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of woman. She was a once-in-a-lifetime woman.
Of course, he’d thought that about his ex-wife. Right up to the point he’d found her in bed with his supposed best friend.
“Something bothering you?” Elizabeth asked.
He shook AnnaMaria out of his mind. “No … no … I was just thinking we should go to the realtor soon. I don’t have much time to look at vineyards.”
A delicate eyebrow was raised above the edge of the sunglasses. Then Elizabeth put down her empty glass and shrugged. “Let’s go then. It will take us about a half hour to get to Saratoga.”
He helped her pack up and stowed the picnic basket in the trunk. After they climbed into the sports car, he shifted as far away from her as he could in the tiny space. The air in the car was charged.
Elizabeth became a tour guide. “A lot of Silicon Valley execs live in the foothills on this side of the mountains. They think it’s cool to have a backyard vineyard. Lots of management companies do it for them and then they share a bottle of ‘their’ wine with friends.”
