Blame It on the Champagne Page 4

  Rick Burgess was certainly a company director with a difference.

  She watched him stand and share a laugh with Angie as they gathered up their papers and, just for a fraction of a second, she wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of the full-on charm of that power smile that beamed out of a rugged, handsome face.

  She knew that she had never been the pretty one, or super-creative or musically talented like her best friends Kate and Amber. But it would be nice now and again to have a handsome man really look at her as a woman and like what he saw. Instead of asking where the toilets were and could he have more coffee.

  Her beautiful mother Chantal had often said that Saskia had skipped a generation and would be much happier back in rural France on the vineyard where her own mother had been brought up, instead of living the high life of a city girl.

  And she was right in so many ways.

  Her mother could never understand why the teenage Saskia had begged to spend the school holidays working at the auberge with her extended French family instead of sitting on some tropical beach with her mother and her friends, while her father stayed in his room and worked on some financial deal or other.

  Of course that was when her grandparents were alive and her parents were still together. When her father left them everything changed.

  Suddenly her practical skills were useful and Saskia became the girl who made sure that there was food in the refrigerator and the bills were paid as her mother struggled to come to terms with what had happened and failed. Saskia had never once missed school or turned up without a clean uniform and brushed hair. When her mother’s world imploded she had become the dependable one who made sure things happened.

  The girl who would always help you out at the last minute.

  Not done your homework? Ask Saskia to help. All you had to do was pretend to be her friend, just long enough to get what you wanted.

  It had been a long apprenticeship forged from hard times, but, like it or not, fifteen years of training and hard work in the hotel and food trade had brought her to this point. She should be happy, ecstatic really, but all this was hers and she had made the business feasible on her own.

  Not that there was any choice. Without Elwood House, she would be working for someone else. She couldn’t go back to that. Not ever.

  Not after she had promised her aunt that she would take care of the house and make all of their great plans a reality.

  It was worth the exhaustion and never-ending strive for excellence.

  As the Burgess sales team moved into the hall, Saskia pressed her fingertips hard against the fine marble surface of the console table and took a deep breath before lifting her chin and personally thanking each of them in turn as they left the building, discreetly counting to make sure that no one had got locked in the washroom or had decided to take an unsupervised tour of the bedrooms upstairs.

  She sensed rather than heard someone coming up to speak to her and she spun around. ‘Miss Elwood. Could you spare a moment?’

  Up close and personal, Rick Burgess was just as physically impressive standing in her hallway as he had been on the pavement that morning. Even after two hours of what had been sometimes intense discussions, back and forth across the table, the intelligence in his grey eyes sparkled with life and vigour against a tanned face which had never seen a tanning salon.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘How can I help, Mr Burgess?’

  ‘Oh, please call me Rick,’ he replied and stretched out his hand to shake Saskia’s. ‘I just wanted to say a huge thank you for agreeing to see us today. We appreciate your time and your warm welcome into your lovely home.’

  ‘I am delighted that you enjoyed it.’ She sucked in a breath when he released his grip, which was a lot firmer than she was used to. As in finger-crushing firmer. ‘If you should ever need a venue for a business meeting, I do hope that you will consider Elwood House.’

  ‘A business meeting?’ His eyebrows rose and, as he returned her smile, the deep tan lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes creased into sharp falls. ‘Sure. My project team will need to get together every few weeks during pre-launch. Angie will get in contact. Although I do have one request before I take off.’

  His hands pushed into the pockets of his denims. ‘Prepare to be shocked. I am about to declare a terrible failing.’

  ‘A failing?’ Saskia replied, trying not to smile. ‘Surely not.’

  Rick sighed out loud and raised both hands in the air. ‘I can understand that such a thing is hard to believe but here it is.’ He paused for dramatic effect and stepped just a little closer than she was comfortable with. ‘I’m not known for my patience. There were a couple of times during the presentation that I picked up some sense that you might be interested in buying from me. Am I right?’

  ‘Ah. Well, now it is my turn for confession,’ Saskia replied, her gazed locked onto his face. ‘I try not to make snap decisions when it comes to spending my money. My late aunt, Margot Elwood, taught me that loyalty to a supplier means a very great deal. I am therefore rather cautious about who I give my loyalty to, and one bottle of wine is no guarantee that the others will be of the same quality.’

  ‘Loyalty. I like that idea.’

  Rick glanced over Saskia’s shoulder. ‘How about I give my future loyal customer a hand and carry that box of sample bottles down to her wine cellar? Who knows? I might pick up a few tips from an Elwood.’

  ‘My wine cellar?’ Saskia repeated. ‘I’m very flattered—’ she smiled ‘—thank you, but I am sure it would be boring compared to the wonderful wines you have in your stockrooms. And I am quite capable of carrying a few bottles down a corridor.’

  Saskia straightened and kept her smile firmly fixed as she gazed past Rick Burgess towards the front door. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep your team waiting.’

  Rick replied by tilting his head. ‘They’re already heading back to the office. So you see, Miss Elwood, I’m all yours. Now. Where do you want me to put this box?’

  * * *

  ‘I store the specialist wine and ports in the basement. Oh, and please mind your head. These old cellars were built for shorter people.’

  Rick followed Saskia down the narrow stone steps that led from her modern stainless steel kitchen down into the brick and stone storeroom and cellar that ran almost the full length of the house. He carefully lowered the large cardboard box of wine onto a sturdy old wooden table before following her into the cellar.

  Saskia flicked on the lighting system and started her tour with the classic red wines she had bought for the coming autumn and winter season before moving on to the older and more prestigious wines. Racks and racks of bottles were laid out on their sides in purpose-built curved trays, label up, creating a superb display.

  Rick peered politely at each of the winemakers and vintages with only a quick nod to indicate that he was only vaguely interested in what he was looking at.

  It was not just annoying, it was unsettling!

  She was just about to turn back when Rick pointed towards the cabinet where she stored her most precious white wines, most of which she had inherited from her aunt.

  ‘I recognise that wine, it’s one of my father’s favourites.’

  ‘Then we have something in common.’ She smiled. ‘It’s one of my favourites too. It also happens to be made at the vineyard once owned by my Elwood grandparents. Yes, that’s right. This is my family wine.’

  ‘Ah—’ Rick chuckled ‘—you see. I was right—I have learnt something new. Although it does make me wonder why you don’t promote your connection to the famous Elwood family more on your website. That is a remarkable heritage to be proud of.’

  She replied by smiling and shaking her head. ‘There is a very good reason for that. I might be an Elwood but I have never been a wine merchant and I wouldn’t want anyone coming here under false pretences.’

  Rick strolled up, pressed his shoulder snugly against hers and dropped his gaze onto a copy of
a wine label that she was holding in her hand. His long wide mouth curved up into a smile that raised the temperature of the air in the cellar by several degrees. ‘I know about that.’ He chuckled. ‘Here I am, with a new career as a wine merchant and about to open a new wine store. Everything I know about the business I picked up from a lifetime living with a family who is obsessed with everything to do with wine.’

  ‘Aunt Margot may have been the last of the Elwood family but there was nothing that you could tell that lady about wine. I only wish I had her experience and knowledge.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Rick said in a voice bubbling with enthusiasm. ‘This is why I need to be totally honest with you about the real reason that I am here today.’

  ‘Real reason? What do you mean?’

  His reply was to move closer, stretch out one long muscular arm to the stone wall behind her shoulder and lean forward so that their faces were only inches apart. Trapping her in the space between his body and the wine racks, which were pressing into her back.

  Any closer and she would be on intimate terms with his shirt buttons.

  She could hunch down and dive under his armpit if she had a mind to but this was her cellar, not his. And, damn him, but she was not the one who was going to have to move first. Even if he did smell of soft leather and fine wine underpinned by a faint citrus tang of some no doubt very expensive male grooming product designed to act as instant girl attractor.

  And Lord, it was worth every penny he had spent.

  His gaze scanned her face for several too long seconds before he whispered and stepped so close that she could almost feel the heat of his breath on her brow. ‘I think you are being far too modest, Saskia. From what I’ve seen today, the clients who come to Elwood House are lucky enough to have the very best and the excellent taste of the mistress of this fine house.’

  The way Rick lingered on that last word sent shivers up her spine which she blinked away. Was he trying to flirt with her?

  As for modest? What choice did she have? Her mother might have fled to Los Angeles, leaving her with her aunt, but it was her father who had truly ripped her heart out. She never mentioned him to anyone, not even Kate or Amber. She had even changed her surname the same week her mother had finally agreed to a divorce and went back to being Chantal Elwood again. But he was always there at the back of her mind. A constant itch that could never be scratched away. Reminding her to be careful and not take risks, no matter how tantalising they might appear.

  Saskia lifted her chin slightly. She had to stay professional. Even if he was totally inside her comfort zone and oozing enough testosterone to make her forget her own name.

  ‘Just this.’ He breathed low and hoarse, his head tilted slightly to one side. ‘What would you say if I was prepared to sign a contract committing Rick Burgess Wines to hold a lunch meeting at least every week right here in Elwood House for the next two years?’

  He paused and let the silence create the anticipation he was looking for.

  ‘What would I say?’ Saskia repeated, lifting her chin slightly sideways so that she could smile up into his face without straining her back. ‘I would say thank you very much and here is a piece of paper and a pen.’

  ‘I thought that you might. But there is a catch.’

  ‘Am I going to like it?’

  ‘Like it? I hope so. You see, my company specialises in exciting wine made by a whole new wave of brilliant new winemakers from right across Europe. I need customers like you to take a risk and invest in these wines. But one short presentation is not nearly long enough. So...’ his hips shifted slightly, just in case she had not noticed how tight his jeans were, stretched over his muscular thighs ‘...I was hoping that you might be available to have dinner with me this evening. It would give me a chance to tell you more about what I had to offer. If you were free.’

  Free? She was free for dinner every evening.

  Rick was smiling at now, but she could see the muscles in his lower arm move slightly as they adjusted to a shift in his position. Dark brown hair curled onto broad muscular shoulders. Sinewy neck and jaw. Beyond rugged, physical and potent.

  Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach under the intensity of that gaze and she had the sudden urge to toss her hair back, stick her chest out and flirt with him outrageously. His dark blue-grey eyes shone bright in the low light she used in the cellars to protect the wine. There was a certain slight unease around his lips as though he wanted to say something, reveal something, but thought better of it and held back.

  What he had to offer? Oh, she had a pretty good idea. Dangerous.

  Buying wine from him? Oh no. Fingers. Hot. Burnt.

  Suddenly she felt a desperate urge to fill the silence with chatter.

  ‘Building a reputation for excellence takes time. I only opened up the house to guests a few months ago and I cannot afford to risk my reputation by serving any else but the best.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ He nodded. ‘This is why I think my business proposition might just solve both of our problems rather neatly. My wonderful wines. Your fine reputation. Perfect fit.’

  She paused and licked her lips. ‘I don’t want to seem rude, but my clients expect the very best and it’s my job to make sure that they are not disappointed. But don’t worry, Angie has given me her contact details and has promised to be in touch about any future business meetings. I look forward to seeing you again at Elwood House.’

  Saskia stretched out her hand towards Rick and he glanced at it for a second before moving back, chuckling and wrapping his fingers around hers.

  ‘People don’t usually turn me down,’ he whispered, stepping forward under the spotlight until he was far enough away for Saskia to see the fine white scar lines that ran up one side of his face. ‘I’m curious. Are you always so sceptical? What do you want to know? Ask me anything during our dinner this evening and I’ll promise that I will tell you the truth.’

  Saskia was still reeling from his reply when Rick’s cellphone blared out a top ten music track and he glanced quickly at the caller ID, breaking the intensity of the moment.

  ‘You seem very confident that you have something that I might be interested in, Mr Burgess. Perhaps you could ask Angie to make an appointment for later in the week.’

  ‘Nope. Has to be tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven.’

  Pick her up. Oh no. This was not a date. She had to take some control back!

  ‘I sometimes walk along the South Bank around half seven,’ she gushed before her brain had time to engage.

  ‘Got it. Later.’

  Two fingers to the forehead in a quick salute and he turned on his heel and strolled away to the stairs as if he owned the place, leaving a Rick-sized space in her cellar.

  He hadn’t waited for her answer.

  The strange thing was; she couldn’t remember saying no.

  * * *

  Saskia peered at her reflection in the screen of her smartphone, wiggled her head from side to side several times and pushed several stands of hair behind her ear. Large ornate drop earrings in the shape of a leaf swung freely in the late sunshine, reflecting back the light from the finely worked Indian silver.

  ‘Thanks, Amber. Those earrings are just perfect. I love them. You are a genius when it comes to style. What’s that? Takes one to know one. Well, thank you, kind lady. And don’t forget to thank Kate for the loan of her jacket. The colours work so well together.’

  She glanced quickly around the busy pavement to check that her quiet smirk had gone unseen. ‘Amber! Stop that. You are making me blush. Those earrings are staying on. This is not a hot date. I keep telling you. Business meeting. Stop laughing. Business! And no, I don’t want you to wait up for me. Cheek! Now go and be creative with the wedding plan. Talk to you later if you must. Later. Yes. Okay. I promise that I will have a nice time. Thank you. Yes.’

  Saskia chuckled out loud and flipped her phone closed. Kate and Amber had just spent over an hour helping her come up with the perfect
outfit but, she had to admit, her style consultants had pulled together a smart but casual look which created just the right impression.

  Neat wraparound plain navy dress, smart designer jacket, which Kate had run back to her studio to collect at the last minute, discreet jewellery and medium heels which she knew that she could walk in, just in case Rick turned up in his boots again and took off across London on foot.

  She was determined to show Rick that she was a professional to the core and not just another girl who he could order around on a whim.

  This was meeting a client for drinks away from Elwood House.

  Not a date or meeting a friend. This was a business meeting with a potentially large booking in the balance.

  Just because she had agreed to go out for drinks did not mean that she was saying yes. It was simply playing fair and giving him a chance to discuss this mysterious business proposal.

  Wasn’t it?

  Of course she was intrigued—how could she not be? What did he think he could offer that the wonderful London wine merchants could not?

  Nothing to do with that molten chocolate voice and dark blue-grey eyes. Oh no. She was not going down that road.

  The man was a maniac. A riveting, passionate, handsome charmer of a maniac.

  Who was clever enough to dangle something he knew that she might be interested in, but hold it just beyond her reach.

  How did he expect professionals to take him seriously if he turned up in denims and leather and barely shaven? Did he really not care what he looked like? Or was he simply playing a trick and acting out a persona created by the company PR department?

  Squaring her shoulders, Saskia pushed back from the railing and glanced along the Thames Embankment in the fading September sunshine.

  And froze. Because strolling towards her on the wide pavement was Rick Burgess. No entourage, no team, just Rick. Wearing exactly the same clothes that she had last seen him in.

  His hips swung out with each stride, purposefully and in line with the rock-solid body under those tight denims.

  Every inch of his body screamed out confidence and self-belief. He could fit in anywhere he went and, judging by the backwards glances from the ladies he passed with each purposeful and determined step, it was a look which guaranteed him an audience.