Intoxicating by Lori Wilde Page A

appeared, herding the group of tourists out with him. Relief spread through Kiara. Ducking her head, she plunged down the steps to the safety of the cellar, her favorite place in the winery besides the lab.
    Except, the minute the door closed behind Wyatt it occurred to her that she was now trapped down here alone with him—alone in the wine cellar, alone with the sweet smell of wine and seductive lighting and the hungry taste of lust.
    He sauntered toward her in the musky dimness. Romantic Romano relatives had placed strategic recessed lighting in the ceiling to produce a cozy, dreamy atmosphere. It worked too well.
    Wyatt stood with the indolent, loose-limbed sprawl of a man fully comfortable in his own skin. He had one arm slung over the edge of shelving, the crook of his elbow caught around the aged wooden bracket as if he were about to edge the structure out onto a dance floor. He cut an intriguing figure—tall, dark-haired, mysterious. His dangerous, full-lipped smile said, c’mon let’s play.
    Kiara was pragmatic, sober, not given to flights of fancy, but in that moment, in this lighting, her imagination overtook her sensible nature.
    His eyes, as languid and warm as the summer sun, landed on hers.
    Immediately, she lowered her eyelids, acutely aware of her sudden labored breathing and the heated awareness warming her skin. She felt a rush, a push, a thrust of energy that curled inside her, both heavy and light. She couldn’t help glancing at him again.
    His gaze roved over her in a mesmerized inspection, making her feel completely naked. She raised a hand to her throat. His gaze returned to her face, hung on her lips.
    â€œAren’t you going to offer me a taste of that Bretty wine?” he murmured, his soft smile causing her body to spark with a jumble of sensations, all of them disturbingly good. “Isn’t that what we came down here for?”
    Was it? She couldn’t even remember.
    Enchanted, she stared into the dark center of his eyes and she was lost to the insanity that had taken hold of her since the moment Wyatt had arrived at Bella Notte. She hauled in a deep breath.
    He did the same.
    That’s when she understood he was feeling as overcome and off-balance as she, and he was wielding that cocky grin as a shield to hide his vulnerability. They studied each other in dual wonder. It seemed neither of them knew what to make of this surging chemistry.
    â€œKiara?” he whispered.
    She licked her lips. “Um…yes, yes, the wine.”
    Turning, she moved deeper into the cellar where the older wines were kept, some from as far back as when her great-grandfather had started the winery after prohibition. She felt Wyatt coming behind her through the catacombs of shelving and gleaming wine bottles, his big body taking up too much space.
    What was this? How could she be so befuddled overa total stranger? She always kept her emotions carefully wrapped up, a defense against her family’s romanticism, a way to preserve her common sense. It took her a long time to make friends, even longer to trust someone intimately. Keeping her feelings in check kept her safe and sensible. It was the one thing that differentiated her from all the other Romanos. She prized her self-control and here it was, poof, gone. This thing—whatever it was—pledged a big thrill, yet at the same time promised serious trouble.
    She stopped at the very back of the cellar and plucked a bottle of a red dessert wine, a generational precursor to Decadent Midnight, from the rack, the familiar heft of it a comfort in her hand, and then tugged a corkscrew from her apron pocket.
    â€œMay I?” Wyatt asked, extending his hand.
    She was cornered between his body and the back wall of the cellar. No way out.
    Reluctantly, she passed him the bottle and the corkscrew. In the hand off, their fingers brushed.
    Kiara inhaled audibly. Slowly, she raised her head and met his stare. Time stretched into