Page 5 of About that Fling
“It’s fantastic. I did a girls’ getaway there with a friend, so I got to try all their best wines.” She took a sip, and he studied her lips on the rim of the glass. “This one’s a little spicy with hints of strawberry and cherry, medium tannins. Very drinkable.”
“In that case, why don’t you order another?” He nodded at her glass, which had only a tablespoon of liquid left in the bottom. Hardly enough to keep her here as long as he hoped to talk to her. “My treat. I’ve been flying all day and I’m wiped. Besides, we might as well drown our sorrows since we’ve both been stood up for the evening.”
She seemed to hesitate a moment, one finger sliding over the pocket on her phone case. Then she smiled. “Sure, why not?”
He ordered for both of them—two glasses of the Pinot she suggested and a cheese plate that sounded like the right thing to go with wine, though what the hell did he know? He’d always been more of a cocktail fan, or at least he was when he’d been married. They’d even bought a liquor cabinet and took turns trying out new recipes. That was back before things had gone to hell, before she’d decided she was done with him and moved on with?—
“So you’re not from around here?”
Her voice jolted him off the dark path he’d been headed down. He met her eyes, trying not to let his gaze stray to her breasts. “What makes you think I’m not a Portlander?”
“You said you’d just flown into town.”
“Actually, I said I’d been flying all day. Maybe I’m a pilot.” Adam grinned. “Or a pterodactyl.”
“Excellent point.” Jenna’s mouth twitched. “It’s also possible you live here and you’re returning home after traveling someplace else, but that’s clearly not the case.”
Adam tugged at the knot in his tie to loosen it. “Oh? What gives me away as nonnative to Portland?”
She grinned and took a sip of wine. “Your tie is too straight, your shirt is too pressed, and you don’t appear to have any piercings or tattoos.”
“Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.”
He couldn’t believe how blatantly suggestive his words came out, and he almost apologized. But instead of tossing her drink at him, she grinned wider.
“Maybe I’m not,” she said, her eyes darting to the bare ring finger on his left hand. “I’ll have to do a more thorough examination.”
He let his own gaze stray to her ring finger, visibly bare on the stem of her wineglass. He brought his eyes back up to meet hers, and she gave him a knowing smile.
“Now that we’ve gotten the obligatory ring check out of the way and reassured ourselves we’re not sharing drinks with a serial philanderer, tell me about yourself,” she said.
Adam leaned back in his chair, not bothering to hide his intrigue. “How do you know I’m not a serial philanderer?”
“No tan line where your ring would be, but there’s a tan line on your wrist. I saw it when you checked your watch a second ago.”
The waitress returned and set down two glasses of wine, along with a platter heaped with at least a dozen mounds of fancy crackers, crumbly cheeses, and cured meats. He plucked an olive and a handful of crackers, arranging them neatly on the small plate in front of him.
“You’re very observant,” he said.
“I try.”
“Are you a private detective? Clinical psychologist? International terrorist specializing in wine-bar espionage?”
She laughed, a sound so sweet and musical he wanted to break out a book of knock-knock jokes just to hear her laugh again. “International terrorist. I like that. Much more exciting than my real profession.” She took a sip of wine and set her glass down. “I think I’m going to claim that as my job for the rest of the evening. Thank you for the idea.”
“Glad to aid with a positive career change.”
“I’m an international terrorist and espionage expert who invented a patented wiretap that doubles as a wineglass.”
“A winetap?”
“I see you’ve heard of it.” She leaned forward in her seat, and Adam caught sight of a flash of black lace down the front of her dress. “So how about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your fantasy job for the evening?”
“Hmmm. How about a chef?”
