He tries to dismiss me with an off-putting laugh, but I don’t accept it. Moving to him, I grab his glass out of his hand just as he moves to take a drink. I smell the alcohol, take a small sip, then a larger one.
“French brandy with a base of…” I close my eyes, mining the encyclopedic knowledge in my brain. “Let’s see, the river Garonne, right bank…that makes it Saint-Émilion wine, Grand Cru of course, aged two years.”
I open my eyes and find Dante paying attention now, though he’s trying not to show it.
“The appellation specializes in red wines with a crisp, full finish,” I go on, “and I’m getting very strong notes of plum and cherry—suggesting production from grapes grown in a temperate year. Hmm, I’m surprised. I’d think it a bit fruity for a man like you.”
I finish off the rest of the glass and hand it back to him empty.
“Fill it with something else and let’s make a game of it, shall we? I can do this all night.”
One corner of his mouth turns up, but he quickly schools it. I’ve got him. I see the curiosity, the surprise in his eyes. So much for his poker face.
“I can be useful to you, Dante. I know things.” Oh, hell, the alcohol is going straight to my mouth. “About your wines, about your grapes…about the unfortunate mealybug infestation in the southeast corner that’s threatening your newest vines.”
He’s fully facing me, his body taut. I should stop talking. Instead I lean closer, nearly touching him.
“About the death of your father.”
He grabs my shoulders, all pretense gone. “What do you know?”
This is it—and I’m not prepared. Despite Charlie’s advice, I haven’t figured out what to ask for in trade for this information. Letting out a breath, I realize it doesn’t matter. I can’t honestly use this as a bartering tool. It feels too wrong.
“It wasn’t an accident. Somebody did something to his car. I overheard my dad talking on the phone about it. He offered to sell that person’s name to whomever he was speaking with.”
Dante is so still he might well be a statue. I don’t know how I was expecting him to react when he found out, but it wasn’t like this. Maybe he already suspected? Or is his granite face just hiding overwhelming anger, or disbelief? His nostrils flare, the only sign that I’ve triggered him.
“I need names,” he says coolly. “Your father is a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer. He didn’t act alone. Find out who else was involved.”
“Already working on it.” I take a breath, then turn away to give myself some space. “My father is a terrible man. He’s selfish and rude and belligerent, but until today, I never thought he was evil. I can’t have him around my little sister, but she loves her horses too much to leave. Isn’t that the dumbest, sweetest thing?” My voice cracks, but I force myself to keep my chin up. “Anyway, Charlie’s gonna stay at the house with Livvie until we can figure out what to do about the horses. In the meantime, whatever you do to my dad, just…leave my sisters out of it. Please.”
I turn around and Dante is right there, in my space. He cups my chin with his hand and forces me to look up at him. His jaw works to one side, but he says nothing.
Releasing me, he shoves his hands into his pockets. I’m about to leave when he says, “If you’re a sommelier, you should make yourself useful in the tasting room. They could use a hand in there.”
“I’ll be there at eight a.m. sharp.”
“Eleven,” he corrects, exasperated. “Christ, even the tourists don’t drink before noon.”
I shoot him a frown. “I’m up at sunrise every day. What the hell am I supposed to do with my mornings?”
“I can think of a few things.” He lets loose one of his rare smiles and runs a hand down my arm, his fingers drifting over the sensitive skin on my wrist, drawing out a shiver from me.
“Oh, come on. That’s a joke. I’m not sleeping with you.”
He takes my hand and presses my palm against his lower abdomen. All at once, I’m completely sober.
“Maybe not. But you will give me a blow job.”
“Ha! Nowthat’sa joke.”
He lowers my hand, over his belt, down the front of his pants. His cock is thick and stiff, and I grip him through the fabric on instinct, drawing a groan from him.
“That’s right. You’re going to suck it, Francesca.”
Dante reaches out and runs his fingers through my hair, taking firm hold of the strands, tugging just enough to make my scalp tingle. Our eyes lock as he gently, ever so slowly forces me to my knees, holding my gaze the entire time.
The carpet is blessedly thick, and God, so is his cock. My hand is still fondling it.
