Kept At The Argentine's Command

Lulu noticed his hair was wet from the rain, and that he’d brought the scent of the wild outdoors in on his clothes. Her senses stirred. More than stirred. He’d braved the elements for her. She shouldn’t find that sexy...but she did. Her gaze went a little helplessly to the stretch of damp fabric across his upper body, the swell of muscle, the hard male bones.

‘Are you going to eat?’

Lulu realised she’d just been standing there all this time, and that he’d caught her checking him out.

Flustered, she made a production of sitting down on the rug and surveying their dinner. It was stew and dumplings. The kind of food she would have been careful around if she hadn’t been on a break.

‘What’s that?’ she asked rather desperately as he uncorked the bottle.

‘It’s one of the bottles of burgundy I brought over for Khaled and Gigi. They won’t miss one.’

Lulu held out her hand and examined the old faded label. ‘1945?’ she said.

‘It was produced at the end of World War II—I sourced a handful of bottles through Christie’s.’

‘You bought wine at an auction?’

‘Why not?’

‘Wasn’t it a little expensive?’

He angled a speculative look her way that set all the hormones in her body aquiver. ‘Just a little.’

‘This feels so wasteful,’ Lulu half whispered as she watched him expertly decant the blood-dark wine into goblets. ‘I’m sure Mrs Bailey’s stew isn’t up to the standards of a forty-five burgundy.’

‘Good wine improves everything,’ he told her, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the wine.

She found herself checking to see that none of her buttons had come undone.

Non, all accounted for. To settle her nerves Lulu concentrated on sipping her wine. It slid down like heaven, and she gave a soft sigh of approval and looked over at him—only to discover he hadn’t touched his. He was watching her, and she was instantly back in the car with him, his hand at the back of her head, his mouth making all kinds of magic with hers, leaving her breathless and flustered all over again.

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