into the crook of his elbow. He was steady and sure. Her thumb brushed his biceps and found it defined and hard as iron.
“Do you prefer Old World wines or New World wines?” he asked as they came toward the front of the mansion.
“New World,” she answered, though it was just a stab in the dark. She knew nothing about wines but the color and the price.
“So, not a snob?”
“Not a snob,” she agreed easily.
“People seem all excited about malbecs. But give me a solid cabernet sauvignon any day of the week. What about you? Cab sauv? Or maybe pinot noir?
“Cabernet sauvignon,” she told him, to be agreeable.
“You’re lying.”
How could he tell? “I’m not.”
“Then you’re being polite.”
“That would be a change of pace.”
He gave a low chuckle. It was a very appealing sound.
She caught herself glancing at his profile.
He was an astonishingly handsome man. She’d already known that from his many pictures in the media. But the pictures hadn’t done him justice. Some tabloids called him Chicago’s most eligible bachelor, and she wasn’t about to argue the point.
What woman wouldn’t fantasize about being held in his strong arms and kissing those full lips? Add to that his wealth and his standing in the business community, and she could understand why the elite ladies of Chicago were taking turns as his date.
They passed another closed door, and she remembered why she was here. She needed to stay focused.
“What’s in there?” she asked of the closed door.
He gave her a puzzled look. “In where?”
She backed off, realizing she could easily arouse his suspicions again. “Besides the wine cellar, what do people keep in a great big basement like this?”
He gave a glance around the hallway. “Good question. The only place I ever go is the wine cellar, being a playboy bachelor.”
“Now who’s lying?”
His father might have been dishonorable, but a man didn’t run a billion-dollar company by being nothing but a playboy. She didn’t buy for a minute that he’d never looked through his own basement.
“Some antique furniture,” he said. “Boxes of things from my parents, probably some art and some silverware. There are no bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It wasn’t. But now that you mention it...” She made a show of gazing worriedly over her shoulder.
“We are all alone down here.” He finished her thought in a theatrical voice.
“Are you trustworthy, Mr. Colborn?”
“Not even a little bit. Here we are.”
He stopped in front of a wide oak door with a thick, twisted wrought-iron handle and long black hinges, strapping the aged planks together. Stonework bracketed the door on both sides, giving the entry an unfortunate dungeon look.
He extracted a long key and inserted it into a deadbolt lock.
For a horrible second, she wondered if he somehow knew who she was and if she ought to be afraid of him.
“An estate this size has a lot of staff,” he said as he turned the key. “Some of them are transient. And my father collected some ridiculously valuable wines.”
The door swung open with a groan.
Darci peered inside the dark room. “So, this isn’t the place where you lock up the innocent young women caught trespassing.”
Shane pointed with his thumb. “That room is farther down the hall.”
“Good to know.”
He flicked a light switch, and a massive room came into view. Stone walls stretched back farther than she could see. A huge rectangular wooden table sat in the center of the room, with at least twenty chairs surrounding it. The ceiling was beamed with heavy timbers, supported by thick pillars. Gleaming cedar racks and shelves stretched along each wall, with more rows protruding behind the table.
The room was cold, the scent of cedar hanging in the still air. Most bottles were on their sides in the racks. But some were out on display, while numerous stemmed glasses of varying shapes and sizes hung inverted above the table.
“This is incredible,” she whispered, taking a step into the room and turning around to take it all in.
“Incredible charming or incredible intimidating?” he asked.
“Awe inspiring.”
Everyone who visited the cellar must have the same reaction.
She moved inside, gazing in amazement. “It makes me want to learn more about wine.”
“What would you like to learn?”
She turned to face him. “What’s good?”
He drew back in obvious surprise. “Seriously?”
“For starters.”
“I was expecting a much more specific question.”
“Okay. What tastes good?”
“In a New World cabernet sauvignon?”
“You were right,” she said. “I was playing along back there. I don’t know anything about wine.”
She realized she’d have to continue sleuthing as soon as possible. But, for now, it seemed best to see this particular charade through to the end.
There was a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Okay.” He pulled out one of the chairs. “Then have a seat.”
She did as he asked, and he leaned down as he pushed in the chair.
“We’ll stick with New World,” he said, his voice close to her ear.
She found herself inhaling his fresh scent.
“No point in making you a snob if you’re not one already. Pinot noir to start. Then a merlot, cabernet sauvignon and shiraz.”
“Four bottles of wine?” Was he joking? “I’ll get blasted.”
He rose. “We’re not going to polish off the bottles.”
Of course they weren’t. She’d sounded ridiculously unsophisticated. She tried to backtrack. “I only meant tastings usually work better with more people.”
“They
