Blame It on the Champagne by Nina Harrington Page A

to the bands of muscles
across his chest and abdomen. And hot did not come close to describing how fit
he looked.
    â€˜Dare I ask?’ she muttered.
    He looked up and smiled in a totally casual and relaxed
fashion. ‘Morning. Hope you slept well.’
    â€˜Very well, thank you. And please explain.’
    He gestured with his head towards the table. ‘Help yourself to
breakfast and I’ll do my best. We’re setting off in about an hour.’
    Saskia made her way carefully across the floor by standing on
tiptoe to avoid treading on the equipment. Laid on the table was a wonderful
platter of continental cooked meats, cheese and Danish pastries and croissants.
Fresh butter and jams. Fruit. ‘You must have been up early. But why are you
dressed like that? I thought we had a business meeting today and an hour doesn’t
seem long enough.’
    Rick nodded and adjusted something which had the word
‘Altimeter’ on the side before setting it down next to his plate. ‘Small town.
Baker and supermarket are right next to each other. Makes it easy.’
    He pointed with the end of a hand-held radio to a ceramic pot
covered with a red and white checked fabric circle. ‘Try the wild blueberry jam.
My neighbour collected the berries this week high on the mountain; it’s pretty
good. And relax, I haven’t forgotten what we are here for.’
    Saskia sat down and broke up a croissant and piled it with the
jam. He was right, it was amazing. Almost as good as the view of her host, who
was standing right in front of a large glass-panelled door which led out onto a
wooden veranda. There was a perfect backdrop of green forest, blue sky and the
snow-white mountain Mont Blanc behind his head and a professional stylist could
not have created a better composition in a million years.
    And, just like that, something flipped deep inside Saskia’s
stomach and she slowed down to appreciate every mouthful of her breakfast, and
every eyeful.
    Rick really was spectacular.
    Also a mind-reader because, just as she was ogling his chest,
Rick glanced around at her and caught her in the act and grinned that knowing
kind of grin which made it ten times worse. Saskia knew that her neck was
flaming red as she blushed, especially wearing a pale shirt, but there was
nothing she could do about it. So she loaded up her plate from the platter
instead.
    â€˜You were about to tell me where we are off to,’ she said in a
calm, controlled voice, knowing all the while that it wasn’t fooling him in the
slightest.
    â€˜A treat for you.’ He smiled and strolled over with a pot of
the most delicious-smelling coffee and poured her a cup. ‘After weeks on the
road, I needed to step away from the business and get back to my life. But
today? Today, I think it’s time for you to meet one of our ten growers.’
    â€˜Good idea.’ She nodded. ‘Is the vineyard very far? I need ten
minutes to charge my laptop and camera and I’ll be ready to take minutes.’
    â€˜Just in the next valley, but that’s not where we’re going. Oh
no. Jean Baptiste has a passion for flying as well as grapes. Time to show you
just how much fun you can have if you team up with me.’
    The buttered slice of baguette halted halfway to her lips.
‘Flying?’ she whimpered.
    â€˜Of course. We. Are going paragliding. Saskia? Are you okay?
You are looking a little pale.’
    She just managed to put her breakfast down without dropping
it.
    â€˜ Paragliding, ’ she whispered,
feeling that her throat was full of breadcrumbs.
    â€˜Sure,’ Rick replied, stuffing all kinds of helmets and
equipment into a huge backpack. ‘Burgess Wine sponsors the local paragliding
club and I won a few championships a couple of years ago and like to keep up the
practice. Have you ever tried it yourself?’
    Saskia blinked at him and tried to form a sensible reply but
gave up. ‘Is that where