The Wedding Bargain. Lee Mckenzie

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СКАЧАТЬ of the other bridesmaids—drink wine, so I keep a few bottles on hand.”

      “Tasting a wine should be like a first kiss. You need to take your time and give it all your attention.”

      He tipped his glass slightly to one side. “Did you notice the color of this one?”

      Other than it being red, she had not. She focused on the glass for a moment and wondered if she’d ever find out what a first kiss with him would be like. She looked up at him and realized he was waiting for her answer. She managed to shake her head.

      He tipped his glass slightly to one side. “If the light was better, you’d see it’s not red. It’s a deep shade of garnet.”

      All she saw was a pair of dark blue eyes. “What does that mean?”

      “It’s well aged.” He straightened his glass.

      “No offense, but doesn’t wine tasting strike you as being kind of pompous? I mean, they’re pretty much all the same.”

      His only response was a stunned expression, but he recovered quickly. “Tell me something about yourself.”

      “Uh, what would you like to know?”

      “Something I wouldn’t expect to hear.”

      Would her wanting to explore the whole kissing thing be unexpected? Probably not. “I used to be a high school teacher and I have a brown belt in karate.”

      “Really? I guess that’s one way to keep students in line.”

      She smiled at that. She wasn’t cut out to be a teacher, but fortunately she’d never had to rely on the martial arts for classroom management. It had come in handy with a couple of her mother’s boyfriends, though. One in particular.

      Snap out of it, she told herself. She usually didn’t dwell on the past, so why did it keep shoving its way into her thoughts tonight? Maybe it was being around Rory’s family, or maybe it was the unexpected attention from a handsome stranger who avoided answering questions about himself, but had no trouble wheedling information out of her.

      Michael swirled the contents of his glass, but he was studying her intently. “So before you taste the wine, you have to smell it.” He held it out to her. “Inhale slowly, and really think about the scent.”

      In her book, there weren’t many things more pretentious than wine tasting, but she played along and took a sniff. “It sort of smells like cherries.”

      He smelled it. “You’re right. Ripe cherries, and just a hint of spice.”

      Her insides went wobbly. “Your turn. To tell me something unexpected about you, I mean.”

      He hesitated, as though trying to think of something that might interest her. “I’m restoring a 1954 Morgan.”

      Michael’s hands didn’t look anything like the mechanics’ hands she often saw wrapped around beer mugs at the Whiskey Sour. “Are you actually doing the work yourself, or are you having it restored?”

      “A little of both. You know something about cars?”

      She cupped both hands around her glass. “A little. My grandfather had an old MGB. I used to help him work on it from time to time, and a lot of his friends are…were…mechanics. Some of them are still regulars at the bar.”

      “You should hold your glass by the stem,” he said. “That way you don’t transfer the warmth from your hands to the contents of the glass.”

      “Oh.” She adjusted her hands accordingly.

      “I rebuilt the engine myself. With my brother, actually. We’ve been working on it together. It’s a nice change of pace from…what I usually do.”

      Okay. Maybe the brother was a mechanic.

      “Now you should taste the wine again,” he said, but he reached for her hand and stopped her before she could raise the glass to her lips. “Let it slide over your tongue and around the inside of your mouth before you swallow it.” His voice had taken on a sinfully deep tone and she swore it was reverberating through his hand and up her arm. “Try it.”

      She took a sip and so did he. She watched his mouth, and didn’t swallow until he did.

      “What do you think?”

      She was at a loss for words, and that almost never happened.

      “Peppery, just a hint of oak,” he said. “Full-bodied.”

      “Yes. You took the words right out of my mouth.”

      He smiled at her. “Can you still taste it?”

      She thought about that for a second or two, and nodded.

      “That’s one of the best characteristics of this particular wine. It has a long, warm finish.”

      Holy crap. She should ask about his car, or his brother or what kind of business he was in. Instead she took another slow, careful sip of wine, imagined she was being kissed, and contemplated everything implied by a long, warm finish.

      Chapter Two

      Michael Morgan followed his real estate agent out of the shabby building she’d just shown him in the South of Market district and waited on the sidewalk while she locked the door. The large windows overlooking the street had been boarded up with plywood, and that had been covered with several coats of paint in an unsuccessful attempt to keep graffiti under control. Even the big for-sale sign had been tagged so many times, it was almost unreadable. It was the third place he’d seen and the least disastrous, which wasn’t saying much.

      “It definitely needs work,” the agent said. “I do think it has potential, though. Nice high ceilings and all that exposed brick. And there’s already lots of new development nearby.” She had helped him find the two previous locations for his new wine bars—the first at Fisherman’s Wharf and the second on Nob Hill—and she now had a good sense of what he wanted.

      This place was a dump, but she was right, it had potential. A trendy-looking deli and coffee shop had recently opened across the street, a new residential building next door boasted upscale loft condos and there was more new construction on the next block. On the downside, this place required a major renovation and he had no idea how much of the building’s character and existing structure could be salvaged, or how much capital he’d have to sink into it.

      “It is a good location,” he said. “Let me talk to my sister and find out when she can check it out. She’s the architect who’ll be handling this project.”

      “Of course. If it makes life easier for you, have her call me directly and we’ll set up a time.”

      “Thanks. I’ll do that.” Michael unlocked his car, got in and checked his cell phone for messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait. He pulled up his sister’s private number and studied the building’s facade while he waited for her to answer. The windows and front entrance were set in brick arches. The second-story windows were tall, almost floor-to-ceiling on the inside. He could picture them with ironwork Juliet balconies on the outside, and maybe some planters.

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