Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(23)

“Wine.” I picked up my face from my hands and looked up at Gianni. “We have a few bottles of wine left over from the dinner party. It’s in the car.”

“Be right back,” he said, letting me go and taking his keys from his pocket.

When he opened the door, an icy wind rushed in and I hurried behind him to close it. There was a window right next to the door, and I pushed the plaid curtain aside, watching as Gianni opened the hatch and poked around in the back of his car. The snow was still coming down, and cars on either side of Gianni’s were covered. A minute later, he shut the trunk and came hustling back toward the room with a box in his arms.

Quickly, I opened the door and slammed it behind him. “Jesus! The windchill has to be twenty below!”

Gianni set the box on the floor and blew on his cold hands. “Seriously. My fingers are frozen and I was only out there a minute.”

Without thinking, I pulled my mittens off and walked over to him. “Here. Mine are warm.” I wrapped my hands around his best I could, since his were considerably larger than mine.

“Thanks.” He looked down at our handclasp. A moment later, our eyes met, and the room actually seemed warm for a moment.

I let him go and took a step back.

“Shit. Do we have an opener?” he asked, glancing at the wine. “I could try running back to the gas station, but Milton said he was closing up soon.”

“I always have a wine opener on me,” I said, going over to my bag.

He laughed. “Of course you do.”

“Hey, my mom’s a pain in my ass, but she did teach me a few useful things.” I pulled out my little corkscrew. “I never go anywhere without one of these, a spare pair of panties, and a toothbrush.”

“Smart.” He pulled off his boots and left them at the door next to mine. “My dad told me never to go anywhere without a condom.”

I rolled my eyes as I opened a bottle of pinot noir. “Because everywhere you go, girls want to have sex with you?”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m too hot to handle. And it’s good advice.”

“It is.” After working the cork free, I took two small glass tumblers from the cabinet above the stove and filled them.

“Want to give me your coat? I’ll hang it up for you.”

“I might keep it on. I’m still cold.”

“Here. You can put this on if you want.”

When I turned around, he stood there holding out the black sweater he’d been wearing earlier today. “Don’t you want to wear it?”

“I’m fine.” He tossed the sweater on the bed. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Okay.” I set the wine down and gave him my coat. While he hung it next to his, I pulled his sweater over my head. It was huge and thick and warm. “Much better. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched me pull out my ponytail holder and shake my hair loose.

“What?” I said, unnerved by his stare.

“Nothing. I just never see you with your hair down. It looks nice.”

I studied him with suspicion. “You hang up my coat, you give me your sweater, you say something nice . . .”

“I let you get snot on me,” he reminded me, gesturing toward where I’d been standing when I burst into tears.

“Yeah, what is this? Who are you?”

“Hey, you’re the one who held my hand in the kitchenette.”

My jaw dropped. “I did not hold your hand in the kitchenette! I was merely trying to prevent frostbite.”

“Well, I was merely trying to make you feel better after a rough night. Because I’m a nice guy.” He reached out and flicked my earlobe.

“Stop it.” I swatted his hand away. “Just when I think you’ve changed, you turn into the playground bully again.”

He flashed his palms at me. “Hey. How about we call a truce for the night? No fighting.”

“Is that even possible when it’s just you and me holed up in this knotty pine igloo with no chance of escaping?”

“Yes. Because we are no longer eight-year-olds on the playground or even teenagers at the dunk tank—we are grown-ass adults and co-workers, and we are perfectly capable of surviving this night in peace.” He grabbed the plastic bag of snacks from the gas station and dumped them out on the bed—chips, cookies, candy, protein bars. “Plus we have good wine and enough salt and sugar in this bag to get us through winter.”

I turned around and picked up my wine. “Okay, then. Truce.”

He tapped his glass to mine. “Truce.”

I sat on one side of the mattress criss-cross applesauce, while he stretched out on the other end. Leaning back against the headboard, he extended his long legs, crossing his feet at the ankles.

My eyes traveled over him from head to foot. His muscular, six-foot-plus frame was going to take up a lot of space in this bed. We’d be right next to each other, under the covers, in the dark.

All. Night. Long.

I took a hefty gulp of wine.

“So what should we talk about?” Gianni reached for a bag of potato chips and opened it up. “Our goals and dreams? Our biggest fears? Our deepest, darkest secrets?”

“My goal is to make it through the night,” I said, taking another sip from my glass. “Maybe get a little drunk.”