Joe crossed the room, and Matt and Jilly followed. While Joe readied tulip-shaped glasses and removed bottles from the refrigerator, Jilly looked around the large room.
The rustic theme carried through to the inside of the building. Wood plank floors, paneled walls, and a high, beamed ceiling were made to feel warm and cozy by the stone fireplace nestled in the corner where a fire cheerfully crackled. Attractively framed photographs of the vineyard during various seasons and stages of harvesting lined the walls.
An eye-catching display of wines and handmade ceramic pieces decorated a long table beyond the bar where they now stood. Looking out the huge picture window that took up the entire back wall, Jilly noted that the scenery was identical to that at Chateau Fontaine-row upon row of bare, snow-covered vines, held in place by thick wooden stakes and horizontal cables.
"Incredible to believe that so much of this land where the wineries now are, used to be potato farms," Jilly remarked.
Matt's brows raised. "Potato farms? I didn't know that."
"It's true," Joe said, in his accented voice. "In fact, this very building is a renovated farmhouse. The owners wanted to keep the rustic feel of the place."
"It's terrific," Jilly said, smiling. "Very warm and cozy and friendly."
"Grazie. On behalf of the Galini family, I thank you." Joe poured some bubbly into the two glasses. "This is our bestselling sparkling wine. It's crisp, dry, made mostly from pinot noir grapes."
The delicate bubbles burst on Jilly's tongue. "Delicious," she said, and Matt agreed.
They tasted two other sparkling wines, then sampled a merlot and a chardonnay, while Joe related a brief history of the vineyard.
"All the grapes at Galini Vineyards are picked by hand," Joe said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. "We have eighty acres, and grow mostly cabernet sauvignon, chardonnay, merlot, and pinot noir. Five acres are devoted to sangiovese, the grape of-"
"Chianti," Jilly said, with a smile.
Joe beamed at her, his dark eyes filled with pleasure at her knowledge. "Yes. You are a student of wine?"
Jilly laughed. "More like a new recruit. I recently did some research on the subject because a client I'm hoping to win over enjoys wine, and I must admit I find it fascinating." She felt the weight of Matt's gaze and purposely kept her attention focused on Joe. "You must be busy pruning the vines at this time of year."
Joe nodded. "Yes. It is a long, painstaking task. Each individual vine must be pruned manually, and unfortunately not everyone can do it."
"You need to have the feel for it," Jilly guessed.
"That is correct. A full day's work will prune less than half an acre."
"But the hard work is worth it," Matt said. "The wines are delicious, and this merlot…" he swirled the last swallow in his glass, "is exceptional. And the chardonnay we tasted has a very distinctive oaky flavor."
Joe practically preened from the praise. "Grazie."
"That's from aging in oak barrels," Jilly said. "I read all about it. The oak imparts flavor to the wine while it ferments and ages, and because oak is slightly porous, it lets water and alcohol out, and small amounts of oxygen in which helps the wine to 'integrate'…" Her voice trailed off and she laughed at herself. "Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away."
Joe waved his hand. "Nonsense. Your enthusiasm is enchanting."
The bells above the door tinkled as a trio of young men entered. Joe excused himself, and Jilly turned to Matt who regarded her with a look she couldn't decipher.
"You clearly did your homework to prep for this weekend with Jack," he said.
"I'm certain you did the same."
"True, but the Missionary Position Virus problem ate up a lot of my time."
A smile tugged her lips. "Hmmm. Yes, I imagine that the ol' missionary position problem could use up a lot of time. Especially if one were to apply themselves to solving that particular problem by coming up with alternate solutions."
"Absolutely," he murmured. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and her pulse jumped at the intimate gesture. "Have I mentioned that I am an extremely adept problem-solver?"
"No, but you didn't need to. Actions speak louder than words." Sliding her arms around his neck she stood on her toes, leaned into him and lightly bit his earlobe. Feminine satisfaction filled her at the low growl that rumbled in his throat. "So what does this action tell you, big guy?" She pressed herself more fully against him.
"That it's time to get out of here."
She leaned back in the circle of his arms and smiled at him. "See? That's one of the things I like about you, Davidson. You're smart."
An undecipherable look flashed in his eyes. "Smart. That's just one of the things I like about you, Jilly."
Jilly's heartbeat stuttered. Uh-oh. Once again their lighthearted conversation seemed to veer onto a serious side street. She didn't want him to like her. She didn't want to like him. She just wanted to use him for sex until tomorrow and then forget he existed. Yeah, that's what she wanted.
A frown tugged down her brow. But it was probably okay that he liked her and she liked him. People who engaged in sex should like each other-right? Of course! And like was a very noncommittal, lukewarm, unintimidating emotion. She liked corn on the cob. She liked daisies. She liked the color green. She liked Matt. No big deal. As long as she didn't do something really stupid and more than like him, everything would be great.
Stepping back from him, she slipped her hand into his and pulled him toward the table where the colorful handmade ceramic plates, bowls, and cups were displayed.
"What are we doing?" he asked.
"Shopping."
"I'd much rather drag you into that back room and have my wicked way with you behind an oak barrel."
She pushed aside that tempting image and shot him a mock frown. "I'm sure that would be very damaging to the wines. Probably disrupt their tannins."
"Whatever they are."
She adopted her most prim, schoolmarm voice. "Tannins are a class of chemicals found in the skins, seeds, and stems of grapes. They're important to wine because they react with oxygen and protect against premature oxidation which is one of the main sources of wine spoilage."
He nuzzled her neck with his warm lips. "Yeah. Premature oxidation. I hate it when that happens."
A giggle erupted from her. "You're distracting me from my shopping." Yet even as she said the words, she turned her head to give him easier access to her neck.
"I can solve this shopping problem in five seconds flat," he said, his breath whispering against her ear. "Let's just buy one of everything and get out of here."
She leaned back in the circle of his arms and shot him a mock frown. "Clearly you know nothing about living on a budget."
"You're right. Let's go get naked and you can tell me all about it."
"And I thought I was insatiable."
"Didn't I tell you? Insatiable is my middle name."
"Ha. Since when?"
The amusement drained from his gaze. "Do you really want to know?"
She stilled under the regard of his suddenly serious expression and husky tone. Even as her common sense yelled No!, her lips said, "Yes."
"Ever since I walked into room 312 on Friday night."
His answer stalled her breath, as did the intensity in his gaze. It was what she'd been terrified to hear-yet precisely what she'd wanted him to say. Because she felt exactly the same way.
"You feel it, too," he said softly, his gaze searching hers.
Panic fluttered through her, and her mind screamed at her to lie, to run, to plead the fifth. But what was the point? He'd know she was lying. Besides, she wasn't a liar.
Lifting her chin, she said, "Yes. I feel it, too."