A Taste of Merlot
by Heather
Heyford
Book Description:
Raise
your glass and join Heather Heyford as she pours a second serving in her series
following these headstrong wine heiresses in their quest to strike out on their
own...
Merlot St.
Pierre is struggling to break free from her family name. Her college classmates
whisper behind her back that her passion for jewelry design is little more than
a hobby, since she’ll always have her father’s fortune. But Meri is determined
to prove them wrong, and with the help of a handsome jewelry buyer, she just
may taste her first sip of success—as long as she can hide who she really is…
Mark
Newman’s family owns a chain of high-end jewelry stores, and he’s working hard
to get out from under his aunt’s thumb and prove he has a good eye and a head
for business. He’s certain Meri’s designs could be the next big thing, but
he’ll have to convince her that she can use her famous last name to her
advantage. As their business partnership takes root, an attraction begins to
flourish—but they’ll both find that love, like wine, takes time to perfect…
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Excerpt
Mark held the
ring under the dangling ceiling bulb. “You’re right, this light doesn’t do much
good at all. Here, let’s see how it looks on.” He lifted the fingers of her
right hand and slipped the slender coil over her knuckle. “The vine motif is brilliant,
and you did a kick-ass job setting the agate. It’s contemporary, but timeless.
It’ll look right on any woman, from your age on up to great-grandmothers.”
But instead of dropping her hand, he
surprised her by turning it over, bringing the center of her palm to his lips
to kiss it as his eyes burned into hers through the gloom of the shabby studio.
Mesmerized, she watched him plant
more slow, lazy kisses all over her palm, trailing down each of her fingers to
their very tips, bringing a shiver to her spine. She waited for the inevitable
scowl when he noticed how rough they were.
“That’s what years of manipulating
metal on a daily basis will do to your hands. No matter how much I moisturize,
it’s never enough.”
“Hands that work are way more interesting
than those that don’t.”
When there were no more fingers left
to kiss, he took both her hands in his. “You smell great,” he murmured. “Like
roses.” The shop on the Champs-Élysées still shipped bottles of Maman’s bespoke
fragrance to her daughters every year on the anniversary of her death.
He bent his head to bury his nose in the lock
of hair that fell near her jawline. She shivered and arched her neck to give
him access. His breath on her skin made her tremble with anticipation. For what
seemed like forever, all he did was gently nuzzle her neck and toy with her
hair, twisting a chunky lock around his fist to kiss, then drop, only to pick
up another handful on the other side, raising and dropping it, watching it fan
out in the dim light of the studio.
“Where’d you get such beautiful
hair?” he whispered. He wrapped one arm around her waist to ease her closer—but
not close enough—and slowly, slowly drew his fingers through her hair from the
top of her crown to the middle of her back in long, brush-like strokes.
Tantalizing her. Provoking her imagination.
She wished he’d do more with those hands soon, because she was about to
melt. And then, when she couldn’t have waited one more second, he closed his
eyes and angled his head, barely brushing her lips with his, only to withdraw
and peer into her eyes with half-closed lids. Those eyes. They were
indescribable. Sexy. Kind. All-knowing. The eyes of a hot young man with a wise
old soul.
He turned his head the other way and
lightly kissed her a second time . . . and to her ever-building frustration,
pulled back yet again. She gave him a desperate, searching look. What was he
doing, torturing her like this? He smiled. He was enjoying teasing her.
Enough. Merlot tore her hands from
his, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him squarely on the mouth. In
response, he took possession of her, enveloping her tightly in his arms. Their
bodies came together perfectly, hip to hip, breast to breast, mouth to
mouth—thanks to those four-inch pink wedges. She felt empowered, up there at
his height. She leaned in with her chin, expertly—if she said so
herself—sucking his lower lip into her mouth.
Again, he pulled away—but then
surprised her by taking her chin firmly. “Is that how you like it?” But she
could no longer speak. He delved into her mouth with his tongue and explored
her until she was panting. “Like that?” Then he did it again.
When she was dizzy, her lips
swelling from the friction, he broke off and half-opened his eyes, pressing his
forehead to hers, his warm breath fanning her face, his heart pounding hard
against her chest.
He raised his head to gaze at her
yet again, and his eyes had changed. The green was gone, replaced by jet-black
disks of desire. “You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse with passion.
“No.”
Concern washed over his face.
Meri had experience with the
opposite sex. Way more than she cared to remember. She knew what came next.
About the Author
Born
in the Northeast, Heather Heyford learned to walk and talk in Texas, and then
moved to England. (“Ya’ll want some scones?”) While in Europe, Heather was
forced by her cruel parents to spend Saturdays in the leopard vinyl back seat
of their Peugeot, motoring from one medieval pile to the next for the lame
purpose of ‘learning something.’ What she soon learned was how to allay the
boredom by stashing a Cosmo under the seat. Now a recovering teacher, Heather
writes love stories, feeds hardboiled eggs to suburban foxes, and makes art in
the Mid-Atlantic. See more at HeatherHeyford.com, or visit me on facebook,
twitter, pinterest, and instagram.
Author Links:
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ReplyDeleteThanks so much for having me! Writing about The Napa Wine Heiresses—the lives & loves of the daughters of Napa's most notorious vintner—is so much fun. Because as we all know, being rich and pretty is no guarantee of happily ever after...it takes finding that *special* one...
ReplyDeletesounds interesting
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