Manwhore +1
Page 23
Chills down my arms, my legs, my feet.
“So. Wine tasting,” I say.
“A man shouldn’t let another man choose his wine,” is all he says.
“Only make it?” I quip.
He looks at me as if for the first time tonight. And then, he smiles. Full on, mega-watt, grab-on-to-your-panties-sweet-bitch smile.
God.
There’s no wine, no drug this powerful.
His smile.
We remain seated as we start the tasting.
After the fourth wine, I notice that Sin makes a signal to a waiter, and soon, the waiter sets a blindfold over my place settings. “For the lady newcomer,” the waiter tells me with a little grin.
I watch as Malcolm’s long, tanned fingers take the blindfold. He lifts it up and looks at me, a frank question in his green eyes.
“May I?”
Oh god. “I . . . um, sure.”
He starts to lower the blindfold over my face. I’m not breathing when he covers my eyes with the velvet material. All the darkness in the world engulfs me. I hear the clink of glass, the sound of footsteps, of chairs. I catch my breath when warm, long, achingly familiar fingers guide my own to curl around the stem of a wineglass.
Saint’s touch is so familiar to my body, I’m raging right now. All my systems on go.
“Noel isn’t going to ever drop his issues with you, is he, Kyle?” a businessman sitting very close asks in a low voice, clearly meant not to be overheard.
Saint is quiet beside me.
Kyle.
Is the guy addressing him?
Saint’s thumb pauses on the back of mine until he’s sure I’m holding the glass on my own. His nearness is so disturbing and exciting it takes me a moment to get a good grip.
“Ever going to address the rift between you two?” the voice speaks again.
“No,” Malcolm answers. Then he whispers to me, “Smell it.”
My senses fire up. All but my eyesight. Sin’s voice feathers down my spine as I scent the wineglass he still hasn’t released even though I’m holding it too. I can smell the soap on his hand. I can hear my heartbeat. My skin prickles as I drag in the scent and almost taste it.
“Taste it,” he says, in my ear, and when he speaks again, his tone is different. Colder. “Whatever I had to say to my father, I said it long ago.”
“But he blames you.” The man is still whispering, but Saint is not.
“He can blame himself.”
One more whisper from the businessman: “So is that why you’ve never tied yourself up to a woman? You suspect it’s going to be like father like son?”
He lets out a long, rumbling laugh. “I’m not anything like him,” he murmurs dismissively.
I’m quiet, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing, sipping the wine, when I feel Saint take the glass from me, whisper, “How was it?”
Fuck. How was it indeed? Too curious for her own good, is the lady? “Fruity, I think. Dry.”
I lick my lips and there’s a silence. Is it odd that my stomach feels warm when I feel, sense, his eyes on my lips as I lick them one more time?
Then warm, gentle fingers on my hand as he gives me another glass. “Smell it again,” he tells me, the touch of his fingers lingering on mine. The tone holds a degree of warmth and command as well as curiosity.
I lift it to my nose and sniff, the aroma opening my lungs somehow.
“Now taste.”
God, his voice is all man. All sensual. Pure Sin. He makes the command sound coaxing to the point you never consider not obeying.
“His phantom corporations,” the man goes on, speaking words that sound important but that I have trouble registering in my dizzied mind, “all those overseas, hiding money, rumors of corporate espionage going on? Aren’t you concerned these snoops could be around M4?”
“Nobody gets into M4 without a thorough screening. Procedures too lengthy to discuss here,” he says.
Then Saint, to me, “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I breathe.
Saint speaking: “Catherine, we’ll order three cases of each so far . . .”
I’m listening to everything but at the same time focused on this second wine. I’m loving the way it rolls down my throat, swirls in my mouth. Dry but sweet.
“One more,” Saint coaxes quietly as he hands me a third. His whisper tickles my ear when he takes the glass from me. “What’s the lady’s verdict?”
I smile and go up in knots at the teasing in his voice.
God, I can’t take it when he teases me. “It’s a little dry and earthy. The tastes really come alive with this.” I touch my fingers to the blindfold.
“So. Wine tasting,” I say.
“A man shouldn’t let another man choose his wine,” is all he says.
“Only make it?” I quip.
He looks at me as if for the first time tonight. And then, he smiles. Full on, mega-watt, grab-on-to-your-panties-sweet-bitch smile.
God.
There’s no wine, no drug this powerful.
His smile.
We remain seated as we start the tasting.
After the fourth wine, I notice that Sin makes a signal to a waiter, and soon, the waiter sets a blindfold over my place settings. “For the lady newcomer,” the waiter tells me with a little grin.
I watch as Malcolm’s long, tanned fingers take the blindfold. He lifts it up and looks at me, a frank question in his green eyes.
“May I?”
Oh god. “I . . . um, sure.”
He starts to lower the blindfold over my face. I’m not breathing when he covers my eyes with the velvet material. All the darkness in the world engulfs me. I hear the clink of glass, the sound of footsteps, of chairs. I catch my breath when warm, long, achingly familiar fingers guide my own to curl around the stem of a wineglass.
Saint’s touch is so familiar to my body, I’m raging right now. All my systems on go.
“Noel isn’t going to ever drop his issues with you, is he, Kyle?” a businessman sitting very close asks in a low voice, clearly meant not to be overheard.
Saint is quiet beside me.
Kyle.
Is the guy addressing him?
Saint’s thumb pauses on the back of mine until he’s sure I’m holding the glass on my own. His nearness is so disturbing and exciting it takes me a moment to get a good grip.
“Ever going to address the rift between you two?” the voice speaks again.
“No,” Malcolm answers. Then he whispers to me, “Smell it.”
My senses fire up. All but my eyesight. Sin’s voice feathers down my spine as I scent the wineglass he still hasn’t released even though I’m holding it too. I can smell the soap on his hand. I can hear my heartbeat. My skin prickles as I drag in the scent and almost taste it.
“Taste it,” he says, in my ear, and when he speaks again, his tone is different. Colder. “Whatever I had to say to my father, I said it long ago.”
“But he blames you.” The man is still whispering, but Saint is not.
“He can blame himself.”
One more whisper from the businessman: “So is that why you’ve never tied yourself up to a woman? You suspect it’s going to be like father like son?”
He lets out a long, rumbling laugh. “I’m not anything like him,” he murmurs dismissively.
I’m quiet, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing, sipping the wine, when I feel Saint take the glass from me, whisper, “How was it?”
Fuck. How was it indeed? Too curious for her own good, is the lady? “Fruity, I think. Dry.”
I lick my lips and there’s a silence. Is it odd that my stomach feels warm when I feel, sense, his eyes on my lips as I lick them one more time?
Then warm, gentle fingers on my hand as he gives me another glass. “Smell it again,” he tells me, the touch of his fingers lingering on mine. The tone holds a degree of warmth and command as well as curiosity.
I lift it to my nose and sniff, the aroma opening my lungs somehow.
“Now taste.”
God, his voice is all man. All sensual. Pure Sin. He makes the command sound coaxing to the point you never consider not obeying.
“His phantom corporations,” the man goes on, speaking words that sound important but that I have trouble registering in my dizzied mind, “all those overseas, hiding money, rumors of corporate espionage going on? Aren’t you concerned these snoops could be around M4?”
“Nobody gets into M4 without a thorough screening. Procedures too lengthy to discuss here,” he says.
Then Saint, to me, “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I breathe.
Saint speaking: “Catherine, we’ll order three cases of each so far . . .”
I’m listening to everything but at the same time focused on this second wine. I’m loving the way it rolls down my throat, swirls in my mouth. Dry but sweet.
“One more,” Saint coaxes quietly as he hands me a third. His whisper tickles my ear when he takes the glass from me. “What’s the lady’s verdict?”
I smile and go up in knots at the teasing in his voice.
God, I can’t take it when he teases me. “It’s a little dry and earthy. The tastes really come alive with this.” I touch my fingers to the blindfold.
