Page 34 of Kissing Kin
Relationship? This is nothing but a chance encounter. Yet nothing happens by chance, so why did we meet? And why am I so attracted?
I side-glanced at his profile—a basalt jaw and cheekbones so angular they seemed chiseled. Watching his features instead of my step, I stumbled.
His hand around mine, he slipped his other arm behind my waist and caught me in a pose like a dip in a dance.
Suspended in his arms, I held my breath as I gazed into his expressive eyes.
He leaned forward slowly, pausing millimeters from my lips as if asking permission.
His breath tickled, and I arched my neck to meet him in a sweet, exploratory kiss.
Hormones revving from zero to sixty, I flung my arms around his neck, took the kiss, and ran with it.
Then Cody’s face flashed before me, and I froze. Whoa. What am I doing?
****
As she tensed, he regretted his lapse of judgment. But she did respond…Still tasting her lips, he held back his head to read her eyes. “Sorry.” He lifted her to her feet. “Didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“You literally swept me off my feet.” She laughed as if making a joke. Then she slapped at her thighs, brushing off imaginary dust.
Or is she brushing me off? Keeping his hands to himself, he gestured to the path ahead. “Still about a mile to finish the loop, then would you like to see the wine cellar?” He glanced at the time. “We have an hour ’til we leave for Aunt Rosie’s.”
“Already?” She checked her phone. “Seems like we just ate.”
It does. He picked up the pace and, twenty minutes later, led her into the wine cellar.
The temperature dropped abruptly.
He flipped on the lights as he shut the vault door, its sound echoing off the cement walls.
Stacked, wooden barrels neatly lined the rectangular, temperature-controlled room, while several A-frame wine racks held green bottles tipped on their sides.
“This is quite a production.” She studied the casks and ran her fingers over the bottles before turning toward him. “Did you make all this wine from your own grapes?”
“Yup, last year, I hauled ten tons to a custom crush facility to vinify them into wine.” He grimaced. “It took four separate trips and cost more than it was worth, but that qualified me to apply for Federal and State licenses to operate as a winery. Voila! Chateau Mont Bleu was born.”
“Impressive.” Again, she eyed the barrels and bottles.
“Want to sample a young merlot?” A pipette in hand, he hovered over one of the casks.
“You mean from the barrel?” Her eyes opened wider. “I’d love to.”
“This is my first attempt at a merlot.” He took two oversized red wine glasses from a cabinet, removed the cask’s bung, plunged the glass cylinder into the barrel, and expressed a small sample into each glass. After replacing the bung, he handed her a glass. “To young wines and new beginnings.”
She clinked glasses, the sound resonating in the chamber, and she took a tentative sip, swishing it in her mouth before swallowing.
“What do you think?”
She swirled the pomegranate-red liquid in her glass, holding it up to the light. She inhaled its fragrance. Then she sipped slowly, rolling the wine over her tongue, as if letting its flavors linger.
Again, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her approval. He raised his brow. “Verdict?”
“Reminds me of a young Chianti.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “Light and refreshing.”
Dismissing his uneasiness about the wine’s quality, he stared at the moist, inviting lips he had just kissed, tempted to taste the wine from her perspective. Instead, he held up his glass in another toast. “To wine—grape juice with experience.”
Clinking glasses, she grinned, this time sipping rather than sampling.