Page 27 of Legs

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Last time, at the end of the Pinot Noir tasting, I was a dick.”

“You were.” The apology diluted the tension between us, an acknowledgment I needed to hear. Still, I kept my focus on a small bruise on the green pepper. “Do I get an explanation?”

“When you look at me, you will.”

So darn bossy.

He was on the opposite side of the island, his strong fingers circling my wrist, and I allowed myself a glance. A closer perusal of his ink. Tattoos began above his leather cuff, a swirling mass of ivy and swooping shapes in black and gray. The lines curled around a goblet on his forearm, a horned goat bleating on the inside of his bicep, a prowling panther clawing up from the outside of his elbow. Its head was hidden by the frayed edge of his gray T-shirt, the same one he’d worn the first day of the contest. It read Dare Me.

Boy, did I want to dare him. Beg him to leap over the counter and rip open my blouse. To prove he could undo me with nothing but his tongue. Dare him to make me scream.

Instead I said, “I’m looking.”

His thumb moved to my pulse point, pressing gently. “That you are.” He held us together like that, our eyes searching, his thumb eavesdropping on my restless heart.

Then he released me and slung his leg over the counter stool. “My family owns a winery in the valley, and my father decided to retire—travel and spend time with my mom—which meant passing the business to me and my younger brother, Dimitri.” He scrubbed his hands down his unshaven cheeks. “Except my father and I had a falling out, and I was cut off. Everything went to Dimitri. I haven’t spoken to my family in almost two years, haven’t sipped a drop of our—their wine since then.”

He spoke evenly, but the usual gravel in his voice roughened. The gray in his blue eyes darkened.

“Until the blind tasting?” I asked. “The fifth glass of Pinot Noir?”

“It was the first time I’d tasted the wine in two years.”

I thought back to the exercise. Offshoot Winery. It was an impressive operation, large scale. If I had the chance to run a place like that, I’d plaster myself to the helm and never let go. The revelation also meant Gwen’s intel the night the girls had coaxed me into The Blue Door was accurate. Her sales pitch had involved the bartender’s approval—the fact that he’d vouched for Jimmy and said Bad Boy came from a good family who owned a winery or something. When flirting around our bet that night, I first asked Jimmy to wager a vineyard. He’d laughed off my joke, and I’d assumed Cameron’s information was more “or something” than fact. Apparently I was wrong.

“That’s why you shut down,” I said, more pieces of Jimmy fitting into place. “I’m sorry. It must have been a shock.”

“It was, and that makes two unwelcome surprises in a week, one of which you helped me face, so don’t apologize. My only regret is how I treated you.” He picked up my corkscrew and flipped it between his fingers.

“Inhaling your bike exhaust as you peeled off was unpleasant.” As was the hurt that lingered.

The corkscrew froze mid-flip. He frowned. “I was an asshole and it won’t happen again. I’d like to pick up where we left off.”

Fifty percent bad boy, fifty percent smooth talker. “The part where I outperform you in the contest?”

A smirk eclipsed his scowl. He placed the corkscrew down, pushed to his feet, and prowled around the counter. My apartment was nothing but a uniform square. Kitchen, countertop, and stools in one corner, a king bed with my Ikea closet behind the headboard opposite; across were a couch, coffee table, and TV, my desk and book shelves finishing off the geometric shape. It was ordered. Precise. It was everything I tried to emulate, the details never quite in my grasp.

Jimmy threw it all askew.

Each thunk of his boots echoed in my belly. I gripped the edge of the sink, the cool stainless steel a contrast to the heat building below my ribs. He stopped at my back, a whisper of his body brushing mine. “I prefer the part where you wanted to perform a scientific study with my head between your legs.”

His voice deepened, more gravel invading his tone, and my knuckles whitened on the counter. Need pulsed through me. I could have leaned back, just a millimeter, until the hard planes of his body pressed to mine, but I had a sneaking suspicion a simple touch wouldn’t be enough.

Our one wild night wasn’t my modus operandi. I was a relationship girl, mornings cuddling in bed and dinners out what I craved. Jimmy was trouble, and I was desperately attracted to him, in an unfamiliar way. Animalistic, almost. Every time he raked his hair—untidy waves that hung shaggy over his forehead, cresting the tips of his ears, brushing the base of his neck—I wanted to grip the dark strands and pull his head between my thighs, find out if he was all talk, once and for all. Or sit on his face. Either would work.

But playing girlfriend to make his ex jealous had changed things. As did learning about his past. A woman he loved enough to marry, gone. A family lost. His future career pulled from him. Ferment those ingredients together and you’d get vinegar, not wine. Something told me he was more fruit than acid, and one sip would lead to two, until tasting wouldn’t be enough. I would end up wanting more. Relationship more. Nothing about him fit into my world.

“I’m not sure about that particular study,” I said. “I’ve heard the side effects can be hazardous. Let’s stick to our deal. I helped with Sophia, now you help with my tasting.”

He hovered at my back, his hot breath caressing my hair. Then he stepped away. “Tasting it is.”

We set up on my couch, and I stuffed a pillow between us, the lilac silk comical next to his roughness. But I needed space. He was here for one reason and one reason only: to help me pass our next test. Since I’d botched most of the service exercises, the tastings were my clincher. If I messed those up, I’d be back at my computer, searching for jobs, having to explain my umpteenth failure to my family. Thanks, but no thanks.

I sat with my back straight and legs crossed. Jimmy draped himself over my gray couch, his long legs sprawled apart. He tossed his arm behind me, resting his hand precariously close to my neck. It reminded me of The Blue Door, how he’d distracted me from my tasting. Come to think of it, maybe he was undermining me again. Using his manly wiles to mess with my game. “Is this a ploy?”

“Yes.” He didn’t miss a beat.

“Seriously?”