Blame It on the Champagne. Nina Harrington
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go back to that. Not ever.
Not after she had promised her aunt that she would take care of the house and make all of their great plans a reality.
It was worth the exhaustion and never-ending strive for excellence.
As the Burgess sales team moved into the hall, Saskia pressed her fingertips hard against the fine marble surface of the console table and took a deep breath before lifting her chin and personally thanking each of them in turn as they left the building, discreetly counting to make sure that no one had got locked in the washroom or had decided to take an unsupervised tour of the bedrooms upstairs.
She sensed rather than heard someone coming up to speak to her and she spun around. ‘Miss Elwood. Could you spare a moment?’
Up close and personal, Rick Burgess was just as physically impressive standing in her hallway as he had been on the pavement that morning. Even after two hours of what had been sometimes intense discussions, back and forth across the table, the intelligence in his grey eyes sparkled with life and vigour against a tanned face which had never seen a tanning salon.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘How can I help, Mr Burgess?’
‘Oh, please call me Rick,’ he replied and stretched out his hand to shake Saskia’s. ‘I just wanted to say a huge thank you for agreeing to see us today. We appreciate your time and your warm welcome into your lovely home.’
‘I am delighted that you enjoyed it.’ She sucked in a breath when he released his grip, which was a lot firmer than she was used to. As in finger-crushing firmer. ‘If you should ever need a venue for a business meeting, I do hope that you will consider Elwood House.’
‘A business meeting?’ His eyebrows rose and, as he returned her smile, the deep tan lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes creased into sharp falls. ‘Sure. My project team will need to get together every few weeks during pre-launch. Angie will get in contact. Although I do have one request before I take off.’
His hands pushed into the pockets of his denims. ‘Prepare to be shocked. I am about to declare a terrible failing.’
‘A failing?’ Saskia replied, trying not to smile. ‘Surely not.’
Rick sighed out loud and raised both hands in the air. ‘I can understand that such a thing is hard to believe but here it is.’ He paused for dramatic effect and stepped just a little closer than she was comfortable with. ‘I’m not known for my patience. There were a couple of times during the presentation that I picked up some sense that you might be interested in buying from me. Am I right?’
‘Ah. Well, now it is my turn for confession,’ Saskia replied, her gazed locked onto his face. ‘I try not to make snap decisions when it comes to spending my money. My late aunt, Margot Elwood, taught me that loyalty to a supplier means a very great deal. I am therefore rather cautious about who I give my loyalty to, and one bottle of wine is no guarantee that the others will be of the same quality.’
‘Loyalty. I like that idea.’
Rick glanced over Saskia’s shoulder. ‘How about I give my future loyal customer a hand and carry that box of sample bottles down to her wine cellar? Who knows? I might pick up a few tips from an Elwood.’
‘My wine cellar?’ Saskia repeated. ‘I’m very flattered—’ she smiled ‘—thank you, but I am sure it would be boring compared to the wonderful wines you have in your stockrooms. And I am quite capable of carrying a few bottles down a corridor.’
Saskia straightened and kept her smile firmly fixed as she gazed past Rick Burgess towards the front door. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep your team waiting.’
Rick replied by tilting his head. ‘They’re already heading back to the office. So you see, Miss Elwood, I’m all yours. Now. Where do you want me to put this box?’
‘I store the specialist wine and ports in the basement. Oh, and please mind your head. These old cellars were built for shorter people.’
Rick followed Saskia down the narrow stone steps that led from her modern stainless steel kitchen down into the brick and stone storeroom and cellar that ran almost the full length of the house. He carefully lowered the large cardboard box of wine onto a sturdy old wooden table before following her into the cellar.
Saskia flicked on the lighting system and started her tour with the classic red wines she had bought for the coming autumn and winter season before moving on to the older and more prestigious wines. Racks and racks of bottles were laid out on their sides in purpose-built curved trays, label up, creating a superb display.
Rick peered politely at each of the winemakers and vintages with only a quick nod to indicate that he was only vaguely interested in what he was looking at.
It was not just annoying, it was unsettling!
She was just about to turn back when Rick pointed towards the cabinet where she stored her most precious white wines, most of which she had inherited from her aunt.
‘I recognise that wine, it’s one of my father’s favourites.’
‘Then we have something in common.’ She smiled. ‘It’s one of my favourites too. It also happens to be made at the vineyard once owned by my Elwood grandparents. Yes, that’s right. This is my family wine.’
‘Ah—’ Rick chuckled ‘—you see. I was right—I have learnt something new. Although it does make me wonder why you don’t promote your connection to the famous Elwood family more on your website. That is a remarkable heritage to be proud of.’
She replied by smiling and shaking her head. ‘There is a very good reason for that. I might be an Elwood but I have never been a wine merchant and I wouldn’t want anyone coming here under false pretences.’
Rick strolled up, pressed his shoulder snugly against hers and dropped his gaze onto a copy of a wine label that she was holding in her hand. His long wide mouth curved up into a smile that raised the temperature of the air in the cellar by several degrees. ‘I know about that.’ He chuckled. ‘Here I am, with a new career as a wine merchant and about to open a new wine store. Everything I know about the business I picked up from a lifetime living with a family who is obsessed with everything to do with wine.’
‘Aunt Margot may have been the last of the Elwood family but there was nothing that you could tell that lady about wine. I only wish I had her experience and knowledge.’
‘Exactly!’ Rick said in a voice bubbling with enthusiasm. ‘This is why I need to be totally honest with you about the real reason that I am here today.’
‘Real reason? What do you mean?’
His reply was to move closer, stretch out one long muscular arm to the stone wall behind her shoulder and lean forward so that their faces were only inches apart. Trapping her in the space between his body and the wine racks, which were pressing into her back.
Any closer and she would be on intimate terms with his shirt buttons.
She could hunch down and dive under his armpit if she had a mind to but this was her cellar, not his. And, damn him, but she was not the one who was going to have to move first. Even if he did smell of soft leather and fine wine underpinned by a faint citrus tang of some no doubt very expensive male grooming product designed to act as instant girl attractor.
And Lord, it was worth every penny he had spent.
His gaze scanned her face for several too long seconds before he whispered and stepped so close that she could almost feel the heat of his breath on her brow. ‘I think you are being far too modest, Saskia. From what I’ve seen today, the clients who come to Elwood House are lucky enough to have the very best and the excellent taste of the mistress of this fine house.’
The way Rick lingered on that last word sent shivers up her spine which she blinked away. Was he trying to flirt with her?
As for modest? What choice did she have? Her mother might have fled to Los Angeles, leaving