Twisting round to face her, he held it under her nose and she instinctively inhaled, but all she got was him. Spice, soap, some kind of citrus. An intoxicating combination that muddled her head.
‘Delicious,’ she murmured, not entirely sure that was a word that could be used to describe the smell of a cork, but then, she wasn’t entirely sure either that she actually meant the cork.
‘Promising,’ he said, and as he turned away to reach forwards and select a couple of glasses she got the strange feeling he wasn’t talking entirely about the cork either.
He poured wine into each, watching the flow of liquid intently as he did so, and then nudged one in her direction. ‘Here you go.’
‘Do you realise there’s around forty thousand dollars’ worth of wine in that glass?’
‘Forget the money.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’ It was all very well for aristocratic billionaires. For mere mortals, it was a small fortune. ‘Forty thousand dollars in pounds would pay off a considerable chunk of my mortgage.’
‘A fair point,’ he said with a wry smile that flipped her stomach. ‘But this is all about the senses.’
Hmm. Well. She didn’t know that her senses would be up to much. They were frazzled, completely overwhelmed by him. He was all she could see...his voice was all she could hear. His scent had permeated every cell of her being and she wanted to touch and taste so badly it was becoming a problem. There wasn’t a lot of space left for strawberries or compost.
‘What do I do?’
‘First you look at it, then you smell it, and finally you taste it.’
God, could he read her mind?
‘Hold it against this,’ he said, handing her a piece of white paper, which she took with fingers that were irritatingly unsteady. ‘Tilt the glass. What do you see?’
Getting a grip, Orla did as he instructed and studied the liquid. ‘It’s a dark sort of reddish brown in the middle,’ she said, her voice thankfully not reflecting any of the chaos going on inside her. ‘Paler at the rim.’
‘Wine browns as it ages and gets hazier.’
‘This is very clear. Is that good?’
‘It is. Now level it and swirl it around.’
‘What does that do?’
‘Two things,’ he said, demonstrating in a way that bizarrely made her stomach clench. She valued competence. She appreciated it in others. She’d never found it sexy before, but in him, she did.
‘First,’ he continued, ‘when the liquid touches the side of the glass the alcohol evaporates. What remains—the legs—indicates the viscosity or the degree of sweetness. Secondly, it maximises the surface area and releases the aromas.’
If she’d been in a test and had had to say what came second Orla would have been stuck for an answer. All she could think about now were legs. His legs. The long length of his thighs a foot away from hers and how powerful they might be beneath the denim of his jeans.
‘What do you see?’
‘No legs,’ she said a bit breathlessly as she tore her gaze from his thighs and returned it to the glass. ‘This must be very dry.’
‘You’re a fast learner.’
She’d had to be if she’d wanted to claim her place in her family. She’d worked hard and paid attention. The only area that strategy hadn’t proven successful had been in the bedroom. She didn’t know why. She’d tried her damnedest with her ex-fiancé Matt, yet nothing. It was immensely disappointing and insanely frustrating, and for the benefit of her emotional well-being she tried not to dwell on it much. ‘I’m good at listening.’
‘Let’s see what else you’re good at,’ said Duarte, his eyes dark and glittering. ‘Stick your nose in and sniff it.’
It was hardly the sexiest of instructions, yet she had an image of burying her nose into his neck, and longing thudded in the pit of her stomach. His nose, she noticed, was gorgeous. Straight. Perfectly proportioned. Aquiline, even, which wasn’t a word she’d ever had cause to use before.
‘What do you smell?’
‘Cherries,’ she said, the aroma of the wine winding through her before gradually separating out into individual strands. ‘Something herby. Rosemary maybe. And, weirdly, cheese.’
‘You are good at this.’
He did the same, only way more expertly than her and for far longer. He considered, muttered something in Portuguese and made some notes on a pad on the table.
‘Now taste it,’ he said. ‘Take a big gulp and swish it around. You should feel the alcohol at the back of your throat.’
‘And then?’
‘Swallow it and breathe in through your mouth and out through your nose. Note the textures and the astringency. Then take another gulp. That one you can either spit out or swallow.’
She would not react to that, she told herself firmly. She wasn’t sixteen. But her imagination had other ideas. Her imagination had her getting up to lock the door to this room, heading back and then dropping to her knees before him.
Maybe that bang to the head had done more damage than she’d assumed to her too. She was dizzy and discombobulated, and when she tried the wine in the way he’d suggested, knocking it back instead of spitting it out, she could barely think straight, let alone take note of its textures.
‘What do you think of it?’ she said, struggling for control of her thoughts and setting her glass down before she dropped it.
‘It’s exceptional. Very vibrant for its age. Long finish. Impressive.’
‘How strong is it?’
‘Average. Why?’
‘I’m feeling very light-headed.’
‘That’s unlikely to have anything to do with the wine,’ he said, putting his own glass down before turning to study her with what looked like concern. ‘It could be the heat.’
It was warm in here, that much was true. The sun at this angle bathed the room in abundant evening sunshine. But no, it wasn’t the heat. That wouldn’t account for the throbbing between her legs. It was him.
Her heart was thundering and her temperature was rocketing, and she could feel it happening inside her again—the strange combination of fire and ice that she’d experienced yesterday when he’d come to an abrupt halt and whipped round in the corridor. Her head was spinning but somehow, in the midst of the chaos, she noticed that he’d gone very still. Very alert. The tension vibrating through him was almost palpable.
As the seconds ticked by the air between them thickened, crackling with electricity. Awareness charged her nerve endings. His gaze dipped to her mouth for a second and her lips tingled. He was so close. All she’d have to do was lean forwards a little and she’d finally be able to find out what he felt like, what he tasted like.
‘Orla?’ he said, his voice very low and gravelly.
‘Yes?’
‘You need to stop looking at me like that.’