Her Billionaire, Her Wolf(26)

“This is a Château Margaux. The wine in the jet’s reserves was a Saint-Emilion, and while quite good, the Margaux stands head and shoulders over it in quality.

“Unfortunately, it is a demanding wine and while the flight crew is excellent, I would not trust them to observe the strict conditions it requires.”

Yet, you trusted them with me, didn’t you?

He poured a glass for himself, then waited for Sara to take a sip. She did not know much about wine. Other than a few Californians, she had known next to nothing by way of comparison. However, she could not help but notice the rich complexity of the wine and how it changed from one moment to the next. Flavors of dark red berries that slipped into a strangely pleasant hint of licorice.

“Good, yes?” he asked over his glass then took a drink from his own. Sara watched as he held the wine in his mouth just a moment before swallowing.

“It’s predominately Merlot, but there is a certain fraction of Cabernet Franc as well. Very round...as it should be after so many years.”

Sara tasted it again, wondering if she would ever understand the nuances of good wine.

Braze nodded to her then said, “I’ll be just a moment,” before walking out of the room through a door just beside the fireplace.

It did not take him long to return and in his hands he carried a very large silver tray with several dome covered platters upon it.

He set it down just at the end of the table and said, “You’ll have to excuse me, but I am far from being an accomplished cuisinier. Normally, I have people for such things, but I have decided that for now it would be better if the chateau was just for the two of us.”

The wine warmed her belly and while Sara wanted to be angry with him for being so mysterious and treating her like a stranger, she could not help but feel another kind of warmth when he had said the words, just for the two of us.

It felt to her that it was like sharing a secret. One in which they would pretend, for just a little while, that they were a loving couple about to have a romantic, fireside dinner.

“Is this your family’s chateau?” she asked.

Braze chuckled quietly then replied, “No. I acquired the property only two years ago. This is the Château des Morangias, at one time the home of a marquis’ son whose family fell into disgrace before losing all their lands and titles. It was here that the last of them came to live as a recluse, if not as something of a madman.”

Sara’s brows furrowed as she considered what he had just said.

“But, I get the feeling that your family is from here, right?” she asked.

“From France, yes, although that goes back several generations and before that, the family lines are less clear,” he said, then continued, “But, not from Basque country, no. Originally my family was from a region once known as the Gévaudan. Have you heard of it?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Sara replied, “As it is, I barely remember ever hearing of Basque anything.”

Braze smiled and Sara was struck once again at the transformation it engendered in the man before her. It was almost as if she could see the boy that he was come forward for a fleeting moment, before the man of the present hid him away again.

His eyes took a serious turn as he said, “I appreciate that you do not try to hide what you do not know from me. That you do this...it feels like trust to me.”

He came back around to her side of the table and when she felt his hand upon her shoulder and his lips at her ear, Sara did not push him away.

“Is that what it is, Sara? Do you trust me?”

His words tickled her and she replied, “I think so...yes.”

“Then close your eyes, Sara. Close them and trust me.”

Without hesitating, without pausing to consider the implications, Sara closed her eyes.

She heard the soft sounds of metal against metal. Not an ugly, vicious sound, but more melodic and fine.

Then, in a rush, the scent of rich butter and parsley filled her nose and she heard Braze speak.

“Open your mouth for me.”

She did and felt something warm pass between her lips. The rich flavors slipped down upon her tongue and she tasted a gentle hint of garlic, too. And as Braze withdrew the fork from between her lips, Sara found a tender morsel of meat in her mouth. She kept her eyes closed as she chewed it slowly, but its flavor was too delicate, too different for her to distinguish just what it was.

“You can open your eyes now,” she heard him whisper.

She did and discovered that before her was a small platter of what she first took for small stones. Except that they smelled positively divine.

“Des escargots de bourgogne au beurre persillé, he announced, then went on to say, “French snails from Bourgogne with butter, shallots and parsley.