3 Savor by Barbara Ellen Brink Page B

the mess, but
it had grown out a bit too long and unruly for that. If he had on a kilt he
would’ve looked like a wild highlander from the hills of Scotland. She gave him
an encouraging smile.
    He hesitated as though searching
for the right words before taking her hands in his. His dark eyes glistened in
the lamplight. “I never thought I’d find a woman like you, Meg. You’ve
encouraged me to be the best I can be, to take chances and follow my heart. You
have an inner strength that I admire tremendously; an ability to survive
whatever is thrown your way, and yet even with all you’ve been through, you
still possess a gentle, loving heart that makes you even more amazing.”
    Feeling a bit embarrassed by his
glowing praise, she opened her mouth to say something.
    He shook his head. “It’s my turn.
You already sent my world spinning off its axis tonight. Let me finish.” He
lifted a hand and gently brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “I’ve never
fallen for a girl so quickly, so thoroughly, and so finally. I love you,
Margaret Parker.”
    “Are you done?” she whispered,
tentatively leaning in toward him.
    His lips covered hers and she
moaned as his kisses deepened into desire. It had been so long since she’d felt
this way about any man. She ran her fingers through his hair and drew him
closer still, craving his touch like a sandy beach craves the incoming tide.
Logically she knew this feeling wasn’t sustainable. Love had different moods,
different seasons, just like wine grapes. The passion of first love was all
consuming but didn’t have to be the beginning and the end. Time would tell
whether their lives would merge into a deeper blend of love that could be
savored, but right now she wanted more than a sip. She wanted…
    He suddenly pulled back and looked
down into her face. A slow grin turned up his lips and then he was laughing.
    Margaret looked at him in
bewilderment, her brain still spinning, emotions spiraling into annoyance.
“What?”
    “You were doing it, weren’t you?”
he said, still amused at something beyond her comprehension. “You were thinking
about wine and how it relates to our relationship. I could actually hear the
wheels spinning in that crazy winemaking head of yours.”
    She felt a blush rise up her
cheeks, giving her away. There was no use trying to deny it. Adam had heard her
hypothesizing more than once about the similarities between love and wine.
“What if I was? Wine is romantic after all. More than I can say for you.
Laughing at me while we’re…we’re…” she sputtered to an end, jumped up, and
stalked off to the kitchen.
    “I’m sorry,” Adam called, laughter
still edging his voice. He followed her and tried to put his arms around her
again, but she shrugged him off.
    “I’m tired,” she said, which was
true now that her hormones had lost that loving feeling. “I think we should
just call it a night.”
    “I didn’t mean to hurt your
feelings, babe. I actually think it’s pretty cool how the craft of winemaking
is so much a part of you that you even process situations accordingly. That’s
how I am about my music. ” He regarded her crossed arms pose with a crooked
smile. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I was singing Jungle Love in my head while I was
kissing you?”
    She laughed and shook her head,
unable to stay miffed at him for long.
    He started playing an air guitar
and singing, “Jungle love, it’s driving me mad. It’s making me crazy, crazy…”
    Rambo had been asleep on his bed in
the corner of the kitchen, but their intrusion had not gone unnoticed. He got
up, obviously indignant, stretched, and coolly stalked off to the den where it
was quieter.
    Margaret put a finger to her lips.
“Shhh! Now look what you’ve done. You’ve woken up the cat. Next, Davy will be
down here singing along.”
    “He could use the practice if he’s
going to be a winemaking musician someday.”
    Davy’s newest career path was to
combine