Free Flushed by Sally Felt Page A

turned right, he got
hypnotized by wild ringlets and bare neck and the most inviting mouth he’d ever
seen.
    She may have said he was a great kisser but she had a way of
making him forget he’d kissed any other, making him need to invent the idea of
a kiss and offer it to her in hopes of being invited to offer another. In the
parking lot she’d invited considerably more, and for the next couple of hours,
he could even allow himself to think about that. Double date. Sleeping
together. He could indulge in thinking pretty much anything.
    “Would you care to see the wine list?”
    Kim freed himself long enough to track the voice. The man
had to be the sommelier or the owner—his suit was too nice to be their waiter.
    “I’ll take that,” said Bob, waving a hand the size of a
dinner plate.
    Of course. Wouldn’t want the plumber to pick the wine.
    While Bob opened the impressive folio and began to read, Kim
said, “I’m curious.”
    The sommelier was instantly at his shoulder. “Sir?”
    “What do you think of wines coming out of the Walla Walla
Valley?”
    The man smiled. “It’s an interesting region for wines—very
remote, inspiring unusual esprit des corps among the vintners.” He had
the faintest hint of an accent. Maybe Spanish.
    Bob laughed. “Walla Walla.”
    Stacey laughed along and hugged his arm, half out of her
seat.
    Kim ignored them. “So you don’t carry any in your cellar.”
    “Not at all, sir. We have a ninety-four merlot from Woodward
Canyon, very dark, rich and spicy. Or would you prefer a white?”
    “Oh no,” Kim said, looking at Isabelle in her red dress,
“red is definitely my color tonight.”
    She blushed and laughed. Either she was a hell of an actress
or the kiss in the parking lot had shifted her thinking. Kim started to hope.
He wrestled his attention back to the sommelier, who was speaking again.
    “I don’t know how you feel about a syrah, but I have one
bottle I have been saving.” The man had definitely warmed to them if he was
suggesting a lone bottle of something.
    “Syrah,” Kim said. “Blackberries and leather.”
    He was surprised by Isabelle’s hand on his leg under the
table. Hope stirred. If she were merely acting, she would be groping him in
plain sight, right?
    “Very good, sir. This one also has a bit of cinnamon and
gingerbread about it. Full bodied. Very nice. Would you like to taste it?”
    Isabelle’s hand moved fractionally farther up Kim’s thigh. More
than hope was stirring.
    “Yes, please,” he said with difficulty.
    The sommelier went off to get the wine. Bob was still
reading the wine list. At least his lips weren’t moving as he read. Kim gave
him points for that.
    He covered Isabelle’s hand with his.
    “Leather?” said Stacey. “The wine tastes like leather?”
    “Sounds delicious,” Isabelle said, practically purring.
    Kim should have taken her home. If he’d turned around when
she’d asked him to, they might be doing something about this torment even now.
    “Don’t worry, Stace,” Bob said. “We’ll get a nice Sonoma
Semillon.”
    “Vanilla,” said Kim. “Good choice.”
    Under the table, Isabelle’s thumb trapped his. Above the
table, her eyes suggested she was trying not to laugh. He’d tell her about
Austin, he decided. After dinner, maybe on the drive back to her place. If she
invited him in anyway, he was golden. If not, well, he’d have to accept that
they really weren’t dating.
    There was plenty to enjoy in the meantime.
    The sommelier returned with a bottle wrapped in a cloth
napkin, which struck Kim as odd. The bottle remained wrapped as the man pulled
the cork and laid it on the table. Kim picked it up.
    “Cayuse,” Kim said. “I don’t think I’ve tasted a Cayuse.”
    “You’re in for a treat.” He poured a splash from the wrapped
bottle and handed the glass to Kim. “Tell me if you agree.”
    He sniffed and sipped. Normally, he’d have waved off this
part of the show and had it poured—if the