Storm of Visions Read Free Page A

attention wandered his direction.
    He breathed in the bouquet, then lifted the glass to his lips—and with a swift, sideways glance, speared her with his gaze.
    The image of him seared into her brain. Dark hair, close cut. Olive skin. Sinful cheekbones. And blue eyes. Pale, brilliant, cold eyes like blue diamonds that held her prisoner in his gaze.
    She couldn’t look away. Not while he sipped, tasted, and approved with a slow, steady nod. Not when his gaze dropped to her leather-clad hands. Not when he lifted his glass in a salute to her. Not until he looked away, back to Michelle.
    Michelle spoke clearly, loud enough for Jacqueline to hear her, loud enough for everyone to hear her. “That’s Jacquie. She’s our resident nun. She doesn’t date; she doesn’t care for guys at all; she only works and hikes and reads.”
    Jacqueline flushed. Thank you, Michelle. That was something everybody here needed to know.
    “Really?” The guy had a great voice, warm and deep, vibrant in a way that made a girl strain to listen to him. Not that Jacqueline wanted to hear him, or even tried, but like Michelle, he pitched his tone loud enough for her to hear. “Is she gay?”
    “I guess.” Michelle glanced at Jacqueline, and something in Jacqueline’s face must have made her change her mind. “No, she’s just not interested in sex.”
    “Maybe she hasn’t met the right man,” he said.
    It sure isn’t you, you conceited bastard. But Jacqueline gave no indication that she heard.
    Yet a glance at his half smile proved he had plucked the thought from her mind.
    Oblivious to the undercurrents, Michelle stepped back to open a new bottle and murmured to Jacqueline, “Look at the quirk in his cheek. Look at that crooked smile. Give him a martini and a license to kill, and he’d be the new James Bond—you know, the rough one.”
    “Give him a sailor hat and a can of spinach, and he’d be Popeye.” Jacqueline returned Michelle’s shocked look with a cool one. “I’m just sayin’.”
    Middle-aged, well-dressed, two married couples stood a little apart, drinking their wine, chatting and laughing. The Fun Four might buy a bottle, no more, but they were good for the tasting room, giving it the warmth and ambiance of a sophisticated party, and Jacqueline was grateful when the gray-haired man caught her eye and changed the subject. “It’s warm in here. Can I turn on the ceiling fans?” he asked.
    She sighed gustily. “I wish you could. You may have noticed that we’re remodeling”—she indicated the old counter pushed off to the side and the half-painted wall—“and the electrician isn’t done with the wiring.”
    She was determinedly not looking at Mr. Aggressive, yet she felt him frown. He exuded disapproval, and the others picked up on his displeasure.
    If she didn’t do something now, everyone would leave—everyone but him—and she’d lose the sale she’d cultivated so diligently. Lifting her voice, she called, “But if you’d like, I can top off your glasses and take you on a quick tour of the winery. It’s cool down in the cellars.” As she expected, the promise of more wine brought an enthusiastic response, and seven of the nineteen tasters followed her through the gift shop and into the working winery.
    Mr. Aggressive stayed behind.
    Yeah, Michelle’s easy. Put the moves on her. Never mind that the idea raised Jacqueline’s anger a notch.
    A quick survey of the group proved that only the lady visiting from Wisconsin was a wine-tour virgin, so Jacqueline gave her the basics about wine making while lauding the awards Blue Oak Winery had won in the past year. The awards impressed her wine-buying couple and made the Fun Four seriously discuss whether to buy a bottle to take to dinner that night. As they talked and laughed and lingered in the cellar—Jacqueline was in no hurry to return to the tasting room—that faint, cold and now-familiar breeze lifted goose bumps on her skin.
    Mr. Aggressive had found