Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,34

a bottle down to examine it. Wiping off a thick layer of dust, she held it gingerly up to the light. “The label says ‘Harte Vineyards’ on it.” Her voice was almost childlike with excitement as she looked up at him with an astonished, but radiant expression. “I had no idea.”

Chris watched her with newfound awareness. Her enthusiasm was infectious and he wondered how any man, him especially, could resist her this way.

“You’re the historian, Miss Reed. Do you mean to tell me you never knew about a vineyard here?” he jested casually.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “With your permission, I’d like to explore the grounds next week. Maybe the vines are still here. Or, some of them, at least.”

“I doubt it, but you’re welcome to look for them.” Chris pulled another bottle from the shelf and looked at it closely. “This one’s a 1910 merlot,” he announced. “I wonder how many bottles are here?”

“Maybe thousands?” she said with a shrug.

They roamed through rack after rack, row after row, discovering chardonnays, pinot noirs, cabernet sauvignons, and even several fruit brandies. He tucked a bottle under his arm and announced his intensions to try it later as they made their way back through the dank, dark cellar.

Chris let her go upstairs first, admiring her perfectly-shaped figure as it swayed with each rising step, and realized he was having the devil of a time pretending he wasn’t attracted to her. Damnation, the whole afternoon had sorely tested his resolve.

Libby gathered the rest of her belongings where she had set them down in the hallway and was about to bid him good night, when her stomach let out a long, low growl.

“Why Miss Reed, I think you’re hungry,” Chris said with a half a smile tugging at his lips as he shut the basement door. “Care to stay for dinner?”

What am I thinking? he chided himself inwardly. But he’d already thrown the idea out there. Surely a little socializing after hours wouldn’t hurt, and, besides, he was hungry, too.

He continued, “I’m making a stir fry for dinner and I’ve eaten by myself the last five nights in this lonely, haunted place. Perhaps you’d join me?” He was tired of eating alone, he admitted silently. It was Saturday night and he had no plans. After business hours, the mansion was often too quiet for someone like him who was used to the hustle and bustle of the city.

She shot him a look combining disbelief with temptation.

He sensed her hesitation. “Better yet, I’ll bring my laptop into the kitchen and you can research the wines and the Tiffany piece while I’m cooking. We can even try this merlot. Surely you can’t argue with the logic of doing some research while I cook?” he teased lightly while flashing his best smile. Yes, this was just a continuation of their work together. That’s all this was, he assured himself.

Libby wrestled with warring emotions. It would be pure folly to stay, but she was anxious to validate the window’s provenance and learn more about the vineyard. Even if it meant enduring his presence for another hour or two. Oh, who was she kidding? she asked silently. Endure? This Adonis-like man was asking her to join him for dinner and she was seriously considering turning him down? She ignored the clamoring inner voice reminding her of each and every reason she should decline.

“I’d love to stay, Chris. Thank you.”

The lamb was walking straight into the lion’s den tonight, Libby acknowledged before deciding she could care less.

Chapter Thirteen

Libby followed him into the kitchen where he set up his laptop before carefully opening the ancient bottle of wine. He poured the rich, deep red liquid into two cut crystal goblets he’d found in the butler’s pantry cupboards, then placed a plate of appetizers on the counter for them to share.

“Cheers,” he toasted, raising his glass to hers, his eyes twinkling with adventure. “Let’s see if 1910 was a good year.”

“Cheers,” she replied, her heart doing a small leap as he looked at her with that special, endearing way of his when he relaxed.

Libby swirled the wine in her glass then took a hesitant sniff. It smelled fine, nothing like the vinegar she expected. She took a sip and the wine’s velvety smoothness caught her by surprise.

“This is really exceptional, Chris,” she half-whispered, feeling the day’s tensions melt away immediately as the liquid suffused her.

“Crackers and cheese?” he asked, pushing the antique china plate towards her. He tasted the wine, too,