A Taste of Sauvignon by Heather Heyford Read Free Book Online

rocks—and then, hold your breath long enough to pry it loose and bring it to the top.”
    â€œHold your breath? You don’t use an air tank?”
    He shook his head. “There’re strict rules. It’s against the law to use scuba to hunt for abalone.”
    She lowered her nose to her plate to take a cautious sniff. If it smelled like fish, it wasn’t fresh. All she could smell though was clean, fresh ocean.
    She watched Esteban unroll the cloth napkin, fold it neatly in half across his lap, pick up his knife and fork, and slice one, precise stroke across the raw flesh of his sashimi. It was the simplest of gestures, so why had her lungs stopped working? What was that mysterious sensation inside her? An urgent impatience . . . but for what?
    Some women raved about six-packs; others, butts. Savvy had a thing for hands. Bad ones were a deal-breaker. But it wasn’t only their shape. Poor grooming was a turnoff too. In her book, not even Joe Manganiello could get away with more than a sliver of white on the tips of his nails.
    Worst of all was clumsiness. Watching Esteban, though, there was no ham-handed fisting of his fork, no inept sawing back and forth with his knife. He had the most masculine hands she’d ever seen, yet he used them with the elegance of a dancer. To hell with her prep-school manners. She cocked her head and stared at the ballet on the bar.
    With his left hand, he inverted his fork, resting his index finger along its spine as he made another incision. Laying his knife along the plate’s edge with a muted clatter, he smoothly transferred the forkful of creamy flesh to his right hand and slid it between white teeth.
    â€œMm.” He closed his eyes, relishing it.
    Savvy swallowed along with him, though her mouth was empty. When he opened his eyes and shot her a look of pure pleasure, her heart leapt into her throat.
    She gulped again and shifted her gaze to her wineglass to collect herself, though in her mind’s eye she still saw him . Clearly, Esteban Morales had missed his calling. He should’ve been a hand model . . . for Tractor Supply Company. Because though he used them with the finesse of a brain surgeon, his hands were super-sized, good for hefting axes or reining draft horses.
    He lifted his fork in the next bite, snagging her attention again in spite of herself.
    What would it feel like to be touched by hands like that? The whole side of her head would fit in his palm. His fingers could span her waist from rib to hip. The deep ache grew more compelling . . . demanding satisfaction.
    â€œI’ll take you there sometime,” he was offering.
    â€œSorry, where?”
    â€œSalt Point.”
    Now, balanced on his thumb and middle finger, he held out his fork to her mouth. “Here. Taste.”
    Savvy tensed. She wasn’t the one who’d ordered raw mollusks. She didn’t make snap decisions, especially where vomiting and diarrhea might be involved. She weighed pros and cons, considered costs and benefits. Besides, her appetite for food had dissolved, replaced by a different kind of craving.
    In the end, it was the hand that convinced her. How could there be anything bad at the end of those fingers? She remained fixated on it, acutely aware of his eyes intent on her mouth, watching as she closed her lips around the tines while he slowly drew them out. The seafood tasted both sweet and salty, with a scallop-like texture. “Mmmm!”
    â€œI wouldn’t lie to you.” He took another bite, his gaze still on her mouth. Simultaneously, they savored each other’s pleasure . . . the raw flesh melting like lemon butter on their tongues. He lifted his eyes—crinkled at the corners from a life spent outside—to hers in a triumphant grin. The total effect was like sunshine pouring down on her.
    Savvy was having way too much fun. Being with Esteban whirled her away into another world, a world without conference tables and