me open a bottle for you,” she blurted. “Please.”
Zander glanced at his watch, which was pretty much the universal sign that time was up. The interview was over. “I don’t think—”
Ryan cut him off. “Let her do it.”
Evangeline felt like kissing him all of a sudden. Not that the thought hadn’t already crossed her mind. This time, though, she had to physically stop herself from popping out of her chair and kissing him smack on the lips.
“Excellent. Why don’t you point me in the direction of your wine cooler, and I’ll select a bottle?” She stood before Zander could argue.
His gaze swiveled back and forth between her and Ryan again, just like when they’d given opposite answers to his question about whether they knew one another.
He knows. It was probably written all over her face. News flash: I slept with your cousin.
Was there a woman in Manhattan whom Ryan Wilde hadn’t slept with? That was the real question.
“Very well.” Zander waved a hand, and the hotel’s general manager appeared out of nowhere. “Show Miss Holly to the wine cooler, please. And bring her a corkscrew.”
She smiled. “Oh, I won’t need a corkscrew.”
* * *
Ryan watched as Evangeline studied the wines lined up on their sides in the cooler on the far side of the restaurant. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t quite help it.
After weeks of resisting the temptation to see her again, she’d fallen right into his lap. Metaphorically speaking, obviously. She clearly had no actual interest in his lap—or any of his other body parts. She didn’t even want to admit they knew each other.
Maybe because they didn’t. They’d shared one night together. What did he really know about her? Nothing. He’d learned more about her in the last half hour than he’d known when he took her to bed, a realization that didn’t sit well for some reason. Especially the part about the pinot grigio.
“What’s going on?” Zander muttered under his breath, dragging Ryan’s attention away from the lush curve of Evangeline’s hips as she bent to retrieve a bottle of red. “And don’t evade the question, because something is most definitely going on here. It’s written all over your face.”
Ryan loved Zander like a brother, but he wasn’t about to tell him the truth.
For starters, he didn’t kiss and tell. What had happened between him and Evangeline was personal. She’d made it more than clear that she didn’t want Zander to know they’d spent the night together, and Ryan wasn’t about to out her as a liar in the middle of a job interview.
Because as uncomfortable as working together might be, she was perfect for the job.
“She’s the one,” he said. “Come on, can’t you see it?”
Zander’s eyes narrowed. “No, actually. I can’t. We have at least half a dozen more qualified applicants. I’m not sure Carlo Bocci is going to be impressed by a self-proclaimed wine expert with romantic notions about tasting history in a glass of Burgundy.”
“She knows her stuff. Admit it.” She was smart. Ryan loved that about her. He could have sat there and listened to her talk about wine all night.
And then he would have gone home alone, obviously. Because he sure as hell couldn’t go to bed with her again if she was going to work at the Bennington.
His chest grew tight at the thought. “She’s a storyteller. Customers will eat that up, Bocci included.”
Zander lifted a brow. “Again, why do I get the feeling there’s more going on here than a simple job interview?”
Ryan didn’t bother responding, but he couldn’t manage to tear his gaze from Evangeline, even as Zander glared at him.
“I knew it,” Zander muttered. “You’re attracted to her.”
“Enough,” Ryan said through gritted teeth.
She was walking back toward them, cradling a bottle of Bordeaux in her hands as gently as if it were a baby.
“Just wait,” he said. “Wait and see what she does with this bottle.”
In actuality, Ryan wasn’t sure what was about to happen. He just knew that if she didn’t need a corkscrew, something interesting was sure to go down, possibly involving a butcher knife. Or maybe a hammer. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d opened the bottle with a karate chop to its slender glass neck. Anything was possible.
“Gentlemen.” She smiled and set the Bordeaux on the table. Then she swiveled her gaze back toward Elliot. “I’ll need three glasses, a decanter and a small ice bucket filled with cold water.”
“Of course.” He gave her a little bow and disappeared to do her bidding.
She didn’t even work there yet, and the staff was already treating her like she ran the place. Ryan couldn’t help but smile. Even Zander was beginning to look intrigued.
Evangeline started removing items from her tote bag, one by one. First up was an old-fashioned shaving brush—the kind barbers used in the sort of establishments that had a striped pole as part of the decor. The next thing out of her bag was a small copper pot of red wax.
Just as Ryan was feeling a stab of disappointment that nothing resembling a weapon had made an appearance, she pulled out a long metal contraption with wooden handles and two arms that formed a ring where they touched.
He had no idea what he was looking at. The apparatus had sort of a medieval torture device vibe, which he supposed he shouldn’t rule out as a possibility.
Beside him, Zander tilted his head. “Um...”
“Port tongs,” Evangeline said. “They were invented in the eighteenth century, but these are a tad newer.”
“Naturally.” Ryan bit back a grin.
But it was the last item she plunked down on the table that was clearly her trump card.
It wasn’t a butcher knife.
It was worse.
“Is that what I think it is?” Zander asked.
“An upright blowtorch?” She nodded. “Yes.”
A look of intense alarm crossed Zander’s face but before he could object, she fired it up. It made a whooshing sound, and a steady blue flame, tipped in orange, shot six or so inches into the air.
Here we go.
Elliot returned, carrying the requested items, and stopped a safe three feet away from the table. Evangeline thanked him, smiling brightly.
She’s enjoying this, Ryan thought.
So was he—probably more than he should have been.
Once the items were arranged to her satisfaction, she presented the bottle of wine and described it, identifying the vintage, the vineyard and the specific area of France where it came from—the Médoc region on the Left Bank. She told them to expect a deep red liquid, with fruit scents and notes of cassis, black cherry and licorice.
Ryan had always been partial to white wine, but he had a feeling that was about to change.
Finished with her brief monologue, Evangeline set the bottle back down, picked up the port tongs and held them over the open flame until the ring burned bright red. Ryan was suddenly consciously aware of his own heartbeat and a heady combination of awe and dread pumping through his veins, as if he were on the verge of being branded.
What was happening to him? Did Zander feel it, too—this strange, sublime effect she had?
He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t willing to take