Private Tasting by Nina Jaynes Page A

glass. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”
    Shadow clouded his eyes. He reached for the empty goblet and refilled it. “Perhaps it is too strong for you.”
    Beth took the glass, brought it to her lips, and took a long pull. No, he was the right kind of strong. The kind every woman wanted to handle. Her skin flushed with the fantasy of his cock inside her, her legs aching from spreading them wide so he could fuck her deep and hard. She set down her wine before she dropped it. “More.”
    He shook his head. “It’s half-full. You never drink this much.”
    Beth leaned forward and reached for her glass.
    Lucio matched her movement. The large outline of his palm and fingers came into view and filled her vision. The tan of his skin, the crisp curls of hair, his long, square fingers. He pushed the glass from her reach.
    What made her mouth go dry wasn’t his speed or agility. It wasn’t even the protectiveness in the action. It was the power. The authority. The glass had skated down the table with his movement. But the liquid inside hadn’t rippled. It had stayed so steady, it may as well have been solid.
    It proved that he wasn’t just strong. He was gentle. And the possibilities of having that combination in her bed sent liquid pooling between her legs.
    She took a breath. “I’m celebrating.”
    His sexy mouth puckered. “Celebrating.”
    “I’m free.”
    “You’re intoxicated.”
    “You’re intoxicating.”
    The double entendre was lost in translation because he frowned. “Perhaps it is not celebrating but mourning the ex-boyfriend?”
    Mention of that jackass made her eyes snap wide. “Michael?”
    Lucio’s mouth pulled down. “I told you, you give your heart too freely. Ever since I have known you, you’ve had a man in your life.”
    Six months. Ever since she’d come to Italy to work in the marketing division of Oldani fashions.
    Her gaze traced the long line of his legs. “You never give your heart.”
    “Bah. Love. Why can’t a man and woman have a good time without having to promise their organs to each other?”
    “This from the man who’s never lasted more than three months in a relationship.”
    He drained his glass and tipped it at her. “You get your heart involved, and there is only one way it can end—by breaking. Michael. What did he do? Why are you thinking of him?”
    She laughed. “No, he’s not in my mind.” You are. In my mind, my body. You possess my every thought.
    He watched her, his dark eyes full of compassion and understanding. Another reason to love him—lust for him, she hastily corrected herself.
    “Beth?” He shifted closer, bringing the scent of male and heady cologne with him.
    She shivered, her skin prickling with awareness of him.
    “Are you cold?” Lucio pulled her into his broad chest. He glanced to the open French doors where the Italian night pushed the scent of grapes and grass and made the gauzy white curtains ripple.
    “Yes,” she lied. “I’m cold.”
    He pulled her tighter, and she sank into the soft mat of his cotton T-shirt. “What did he say?”
    She blinked, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the dark acidity of the grapes on his breath. “Who?”
    “Michael.”
    She smiled at the involuntary contempt that always infused his voice when he spoke her ex’s name. Then frowned as the memory of their last meeting came to mind.
    “Ah, I see it on your face. What did he say to you, cara ?”
    “I don’t want to talk about him.”
    He made a sound, low in his throat, and her body purred in response.
    “I want to talk about tonight. About why I’m here.”
    “Michael.”
    “No! Not him.” She jerked upright, but he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and easily pulled her back into the hard frame of his body.
    “You always come over when you break up with a boyfriend and want to talk about it.”
    Okay, that was true. “Maybe, but tonight—”
    “What did he say to you?”
    “Can we talk about what I want?”
    “No.”