The Ashtons: Jillian, Eli & Charlotte: Just a Taste / Awaken the Senses / Estate Affair

“Have you ever done a tasting with Jillian?”

She really did need to concentrate, since she somehow heard that as “tasting of Jillian.” And the notion of Seth’s mouth on hers, on her body, tasting her…

Oh, boy. Instant dizziness and disorientation. Her mouth turned dry. Her hand shook as she reached for water and took a quick mouthful, washing away the taste of full-bodied wine and the forbidden heat of her thoughts.

Better. Except the women of the Golden Elms Red Hat Social Club looked set to drag Seth over and into their tasting circle. Making a time-out T with her hands, she raised her voice enough to be heard above the hubbub. “Ladies, let’s give Seth a break.”

Thankfully—and surprisingly—they quietened. Enough that when Kitty spoke, her cultured little lady’s voice chimed as clearly as silver on crystal.

“Is Seth your man, Jillian?”

Please, Lord, let me slip through these floorboards and disappear.

Of course the good Lord wasn’t listening. No doubt because of her previous sinful thoughts about tasting. And because she couldn’t look anywhere near Seth until her face stopped flaming, she focused on the faces in front of her as their interested observation turned to speculation.

I have to answer here. Let me do so with some coherence and dignity.

“Seth’s a builder. An architect and a builder, actually.”

Heartened because—hallelujah!—her voice did work, she chanced a glance his way. He didn’t look embarrassed. In fact, leaning against that beam with his sleeves rolled up to reveal dark forearms folded across his broad chest, he looked…like the embodiment of Eli’s ninety-eight reserve cabernet.

Big and earthy and full-bodied.

Good Lord, she did not mean that! She meant he looked less serious and intense than usual. Not exactly smiling, although there might have been a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“He’s helping me,” Jillian continued, looking to distract the women and herself, “with my plans to renovate the tasting room.”

“You’re changing this room? Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“I hope you’re going to lighten the decor with some pastels.”

“You can’t be serious, Linda! I love all the timber. It’s part of the ambience.”

Much diverted by the notion of a design and decor makeover, the women were off and running. They asked questions, but didn’t wait for answers. Suggestions and counter-suggestions swirled in a debate as lively and colorful as their own purple-suited, red-hatted attire.

After several minutes, she tried to bring them back on topic but failed. She shook her head and directed a helpless shrug in Seth’s direction. His full mouth crooked into a smile and for a beat of time Jillian just stared.

Completely mesmerized.

And it struck her that she’d never seen Seth Bennedict smile, or at least not right at her. Her heart stuttered and her skin tingled with warmth. Her internal sensors sounded a danger-danger warning, but she could not look away until the quietest of the group—Helen—touched her on the arm, breaking the spell.

“If you need to go talk to your man, Jillian, it’s fine with us.”

This time she let the “your man” assumption slide right by. It wasn’t worth explaining all over again. “I do need to have a quick word about the renovation plans.”

“Then vamoose. We’ll still be here when you’re done.”

That’s what she was afraid of. But she excused herself, they waved her off, she went…although not quickly enough to miss Kitty’s whispered comment about big, bold and earthy.

The wine. Of course she meant the wine, since they’d all lifted their glasses and taken a first sip of the ninety-eight reserve she’d poured.

It was a very big wine.

Still, her cheeks bloomed with heat as she slipped out from behind the bar. Who knew if Seth had overheard? He wasn’t smiling anymore, just standing there watching her approach in a way that made her nerves and her pulse lollop all over the place.

To compensate, she held herself erect, shoulders straight, and strived to make her smile polite and businesslike. “I have a few minutes if you want to talk about my plans, now you’ve had a decent look at the place. Why don’t we go over by the window?”

“Where it’s a bit more private?”

She glanced back over her shoulder and, sure enough, they were being watched.

Still, Seth seemed to be taking it in good humor, so she smiled and shook her head as they made their way to the far end of the room. “I’m not used to such a fascinated audience.”

“Not your typical tasting group?” he asked.

“Hardly. I don’t know if I could handle someone like Kitty several times a day!”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t the full disarming dazzler of before, but an attractive near-smile that made him look more relaxed. Not that it completely relaxed Jillian. When she took the chair he offered at the setting by the window, she tried to sit back and enjoy the sensation of resting her feet for the first time since breakfast. But then he leaned his hips against the table, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and goodbye relaxation.

“I don’t think there is any ‘typical’ group,” she continued, looking out over the vineyards, a safe alternative to other, closer, scenery. Right at eye level, actually, not that she was noticing. “We get all kinds through here, although I would say less drop-ins and more of those who seek us out.”

“People who are serious about their wines?”

“Yes, we get plenty who know exactly what they want. They might ask for a specific flight of wines or a vertical, say, of cabernets.” She predicted the next question and explained. “That’s a tasting of one wine’s various vintages, youngest to oldest, as opposed to a horizontal, which is the same vintage from several wineries.

“Anyway, that’s the enophiles but they’re balanced by groups like this one.” Turning from the window, she gestured toward the group at the bar.

“You mean groups with odd dress sense?”

“I take it you’ve never encountered Red Hatters before?”

“Not in numbers,” he muttered. “Scary.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Only if you’re scared by women of a certain age who aren’t afraid to have fun.”

“They’re an organization?”

“A disorganization, according to these ladies.”

And she only hoped that one day she’d have the chutzpah to wear purple and red together. To look toward the future and laugh about the past. Even to indulge the hormones that had hummed to life in her blood.

“They’re having fun,” he commented, “but they’re also keen to learn.”

“Yes.” She looked back up at him, found him watching her with interest. Not so threatening, that quiet intentness, when it focused on her work and when he got it so absolutely right. That made her confidence hum in perfect tune with her hormones. “That combination makes them my favorite kind of wine tourist.”

“The way you run your tasting—” he looked back at the group as a chorus of laughter rattled the window “—it’s different to what I envisioned.”

“Different how?”