hand and examined the old faded label. ‘1945?’ she said.
‘It was produced at the end of World War II—I sourced a handful of bottles through Christie’s.’
‘You bought wine at an auction?’
‘Why not?’
‘Wasn’t it a little expensive?’
He angled a speculative look her way that set all the hormones in her body aquiver. ‘Just a little.’
‘This feels so wasteful,’ Lulu half whispered as she watched him expertly decant the blood-dark wine into goblets. ‘I’m sure Mrs Bailey’s stew isn’t up to the standards of a forty-five burgundy.’
‘Good wine improves everything,’ he told her, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the wine.
She found herself checking to see that none of her buttons had come undone.
Non, all accounted for. To settle her nerves Lulu concentrated on sipping her wine. It slid down like heaven, and she gave a soft sigh of approval and looked over at him—only to discover he hadn’t touched his. He was watching her, and she was instantly back in the car with him, his hand at the back of her head, his mouth making all kinds of magic with hers, leaving her breathless and flustered all over again.
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