Chapter 8
BIX
Ahalf hour later, I sit on the sofa, listening to Sam tell stories about his bartender days. I feel so light and at ease in his company.
“Another bottle of Champagne, or do you want to try that rosé I told you about?” His voice drops to a lower register that thrills me.
“Since you told such a beautiful story about it, let it pour.” I nearly wince as I hear the flirtation in my voice. I’m not usually the flirting type. That was Hilary’s specialty.
Sam moves to the wine wall dividing the room, his confident movements hypnotic. Even something as simple as selecting a bottle, he does with precision and focus.
“You certainly know your craft. Back when you were a bartender, bet you gave the ladies an extra olive in their dirty martinis.”
He nods. “You bet. But what got me the big tips was the way I handled the cocktail shaker.”
I laugh as he pantomimes shaking his hips with an imaginary cocktail shaker above his head. “I like a man who knows how to handle his equipment.”
I lean back into the buttery-soft white leather sofa, stealing a glance through the window at the tall, skinny high rises shooting into the night sky. What would it be like to live in such a place? Pretty good, I imagine.
Sam reaches into a cabinet for different glasses and brings them over.
“These flutes aren’t good enough?” I ask.
“It’s not the right shape.” He demonstrates with his hands. “These have open lips that allow the aroma to penetrate more freely.”
Open lips? Penetrate? This wine talk is getting me hot…making me think about what could happen once this bottle is finished.
I watch Sam move across the room. Those broad shoulders, the way his jeans fit... My mind wanders to places it shouldn’t. Heat rises in my cheeks.
Sam glances my way as he settles beside me on the sofa, dark eyes flashing. A slow smile spreads across his face. He looks like he’s reading my thoughts.
I feel a tingling sensation in my core. I haven’t been waiting until marriage to lose my virginity. But the right guy has never come along.
Until tonight.
Thank God I wore nice underwear.
I lift the glass to my lips…
“Not yet,” he says, his commanding voice carrying the same edge it had when he found me with his books.
But now his domineering tone sends a different kind of vibration through my body.
“Take your time with it,” he encourages. That slow smile spreads across his face again.
My inner thighs grow warm. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when it comes to things that should be savored.”
The way he says this makes my mouth go dry. I inhale the wine’s aroma, following his lead. “Smells like springtime,” I say, surprising myself.
“Tell me more.” He’s closer now, watching me with those dark eyes.
“Pink roses.” I take another breath, deeper this time. “And chalk? Am I really smelling chalk?”
“The aroma comes from limestone soil, which has the qualities of chalk.” His lips curve. “You have a good nose.”
I’m startled by the intensity in Sam’s gaze as his eyes caress the lines of my body. It’s not a crude look. Instead, there’s something dark and magnetic about him. Even the air seems charged with his energy.
I look at the liquid in my glass. “The last time I had pink wine, I was fourteen and my stepdad had just been transferred to Frankfurt.”
He laughs. “Your memory must have something to do with more than wine.”
“Yes,” I say, blushing. “I was drinking it with my first boyfriend, Hans.”
“Was Hans handsome?” Sam arches his brow.
“You bet. And he had a motorcycle. A mustache, too.” I smile at the memory. “I thought I was so grown up.”
“I take it he was one of those dark, dangerous types.”
“You nailed it. What about you? Platinum-blonde homecoming queen for your first girlfriend?”
“Of course. One of many,” he says with a playful smirk.
“Ha! Well, you don’t have to brag about it.”
“Not bragging,” he says, teasing me with his eyes over the rim of his glass. “Just a matter of fact.”
“Anyone special to match my Handsome Hans?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Valentina,” he says finally.
“Sounds exotic.”
“She was an Italian princess—not fairy tale, real aristocracy. Her family lived in a Medici palace in Rome.”
“That is so cool!” I glance around his penthouse. “Though this isn’t bad either.”
“Her best friend was Sue, my bandmate Rafe’s sister. I saw Valentina all the time. But she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I say, studying his chiseled jawline.
Sam shrugs. “I was just some kid from Connecticut. Her parents had her future mapped out. Marriage to an Italian prince...”
“And a life happily ever after in a castle,” I add.
He smiles. “To Hans and Valentina,” Sam says, raising his glass in a toast. “First loves and impossible dreams.”
An intimate silence follows. To ease the tension, I take his hand.
“Isn’t it a little early to get fresh?” he questions, his deep voice contrasting with his lighthearted tone.
“I’m reading your palm,” I say, tracing the lines with my finger. “My Grandmother Lola taught me and Hilary so we could defend ourselves from bad men.”
He chuckles. “Wouldn’t pepper spray be more practical?”
“Perhaps.” I look up at him. “But she believed reading a man’s palm would give us guidance as to whether he had good or bad intentions.”
“Oh, that.” His voice drops to a whisper as his free hand slides to my waist. “Well, let me save you the trouble. My intentions for you are positively wicked.”
He moves closer, his hand moving into my hair. My heart races as he leans in for a kiss, and I give myself to him without question.