Intoxicating Read Free Page A

Instead, Bella Notte’s riesling delighted him—light, fresh and bright as a summer day.
    One sip had him thinking of swimming pools and fireworks and homemade ice cream. The wine was a carousel ride, the taste intensifying as it rolled overhis tongue and then ending humbly but sweetly on a gentle note.
    He used the twenty-point Davis wine-ranking scale he’d been introduced to as a child. The riesling was a solid sixteen. No defects.
    â€œNow for the cabernet,” Maurice directed.
    Wyatt closed his eyes and let his nose do the assessment first, identifying the individual notes—peppery, oaken without the obligatory smokiness and, just underneath, he caught a whiff of cherry, muted, but it was there.
    He lifted the glass to his lips. The liquid slid smoothly over his tongue, then rushed up to greet his palate. It was a simple cab, yet noble and pristine. Purer than anything DeSalme produced. More intimate too.
    The interns around him scribbled madly on their index cards, but Wyatt took his time, allowing the wine to resonate on the back of his tongue before finishing his assessment.
    It was hauntingly delicate. A quality he’d never associated with a cab, but he couldn’t decide whether it was indeed a quality that he wanted in a heavy red wine.
    Everyone was making appreciative noises and Maurice had to remind them not to compare notes. Was he testing their abilities to describe wine? Or was he looking for a particular discernment of the taste buds?
    Wyatt slid another glance over at Kiara. She was still staring at him. He held her gaze this time, refusing to look away. If she knew who he was, then she was going to have to call him out. Right here in front of everyone.
    â€œAnd now,” Maurice said, “for the wine that’s going to take first place at the annual Sonoma Wine Festival next month…” He trailed off, paused dramatically.
    Okay, nothing humble about that boast.
    â€œI give you Bella Notte’s premium dessert wine.” He raised his hand like a stop sign. “But hold up a second. You must eat it with the chocolate lava cake baked by my Grandmother Romano to truly appreciate the joy that is Decadent Midnight.”
    The back door opened again and a wizened woman appeared carrying a tray of twenty-four teacup-size lava cakes, fresh from the oven, still steaming-hot. The smell of fine chocolate mingled with the aroma of wine.
    This then, was the wine DeSalme had been hearing rumors about, the wine that was allegedly going to de-throne them as the reigning kings of Sonoma’s Best of the Best Award. The wine that had caused his brothers to call him up in Greece and beg him to go undercover as an intern at Bella Notte.
    Wyatt couldn’t wait to drink it. He might not officially be in the family wine business, but he was an expert on luxury. Good food, good wine, good times were the tenets he lived by.
    Grandma Romano settled a lava cake in front of him and a current of excitement ran around the table. Everyone was waiting for a cue from Maurice to begin.
    But it was Kiara who picked up a narrow glass of the dark-purple dessert wine and raised it in the air. “Salut.”
    The group raised their glasses and echoed, “Salut.”
    The interns exchanged glances and grins, and then inhaled the intoxicating bouquet. It smelled like plums ripening in the sun. Wyatt thought immediately of Portugal and their port wines. But this was not a fortified wine.
    Wyatt closed his eyes again. He heard forks clinking against china, the accompanying moans of pleasure, buthe blocked all that out to focus exclusively on his own experience.
    A late-harvest muscat. But this was more than a simple muscat. This wine was richer, truer. Not a false note anywhere.
    First he tasted the concentrated melancholy sweetness, immediately followed by a kick of tingling warmth so surprising, his breath came out in a sharp, quick exhalation. Then the supreme flavor of pecan tiptoed