Sultry Escapes. Leslie Kelly

headed upstairs after she was home and ready for bed, wearing that flimsy little bathrobe and nothing else.

      His horny-man brain quickly rebelled at the idea that that would have been bad luck. But he shut that part of his brain down.

      “Visiting hours are over. It’s after eight. I saw the lights were on upstairs and thought you might still be here. Grandpa told me where to look for you.”

      She looked like she wanted to come in, but was carefully eyeing the cobwebs and shadowy corners.

      “All clear,” he told her with a smile, knowing what she was looking for. “I think the mutant spider from outer space is still trying to find his way home.”

      That was a lie—there were enough webs down here to house the spiders from Harry Potter’s Dark Forest. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.

      She managed a weak smile and slowly entered, her attention focused on shelf after shelf of bottles. She whistled as she walked around the twelve-by-twelve chamber. “Wow. He wasn’t exaggerating, was he?”

      “Definitely not.”

      “Amazing!”

      “You have no idea.”

      He quickly filled her in on what he’d discovered, and saw her eyes light up with hope as she realized her grandfather might have actually stumbled into a treasure to help him make this old house into the showplace he envisioned.

      “Are you sure?”

      “I’m no expert,” he told her. “I can only judge by what the books say. Buddy will have to get an appraiser out here. And of course it depends on whether the wine is any good, or if it’s gone over.” Then he lifted the bottle, holding it up against the milky light coming from the overhead bulb. “I was just about to crack open a bottle of the cheaper stuff and check it out.”

      She nodded anxiously, looking like a kid agreeing to a dare. “Oh, yes, let’s!”

      “Are you a wine fan?”

      “I’m a woman. Of course I’m a wine fan.”

      Reaching into his pocket, Oliver drew out a multifunction tool that had a wine opener on it and almost held his breath as he uncorked the bottle. He was careful not to shake it in case of sediment and immediately smelled the air for any scent of vinegar.

      Nothing. So far, so good.

      Testing the cork and finding it completely moist and not at all crumbly, he began to hope they weren’t about to drink a bottle of salad dressing in the making. “This really should be decanted so it can breathe.”

      Her face fell.

      “But there’s no point in going upstairs to find a decanter and glasses until we know whether it’s worth drinking.” He lifted the bottle and extended it to her. “Ladies first.”

      She didn’t put on any fussy airs or complain about drinking out of an old, dusty bottle. Wiping the rim with her hand, she lifted it to her mouth and took a tiny sip.

      Her eyes closed. She remained very still. Then she sipped again.

      When she opened her eyes, they were sparkling with delight. “Unbelievable. That is the best wine I have tasted in my life! If that’s the cheap stuff, I think the really good wine would bring on an instant orgasm.”

      She immediately caught her bottom lip between her teeth, obviously regretting making that remark.

      He regretted it, too. Mainly because, as he took the bottle from her extended hand, and lifted it to his mouth, all he could think about was giving her that instant orgasm.

      He could. Of that he had no doubt.

      Trouble was, he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t have that right. He was in no place to offer her anything and in no condition to take anything. Having sex with her would be about one thing and one thing only—instant gratification. And she just didn’t seem like the one-night-stand type. Nor was that what he suspected his matchmaking boss had in mind for them.

      He placed his lips right where hers had been, tasting her lipstick, wishing it wasn’t via second degree of separation. Then he sipped, and felt the most delightful burst of flavor in his mouth. He caught smoky undertones, but the tannins were light, unobtrusive. There was also a hint of cherry, or plum. Not sweet, just rich and full-bodied. It went down smooth, the finish just as perfect as the opening, and he couldn’t resist taking another healthy sip.

      “Fantastic,” he said when he lowered the bottle. “Should we go for the decanter?”

      “Absolutely!”

      She spun around and hurried out the door, leading him up the stairs to Buddy’s living room. They were like a pair of kids who’d been given their favorite candy and could hardly wait to dig in.

      And they definitely dug.

      An hour later, they’d finished off the first bottle, and most of a second one he’d gone down to grab. The second hadn’t been quite as perfect as the first, even after a fifteen-minute decant, but it beat anything he’d ever ordered at a fancy California restaurant, hands down. And the book only valued it at forty bucks. Something about age definitely made all the difference.

      Dividing what was left between their two glasses, he listened as she went over a list of things they needed to check and do tomorrow. That included finding the closest expert who could come out and do an appraisal. By their own unscientific research, Buddy should come out of this at least two hundred thousand dollars richer. One bottle in particular, a 1945 Château Mouton Rothschild, could very well bring in fifty thousand on its own.

      Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. For a freaking bottle of wine.

      Damn, he was glad he’d bought the reference books and hadn’t dared to just grab a bottle and open it!

      Candace sat beside him on the couch. She’d been bouncing with excitement every time he flipped a page and spied a familiar name, pointing to its corresponding mention on his list of Buddy’s wine cellar. Her excitement had been infectious. It had also been so spontaneous that, once, she grabbed his thigh and squeezed.

      He’d managed to hide a groan, wondering if she was really clueless about the effect she was having on him. And it wasn’t just a wine-inspired reaction. Oh, no. Everything about her simply called to something inside him. Her soft scent filled his every breath; her long hair brushed his bare forearm. Their legs touched, hips, too. She filled his every sense, and if he’d thought the attraction was dangerous when they’d first met, he knew he was really in trouble now that he liked her so much.

      She was delightful, smart, funny and so sexy it hurt to look at her. Their nearness—and, okay, maybe the wine—made the idea of never having this woman seem not only a shame but a crime against humanity.

      “I am thrilled for Grandpa,” she said when they’d finally reached the end of the list. She tucked one bent leg beneath her and turned toward him on the couch. “This is going to help him make all his dreams come true.”

      He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her burgundydrenched lips, feeling the thrum of excitement that reverberated from her. She was relaxed and happy and he’d never seen her looking so beautiful.

      “Thank you,” she said, reaching out to grab his hand and squeeze it.

      He couldn’t resist. Twining his fingers in hers, he lifted her hand to brush a kiss on her palm.

      She sucked in an audible breath and edged closer. He continued to kiss his way across her palm, until he reached her wrist. Pressing his lips there, he noted the frantic thumping of her pulse and realized her heart was racing.

      He dropped her hand. “I didn’t mean to go there.”

      “Don’t stop.”

      “It’s a bad idea, Candace.”

      “What is? You kissing my hand?” She licked her lips and lowered her voice