by Selena Blake
Just A Little Taste
By Selena Blake
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Copyright ©2008 Selena Blake (previously titled The Wine Tasting)
Dedication
To my readers. Your notes keep me going when the writing gets tough.
Chapter One
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: The Bet
1787 Lafite G.W.
You have seven days.
Zeus
Braxton Hughes stepped out of the limo and tugged his bow tie into place. Roger Savade's enormous French chateau sat at the end of the cobblestone walk, looking regal and impenetrable. He held out his hand to the woman in the backseat, and she slipped her satin-gloved fingers into his.
For a woman pushing fifty, Claire Renaldae looked great in her lavender dress with her hair perfectly coiffed. He tucked her arm through his and started up the path with the other guests, anticipation sizzling through his veins.
“Thanks for bringing me tonight,” Claire said, her voice soft. Her silver gray eyes, rimmed with dark liner, sparkled up at him. There was an air of smoky sophistication about her, showing him that she belonged at parties like this one. Rubbing shoulders with the filthy rich, dancing until dawn.
Recently divorced, she was here to show up her ex-husband with a hot new stud on her arm.
Braxton was here for the wine.
He'd known as soon as he'd pushed himself out of the pool at Chateau Le Cannet four days ago that Claire was perfect for him. Perfect for the job. She'd been lying on a lounge chair, a black one piece showing off a trim, sun-kissed figure. The big, fluffy hat hadn't been able to shadow the look of desire in her eyes when she'd glanced at his body glistening from his afternoon swim.
It had taken little effort to strike up a conversation and find out about her ex-husband and her invitation to the Savade party. Nor had it taken much effort to casually offer to escort her to said party.
“You're welcome.” He glanced around at the other guests, nodding at the few who made eye contact. “Think he'll be here?”
“Of course. He wouldn't miss a party like this, or a chance to show her off.” The her Claire was referring to was her ex-husband's new mistress, Scandinavian supermodel Mia Rassmusen. She'd mentioned the other woman several times, and he found himself wondering why a woman like Claire would waste her time and energy on a man like her ex-husband. She may not have been a hot, young supermodel, but she was smart and witty enough. And not at all bad on the eyes. Years of spa treatments had, no doubt, seen to that.
“Well, I seriously doubt she'll look anywhere near as beautiful as you,” he said, playing his part.
Claire preened under his gaze, her spine straightening. “You're so sweet.” She squeezed his arm.
The receiving line slowed to a halt.
Brax looked around the manor, noting the number of windows and doors and their locations. His gaze traveled over the shrubs and stone walls of the landscape. The large front doors were wide open, and golden yellow light poured out. He could hear music. Probably some lesser known French composer.
“Roger Savade is such a pompous ass. He hosts these parties to show off his money. His things,” Claire whispered. He glanced down at the necklace dripping with diamonds around her neck. Speaking of showing off one's wealth.... “Just like my ex-husband.”
Brax stayed silent and watched as the hosts greeted the guests. It wasn't that he didn't agree with her. Roger was known to flaunt his money and his possessions. Brax wondered if he'd have the 1787 Lafite on display in the dining room. That would sure make his job easy.
The line moved forward, and he saw their host nodding to a short, graying gentleman. By habit, Brax surveyed his surroundings for security, both electronic and hard, hired muscle.
Did Roger Savade even know the significance of the 1787 Lafite, or had he bought it just because someone had told him it was rare?
“Claire! How are you?” The feminine voice with the French accent pulled him from his thoughts. Claire tugged on his arm until they were standing in front of the blonde woman just inside the door.
“Rona. I'm well, and yourself?” Claire replied, clasping the other woman's hands in her own. They did the air kiss thing and stood back to sum each other up.
“Fabulous. Thanks so much for coming. Roger will be so glad you came.”
“Speaking of Roger, where is he?”
“I'm afraid he got pulled away. He'll be around. Who's your friend?”
“This is Braxton Hughes from L.A.”
Brax exchanged pleasantries, all the while looking around the enormous foyer. Priceless antiques and artifacts dotted the space. It was an art collector’s paradise.
“Enjoy the party,” Rona said, already turning to greet the next person in line.
“We will,” Claire cooed.
They stepped across the foyer toward the grand hall. The music and laughter grew louder. Expensive perfume and spicy cologne filled his nose.
“You know there's a rumor—“ Claire began.
“Claire.” They turned to see a silver-haired man in an expensive-looking tuxedo.
Brax felt her freeze next to him. “Charles,” she said, her voice wooden. The two stared at each other in tense silence. This must be the ex. The last thing Brax needed tonight was a jealous ex-husband drawing unwanted attention.
“Who's this?” the ex asked.
“Braxton Hughes,” she said, inching closer to Brax. “My date. Where's what's-her-name?”
“We broke up, mon petite chou.” He held out his hands, palms up as if to surrender. “Tu me monques.”
He saw her shoulders sag just a little as she put a tiny bit of space between them. The look on her beautifully made up face told him she was warring inside. It'd take a coldhearted woman to resist being called a little cabbage by the man she still loved. And when said man started murmuring things like 'I miss you', it was a safe bet that Brax was on his own.
“I'm going to go get something to drink,” he said and excused himself.
The exquisite details of the Neoclassical architecture weren't lost on him as he made his way through the crowd. Heavily-carved crown moldings detailed every nook and corner. Columns soared up to a sculpted ceiling high above the grand hall.
He strode across the polished black and white checkerboard marble and almost did a double take as he passed a heavily gilded mirror. This job had required him to cut and color his hair a rich chocolate brown. He'd put in contacts to make his blue eyes green. Gone were his summer surfer dude good looks. He smiled at the thought.
He wasn't that broken up about losing his date. At least now he didn't feel like a gigolo. But it would be more difficult to fit in and snoop around.
He plucked a flute of champagne from a passing tray and made his way through the huge rooms, casually looking for his prize.
If I were a priceless bottle of wine, where would I be? he thought and turned to see a vision walk through the door. She was tall...even without the killer strappy heels that made him dream of fast and furious sex. Curvy in all the right places with lush breasts that would fill his hands and then some. The midnight blue fabric hugged her pale skin like a glove, shimmering as she moved. It dipped down deep into her cleavage, teasing his cock and his eyes.
He stopping breathing as her eyes locked with his. Classical. Her features, the careful twist of her charcoal brown hair, the delicate jewelry she wore on her wrist and ears...all spoke of elegan
t taste. Her eyes looked blue from here, but he would need to get closer to see if he was right. Momentarily, he forgot about the reason for coming to tonight's party and wondered if she was as soft as she looked. If her raspberry colored lips would taste sweet and yet tart.
Remembering his mission, he mentally shook his head and then finished his champagne. “Keep your eye on the prize,” he muttered to himself and tried to think of every dull, arcane thing that would keep his cock from standing at attention. He let his gaze wander around the impressive space as he reviewed his mental checklist for tonight's reconnaissance mission. Find the item. Find a way back in. Check for security.
A soft, lyrical laugh filled the air, and he sought out the sound’s source with his eyes. It was her, of course, laughing at some older man, her hand pressed against her heart.
Damn, she was beautiful. Stunning. Doubly so when she smiled. Those lips, framing perfect white teeth, tortured him with thoughts he had no business thinking. Not tonight.
But his private pep talk wasn't helping.
All he could think of was her and the fact that he'd never been knocked off his game before. Never. Work came first. Pleasure came second. Claire had been part of the plan. Essential.
But the beauty in the blue dress with the lovely laugh.... She wasn't part of the plan at all. In fact, she was a risk, a temptation he hadn't even considered.
He needed some fresh air. Cold air.
A tall set of doors to his right opened to a stone terrace that would save him from staring at her any longer. Brax made his getaway.
Damn, he didn't have time for a distraction. He needed to look around. From where he stood, he could see a lower level of the house. Maybe it was in a vault down there. Or a cellar.
A waiter circulated among the few guests braving the chilly evening air, and he swapped out his empty glass for a full one. Slowly he sipped the bubbly liquid and turned to take in his surroundings. He carefully gauged distances, counted the exits, looked for alternate entry points and scoped out the home's security. After he finished this glass, he'd find a way downstairs.
Not that he was stalling....
“Can I give you a tour?”
He turned to see her standing halfway between him and the door, the yellow light silhouetting her. A small smile pulled the corners of her mouth upward.
“Sorry. I just find the architecture amazing.”
“It is lovely.” She stepped closer, and he felt a punch low in the gut.
“Indeed. It must have been built in the mid sixteen hundreds.”
“Sixteen forty-two, actually.” She stopped next to him and leaned against the carved stone railing. So much for the crisp night air cooling his libido. One look at her and his temperature was through the roof.
He quirked an eyebrow as he stared down into her upturned face and tried not to notice the thick fringe of dark lashes around her crystal blue eyes. Without her heels, she must have been at least five-foot-eight. With them, she came up to his chin, and he wondered what it'd feel like to have her in his arms. To nuzzle the creamy skin of her naked neck.
“This is my father's home,” she said matter-of-factly.
That cooled him down.
Chapter Two
Roger Savade's daughter? No way. She couldn't be a day over twenty-five. She hadn't appeared in any of his research.
She held out her hand. “Elise Savade.”
Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her sweet-smelling skin.
“Braxton Hughes,” he said but didn't let her hand go. Instead, he rubbed his kiss into her skin with his thumb.
“So, Mr. Hughes.... Would you like a tour?” The way she spoke sounded as if she was asking if he'd like a tour of a much more personal sort. Heaven help him, he couldn't deny that he very much wanted an intimate tour. Of her. And with Claire otherwise engaged....
This would be the perfect opportunity to snoop around the house. And now that he knew who she was, and who she was related to, he could get the grand tour without drawing attention to himself.
“Absolutely.”
Elise led him through the throng of people, past the quartet, and into a long central hallway. She spoke softly, telling him about this and that. He found himself watching her speak instead of paying attention to the layout of the house.
“What do you do, Mr. Hughes?” Damn, her accent was sexy. English with a touch of French. She must have spent a great deal of time in England.
“I was an architect,” he lied.
“Was?”
“Before my wife died. Afterward I left the firm. Right now I'm trying to find inspiration to go back.” It almost sickened him how easily the lies rolled from his tongue. How easily he stuck with the story he'd created.
But Zeus's email flashed through his mind. It was a bet to see who was the best. Seven thieves. Seven days. Seven priceless prizes.
His prize was a bottle of 1787 Lafitte G.W.
The bottle.
There was only one left in the world. It was somewhere in this house, and it was his job to steal it.
“I'm so sorry,” she said in that soft, feminine voice. She put her hand on his arm and stared up into his eyes. He knew she meant to comfort him, but this close, when he could make out the aqua flecks of her eyes and inhale her delicate perfume, it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.
“Don't be. It was years ago. I've moved on. I find the architecture in Europe rekindles my spirit.” He gave her his most charming smile. She seemed relieved by his words.
“Would you like another drink? The Marguex is excellent.” She glanced at the empty champagne flute in his hand.
“Sure.” Lucky for him, it took a lot more than a few glasses of bubbly to get him drunk. “I bet it takes a massive kitchen to feed a crowd like this,” he murmured as a waiter passed by with an hors d' oeuvres tray. He scooped one up and popped it into his mouth. The salmon mousse melted on his tongue.
She smiled. “And a massive wine cellar.”
“Was it original? To the house I mean.” He tried not to smile, tried to remain aloof as if his only interest was the house.
“I'm not sure. It's right through here, if you'd like to see it.” The look she was giving him told him she didn't care if they 'saw' the cellar or not. His blood came to a slow boil, and he suddenly felt the need to undo the top button of his shirt.
“Lead the way.”
He deposited his empty glass on a nearby table, excitement surging through him as she linked her fingers with his and pulled him through a sitting room and down another hall. She paused in front of a large, ornately carved door and twisted the ancient knob. A burst of dank, slightly musty air hit him in the face.
She reached out and a light flickered on, showcasing a stone staircase.
“Shall I go first?” he offered.
“You can catch me if I fall.”
“Gladly.” He started down the steps. Her high heels clanked against the stone as she descended behind him.
He was so close to the prize he could feel it. This was the perfect spot to store the Lafite bottle. His nerves were on red alert.
“Are you a big wine drinker?” she asked as they came to the bottom of the stairs. A cool, cavernous room awaited them. Everywhere he looked, there were rows and rows of dark bottles lying like little torpedoes waiting to be uncorked and enjoyed.
“Evidentially not as big as your father.”
She trailed her hand over the smooth glass of a nearby bottle as if she were caressing her lover's body. He instantly wanted to be that man.
“Hardly anyone is.” She studied one row and then another before selecting a bottle. “This is Daddy's first love. Some would say his only love. He always has to have one more for his precious collection.” She stepped over to the wall-mounted corkscrew and expertly removed the cork. She reached for two crystal goblets and poured a perfect four ounces in each before turning toward him.
“This is a great vi
ntage.” She rattled off details about hints of this, notes of that, but he wasn't paying attention. His focus was zeroed in on her lips. So perfectly shaped. Glossy, pink, and begging to be kissed.
“You know your wine,” he said when those lips stopped moving.
“I grew up around it,” she said and handed him a glass. Then she took a sip. He did the same, watching her over the rim. She stared back at him, seemingly uninterested in small talk.
Some women he knew would be uncomfortable with the silence. Uncomfortable locking gazes. But she simply stared him down, sipping her wine. But he could tell that her mind was churning.
He broke from the staring contest first and stepped to the nearest row of shelves, reading the labels. He moved along as if he were in a library, reading the spines of the books.
“How many bottles do you suppose are down here?” he asked.
“I don't know. Five thousand? Maybe more.”
“That's incredible. I've never seen a collection like this. It makes my little wine cooler back home look pathetic.”
She laughed that lyrical laugh of hers and told him to finish his wine.
“I'm starting to think you're trying to get me drunk,” he teased.
“Do I need to?”
His cock sprang to life, and he forgot all about the bottle of 1787 Lafite he was looking for. He set his glass down on a nearby wine barrel and did the same with hers.
“Does this answer your question?” he asked, cupping her cheeks in his hands. Staring deep into her eyes, he dipped his head toward hers. Their lips brushed against each other in a whisper of a kiss.
The spark of electricity between them surprised him. But her sweetness stalled his thinking. He could only feel.
Brax moved his mouth over hers, memorizing every soft detail. Every delicate sound coming from her throat, every breath.
Her arms wound tightly around his neck, pulling him closer. He had no objections.
