Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,24

holding it up against the milky light coming from the overhead bulb. “I was just about to crack open a bottle of the cheaper stuff and check it out.”

She nodded anxiously, looking like a kid agreeing to a dare. “Oh, yes, let’s!”

“Are you a wine fan?”

“I’m a woman. Of course I’m a wine fan.”

Reaching into his pocket, Oliver drew out a multifunction tool that had a wine opener on it and almost held his breath as he uncorked the bottle. He was careful not to shake it in case of sediment and immediately smelled the air for any scent of vinegar.

Nothing. So far, so good.

Testing the cork and finding it completely moist and not at all crumbly, he began to hope they weren’t about to drink a bottle of salad dressing in the making. “This really should be decanted so it can breathe.”

Her face fell.

“But there’s no point in going upstairs to find a decanter and glasses until we know whether it’s worth drinking.” He lifted the bottle and extended it to her. “Ladies first.”

She didn’t put on any fussy airs or complain about drinking out of an old, dusty bottle. Wiping the rim with her hand, she lifted it to her mouth and took a tiny sip.

Her eyes closed. She remained very still. Then she sipped again.

When she opened her eyes, they were sparkling with delight. “Unbelievable. That is the best wine I have tasted in my life! If that’s the cheap stuff, I think the really good wine would bring on an instant orgasm.”

She immediately caught her bottom lip between her teeth, obviously regretting making that remark.

He regretted it, too. Mainly because, as he took the bottle from her extended hand, and lifted it to his mouth, all he could think about was giving her that instant orgasm.

He could. Of that he had no doubt.

Trouble was, he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t have that right. He was in no place to offer her anything and in no condition to take anything. Having sex with her would be about one thing and one thing only—instant gratification. And she just didn’t seem like the one-night-stand type. Nor was that what he suspected his matchmaking boss had in mind for them.

He placed his lips right where hers had been, tasting her lipstick, wishing it wasn’t via second degree of separation. Then he sipped, and felt the most delightful burst of flavor in his mouth. He caught smoky undertones, but the tannins were light, unobtrusive. There was also a hint of cherry, or plum. Not sweet, just rich and full-bodied. It went down smooth, the finish just as perfect as the opening, and he couldn’t resist taking another healthy sip.

“Fantastic,” he said when he lowered the bottle. “Should we go for the decanter?”

“Absolutely!”

She spun around and hurried out the door, leading him up the stairs to Buddy’s living room. They were like a pair of kids who’d been given their favorite candy and could hardly wait to dig in.

And they definitely dug.

An hour later, they’d finished off the first bottle, and most of a second one he’d gone down to grab. The second hadn’t been quite as perfect as the first, even after a fifteen-minute decant, but it beat anything he’d ever ordered at a fancy California restaurant, hands down. And the book only valued it at forty bucks. Something about age definitely made all the difference.

Dividing what was left between their two glasses, he listened as she went over a list of things they needed to check and do tomorrow. That included finding the closest expert who could come out and do an appraisal. By their own unscientific research, Buddy should come out of this at least two hundred thousand dollars richer. One bottle in particular, a 1945 Château Mouton Rothschild, could very well bring in fifty thousand on its own.

Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. For a freaking bottle of wine.

Damn, he was glad he’d bought the reference books and hadn’t dared to just grab a bottle and open it!

Candace sat beside him on the couch. She’d been bouncing with excitement every time he flipped a page and spied a familiar name, pointing to its corresponding mention on his list of Buddy’s wine cellar. Her excitement had been infectious. It had also been so spontaneous that, once, she grabbed his thigh and squeezed.

He’d managed to hide a groan, wondering if she was really clueless about the effect she was having on him. And it wasn’t just a wine-inspired reaction. Oh, no. Everything about