Page 13 of Talk Vino To Me
“Sorry I startled you.” He doesn’t look sorry in the least, but I appreciate his attempt at politeness. It’s much better than the surly attitude I got from him when Daphne dropped me on his doorstep. “I’m simply impressed that you do occasionally lose your temper.”
“Of course I do. I’m human, like anybody else.”
“I’ll concede the first part of your statement, but Daisy, you have to know. You are nothing like anybody else.”
Our eyes meet. While my body was hot with anger before, an entirely different kind of heat snakes through me now. We’re in dangerous territory. I’m already far too attracted to this man, despite my need to keep my professional distance. But all I want to do is get closer to him. No matter that it’s a fool’s game.
“Probably no one else would be so excited to take a winery tour,” I say lightly. “Today’s the day you get to run me through it.”
Ian’s knowing look tells me he’s letting me get away with changing the subject. But we both sense that something changed between us the day of the photoshoot. We’ve seen what’s behind each other’s masks, and we didn’t flinch. Neither one of us is in a rush to put those masks on again.
“Let’s go.”
We walk back to the house, and hop into one of the golf carts that takes us over to the tasting room. Once we’re there, Ian runs through the tour with me as if I were a customer. While the staff will normally be the ones to conduct these tours, it’s important for Ian to know how to lead them as well. So the two of us walk through the fields, and he demonstrates how they care for the vines and when the perfect moment is to pick the grapes. He teaches me all about terroir, and what makes the Willamette Valley such a perfect place to grow the notoriously tricky pinot noir.
Ian is the perfect host. He doesn’t come across as some spoiled celebrity; instead he’s charming, engaging, and knowledgeable. If I weren’t already a fan of his, I would be after this talk. He’s nothing like Roger, with his sense of entitlement to my time and my professional contacts. I can’t believe he had the nerve to ask —
“What do you think?”
“Hmm?”
“About putting a guitar-shaped spaceship on top of the barrels?”
“I’m sure that will be fine —” My brain catches up to my ears. “Wait, what?”
“Gotcha.” Ian’s eyes are sparkling. “Someone is definitely not listening.”
“I’m sorry.” A sigh slips out before I can stop myself. “My mind is elsewhere.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sure?”
I nod. I don’t trust what will come out of my mouth if I speak. Though his offer is so, so tempting. Ironically, if anyone in the world could understand, it’s Ian.
I can almost feel him wrapping his arms around me, pressing my body against his. I’d throw myself into his embrace and spill my guts. He’d hold me tight, stroking my back, and murmuring soft words as I let it all out.
But I don’t dare give in to the impulse.
I’m supposed to be a professional. That’s how Ian needs to see me. Not as a potential... whatever he wants from me. It’s better for us both if I keep my distance.
“All right then. Time for this tour to go off script,” Ian says. I narrow my gaze at his charming half smile.
“Whoa. What? What does that mean?” I cross my arms over my chest. He gently peels one hand away, gripping it firmly in his. I want to protest — professionals don’t hold hands with their clients — but I’m too distracted by his mysterious mission to make a fuss. Besides, if I’m being honest... I don’t hate the feel of his hand in mine. His callouses from years of playing are surprisingly smooth against my softer skin, and his grip is cool and sure.
“It means you’re still unhappy with whomever was on the phone, and you need something to take your mind off of it.” Ian opens a door onto the south patio of the tasting room. “Besides, I wanna test out an optional offering for the tour.”
Curious, I let him lead me over to an area of decking where a trio of half wine barrels sit. They look weathered, as if they’ve been outside for a while. Although it’s early, the sun is already warming the air, and I can smell the sticky rich tang of grapes from here.
“First thing’s first,” Ian says. “Come sit.”
“Why?”
“Trust me,” he says, giving me that same smile. Heaven help me, I think I do. Is it foolish of me? Maybe. Probably. But I’m intrigued and want to see where this goes.
“All right, what do I have to do?”