The Villa

door. And didn't mind it, not a bit. He wasn't above getting an ego boost from knowing he unnerved a woman.
    "I want to see you again, Pilar."
    "Oh. Well, of course. We're—"
    "Not in company," he said, turning her toward him when they stood on the veranda. "Not for business. Alone." He drew her closer. "And for very personal reasons."
    "David—"
    But his mouth was on hers again. Gently, this time. Persuasively. Not with that abrupt and shocking flash of heat that had rudely slapped all those sleeping urges awake, but with a slow and simmering warmth that patiently unknotted every snag of tension inside her. Loosened her until her bones felt like wax melting.
    When he drew back, his hands were on her face, fingers skimming over her cheekbones, then down, trailing lightly over her throat. "I'll call you."
    She nodded, reached blindly behind her for the door. "Good night, David."
    She stepped inside, closed the door. No matter how foolish she told herself she was, she knew she floated all the way upstairs.
     
    The caves always made Sophia think of a smuggler's paradise. All those big, echoing spaces filled with huge casks of aging wine. She'd always enjoyed spending time there, and even when she was a child one of the winemakers would let her sit at a little table and sample a small glass from one of the casks.
    She'd learned, very young, to tell the difference, through sight, through scent, through palate, between a premium vintage and an ordinary one. To understand the subtleties that lifted one wine over another.
    If it had spoiled her for the ordinary, what was the harm in that? She looked for, recognized and demanded quality because she'd been taught to tolerate nothing less.
    It wasn't wine she was thinking of now, though the wines had been drawn from the aging vats, and glasses were set out for sampling. It was men she had on her mind.
    She'd made a study of them as well, she liked to think. She knew an inferior blend, recognized one who was likely to leave a bitter aftertaste and one who would prove himself over time.
    That was why, she believed, she'd had no long-term, no serious relationship with a man herself. None of the ones she'd sampled had the right flavor, the proper bouquet, as it were, to convince her she'd be content with only one variety.
    Though she was perfectly confident in her ability to make the right choices for herself, and to be able to enjoy without consequences the tasting flights, she wasn't so confident about her mother's skill in the same area.
    "It's their third date in two weeks."
    "Mmm." Ty held a glass of claret to an open fire to check its color. He, like his grandfather, like La Signora, stuck firm with the old and traditional methods. He rated it a two for both color and clarity, and noted down the superior marks on his chart.
    "My mother and David." To get his attention, Sophia punched him lightly on the arm.
    "What about them?"
    "They're going out again tonight. Third time in two weeks."
    "And that's my business because?"
    She heaved out a breath. "She's vulnerable. I can't say I don't like him, because I do. And I didn't particularly want to. I even encouraged her initially when he showed some interest in her, but I thought it was just a little fling coming around."
    "Sophia, it may surprise you, but I'm working here, and I really don't want to talk about your mother's personal business."
    He swirled the wine gently, stuck his nose in the glass and inhaled. His concentration was completely focused.
    "They haven't had sex."
    He winced visibly and lost the wine's bouquet. "Damn it, Sophie."
    "If they'd had sex by now, I wouldn't have to worry. That would mean it was just a nice little physical attraction instead of a thing. I think it's becoming a thing. And how much do we know about David really? Other than from a professional standpoint. He's divorced and we don't know why. He might be a womanizer, or an opportunist. When you think about it, he started after my mother right after my father…"
    Tyler nosed the wine again, noted down his numbers. "Which sounds like you're saying your mother wouldn't appeal to him on her own."
    "I certainly am not." Insulted, Sophia snatched up a glass of Merlot, scowled through it into the light. "She's beautiful, intelligent, charming and everything a man could want in a woman."
    But not what her father had wanted, she remembered. In disgust, for herself, she marked the sample down for cloudiness. "I wouldn't worry about it if she'd talk