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The man would save puppies from a burning building. He’d brag about it afterward, of course. That was Vin. Whereas Rogen would simply shrug off any hero worship if he’d been the one to swoop in to save the day, and say, Anyone would have done the same.
It was no wonder the two men were still best friends—their yin and yang complemented each other. And Jewel was wholly, inexplicitly, and irrevocably affected by both of them. Drawn to both of them.
Which made her night at the Angelinis’ even more complex.
As her stomach remained knotted over the events of the evening, Rogen parked the Rhino on the cobblestone pathway that led to a large white stucco building almost completely shrouded by tall foliage and topped with a red-tiled roof.
Jewel grinned, despite her consternation. “The Angels’ Share Room,” she commented, knowing her spirits were about to be lifted.
Rogen escorted her to the front doors while he talked on his iPhone, evidently to someone in Security, because a few interior lights came to life and the blinking crimson dots on the alarm pad alongside the main doors turned to green. She heard the distinct sound of a latch springing free and Rogen disconnected the call.
Turning to Jewel, he said in his low, rumbling voice, “Guaranteed to put you in a better frame of mind. Take a couple of deep breaths.”
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, methodically.
Then Rogen told her, “Once more, with a big exhale, and then don’t breathe until we’re inside.”
Jewel did as instructed. Rogen swung open one of the thick wood-and-glass doors and guided her through the entryway. Jewel pulled up short. She sucked in a long stream of air, filling her lungs with the glorious scent of rich, aromatic cognac. She held the breath, warmth and relaxation seeping through her veins, curling around her like a cozy blanket, sealing all the gaping holes within her that had been ripped open this evening.
She let the breath out slowly, then inhaled again. Deeply. She repeated this numerous times, letting the fragrance calm her, soothe her. Along with the soulful aria floating from hidden speakers, the dimly lit chandeliers hanging from the polished beams overhead, and the gorgeously designed wooden floor, with cherub angels fluttering their wings and singing the praises of the heavens with skinny bugles and voluptuous harps.
This was the room that inspired inner peace. That salved old wounds. That reminded Jewel of the beautiful world in which she’d been raised. The wine world.
She crossed to the wide ledge between two curving staircases that led down to the VIP tasting room, cellar, and storage floor. She looked out at all the oak casks stacked high and recalled how as a kid, she’d always been fascinated with not only the distilling process but also the aging one.
Rogen stood next to her, an elbow casually propped on the ledge, his other hand at the small of her back.
She slid a glance his way. Smiled softly. She was fairly certain her eyes glowed with gratitude … and her deep affection for Rogen. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“Always cheered you up when you were blue.”
“And I’ve missed it.”
He nodded. “Separating us is something I’ve never reconciled with my parents. I don’t know that I ever will.”
“It was wrong,” she agreed. “My parents played a part, too. That damn feud—”
“Yes. But we’re not teenagers anymore, Jewel.” His cerulean eyes deepened in color. “They can’t control us. They can’t lay down any laws between us.”
She swallowed the emotion bubbling in her throat. “Rogen, I—”
“Come on.” He shoved away from the split railing and took her hand again. “Let’s sample the expensive stuff.”
“And you’ll tell me the story I want to hear?”
Now his eyes sparkled. “Of course.”
He unhooked a gold-velvet rope at the top of one staircase and she passed through and descended the steps. They crossed to the far end, to the elegantly appointed tasting room with plush furniture and more elaborate chandeliers. A pool table. High-top tables and leather-padded stools. Lots of ornately framed mirrors.
She took one of the stools and Rogen punched in the key code to unlock the cellar and disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, he set out three Baccarat crystal-cut decanters and matching snifters. He also grabbed two small bottles of water from the cooler and a silver bucket to cleanse their palates and rinse their glasses in between tastings.
He poured the first sample and handed it over. “I know you favor a hint of vanilla.”
They’d snuck more than a few sips while growing up. “Yes, I still do.” Gently swirling the dark-amber liquid in the bowl of the snifter, she dipped her head and pulled in the bold bouquet that further stimulated her senses. As did the incredibly sexy man sitting across from her.
She took a small drink, loving the slight burn over her tongue, down her throat, and to her belly, where heat spread slowly, deliciously, through her.
The daring notes ended with a smooth vanilla finish that was a pleasant surprise.
