A Taste of Sauvignon by Heather Heyford

beach towels, water bottles, and a couple of ice chests.
    Esteban slowed his pickup as it crunched down the white gravel driveway of Domaine St. Pierre. When he got close to the sprawling mansion, he peered up through the windshield at it. Though he could see the estate through the trees from his backyard, the Moraleses’ homestead might as well be on the other side of the world. Here, he was surrounded by professionally manicured gardens tended by braceros . No secret, Mexicans made up more than half the work force of the valley. A tower of water tumbled down from a fountain that formed a traffic circle in the middle of the St. Pierre drive. He wondered if Savvy had felt as out of place at his house as he did at hers.
    Savvy met him at the front door.
    â€œHi! Want to come in?” She stood aside and swept her arm toward a terrazzo foyer that covered more square footage than his whole house. Sunlight on crystal drew his eye upward to where a massive chandelier hung near a second-floor balustrade. A uniformed housekeeper went back to her dusting after he caught her checking him out.
    â€œNo thanks. I’m on my way to the coast. Here’s your scarf.”
    â€œThanks.” She stared at the vicinity of his neck, where his face mask dangled. “Are you going swimming?”
    â€œDiving.”
    Her eyebrows shot up, remembering.
    â€œWant to come?” ¡Tonto del culo! What was he thinking, inviting her along?
    â€œMe?” Her hand pressed between her breasts, emphasizing their modest size and shape. She was wearing a black (of course) dress, but not a fancy one today. More like a long T-shirt with a V-neck.
    â€œI-I couldn’t. I can’t. I have—” She floundered with her hands, seemingly at a loss.
    His face must have revealed his disappointment.
    â€œActually, yes! I have nothing better to do. I mean, that didn’t come out right. I don’t know. . . . Were you serious?”
    â€œIf I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have asked. C’mon.” He took a step toward the truck. “Let’s go.”
    â€œI can’t simply run out the door and go diving with you, without a plan! I don’t know where it is, or how long we’ll be gone, or what to wear or anything. . . .”
    â€œSuit yourself.” He threw up his hands and started across the porch. “Later . . .”
    â€œWait!” She bit her lip anxiously. “What do I need?”
    â€œI have everything.”
    â€œWhen will we be back?”
    He shrugged. “Depends.”
    â€œOn what?”
    Â¡Mierda! “How fast I catch my limit.” He took another step toward the truck and waved her off. “You don’t want to. It’s okay. I’ll see you next Wednes—”
    â€œWait right here! I’m coming. Let me grab my bag.”
    Esteban paced the broad porch. What had he got himself into? It was a two-hour drive to the coast. He’d be stuck with her for four hours in the Chevy, plus however much time they spent at the park.
    At the same time, a jagged thrill tore through him. Four hours of staring at her legs on his truck seat. After they picked up Shane, she’d have to slide over next to him, almost touching his thigh with hers. He’d be able to smell her sweet scent. Feel the warmth coming off her body.
    She reappeared with her purse and they were off.
    â€œWhere are we going?” she asked, clicking on her seat belt.
    â€œSalt Point State Park.”
    â€œHow long does it take to get there?”
    â€œAbout two hours.”
    â€œWhat are we going to do, once we get there?”
    â€œPark the truck, sit on the sand, and hopefully, find some abs.”
    Her eyes flew open as her hand pressed her chest again. “Me, get in the water?”
    He grinned. “You bring your wet suit?”
    â€œYou said I didn’t need anything,” she frowned.
    â€œ You aren’t getting in. That ocean water’s about