The Second Lie (Immortal Vikings Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

bottles.
    The imposter shook hands with the patrons at the small bar and did one of those arm-grip moves it seemed only men could achieve until somehow they were moving past her toward the exit.
    Despite holding two fewer people, the cave tightened around her the closer she and this man came to being alone. Then her tormentor waved aside the sommelier staffing the space and poured two glasses of ruby-colored cabernet. The idled sommelier’s smile didn’t slip when the wine rose over the one-ounce amount for a tasting pour, but she could identify his disapproval from the way he squinted. She pegged him as the type who didn’t think grapes and women mixed outside of
méthode champenoise
and believed that a wine of this caliber would be wasted on a mere female.
    Although she knew a beautiful label was no more indicative of the contents of the bottle than a beautiful cover or a beautiful haircut indicated the quality of a book or a brain, the bottle in his hand was one of her favorite designs. The subtle shapes of colored leaves curled into each other like two bodies, a celebration of autumn harvest and sensuality in each stroke of the paint the artist had applied to the original.
    She sensed another silent male communication that made her grit her teeth, and then the sommelier left, as professional as every other Bodeby’s employee.
    The departure signaled the end of the need for restraint. Alone with this cheat, she could finally speak her mind.
    “That bottle looks almost authentic.” As she probed with a comment intended to make him wince, she focused on his face.
    “It is.”
    She snorted. Nature hadn’t blessed her with more than sixty-two natural inches, and even with three artificial ones from her heels, she was stuck looking up at almost every man in the world. Her nemesis was probably a fraction below six feet, although his cat-burglar physique made him appear taller.
    “Here. For you.” Wrapped around the stem of the crystal glass, his fingers didn’t look like her banker or venture capitalist clients’ hands. He had the strongly developed knuckles of a field worker. As he offered the wine, the play of light on the edges of the ruby liquid captivated her, the subtle glow from the wall sconces deepening the original red almost to purple-black at the meniscus. It was magic, liquid magic, and she reached for the offering.
    She was too tired and on edge to enjoy this properly, too preoccupied with the challenge of this man pretending to be her boss and scared to death of six or twenty or fifty worst-case scenarios, but she was unable to resist the lure. She’d tasted this vintage twice and remembered its tantalizing aroma of plums, earthiness and licorice, a blend that defied description with concrete terms.
    Before she brought the glass to her nose, she caught something else. Cinnamon? Musk? Not this wine—him. He stood close enough, and she was so tuned to him, that his scent intruded. Her nose twitched.
    His eyes dropped a fraction. Not low enough to be staring at her breasts, which weren’t particularly revealed by her conservatively cut dress. Elaine was right.
    “Have you caught a scent?” He’d seen the twitch.
    She felt like a small animal trapped in a predator’s lair. She raised the glass and swirled too quickly.
    The corner of his mouth quirked when he reconnected with her eyes. He recognized her fluster and didn’t bother to conceal that he thought he had the upper hand.
    His hubris had the opposite effect and concentrated her on one goal—winning. If he thought he could toy with her, she’d play his game. Staring back, she lowered the glass until the rounded bowl hovered a few inches in front of her well-covered chest. To look at the wine would require him to gaze ten inches below her face. A slow exhale curved her body into a deliberate softness that she knew signaled surrender.
    His nostrils flared very slightly, but it was enough to prod her further.
    “Delicious,” she said without