A Taste of Merlot by Heather Heyford Page B

took the mug in both hands, and sniffed. Vanilla . She blinked him into focus. He was already neatly dressed. “How’d you know?” She smiled, still groggy.
    â€œThat’s what you ordered at the diner. Lucky for you, I happen to own an espresso maker.”
    Had that been only two days ago? And what was that peaceful, easy feeling inside? Was this what happiness felt like? The vivid details of last evening came flooding back to her. But later, all they’d done in his bed was sleep. Now she felt deliciously rested. Ready for round two. Or would it count as three, or maybe four?
    Suddenly aware that Mark seemed to be waiting for her to taste his concoction, she took a careful sip of decadent creaminess. That couldn’t be skim milk in there. Guilt, her constant companion, reared up. “I said I’d help you clean up last night.”
    â€œIf you insist, I can leave you the breakfast dishes.” He reached out to finger the hot-pink streak in her hair, making her insides tug with something wilder, something stronger than simple contentment.
    She set her mug on the bedside table, rose onto her knees, letting the sheet drop to the bed, and glided her arms around his neck, luxuriating in the feel of her bare breasts pressed against his fresh-smelling, button-down shirt. But after a disappointingly brief hug, Mark slid his hands from across her back onto her upper arms, gently pushing her away.
    Confused, she leaned in again, but he held her at a distance.
    â€œMeri . . .” His yearning gaze dipped to travel the length of her nakedness, only to reluctantly tear itself back to focus on her face.
    â€œSomething wrong?” She feigned innocence.
    He arched his brow ceiling-high and cleared his throat. “Er, no. Believe me. Nothing’s wrong at all. Everything”—he did another quick body scan—“and I mean everything —is in exactly the right place. I just—I don’t know how to say this. About last night. That’s not me . . . throwing myself at you, only knowing you since, what—Tuesday? That’s not how I roll.”
    Him, throwing himself at her? Had they been in the same atelier last night—the same car?
    â€œI want us to start over. Do this right.”
    He’d done everything perfectly right, as far as she was concerned.
    He pulled the sheet up over her breasts. “I’ve got a full day planned.”
    Of course. She knew the drill. They’d slept together. He’d got what he wanted. Now he was kicking her out—in the nicest way possible.
    â€œNo offense taken. I should get going anyway.” Besides, she had a collection to finish, orders to fill. She threw her legs over the side of the bed.
    â€œYou misunderstood,” he said. “What I meant was, I have more respect for you than that. Not to mention, you just made a big sale to a major retailer.”
    She frowned, still confused.
    â€œI took a personal day so that I can take you out to celebrate.”
    Her head tilted, her eyes widened, and a smile bloomed on her lips.
    â€œHow’s that sound?”
    She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. “That’s just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
    He smiled in an aw, shucks way, keeping his safe distance. “Anyway. There’s stuff on the stove. It’s ready whenever you are. I’ll leave so you can dress.”
    Meri watched his excellent butt as he crossed the floor of the bedroom, watched his masculine hand pull the door closed for her modesty.
    Can there possibly exist a man more precious than Mark Newman?
    When she carried her mug out to the kitchen wearing her flats and jeans, he stopped short, eyeing her from the waist down. “What the—where’d you get those?” he exclaimed. He lit up, remembering. “ That bag. Do you live out of that thing?”
    â€œPractically. I didn’t have an extra top in it,