Читать книгу A Taste Of Desire - Chloe Blake - Страница 14

Chapter 2

“Desculpa,” Destin apologized quickly, noting the vice grip the woman had on his wrist. Her wary gaze told him she might not have appreciated his cleaning skills. “Eu não deveria ter...”

The woman let go of him and held up her palm. “Não entendo. I don’t speak Portuguese.”

English? Interesting. Just as he was about to explain himself, a birthday procession of sparklers and dessert trays came marching past the bar. Quickly he shot an arm out, pulling the woman closer to shield her from their path.

When the fanfare was across the room, he tried again. “As I was saying, my apologies. I was handing you a towel when I saw an errant drop of wine heading for your knee.”

Now in a half circle within his arms, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed her before. She was strikingly beautiful, with high cheekbones and full lips accentuated by the rich brown of her skin, which was flawless.

Touches of fire still flashed in her eyes, and her body language told him that she was ready to fend him off if he crossed a line. With a slight bow, he offered her the white cloth and was pleased when he saw the suspicion leave her eyes.

He inspected her sophisticated dress. “I don’t believe there are any stains.”

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you for the towel.”

She backed away, her gaze raking over him this time, and he swore he felt the heat of it. He fought an urge to pull her back into his arms. “Allow me to buy you another drink.”

“It’s fine, really.”

She turned, and he watched as she glided back to her open stool. He couldn’t tear his attention away from the gentle sway of her hips, those long silky brown legs or her shining black heels.

He was about to insist, but saw that the barkeep had already replenished her glass. Destin took an involuntary step to follow her and then stopped, surprised at his reaction to this mysterious woman. He itched to engage her again. Was he drunk? Of course he was; he’d been drinking all night.

Speaking of which, his drink sat idle on the bar. Taking the seat one stool away from her, Destin propped both of his arms on the bar and took a burning sip of his drink, letting the amber liquid rip down his throat like fire. Relaxing a bit, he opened the top two buttons on his tailored white shirt, hoping his date took her time. She was a handful.

When Thereza’s brother had called Destin in a panic, begging him to escort his little sister to the art gala because he could no longer make it, Destin’s first answer had been no. He’d already thrown out his invitation. Every year the envelope arrived, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Destin Dechamps, and every year he stared at the names then tossed it into the trash bin.

He still donated, however. Nina would have wanted that, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to the fundraiser since her death. Until this favor. He blamed his father, too, for his lapse in judgment. Destin was supposed to be on a flight to Paris that night, but with their strained relationship, he hadn’t been looking forward to it. The gala had seemed like the perfect excuse to cancel.

Now he wished he’d stuck to his first answer. Being at the art gala that afternoon without his wife and seeing their old acquaintances had been jarring. Women who had known Nina for years aggressively invited him to their homes for “dinner.” And the men took one look at his date and said they envied his “bachelor lifestyle.” Little did they know he’d spent most of his time in his wine cellar, the only place that gave him peace.

And his friend should have told him that little Thereza wasn’t so little anymore. The young blonde had spent most of her time at the gala’s open bar, and the more she drank, the flirtier she got. She’d tried to climb on top of him in the car ride to the restaurant. He needed to get some food into her. But that wasn’t the only reason they were there.

His brother, Elliot, had conveniently forgotten to mention that he was meeting with the real estate lawyer tonight. Destin had found out by accident through their father, of all people—the man who was selling the property out from under them. The thought of Elliot and his father talking behind his back made him want to smash something.

Destin recalled the last conversation he’d had with his father, pleading with him to let him rebuild the winery. They could make the land profitable again. His father refused to listen, saying only that it was in the Dechamps’ best interest to sell and infuse the money into the French production. It had turned into a shouting match, with Destin walking out and vowing to do whatever he could to keep the acreage.

That meant keeping the buyers away from the property, and keeping the brokers from doing their jobs...by any means necessary. With the help of some friends, he’d been able to do just that. And this new American real estate lawyer was not going to be an exception. He almost felt bad for the poor bastard. Almost.

Lawyers, he hated them. The yearlong legal battle his father had initiated against Destin, his own son, for sole rights to the signature wine that he’d created still felt like a noose around his throat. Armand Dechamps didn’t have just one lawyer; he had a team. And they were vultures. Destin didn’t trust lawyers. Not one.

He drew deeply from his whiskey, hoping the meeting hadn’t been canceled. His brother was late, not that that was unusual, but he didn’t see any lone men who could pass for a smarmy lawyer.

His angry thoughts were interrupted when a silver cone of frites that he had ordered for Thereza arrived. Destin scanned the hallway and saw no sign of her. He hoped she was all right. He popped one into his mouth, then slid them across the bar, offering one to his new friend. “I know Americans love french fries.”

She glanced at the fries and then at him, bemused.

With a guilty smile, she took one. “How did you know I was American?”

“Your accent. I’ve done some business there, in California.”

“California is beautiful.”

“But you’re not from there.”

She met his gaze, and a tiny grin touched the corners of her mouth. “No.” He watched her lips as she sipped her wine.

Destin waited for her to say more after she put down her glass, but he waited in vain. My, she was reserved. Maybe she’s married, he immediately thought, but her pink-tipped fingers were bare of jewelry. Could she be traveling alone? He’d heard of American women coming to Brazil for plastic surgery, but couldn’t possibly see where she would need any.

“Maybe I should guess?” She only glanced at him. “You’re from New York, it’s your first time in Brazil, and you’re here on a spa vacation.”

She smirked and turned to him. “Yes. Yes. And no.”

“No vacation? You’re here on business? That’s too bad,” he said after she gave a brief nod. “Brazil is the perfect place for pleasure.”

Her brows rose. “Is that why you’re here? Pleasure?”

He wished, wondering briefly if her skin was as soft as it looked. “No, I have business, too.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey when he thought of how his brother had tried to hide this meeting from him. Destin couldn’t wait to see the look on Elliot’s face. “I’m meeting with a lawyer.”

“Uh-oh, are you in trouble?”

He smiled. “Nothing like that. I don’t like lawyers.”

She turned her body toward him, which pleased him. “Really? Why?”

“I’ve found them to be unfeeling, soulless and greedy. Every last one of them.” Her eyes flashed, and he mentally patted himself on the back for holding her attention.

“I know a lot of nice lawyers who would take offense to that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your friends, but I have yet to meet a lawyer who isn’t out to get rich while destroying someone else’s life.”

Her gaze lowered, and she turned her body back toward the bar. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunately true.” He signaled for another whiskey. “What is it you said you do?”

“Umm... I’m a...yoga instructor.”

That made sense. She looked fit.

“Did you just look at my legs?”

Merde. He had. And not just a quick peek; he’d stared a little. “For business purposes only. If I were going to do yoga, I would hire you. You look flexible.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened, but she laughed a little, which he liked the sound of.

Mon Dieu, he really was out of practice with women. Where was his whiskey? “I meant, if I were a woman looking for an instructor.” He paused. “I think Thereza does yoga,” he added quickly, gesturing toward the empty seat. He had no idea if the young blonde did yoga.

“Is your girlfriend okay? She’s been in the restroom a while.”

“She’s probably on the phone. And she’s not my girlfriend,” he murmured distractedly. The woman turned her head to him slowly and tipped her face toward his. There were sparks in her dark eyes again—exquisite.

“Really? Does she know that?” Her icy tone was palpable.

Destin never rose to the touchiness in a woman’s voice. In a former life, he had kissed hands, opened doors and led women by the smalls of their backs. His mother had raised him and his brother to be gentlemen. He’d been married to a sweet, stunning lady.

The pain of the memory pulled him back into the present. He was no longer that young man.

And this woman and her commanding tone were stirring something dark in him. Leaning in, he swiveled his amused gaze to her annoyed one. “She knows.”

As if on cue, Thereza slid in between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her giggles mingled with his audible sigh as he peeled her off him and wrestled her onto her stool, enticing her with the fries.

He peered over Thereza’s head at his beautiful new acquaintance, who was now acting like she didn’t know him. She sipped her wine, ignoring them, yet he caught the tiniest clench in her jaw. He berated himself for not finding out her name.

Destin saw her head turn toward the entrance and pause. She clutched her small bag and popped off the stool. He watched as she walked toward the crowd of people at the door, curious to see whom she was meeting. Then his thoughts shifted when he spotted Elliot. Finally!

Destin stood and signaled to his brother. The surprise on Elliot’s slim face was priceless but short-lived as his attention was diverted by...the yoga instructor?