Page 7 of Along Came Amor
“Now take another and tell me what you taste.”
She rubbed her tongue against her palate, analyzing the flavors. “At first it’s almost fruity, but then there’s a bit of smokiness in there, rounding it out.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s different,” she said, then met his eyes. Hadn’t she come to this bar looking for something new and different?
He watched her intently, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “That’s a dark rum. It’s made of a blend of rums that have been aged up to fifteen years.” He held up a stout, sturdy-looking bottle. The black label read “Casa Donato Quince” in fancy gold lettering, with the faint outline of a large house and a number fifteen.
There was something about the way he cradled the bottle, not just like he was at ease behind a bar, but more proprietary.
“Do you own this too?” She gestured toward the logo and was rewarded when his handsome face broke into a wide grin.
“How did you know?”
She just smiled. “Lucky guess.”
“What do you think of it?”
“I think if I’d just gulped it down, it would’ve been too strong, but drinking slowly like this, taking time to smell it and taste it...”
“That’s how you drink a good sipping rum,” he finished for her. “Savoring every drop.”
Her heart thumped at the way he said “savor.” She got the feeling he was a man who knew how to linger over the things he enjoyed.
“What are you doing?” she asked, when he shrugged his broad shoulders out of his suit jacket.
The look in his eye was playful, but hinted at darker pleasures. “Don’t think I forgot about making you a drink.”
“This isn’t the drink?”
“Not even close.” He folded the jacket and handed it to her. As Ava took it, she caught a whiff of his cologne and automatically parted her lips as she inhaled. It wasn’t too strong—woodsy, with a hint of sweetness and spice, like his rum—but there was something erotic about the idea of tasting the scent of him.
The thought made her glance at his mouth. If she kissed him right now, would he also taste like all the flavors she’d teased out of the rum?
Ava quickly set the jacket on the seat beside her. They’d just met; she had no business thinking about tasting Roman’s scentorhis mouth.
Or any other part of him, for that matter.
She turned her attention back in time to see him roll up the cuffs of his sleeves, revealing thick forearms taut with muscle.
The sight made her swallow a whimper. This man was far too appealing.
Oblivious to her inappropriate thoughts, Roman launched into a flurry of movement, tossing bar supplies from one hand to the other, flipping them in the air and rolling them down his arm in a remarkable display of coordination and competency. By the end, there were two glasses sitting between them. Each held a large cube of ice, a couple inches of reddish orange liquid, and a swirl of orange peel.
Ava clapped. “Okay, now I’m impressed.”
Roman executed a little bow. “Mission accomplished.”
“So what is it?”
Roman spread his hands. “This,” he said, “is my version of a rum Negroni, or, as my mother calls it”—he winced—“a ‘Romy Negroni.’”
Her lips quirked. “Cute.”
“Thanks. So are you.”
She tilted her head and gave him an admonishing stare, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you going to flirt or tell me about this drink?”
