Read Online Taking his Risk (Year of the Billionaire Part 2) by K.C. Falls - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K.C. Falls
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Tristan's entire lecture on the fascinating history of the Basilica went in one ear and right out the other. It might be easy enough for him to switch gears and describe a church right after he'd given me the circumstances of his fiancé's death, but I was still somewhere out there in the snow looking for answers.
***
True to his word, Tristan instructed Kwan to take a more leisurely route on the way back to the coast. The countryside was a mellow tapestry of vineyards, villages and farms all gilded with the late afternoon sun. Everything seemed ripe. September's early song was rich and sweet in the peaks and valleys of the gentle rolling countryside.
We stopped in a village so that I could sample a wine that Tristan told me was one of his special favorites. "Th e Languedoc region produces a ton of outstanding wines. We'd have to stay a month just to begin to try them all. But I wanted you to taste a Blanquette de Limoux ."
I had gotten over the thousand things I'd never heard of, tasted or done and simply said, "Tell me."
"The locals claim that their sparkling wine predates champagne. That's impossible to prove, but interesting anyway." He led me to a cool case and picked out a bottle . "You'll find it slightly sweet and a little cloudy. That's because the wine is left with the lee s after the second fermentation-- Methode Ancestrale."
We paid for the wine and Tristan uncorked it in the car where, naturally, there were a couple of cut crystal flutes sparking in the little bar. It was different and delicious and I happily sipped on my glass as the miles rolled by.
The stop and start of the car when we reached Agde traffic woke me up. I'd fallen asleep with the lull of sparkling wine and a luxury ride. Drool was dribbling out of the side of my mouth and I quickly wiped it away, horrified. I did a quick check of the white leather for more.
Fortunately, Tristan himself was asleep as well only he wasn't drooling. Of course he wasn't drooling. He was lying back against the seat, mouth closed, breathing slowly and silently through his perfect patrician nose. I watched the rise and fall of his chest and resisted the urge to put my hand on it so that I could feel the gentle motion of his muscles. He had on a moss-green silk shirt that flowed over his skin in a way that seemed uncommonly sensual for just a shirt. I had noticed during the day how the color picked up one of the many shades I saw in his forest eyes and, along with the khaki pants he'd chosen for our outing, just seemed to blend him into the landscape as if he had joined a painting.
By some happy coincidence, I had chosen a terra-cotta colored sundress from the assortment in 'my' closet and a pair of sensibly flat, but very pretty sandals that laced at the ankles. The wide straw hat I found on the top shelf of the closet was a perfect accent, its big scarf in shades of the same tawny clay, ochre and olive. We looked like we had purposely coordinated our outfits.
It took me a while to get used to how people turned their heads when Tristan and I walked past. At first, I just figured it was because of his devastating good looks. But, after a while, I noticed that it wasn't just women who were looking at us. Men, women, old, young, singly or together, it seemed that something about us was worthy of a second glance. I understood a little bit more about that reaction as I pondered the lovely picture of us gliding through town in that cloud of a car.
Tristan didn't wake until we pulled up to the dock where King's Risk gently swayed in her berth. Kwan handed the many packages we had accumulated during the day to the steward, Carlos. There was the gift basket for my mother all wrapped in yellow cellophane and adorned with a huge silk bow. I had made a futile effort to rein Tristan in on the shopping, but there was no reasoning with the man. The very truthful argument that Marjorie would be embarrassed by such extravagance met with a snort and "she'll just have to
***
True to his word, Tristan instructed Kwan to take a more leisurely route on the way back to the coast. The countryside was a mellow tapestry of vineyards, villages and farms all gilded with the late afternoon sun. Everything seemed ripe. September's early song was rich and sweet in the peaks and valleys of the gentle rolling countryside.
We stopped in a village so that I could sample a wine that Tristan told me was one of his special favorites. "Th e Languedoc region produces a ton of outstanding wines. We'd have to stay a month just to begin to try them all. But I wanted you to taste a Blanquette de Limoux ."
I had gotten over the thousand things I'd never heard of, tasted or done and simply said, "Tell me."
"The locals claim that their sparkling wine predates champagne. That's impossible to prove, but interesting anyway." He led me to a cool case and picked out a bottle . "You'll find it slightly sweet and a little cloudy. That's because the wine is left with the lee s after the second fermentation-- Methode Ancestrale."
We paid for the wine and Tristan uncorked it in the car where, naturally, there were a couple of cut crystal flutes sparking in the little bar. It was different and delicious and I happily sipped on my glass as the miles rolled by.
The stop and start of the car when we reached Agde traffic woke me up. I'd fallen asleep with the lull of sparkling wine and a luxury ride. Drool was dribbling out of the side of my mouth and I quickly wiped it away, horrified. I did a quick check of the white leather for more.
Fortunately, Tristan himself was asleep as well only he wasn't drooling. Of course he wasn't drooling. He was lying back against the seat, mouth closed, breathing slowly and silently through his perfect patrician nose. I watched the rise and fall of his chest and resisted the urge to put my hand on it so that I could feel the gentle motion of his muscles. He had on a moss-green silk shirt that flowed over his skin in a way that seemed uncommonly sensual for just a shirt. I had noticed during the day how the color picked up one of the many shades I saw in his forest eyes and, along with the khaki pants he'd chosen for our outing, just seemed to blend him into the landscape as if he had joined a painting.
By some happy coincidence, I had chosen a terra-cotta colored sundress from the assortment in 'my' closet and a pair of sensibly flat, but very pretty sandals that laced at the ankles. The wide straw hat I found on the top shelf of the closet was a perfect accent, its big scarf in shades of the same tawny clay, ochre and olive. We looked like we had purposely coordinated our outfits.
It took me a while to get used to how people turned their heads when Tristan and I walked past. At first, I just figured it was because of his devastating good looks. But, after a while, I noticed that it wasn't just women who were looking at us. Men, women, old, young, singly or together, it seemed that something about us was worthy of a second glance. I understood a little bit more about that reaction as I pondered the lovely picture of us gliding through town in that cloud of a car.
Tristan didn't wake until we pulled up to the dock where King's Risk gently swayed in her berth. Kwan handed the many packages we had accumulated during the day to the steward, Carlos. There was the gift basket for my mother all wrapped in yellow cellophane and adorned with a huge silk bow. I had made a futile effort to rein Tristan in on the shopping, but there was no reasoning with the man. The very truthful argument that Marjorie would be embarrassed by such extravagance met with a snort and "she'll just have to
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