California Wine (13 page)

“I fear I will be late for our dinner. We will need wait until tomorrow to see each other.” He hoped Elizabeth hadn’t heard the disappointment in his voice. No need to let her know his growing desire.

“No we won’t!” Elizabeth sounded triumphant. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m making dinner for you tonight.”

“But I hate to put you to all that trouble. And I have no idea when I will get there.” He glanced over at the highway that was still clogged with cars.

She laughed. The sound was rich and warm. His spirits lifted. “I’m cooking soup that we can eat whenever you get here.”

“I’ll bring the wine,” he said. “And I’ll do the best to move this traffic along so I don’t get there at midnight.” He obtained directions to her home and hung up.

Getting back into his car, he hummed a tune as he pulled out of the parking lot. Whatever was happening between him and Elizabeth lifted his spirits.

• • •

By the time Marcos rolled into Elizabeth’s driveway, it was already eight. As soon as he pulled the car to a stop, she stepped out the front door.

He hesitated before he got out of the car, the awkwardness of distance catching up with him.

“
Ciao
,” he said and waved in her direction. He felt like a grade-school geek with his first crush. “I’ll be a moment.” He plunged into the trunk of the car and searched. After a few moments, he triumphantly held up a red blend from one of Napa’s boutique wineries and walked to the door.

He thrust the bottle at her, instead of kissing her the way he wanted, catching a whiff of lemon and sea breeze. She was wearing the perfume he’d sent her.

“I have brought more wine for you to enjoy,” he said. “In return for your kind hospitality taking me around to see the vineyards.” His voice was stiff and formal.

“Thank you, Marcos.” She touched his arm.

A shot of heat emanated from her hand.

“Let’s go inside,” she said. “The soup is ready, the bread just came out of the oven and you must be starved.”

“Your gardens are lovely,” he said as she led the way on the stone-paved curved sidewalk. The pathway was lined with bright chrysanthemums and asters. Well-trimmed bushes edged of the soft adobe home. “My mother was a gardener and she often required my assistance.” He shrugged. “I still garden. Only now it’s vineyards.”

She smiled at his weak humor. Nothing was sexier than a woman’s smile. Especially when the man was acting like he’d never been alone with a woman before.

Succulent aromas of oregano and onion wafted from the kitchen. “Smells wonderful,” he said.

“I’m glad.”

Every time she smiled, the need to kiss her became greater.

“Sit in here,” she said. The table was set with brightly colored plates and bowls. A cut glass vase with vibrant flowers dominated the center and a corkscrew lay near his setting.

“If you’ll take care of the wine, I’ll bring out the soup and bread,” she said.

“Can I help with anything else?”

“Not now. Thanks.” She gestured at the corkscrew and rapidly walked from the dining room.

He opened the bottle and poured a small amount in one of the crystal glasses on the table. After swirling the wine, he sniffed. A faint hint of blackberry and current emanated from the wine. He took a sip, nodded, and poured wine into the other glass before filling his own.

Elizabeth came back into the room, a full tureen in her hands. He made a gesture to help, but she shook her head. “Hot,” she said as she placed the dish on a woven trivet.

Like you. He shifted from one foot to the other.

“The soup smells magnificent. What kind?”

“Minestrone.”

“And you made it yourself?” Dumb remark. He’d be lucky if she still wanted to go with him tomorrow.

She looked horrified. “I would never serve a guest soup from a can.”

“I’m sorry. I have done … what do you American’s say? Put my shoe in my mouth?”

She laughed. “Foot. We put our foot in our mouth.”

“You must be very talented then. It is difficult, I think, to put a foot in the mouth.” He studied her, wondering if she would understand his feeble attempt at humor.

She stared back at him as if trying to figure out if she was being insulted or kidded. “Easier than you think,” she finally said, a pretty blush creeping up her neck. “I’ll get the bread.”

When she returned with a basketful of bread, he said, “Thank you for creating this dinner. It is kind of you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gestured to the soup. “Please, help yourself.”

He ladled the vegetable-laden soup into his ceramic bowl and helped himself to a slice of bread.

He watched her take her own servings, desperately trying to think of something to say.

They clinked their glasses and each took a sip. As the liquid fire slid down his throat, he looked over the rim of his glass at Elizabeth. Desire, heated by the wine, raced through his veins.

To distract himself he took a large mouthful of his soup.

Mistake.

Elizabeth’s mouth twitched as he manfully swallowed.

“Hot,” she said. “I did tell you.”

He nodded and took a bite of bread to numb the burning sensation. The crisp crumb of the crust gave way to light mouthfuls of buttery bliss.

Silence reigned for a few moment while they sipped their wine.

Finally, she said, “I think we should start our trip with Stargold tomorrow morning. That way you can see some of the vineyards that might be available on Montebello Ridge. Then we can tour Saratoga, go south to Hecker Pass and see some of the places on Redwood Retreat Road. They’re all good Cabernet growing areas in the mountains.”

He smiled. “You are indeed a generous and talented woman, Elizabeth.” He raised his glass. “I salute you.”

He looked down at the soup. His stomach was close to growling and he decided to take the risk. Scooping up another spoonful, he smiled as flavors exploded in his mouth. Rich hints of parmesan cheese merged with hints of sage and thyme. “
Magnifico
. It is like I remember from the best restaurants in Italy. You are a talented chef, Elizabeth.”

She looked down at the table for a moment. Her luminous eyes were full of gratitude when she looked at him and said, “Thank you. I like to cook. It’s nice to have someone appreciate the effort.”

“It is how I feel about my winemaking. I understand. So … ” He dug in for another spoonful of soup. “Tell me about the winemakers in the mountains. Do they teach themselves? Go to school?”

“A combination, I think,” she said.

They spent the rest of the meal talking about winemaking. He was impressed with her knowledge.

“How is your shop doing? Have you been able to get a loan?” he asked her over coffee and biscotti.

Her smile sagged. “The banks aren’t cooperating. The closest I’ve gotten is the credit union. They want me to put in some of my own money, in addition to using the shop for collateral.”

“That can be hard, but it is going the right way, is it not?”

“I suppose.”

Marcos refilled the wine glasses. “Do you not have the money? Or are you afraid to invest?” He realized he might be overstepping his role. People could be sensitive about money. “I am sorry if I am asking an embarrassing question. It seems natural to be open with you.”

She gave him one of her light-up-the-world smiles. “No problem. That is a good question.” She took a sip of her wine. “I have the money, but like every woman in America, I am afraid of becoming a bag lady in my old age.”

He tilted his head. “Bag lady?”

Elizabeth’s laugh tinkled in the air. “A woman who lives on the street with all her belongings in a shopping cart, or a bag. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s very sad, really.”

“I think that is why in Italy we have a big family and go to church every Sunday. That way, if our faith in God lets us down, we have relatives to bother.”

Elizabeth laughed again, this time the laugh was full of energy, warming his heart.

“I’m afraid my relationship with God isn’t what it was and I don’t think Sarah will support me in my old age.”

Marcos leaned back in his chair. “I was faced with something similar when I went to buy my vineyard in France. I was afraid to make a risk. I talked with my daughter, since it was her inheritance I was gambling with. Do you know what she told me?”

“No.”

“She said to follow my dream. All the money in the world couldn’t make her love me any more than she already did.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “I think your Sarah would say the same thing.”

Elizabeth tapped her wine glass, silent for a few moments. “Maybe. I’m not sure exactly what to do. A friend has offered to invest, but I’m not sure I want the interference that would come with the money.”

“Your friend is a man, I guess.”

“An ex-boyfriend.”

“Ahh. Very bad combination — money and exes.”

She laughed again and he smiled. The sound of her laugh buoyed him. He would have to make sure to make her laugh a great deal during their time together.

Days that would be too short.

He saw Elizabeth stifle a yawn. “I must be going. I need to check in at the hotel and do some business before I sleep. Thank you again for your hospitality.”

Elizabeth stood with him and they walked to the living room.

Awkwardness returned as they stood before the closed door and stared at each other. Unable to resist, Marcos leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

And, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her again. This time his lips touched hers.

When Elizabeth awoke on Saturday morning, she still tasted Marcos’ lips on hers. As kisses went, it was only a brush, but the fact she wanted more scared her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be anyone’s one night stand, but what other future could there be for them?

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.