Free A Taste of Sauvignon by Heather Heyford

her nose. “Describe this one to me.”
    Savvy loved a challenge. “A potent musk and . . . camphor?”
    He nodded. “ Lavandula angustifolia . True English lavender.”
    He moved down the row to some light blue flowers. “How about this?”
    â€œUm, more rosemary-ish.” She lit up with sudden recognition. “Like the stuff Celine sprays on our sheets!” Immediately, she wanted to go curl up in a corner of the greenhouse and die. He was a farmer , for the love of God. Not everyone was lucky enough to sleep on perfumed sheets.
    He let it slide. “Lavandula Goodwin Creek Grey. Good container plant.”
    â€œLet me pick one,” she said eagerly. People in the industry said Papa had a phenomenal nose for blending wines. Savvy had always been pretty good at deciphering scents, too.
    Esteban passed her the clippers, warm from his hand. “Go for it.”
    She chose a long spike of deep violet flowers soaring above compact foliage. “Wow!” Her head flew backward. “Soft and sweet, yet at the same time, pungent.”
    Esteban grinned. “That’s Lavandula x intermedia Grosso —lavandin for short. Sounds better than ‘grosso.’ ” He grinned sideways. “Some people think it’s the most fragrant strain. But it’s a mule—a hybrid. It can’t reproduce.” He gave her an appreciative look. “You have a good sense of smell, did you know that?”
    â€œPapa says I inherited that from him.”
    He hid all three cuttings behind his back. “Close your eyes.”
    She did as she was told, excited to play.
    â€œIs this the first, second, or third stem I cut?”
    â€œThird.”
    â€œOkay. How about this one.”
    â€œFirst.”
    â€œMaybe your Papa is right.”
    â€œHa!” she said happily. “Now it’s your turn.”
    â€œIt’s a waste of time. I live with these plants.” He swept one long arm across the rows. “I can pick out every one of these blindfolded.”
    â€œOh really? Let’s see about that.” Brazenly, she tugged on the knot of her scarf-slash-belt.
    His eyes flew open in mild surprise. “You don’t trust me?”
    â€œI’m a lawyer. I don’t trust anybody.” She gave him an impish grin. “Turn around.” Though she was five-seven, taller than the average woman, she still had to reach up high to flip the slippery silk over his eyes and tie it at the back of his head, careful not to get his shoulder-length black hair caught in the knot.
    Then she took him by the upper arms, spinning him until he stood straight and tall as an oak tree before her. But while he might have the edge when it came to size, she could see . It occurred to her that she could scrutinize him hard as she wanted now, starting at the top . . . moving down. Like she’d done with the David in the Academia. She shivered with a secret thrill.
    Beneath the blindfold, his nose was a little too prominent to be considered classic, but his full lower lip more than made up for it. That untamed look, the farmer tan, and his rock-hard body added up to more than the sum of its parts. From the moment she’d met him, there had never been a time when she hadn’t been acutely aware of Esteban’s merest movement, even on that very first day, the day she’d killed Marlena . . .
    Her fingers furled and unfurled at her sides, itching to touch his clean-shaven cheek. Not yet. She’d held out for this long. Now, knowing the drought would soon end, she basked in anticipation. Besides, she’d only inspected the tip of the iceberg. Decadently, she let her eyes languish farther south, to the red plaid cotton shirt that stretched over muscular shoulders. Pearl-covered snaps lined up where stodgy buttons ought to have been. One quick yank, and—
    Soon.
    A glint off his belt buckle caught her eye—but not for long. Much more intriguing was the