A Taste Of Desire

Now he wished he’d stuck to his first answer. Being at the art gala that afternoon without his wife and seeing their old acquaintances had been jarring. Women who had known Nina for years aggressively invited him to their homes for “dinner.” And the men took one look at his date and said they envied his “bachelor lifestyle.” Little did they know he’d spent most of his time in his wine cellar, the only place that gave him peace.

And his friend should have told him that little Thereza wasn’t so little anymore. The young blonde had spent most of her time at the gala’s open bar, and the more she drank, the flirtier she got. She’d tried to climb on top of him in the car ride to the restaurant. He needed to get some food into her. But that wasn’t the only reason they were there.

His brother, Elliot, had conveniently forgotten to mention that he was meeting with the real estate lawyer tonight. Destin had found out by accident through their father, of all people—the man who was selling the property out from under them. The thought of Elliot and his father talking behind his back made him want to smash something.

Destin recalled the last conversation he’d had with his father, pleading with him to let him rebuild the winery. They could make the land profitable again. His father refused to listen, saying only that it was in the Dechamps’ best interest to sell and infuse the money into the French production. It had turned into a shouting match, with Destin walking out and vowing to do whatever he could to keep the acreage.

That meant keeping the buyers away from the property, and keeping the brokers from doing their jobs...by any means necessary. With the help of some friends, he’d been able to do just that. And this new American real estate lawyer was not going to be an exception. He almost felt bad for the poor bastard. Almost.

Lawyers, he hated them. The yearlong legal battle his father had initiated against Destin, his own son, for sole rights to the signature wine that he’d created still felt like a noose around his throat. Armand Dechamps didn’t have just one lawyer; he had a team. And they were vultures. Destin didn’t trust lawyers. Not one.

He drew deeply from his whiskey, hoping the meeting hadn’t been canceled. His brother was late, not that that was unusual, but he didn’t see any lone men who could pass for a smarmy lawyer.

His angry thoughts were interrupted when a silver cone of frites that he had ordered for Thereza arrived. Destin scanned the hallway and saw no sign of her. He hoped she was all right. He popped one into his mouth, then slid them across the bar, offering one to his new friend. “I know Americans love french fries.”

She glanced at the fries and then at him, bemused.

With a guilty smile, she took one. “How did you know I was American?”

“Your accent. I’ve done some business there, in California.”

“California is beautiful.”

“But you’re not from there.”

She met his gaze, and a tiny grin touched the corners of her mouth. “No.” He watched her lips as she sipped her wine.

Destin waited for her to say more after she put down her glass, but he waited in vain. My, she was reserved. Maybe she’s married, he immediately thought, but her pink-tipped fingers were bare of jewelry. Could she be traveling alone? He’d heard of American women coming to Brazil for plastic surgery, but couldn’t possibly see where she would need any.

“Maybe I should guess?” She only glanced at him. “You’re from New York, it’s your first time in Brazil, and you’re here on a spa vacation.”

She smirked and turned to him. “Yes. Yes. And no.”

“No vacation? You’re here on business? That’s too bad,” he said after she gave a brief nod. “Brazil is the perfect place for pleasure.”

Her brows rose. “Is that why you’re here? Pleasure?”

He wished, wondering briefly if her skin was as soft as it looked. “No, I have business, too.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey when he thought of how his brother had tried to hide this meeting from him. Destin couldn’t wait to see the look on Elliot’s face. “I’m meeting with a lawyer.”

“Uh-oh, are you in trouble?”

He smiled. “Nothing like that. I don’t like lawyers.”

She turned her body toward him, which pleased him. “Really? Why?”

“I’ve found them to be unfeeling, soulless and greedy. Every last one of them.” Her eyes flashed, and he mentally patted himself on the back for holding her attention.

“I know a lot of nice lawyers who would take offense to that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your friends, but I have yet to meet a lawyer who isn’t out to get rich while destroying someone else’s life.”

Her gaze lowered, and she turned her body back toward the bar. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunately true.” He signaled for another whiskey. “What is it you said you do?”

“Umm... I’m a...yoga instructor.”

That made sense. She looked fit.

“Did you just look at my legs?”

Merde. He had. And not just a quick peek; he’d stared a little. “For business purposes only. If I were going to do yoga, I would hire you. You look flexible.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened, but she laughed a little, which he liked the sound of.

Mon Dieu, he really was out of practice with women. Where was his whiskey? “I meant, if I were a woman looking for an instructor.” He paused. “I think Thereza does yoga,” he added quickly, gesturing toward the empty seat. He had no idea if the young blonde did yoga.

“Is your girlfriend okay? She’s been in the restroom a while.”

“She’s probably on the phone. And she’s not my girlfriend,” he murmured distractedly. The woman turned her head to him slowly and tipped her face toward his. There were sparks in her dark eyes again—exquisite.

“Really? Does she know that?” Her icy tone was palpable.

Destin never rose to the touchiness in a woman’s voice. In a former life, he had kissed hands, opened doors and led women by the smalls of their backs. His mother had raised him and his brother to be gentlemen. He’d been married to a sweet, stunning lady.

The pain of the memory pulled him back into the present. He was no longer that young man.

And this woman and her commanding tone were stirring something dark in him. Leaning in, he swiveled his amused gaze to her annoyed one. “She knows.”

As if on cue, Thereza slid in between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her giggles mingled with his audible sigh as he peeled her off him and wrestled her onto her stool, enticing her with the fries.

He peered over Thereza’s head at his beautiful new acquaintance, who was now acting like she didn’t know him. She sipped her wine, ignoring them, yet he caught the tiniest clench in her jaw. He berated himself for not finding out her name.

Destin saw her head turn toward the entrance and pause. She clutched her small bag and popped off the stool. He watched as she walked toward the crowd of people at the door, curious to see whom she was meeting. Then his thoughts shifted when he spotted Elliot. Finally!

Destin stood and signaled to his brother. The surprise on Elliot’s slim face was priceless but short-lived as his attention was diverted by...the yoga instructor?

Chapter 3

Elliot Dechamps strolled into the restaurant, handed his coat to a server and assaulted both of Nicole’s cheeks with kisses. His blond hair was slightly longer than in his picture, but he was just as handsome and stylish in a black button-down open at the neck and slim-cut trousers.

“Enchanté, Ms. Parks. I hope Anton has taken excellent care of you.” He didn’t apologize for being late. Instead, his head swiveled toward the bar, and he frowned and nodded at someone. Then he called Anton over and requested that he change their table.

Elliot turned to her. “It looks my brother, Destin, is unexpectedly joining us. And he seems to have brought a friend. I assure you, this is not how we usually do business. My brother can be—” He searched for a word. “Impetuous.” With a tight smile, Elliot waved toward the bar.

Nicole’s mind ran over the details of the dossier that she had read about the Dechamps brothers. Just a few years out of Oxford, they’d successfully opened a branch of their family’s winery. At the time, winemaking in Brazil was still experimental, but they quickly rose to mainstream success. Destin was the eldest and the driving force behind the creation of the wines and the agricultural operation. Elliot was the business mind, and took on the finances and sales.

A fire had taken the winery almost four years ago, along with Destin’s wife.

So sad, she thought, as she turned toward the bar and—

No.

Oh, no...

Whiskey in hand, drunk girlfriend struggling to keep up, her lawyer-hating barfly was patting Elliot on the back. Elliot turned to her.

“Miss Parks, my brother, Destin. Destin, Miss Nicole Parks, the attorney from Kingsley’s.”

Destin slid a glance at his brother, and Nicole was sure he was going to say something smart. Instead, he stretched out his hand, his expression unreadable. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Parks.”

“Lovely to meet you, as well, Monsieur Dechamps.” She slipped her palm into the warmth of his hand. Her pulse jumped. She chalked it up to being flustered.

They released each other, and Destin stepped to the side. “And this is Thereza.”

Nicole introduced herself to the blonde, who didn’t seem to recognize her from the bar at all.

“I thought you were going to Paris tonight,” Elliot hissed, pulling Destin off to the side. Nicole eavesdropped as she pretended to look out the bay window, but she could see the brothers from the corner of her eye.

Destin shrugged. “I had another engagement.”

Elliot eyed Destin’s companion then pursed his lips at Destin. “Mon Dieu, Destin, is it really that hard for you to face our father?”

Destin seethed. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Good. You need to talk this out.”

Destin ignored him.

Evidently satisfied that everyone had met, Elliot took Thereza by the hand and led her toward the table. Destin frowned, his blue gaze boring into Nicole’s. Then he offered her his arm for the short walk.

“You’re the attorney?” he murmured. “No yoga?”

She placed her hand inside his biceps. It felt like steel. “I do yoga. I find that it helps me to keep my soul.”

He raised a brow at her. “Touché.” He led her through the tables. “I supposed my statement was harsh. It just never occurred to me that you were an attorney.”

“Well, we come in all shapes and sizes.”

“And genders.”

“Don’t tell me you have a problem with me being a woman.”

“Of course not. It’s just that you came with such high recommendations that I was expecting a man.”

Ooooh, another zinger. It was difficult, but she held her temper. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But I think you’ll find that I can be as unfeeling and greedy as any man, especially when it serves my clients.”

Destin’s lips twitched. “Oh, I’m not disappointed.”

At the table, Elliott moved Thereza’s chair back and helped her get seated. Which left Destin to assist Nicole. He smoothly slid her chair forward when she sat, and Nicole glanced at him over her shoulder. No mockery or amusement seemed present in his face.

“Merci,” she murmured.

“À tout moment.” Anytime.

Elliot requested a bottle of wine, and sent for a flurry of hors d’oeuvres. Their drinks were on the table in seconds, and the small plates of bite-sized appetizers followed promptly.

Surprise must have registered across her face because Elliot leaned over to her with a grin and said, “They know us here. Saúde.” They all clinked glasses, looking into each other’s eyes—no one wanted seven years of bad sex, even if it was an urban legend.

Destin’s look was intense when he touched his glass to hers. She took a deep breath, thinking there was probably no such thing as bad sex with him.

Where had that thought come from?

Nicole wrenched her gaze from his. She gave her wine a swirl then inhaled before tasting.

“Wow,” Nicole said after her first sip. “That’s exceptional.”

“It is,” Elliott said, his attention shifting to his brother. Destin lowered his whiskey and his eyes.

“A Cab Franc. It’s yours, isn’t it? A Dechamps?” she asked Elliot.

“It’s our father’s, yes,” Destin answered.

Nicole caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe? But after another sip of his drink, whatever sadness she’d seen disappeared.

“Hmm. Chili pepper, strawberry, tobacco, licorice.” She tapped her tongue on the top of her mouth and sucked in a slow breath. “Leather?” Elliot’s eyes widened. “Basil and dark oak from extremely aged barrels. Very earthy.”

“Is she right?” Elliot asked his brother excitedly.

Destin was half grinning and studying her as if he’d seen an alien. He glanced at Elliot and slowly nodded.

“How did you do that?” Destin asked Nicole.

“I have a really sensitive palate.”

“A supertaster?” Destin asked, astonishment in his tone.

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded shyly.

“Very interesting,” Elliot chimed in.

“Not really. It’s a nice party trick, but mostly it makes me a picky eater. Things smell so good and don’t always carry through on the taste. It annoys my friends.” The brothers laughed, which was the intention, but her mutant taste buds had caused more harm than good when she was a child, especially when her father took over the cooking after her mother passed. If it hadn’t been for Cheerios, she wasn’t sure she would have survived middle school.

“And your boyfriend? What does he think?” asked Destin.

Was he mocking her again? If he hadn’t noticed, his girlfriend had been texting ever since the drinks arrived. Nicole might be single, but at least she had standards.

“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. So I have all the time in the world to dedicate to the both of you.”

“Cheers to that,” Destin said. He drained his whiskey and poured himself a glass of the Cab Franc.

Elliot narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at his brother, then turned to her. “I must say, I had no idea you’d be so beautiful in person.”

Warning bells chimed in Nicole’s head at the offhand comment. Even Destin frowned. Ever the professional, Nicole gave him a practiced smile, still unsure if he was flirting or just being very French.

“Merci. For the compliment and the opportunity to let me facilitate your sale. I understand the land has been untouched for quite some time. Are you certain it can’t be salvaged?” she asked softly. Elliot froze, and he gazed across the table. She turned to Destin, who was fingering the stem of his glass, and spoke carefully. “I hope you don’t think I’m being insensitive to your family tragedy. I’m so sorry for your loss and want you to know that our company has many resources that could help you rebuild. I would be remiss if I didn’t present all of the options.”

Destin seemed far away for a moment. Then he held his glass up to the lit candle in the middle of their table and studied the dark burgundy liquid. His gaze flicked to her over the rim.

“Wine making is an art, and in France it’s about timing. The seasons determine when the grapes ripen and when to harvest. But in Brazil, there are three hundred days of sunshine. The vines never stop producing, and harvesting can happen at any time. That’s why Elliot and I came here to make our mark.” More food arrived and Destin paused, pushing a few of the plates toward Nicole. “Please, eat. Let’s see what your palate can handle.” His smile was genuine, and she couldn’t help but grin back. She started in on the spiced churrasco and the smoked octopus.

Destin watched her take a bite, then raised one brow in a silent question. How is it? She licked her lips and grinned in answer. Her smile slowly fell when he turned to Thereza, who began to eat one of the pork ribs with her fingers. Nicole almost felt bad for her. Her minimal English meant she couldn’t follow the conversation. In between texts, the blonde had flipped her hair and flashed her eyes, anything to get Destin to look her way.

He’d been polite, offering her wine and food, making sure she was comfortable, but Nicole could tell this was a one-sided love match. Destin wasn’t into Thereza, which provided Nicole with some inexplicable inner satisfaction.

She had to ask herself why she cared.

“Brazil is an exciting country,” Elliot said, interrupting her thoughts. “But it can be a savage and lawless place. Young boys can get into a lot of trouble here.” Elliot smirked, as if he indulged in trouble frequently. “Our winery was successful for a time, maybe too successful. Someone broke in and knocked a lit oil lamp over. The fire took everything.”

“That’s awful,” she said cautiously, her gaze going back and forth between the men.

Destin didn’t look up; instead, he ran his hand back and forth over the white tablecloth. “The irrigation pipes were ruined, and the soil is no longer suitable. And, of course, our production facilities were destroyed. Rebuilding would be a waste of time and money,” he said, trailing off into a whisper.

Nicole swallowed back her own memories of losing close family members. Her mother had been the first to go, her degenerative heart condition taking her when Nicole was only ten. Then her father’s constant drinking and liver cirrhosis took him not long after. By the time Nicole was twelve, the only relative she had left was her grandmother.

Nicole recognized that this man was still in pain. She pushed the octopus plate his way, but he shook his head and smiled at her in gratitude.

He had a nice mouth, she thought. And his eyes seemed to glitter.

“Well, I’ve brought inquiries from several prospective buyers with me that we can discuss. They seem to agree that there is a lot of opportunity in Brazil. There is an oil tycoon who...”

Destin rose suddenly. “I think I should take Thereza home. Please, continue without us.”

Elliot rose. “You’re sure you can’t stay?” His gaze flicked to Nicole, then back to his brother.

“No. Unfortunately,” Destin murmured.

“You’re still off to Paris in the morning?” Elliot asked, grasping his brother’s outstretched hand.

Destin nodded as they shook goodbye, then he turned to Nicole. “It was lovely to meet you Miss Parks. I’m sure you’ll take good care of us.” He stared into her eyes as he took her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers.

She grinned and studied his face. “Safe travels.”

Thereza smiled and waved goodbye before turning for the exit.

Nicole turned back to Elliot, but Destin’s departing broad shoulders monopolized her peripheral vision until he strode out of the restaurant. She told herself that the sinking feeling she was experiencing wasn’t disappointment. Surely she didn’t care that he was taking his girlfriend home. She wasn’t attracted to him; it was more like a misplaced sympathy. She felt sorry for him. That was all. Anyway, he was off to Paris. She’d probably never see him again.

“Please excuse Destin, it took him a while to accept the idea of selling. This was his dream, and it’s hard for him to let it go. Even after what happened.”

Nicole understood letting go of dreams. Her thoughts turned toward the adoption, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to let that go.

One more bottle of wine, two desserts and one espresso later, Nicole and Elliot had hashed out the expectations for the sale.

“So, do you have any more questions for me? Anything else you want to know?” Nicole asked, taking the last bite of her acai sorbet.

Elliot thought for a moment. “Whatever we missed tonight, I’m sure we’ll think of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Bien sûr. I’ll be giving you a tour of the land. I can’t wait to show you Dechamps and Rio Grande.”

Chapter 4

Brazil’s blinding afternoon sun rose high above a vast, unkempt field and beat down on Destin’s back as he squatted inside the remnants of a burned and crumbling building. Though he kept his dark head bent, his thin T-shirt did little to shield him from the sun’s hot rays, and he shifted himself into the triangle of shade provided by the partial wall blackened by fire patterns. He swiped at the sweat beaded on his neck and shooed away Magnus, his German shepherd, as he cleared rocks and sticks from the piles of ash, brick and stone that peppered the dirt floor.

He’d found things in the rubble before: a hairbrush, broken crystal decanters, a melted tobacco pipe. But he never found what he was truly looking for—answers. What had happened to his life? Each artifact he found felt like a piece of a puzzle that still eluded him. His wife and everything they’d worked for had disappeared in one night.

He tossed a rock at the charred wall, wishing he could as easily toss the guilt. It had been his idea to start a branch of Dechamps in Brazil, and he and Nina had taken such pride in their new home. They’d had high hopes to build something here, the way his father had done in France. But she was gone now, and it was all his fault.

Yet the thought of letting it go made his stomach turn.

Nicole Parks. Her dark eyes had been haunting him since he left the restaurant the night before. Even after he’d dropped Thereza off at her apartment, refusing to have a nightcap—despite her offer and the suggestive way she’d kissed him goodbye.

His mind replayed his interaction with the feisty attorney over and over. She had a sharp wit and self-assurance. Her poise and direct way of speaking were unnerving, he decided, as if weighing the pros and cons. He’d bet she was stubborn, too. An inner voice told him that those qualities probably made her a good lawyer. A second inner voice reminded him that Nina had been just as bold.

When Nicole had mentioned potential buyers the night before, Destin found he couldn’t listen to the possibility that his failed aspirations might become a success story for someone else. Jumping out of his seat was a reflex, one he had instantly regretted. Once he’d stood, he found that, as much as he wanted to leave the conversation, he hadn’t wanted to leave Nicole’s presence.

The attorney held a certain fascination for him that he couldn’t deny. She was clearly intelligent, and at times had been rather charming. A classic beauty, she’d worn little makeup at dinner, which was a refreshing change from the heavily made-up women at the restaurant. She was tall, about five foot seven, he guessed, and curvy. He had a sneaking suspicion that she might fit against his tall frame quite nicely.

And she was a supertaster. What were the odds of that? He imagined taking her to his workspace in the cellar, letting her taste the wines that had been aging in their barrels since before the fire. Feeding her the foods and desserts he’d paired them with.

Bouncing another rock against the wall, he rebuked himself for those thoughts. Nicole Parks was working for his father. No matter how intriguing she was, he had to make sure that she didn’t succeed.

His soot-covered fingertips swiped at a rock, uncovering a glint of silver. He dug out the small rectangular shape, rubbed it, popped off the top then closed it shut. A lighter. He weighed it in his hand and flipped it around, using his thumbs to clear the dirt. An engraved D became visible. Clutching the lighter hard in his palm, he pulled his fist to his lips and closed his eyes as if in prayer.

He slipped it into his pocket, slapped his hands on his cargo pants, grabbed his shotgun and left the forsaken structure. His four-legged companion loped ahead of him as his boots trod hard through the brush of the surrounding forest, his shotgun in one hand and a small bouquet of wildflowers in the other. The dog waited for him at their destination, a small gravesite with two markers.

He placed the flowers on the graves, and they mingled with the dead petals of the previous bouquet.

Thunder cracked overhead. Clouds had darkened and gathered, suggesting a storm, the quick and fierce kind that Rio Grande was famous for.