“For me, either,” she whispered softly.
Twenty-seven
JORDAN PEERED THROUGH
the car window at the heavy wrought-iron fence that loomed before them. The gates bore a marble crest with an elaborate monogrammed
B
, the logo for Barrasford Estate winery.
Nick sat next to her in the backseat. “Nobody’s answering. That’s a shame. Guess we’ll just have to head back to the resort.” He snapped his fingers. Damn.
“It looks like the driver is speaking to someone on the intercom now. Oh—and the gates are opening. See, I told you they were expecting us,” she said, nudging him.
“I’m excited. Really. How long do we have to stay?”
Jordan threw him a look. “It’s a wine tasting, Nick. You’re not exactly being tortured here.”
“Anything that keeps me from being alone with you is torture, Rhodes.”
She shook her head. “Ha—that’s not going to work this time.” She pointed. “Behind those gates is what’s rumored to be a new cabernet that rivals some of the best in all of Napa and Sonoma. I
love
cabernet. I’ve been in the Napa Valley for”—she checked her watch—“two hours and thirty-eight minutes and I haven’t had a drop of wine yet. Don’t get me wrong, I love earth-shattering sex as much as the next girl, but right now we are going inside and trying that wine.”
“What happens if I say no?”
“You can pretty much kiss spit or swallow good-bye.”
Nick was out of the car in a flash.
Jordan watched with amusement as he walked around the car, opened her door, and held out his hand, all gentlemanly.
“Ms. Rhodes.”
“Mr. Stanton.” She slipped her hand into his, looking forward to the day when he was once again simply Nick McCall.
Their driver nodded at them as they passed through the gates. “Enjoy the wine. I’ve heard good things.”
Jordan checked her watch. She and Nick were scheduled for a four o’clock appointment, the last tasting of the day. “We’ll probably be about an hour and a half.”
“Take your time,” the driver said, with the easy grin of a man who was paid well by the hour.
With her hand in Nick’s, they strolled through a beautifully landscaped Mediterranean-style courtyard with a fountain.
“Okay, tell me what I need to know about this place,” he said.
“They’re new—their first vintage will release next month. They’re not a large vineyard, only about forty acres. They produce exclusively cabernet sauvignon. They’re very eager to compete with the top wineries in the market, and at only a hundred dollars per bottle, have priced themselves well to do that.”
Nick shot her a look. “Only a hundred dollars a bottle?”
“For the big boys of cabernet, that’s not a bad price. If I can get them to lower their bulk rate, I plan to make them one of our May wine club wines. Assuming I like what I taste.”
At the end of the courtyard, they came to a set of enormous oak doors—at least fifteen feet tall—that led into a two-story winemaking facility. The doors were open, and a professionally dressed woman in her late twenties greeted them warmly.
“Welcome to Barrasford Estates, Ms. Rhodes,” she said.
Jordan smiled and shook her hand. “Call me Jordan. This is Nick Stanton.”
“I’m Claire,” she said, shaking Nick’s hand next. “Follow me.”
They made small talk, and Claire asked them about their trip while leading them through the wine production facilities. In sharp contrast to the warm Mediterranean style of the outside grounds, everything inside was modern and pristine stainless steel—except for the twelve massive French oak fermentation tanks that were roughly fifteen feet high by ten feet wide.
“Explains the size of the doors,” Nick noted.
Claire nodded. “Moving those tanks in here was quite an adventure, I can tell you.”
The tour of the facilities was shorter than many Jordan had been on at other wineries, and she wondered about that until Claire explained.
“We do things a little different here,” she said. “We like people to see all stages of our wine-making process as it’s actually happening, so we’ll be showing you a short documentary film that covers everything from harvest to bottling.”
She led them into a large conference room with one wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that captured a view of the valley and the Mayacamas mountain range. Claire invited them to have a seat at the marble-covered table, and opened a bottle of wine.
She explained as she poured two glasses. “So this is our estate cabernet—which will make its debut this coming May. The grapes were harvested two and a half years ago, then the wine was aged for eighteen months in oak barrels.” She handed Jordan and Nick each a glass. “Enjoy the wine while you watch our film. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes and would be happy to answer any questions you might have.”
After Claire left, Jordan swirled her glass, releasing the aromas of the dark red, fragrant wine.
“This is more formal than I’d expected,” Nick said. “Are all wine tastings like this?”
“It varies. Some take you on a tour of the facilities or bring you out to the vineyards. Others are more casual and you just pull up a chair and drink. Barrasford Estate apparently has a movie.” She took a sip. The wine was lush and full, exactly what she liked in a cabernet. “Now that’s a mouthful.” She winked at Nick as the lights in the room dimmed and a screen dropped down from the front of the room.
After the film ended, Claire came back and asked what they thought of the wine. Jordan had explained who she was when she’d made the tasting appointment, so they knew she was there on business. She praised the wine and raised the idea of introducing it to her store’s club members.
“Your cab would be slightly outside my usual price point, but I’m hopeful we can work something out given the size of the order I would place,” she said to Claire.
“I don’t have the authority to handle any sort of negotiations with respect to price,” Claire said apologetically.
“Of course.” Jordan pulled a business card out of her purse. “That’s all my information, if you wouldn’t mind passing my card along to your sales director. You can tell her that my store’s wine club has over eight hundred members who would be introduced to your wine with a recommendation from both my manager and myself. Between the two of us, I think we can get much of the Chicago wine community very excited about Barrasford Estate’s upcoming release. What distributor do you use in the Chicago area?” By law, she wasn’t permitted to buy wine for retail use directly from the winery, but if Barrasford used one of her regular distributors, they should have no problem brokering a deal.
“Midwest Wine and Spirits, I believe,” Claire said.
Jordan nodded. “I work with them all the time.” She pointed to the card. “I plan to finalize my May wine club picks during this trip, so ask your sales director to give me a call before the weekend is over if she’s interested.”
A few minutes later, Nick and Jordan were seated at a table on the winery’s open-air terrace. Several other groups, mostly couples, sat at nearby tables, and the atmosphere felt more casual and welcoming than the other parts of the tour.
Sitting across the bistro table with his dark sunglasses, facial scruff, jeans, and black button-down shirt, Nick looked decidedly bad-boyish for a wine tasting. Not that Jordan particularly minded. No offense to the guys she typically dated, but Nick blew them all out of the water.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said in reference to her negotiations with Claire.
She waved this off. “What I proposed is a good arrangement for everyone.” A light breeze blew her bangs into her eyes, so she smoothed them back into the bun she’d pulled her hair into after getting dressed at the hotel.
“Do you think the sales director will contact you before Monday?” he asked.
“I think the sales director will contact me before we leave here today,” she said confidently.
Nick studied her through his sunglasses. “That’s a bold call. I guess we’ll find out how good you really are.”
Claire returned with a tray filled with six glasses of wine and a basket of crackers. First, she set down the two biggest glasses, one in front of each of them. “I brought you each another glass of our cabernet. As a comparison, I thought you also might like to try some barrel tastings from next year’s vintage.” She set two smaller tasting glasses in front of each of them. “So after we harvest the grapes and ferment the wine, we fly in a professional taster from France—the renowned Philippe Fournier—and set him up in a room with samples of wine from our twenty-eight different vineyard blocks. For three days, he tastes the wine and gives us recommendations on the percentage each of the samples should contribute to our final estate cab.” She smiled. “Then everyone drinks and parties for two days, before we get back to work.” She clasped her hands together. “So, are there any questions I can answer for you at this time?”
“I think we’re good for now. Thank you,” Jordan said.
When they were alone again, Nick leaned in and spoke under his breath. “And the hundred-dollar-per-bottle question is: does any of that make a difference?”
“If people enjoy the wine enough to spend a hundred dollars on it, then sure.”
He looked skeptical.
“You can’t think of it as merely a beverage, Nick—every glass of wine is its own experience,” Jordan said. “Approach it the same way you might approach, say, a new relationship.”
He looked even more skeptical now. “A relationship?”
Jordan picked up her glass of cabernet. “Sure, think about it. You start by looking at the wine. That’s your first impression. You ask yourself, ‘Does this look good to me? Am I interested in finding out more?’ Then you get a little closer to the wine. You try out its aromas, and if it’s something you like, your body reacts instinctively, begins to hum with the anticipation of going further. You let the wine begin to tease you, draw you in, seduce you. You’re close at this point to getting a taste, but you’re not there yet. Maybe you hold out a little longer, delay that final gratification, keeping yourself right at the edge for as long as possible. And finally, when you get to the point that you just can’t wait anymore, you taste. You give yourself over to the rush, the smooth, silky feeling of the wine, its flavors, its scent, and you taste again. And again. Until you feel that flush begin to build, that warm, tingly euphoric feeling that goes on and on, even after the last drop is gone, before you slowly float down on a cloud of bliss.”
She tipped her glass at him. “Now that’s what drinking wine is about.”
Nick’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes hidden behind the dark sunglasses. Then he looked over at Claire as she passed by their table. “I think we’re going to need a second round.”
She clapped her hands with delight. “Wonderful! Glad to hear you’re enjoying the wine.”
After she left, Nick took off his sunglasses and set them on the table. He picked up his glass and tipped it to Jordan. “All right, Rhodes. For you, I’ll give it a real shot.” He swirled his glass, smelled the wine like a pro, and took a good, hearty sip.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if debating, then he looked at her. “Black cherry. And licorice.”
Jordan’s wine-geek heart nearly burst with pride. “I knew you had it in you.”
A woman stopped at their table and introduced herself. “Jordan, hi. I’m Denise, the director of sales. Claire mentioned that you were interested in featuring our wine in your store? Let me grab a pen from the bar and we can talk specifics.”
Nick nodded, impressed, as the sales director stepped away. “Nice job.”
Jordan smiled. “I told you, Nick. This is what I do.”
NICK PULLED JORDAN
into his arms as soon as they got back to their bungalow. She felt a rush of excitement—and happiness—when he bent his head to kiss her. She’d caught the way he’d looked at her during the car ride back to the resort and had sensed he’d had other things on his mind than tasting more wine. Normally, she would’ve suggested having a sunset drink on the terrace of the resort’s bar, but she was willing to bend a little . . . if he was, too.
He slid his hands to her waist as he kissed her neck. “So what’s next on the agenda?”
Jordan closed her eyes and thought she definitely could get used to having Nick around for wine tastings if this was what she had to look forward to afterward. “I thought we’d keep it simple, order room service, and have dinner on the deck.” It was a little chilly, but the fireplace would keep them warm. She didn’t want to miss this chance to eat under the stars—now that she finally had someone to share Napa with, she planned to go all out.
“I like that idea,” he murmured against her skin. He reached up and carefully undid the top button of her shirtdress, seemingly more patient than last time. “But room service will take at least an hour. Which means that we have some time to kill before dinner.”
Her thoughts exactly. “True. I was thinking I’d take a bath and relax for a while.”