Our Little Secret Rachael Stewart (best novels to read in english .TXT) 📖

Dante who says it, his frown mirroring Rafael’s. ‘Here, take my jacket.’

‘No, no, it’s fine.’ I wave a hand at him. It feels far too intimate when I know Dani has been determined to set us up together, and I have the man I do want standing right behind me.

‘I insist.’ He’s already shrugging it off and wrapping it around my shoulders, his clean, masculine scent taking over Rafael’s. It’s pleasant, stronger than Raf’s, but it does absolutely nothing for me.

I give him a smile and feel his residual warmth take the edge off the chill. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’

His attention goes back to Diego, who is describing the Chianti we are about to sample, and I sense Rafael’s eyes on me. I want to turn and look at him. I want to tell him with my eyes that he’s the one I want. But when I risk a look his attention is firmly on Diego.

Maybe he doesn’t care either way. Maybe all this is very one-sided. And maybe, just maybe, the lust really is getting in the way and blinding me to what this really is between us. Just great sex.

I shiver in spite of Dante’s jacket and throw my focus into the wine, into the tour, into the history of the castle. And I succeed, to a point. I sip the wine. I laugh over my silly attempt at swilling, tasting and spitting, and Dante is the perfect companion. He laughs with me. He’s easy. Fun.

Rafael isn’t. He’s aloof. He’s more detached than I’ve seen him before and I’m getting a glimpse of what his family are used to. I know because Dante doesn’t bat an eyelid at his behaviour. His quietness, his apathy, his lack of involvement...

Don’t get me wrong. He tastes the wine along with the rest of us. But he’s robotic with it. There’s no curve to his lips, no spark in his eyes, and the habitual grim line has made a return. He watches Diego as he talks about the next wine we are to sample and his eyes flit in my direction—a second’s pause, and my heart flutters as I hope for something, a small smile, anything.

Nothing.

He takes up his wine glass that looks far too big for the small amount of wine we are sampling and swirls it in his hand, his eyes falling to the drink, intense, pensive, and then he raises it to his lips. Those lips that I can scarce believe have laughed, let alone been buried between my legs. I tense as my clit pulses over the vivid recollection and his eyes flick to mine. They lock on and, hell, I know he reads me now.

Colour streaks my cheeks and I go to look away, but then I see that hint of something more in his eyes at last, a twitch to his lips before he draws a little air in over the wine and begins to taste it like an expert. I normally want to giggle at this—I wanted to when I watched Diego instruct us on how to do it properly; I’ve wanted to at every other wine demonstration I’ve attended—but with Rafael, as I watch him move the drink around his mouth, I am captivated. I wish I could be part of that tasting, my tongue twisting with his, enjoying the depth of body, the hit of grapes.

And then his throat bobs, and I’m so wrapped up in the move it takes me a second to realise he hasn’t spit. Or, to use Diego’s polite term, expectorated. And, as my eyes lift once more to his, I understand why. I’m not the only one who feels as if their throat has closed over with the rush of heat inside.

‘Are you not tasting this one?’ He raises a brow at me and I see the laughter rising in the heat of his gaze, the twitch to his lips.

‘I was enjoying you tasting it.’

It’s out before I can stop it and it’s quickly followed by a sharp cough from Dante as his own wine catches the back of his throat.

Really, Faye? Really?

Thank God no one else seems to have overheard. I focus on taking up the wine. I throw it back and get far too big a sampling; I swirl it with far too much gusto and attempt a spit. Bollocks.

You’d think with the force of my response I’d have nailed getting it in the dump bucket. Instead, I end up with an unattractive river running off my chin. I hurry to grab a napkin, but Rafael beats me to it, and as our eyes lock together once more, his finger and thumb are on my chin, angling my head back as he dabs away the mess I’ve made. Oh, God.

‘Nice?’ he murmurs, his eyes falling to my lips.

Oh, yes. Too nice.

And I don’t mean the wine. I actually can’t speak. My throat is wedged shut again and the whole room is falling away. It’s just me and him and this connection that is determined to exist against all the odds. And the truth is, I have no idea about the wine, because everything tastes and feels good with him this close.

His eyes flick away and he releases me so quickly, I almost slip from my stool, but as I follow his eye line I realise why. Dani’s watching us, the speculation in her gaze enough to tell me exactly what she’s thinking.

I give her a big grin, gesture to the glass in my hand and throw a thumbs up. She’s slow to return my smile, but when she does it seems genuine enough.

Diego calls for our attention and we all look to him as he starts to go through the next wine. I fixate on him. I don’t let my eyes stray. I don’t look at Dante unless he speaks to me and I don’t look at Rafael even when he does speak.

It doesn’t stop us accidentally brushing against one another, be it our fingers reaching for our