In the Argentine's Bed / Secret Baby, Public Affair: In the Argentine's Bed. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.
securing distribution.”
“We’re still small, so it must be the right distribution. Outlets where our wines will reach the right people.”
“Where they’ll be appreciated.”
“Exactly.”
Amado drove the familiar road apparently by instinct. His eyes seemed mostly to rest on her face, which heated under his intense gaze.
She struggled to keep her composure. “I think Hardcastle Enterprises could do a lot for you. In addition to our restaurants, we offer a boutique wine-selecting service for our customers. We keep their cellars stocked with the very best wines available that year.”
Amado’s keen interest was written all over his handsome features as they pulled into a parking area behind the large, stone winery building. “I look forward to showing you our winery. I’m confident you’ll enjoy our wines.”
Susannah resisted a triumphant smile. Finally, she had some real leverage. If she played her cards right, she could get the DNA she needed.
Was it the flattering glow of sunset, or was Amado getting more ridiculously handsome than ever?
Susannah sat at a wide, polished table, rows of fine-stemmed glasses in front of her, their shimmering contents ranging in color from darkest garnet to palest silver.
Across the table, standing, Amado inhaled the bouquet of a youngish red, sipped it, then tossed his head back to swallow with a lavish gesture.
He’d rolled up his creamy-white sleeve to reveal a tan forearm, and she couldn’t help imagining the rest of his body would be equally hard and well-formed.
The tasting room was warm, and she’d removed her jacket. Her nipples stood to attention inside the loose-fitting top of her dress. The curved chair with its velvet padding was deliciously comfortable after the long drive crunched into her tiny rental car, and she longed to stretch like a cat.
She felt downright…tipsy. She’d blame the wine, but as an experienced taster she knew how to sip tiny amounts that couldn’t possibly get her inebriated.
At least she thought she did.
Amado poured Chardonnay into a glass. The pale liquid sparkled in the afternoon sun streaming in through the tall windows.
She inhaled then tasted. Flavor tingled across her tongue and caressed her throat with its smooth, golden warmth.
Like Amado, the wines seemed to be getting more delicious by the minute.
“Tierra de Oro—is there real gold in the earth around here?” She set the glass back on the table.
“I don’t think so. If there ever was, it’s long gone. The only gold around at Tierra de Oro is the kind stored in bottles.” He caressed a stemmed glass of pale liquid between finger and thumb.
Susannah’s belly shivered in response.
“I enjoy this kind of gold much more than the metal.”
“It costs less per ounce but gives more pleasure.” Amado’s smile revealed his white teeth.
Why did he have to be so great-looking?
And she was entranced by the way he treated the wine like a sacred liquid. He handled the bottles as if they were sentient—firm yet gentle.
The way he might handle her if he removed her dress and layered kisses over her breasts and belly.
Susannah sat upright as a rush of heat swept through her. “It’s getting late. I’d better go to my hotel.”
Amado frowned. “What hotel?”
“Any hotel.” She hadn’t booked a room, as she wasn’t sure if she’d have to stay locally, or if she could just head back to the city.
Apparently, she’d have to stick around for one more night to talk him into giving the DNA sample. What if he balked tomorrow, as well?
“There are no hotels here.”
She groaned. The vineyard was over two hours from Mendoza. If she returned there for the night, she’d have to drive back here in the morning to resume her campaign.
“Where do people usually stay?”
He blinked. Innocent. “Here.”
“At the winery?”
“In my house.” He picked up a three-year-old Cabernet. The tapered glass bottle looked slender and delicate in his big hands.
She could picture those broad palms and long fingers spanning the dip of her waist. “I’d prefer a hotel.”
He shrugged. “As I said. There isn’t one. This is the country, not a tourist destination.”
His polite smile warred with the mischievous gleam in his dark eyes. “And Rosa will cook you a very fine dinner.”
“But what about your parents? They can’t wait for me to leave.”
“Don’t worry about them. They have their own house and I’ve made my feelings clear. They won’t interfere again.” His expression softened. “You’ll find my home quite comfortable. You’re the only one here, so you can have your pick of the rooms. In the morning, we can conclude our business.”
Perhaps he’d give her what she wanted if she stayed overnight. And it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go.
“It looks like I’m at your mercy. I mean, thanks for your hospitality.”
He laughed. She couldn’t help smiling. Truth be told, she didn’t mind staying. Not because she had any intention of personally extracting Amado’s DNA, but because everything about Tierra de Oro was so enchanting. The breathtaking views, the lush vines, the comfortable well-kept buildings.
And the wine had mellowed her out something wicked. She wasn’t even sure she should drive. Not to mention that she still had no gas.
And she couldn’t leave without his DNA.
“My offer still stands.”
“Which offer was that?”
He leveled a challenging gaze at her. “Whichever one you prefer.”
Susannah stowed her bag in a guest bedroom, committing herself to stay the night, one way or another.
As promised, dinner was sensational. A classic Argentine meal with locally raised steaks, fresh-picked vegetables and glass after glass of Amado’s magnificent wines.
Silent and catlike, Rosa served their food in the grand dining room. Instead of family portraits, the walls were lined with oil paintings of massive, rectangular-shaped bulls, each frame adorned with a gold nameplate.
“I guess someone loved cows.”
“My great grandfather. My grandfather. And my father.” Amado sipped his wine. “Tierra de Oro was known throughout Argentina for its breeding stock.”
“Do you still breed them?”
“My father does, but it’s a hobby at this point. Not profitable. That’s why I started the vineyard.”
“You?”
“Yes.” He looked at her quizzically. “Why are you surprised?”
“Well, you’re only thirty.” She blanched when she realized she’d assumed that the research was correct and he was in fact Tarrant’s son. “Aren’t you?”
“As it happens, I am thirty. But I was fooling around in the fields and growing things by the time I was eight. By age eleven, I’d hybridized a Syrah that got people talking. My neighbor Santos taught me a lot. He’s ninety now and one of the true geniuses of winemaking. He helped me persuade my father to let me plant grapes in our pastures. By the time I was eighteen, we’d planted seventy hectares of vines.”