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“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Sweetheart,” he replied, “there’s no way I am going to experience Sonoma for the first time with the woman I love without tasting a little wine.”
“Ooh, such an animal,” she purred. “Such stamina. We should donate your body to science.”
“You are welcome to experiment, Nurse Rogan,” he said, “but that is as far as it goes.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” she said wickedly.
“Hmm. Perhaps there are some dirty little secrets you forgot to mention to your husband,” he suggested, his loins stirring at the mere thought of it.
“I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to,” she replied, batting her eyes innocently.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, where is that wine?” he joked.
After some off-the-hook lovemaking with his new wife, Brodie felt much better. In spite of his chicken pox, the two of them toured the winery, along with two other couples. While they opted out of the private tour, they still felt as if they were the only two people on the planet. The nursery at the winery was top notch, so they had no qualms about little Thomas while they went out to enjoy some adult time. Brodie loved his son to his very core, and Julie did as well, but there was something wondrously magically about ambling along hand in hand, without having to push the baby stroller. It felt human and magical, all at the same time, and nothing could wipe the smiles off their lovestruck faces.
The tour guide appeared in front of their small group and did a double-take when he caught a glimpse of Brodie.
“Relax,” Brodie quipped. “I’m not contagious.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the guide nervously said. “It’s just that if there is a problem—”
“There is no problem,” Brodie insisted. “In fact, I’m traveling with my personal nurse,” he continued, gathering her tightly against him. “She can vouch for my well-being. Besides, she’s already pretty much sucked all the germs off me.”
Julie gasped at that, giving his arm a playful sock to admonish him.
“Hey! Don’t make me file a malpractice suit, missy,” he said to her, then turned his attention back to the tour guide. “Trust me. It’s fine, buddy. I know the owner quite well, and I’m sure he has no problem with it.” Brodie didn’t refer to his wealth often, but this time, he simply had to, mostly for Julie’s amusement.
She pinched him mildly, bringing forth a smile.
“Oh! I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogan,” the guide stuttered when he recognized Brodie beneath a hot and the layer of concealer he’d painted over the lesions. “I didn’t recognize... I mean, I—”
“It’s okay,” Brodie assured him. “Just pretend like I’m a normal visitor.”
The tour guide nodded and took them to the first tasting of the crop, a chardonnay in a gorgeous pink hue.
Not an ounce of alcohol had to pass Brodie’s lips to make him feel drunk; when he fixated on the sight of his nubile wife’s lips on the mouth of the glass, he was instantly intoxicated. “Maybe we should have taken the private tour after all,” he murmured.
“Huh? Why?” she asked, as she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Watch,” he said softly, then took his taste for her viewing pleasure. He slowly batted his eyelashes and looked deeply into her eyes, affecting the best bedroom look he could. When her face melted, he knew that expression and was very pleased. “See? You’re just as turned on as I am...and I know it’s got nothing to do with the wine. Isn’t this fun?” he said wickedly into the bowl of the glass.
When the tour moved forward and the two of them lagged behind, the tour guide glanced back at them with a somewhat helpless look on his face.
“Shall we?” asked Brodie.
“We shall,” Julie said, and they forged ahead.
Before trying the next wine, they were instructed to eat a small bite of fresh bread to clear their palates.
“Open wide,” Brodie said lazily as he lifted a piece of bread to her lips.
Julie stubbornly gritted her teeth, refusing to allow the bread to pass into her mouth till she had a chance to catch her breath. When she finally complied, she nearly knocked him off his itchy feet.
Julie was beautiful in her simple, satin, spaghetti-strap camisole and flowing skirt, and the Sonoma countryside made the perfect backdrop. All she needs is fairy wings, he thought as he looked at her, anticipating what he hoped would be an extraordinary dinner.
As the sun set, the garden was illuminated with sparks of white light, and the guide escorted them to their private dining area. The table and benches, rough yet somehow elegant, were fashioned from redwood planks, and the table was set with a charming mishmash of plates, glasses, and silverware.
“Milady,” Brodie invited with a very gentlemanly bow, admiring her shining, happy face. He stood behind her as she swept her gauzy skirt beneath her sumptuous buttocks to take her place at the table. His position gave him a perfect not-so-gentlemanly view down her camisole that fight tightly across her chest, and he suddenly felt very envious of that fabric. “Sorry. I can’t exactly push your seat in for you,” he murmured.
“You’re doing just fine,” she said, beaming up at him.
As he rushed around the end of the table to sit across from her, a steward emerged from the shadows to offer them wine. “Of course it is from these very vineyards,” he said with a smile.
“Please,” said Brodie. “Just a touch.”
Another waiter appeared to recite the menu, then finished with, “Whatever your hearts and mouths desire, Mr. and Mrs. Rogan, we will gladly prepare it for you.”
“Wow,” Julie said, her posture relaxing as she flashed a huge smile in Brodie’s direction. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that. I think I’ll have the swordfish, if you don’t mind.”
“And if my love is going to have the surf, I must have the turf,” he said. “Prime rib, medium rare, please.”
“Very good,” said the waiter. “Ordinarily, I would make wine recommendations to accompany your meal choices, but the one you chose from the steward is a perfect complement to both entrées, unless you wish to try something else.”
“Just a taste is fine for us,” said Brodie. “Sparkling water and lemon wedges go well with our meals too.”
Another steward rushed over as soon as the waiter walked away. She set the table with bread and a small dish of olive oil laced with herbs.
“This is also made here,” said Brodie, dabbing bread in the oil, then reaching out to feed it to her.
Julie leaned over to receive it then slumped as she tasted it, her eyelids pressing together as she savored the bite.
“Good, huh?” he asked.
She nodded and, with her eyes still closed, reached over to cup the back of his head and rake her fingers through his hair. When she did, they both felt the current of connection roll through them, far more delicious than anything they were about to devour.
When she followed suit and tore a piece of bread off to feed to Brodie, he leaned into her; she was already as far across the table as she could be without being in his lap. He kissed her with olive oil-slathered lips, and they broke into a simultaneous moan that vibrated their kiss. At the same time, they dissolved into laughter.
Brodie had to take a gulp of wine to clear his throat. “Talk about a killer kiss,” he said when finally he could speak again. “Almost choked to death! I’d better ask the lawyer to make sure you’re the beneficiary for all my worldly possessions.”
Julie gasped, genuinely horrified.
“What? I’m only joking,” he said.
“It’s nothing to joke about,” she scolded. “It’s bad luck to talk about that.”
“Hmm. Is someone a bit superstitious?” he razzed.
“Just a little,” she admitted. “I just don’t like talking about your money...or death.”
“Our money,” he corrected, gently touching her hand, “yours, mine and Thomas’s. It’s no secret that you married a very rich man, Julie. In fact, I think when we get back from this little trip, we need to go over everything so you know what’s what.”
She recoiled. “It feels so morbid,” she said.
Brodie took a deep breath. “To be honest, because of my status, I do receive an occasional threat. Thanks to those gossip rags and all the publicity, I tend to attract some real kooks. My driver is trained in security and self-defense, and as I mentioned before, I’ve got security teams in place at all my properties. We even have one here. We’ll be fine, Julie.”
“Oh, Brodie,” she whined.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he splashed more wine in her glass. “I just thought you should know.”
“Of course I already knew how wealthy you are,” she said. “I know you have security personnel, too, bodyguards everywhere. They’re just really good at staying out of sight, so I forget about them sometimes.”
“Yes, but they are always there when I need them,” he assured her, clinking his glass to hers. “Here’s to great security!” he toasted.
“Here’s to changing the subject,” she retorted.
They feasted first on salads with locally made goat cheese, and their steak and swordfish were to die for. It was especially fun to share. For dessert, the newlyweds enjoyed narrow flutes of champagne and tiny chocolate petit fours. The house had definitely outdone itself, and it could not have been a more perfect evening.
Suddenly, Brodie swung his feet out from under the table. “Come,” he said. “Let’s take a walk.”
The path from the house along the rows of grapevines was smooth and worn, connected here and there to a paved roadway traveled regularly by vehicles. In the corner of the lot, nudged right up against the vineyard, was a gazebo that overlooked a breathtaking meadow. A crescent moon hung in a sky of lavender and scarlet, but so many spotlights dotted the landscape that it seemed nighttime never quite fell.
“Beautiful, huh?” Brodie said with a bit of an exhausted sigh.
Her gasp said it all. “My goodness. It’s better than beautiful! It’s like a dream,” she exclaimed. She swung her arms around his neck and kissed him but quickly recoiled. “You’re a little too warm, mister,” she said in her nurse voice.
“I am,” he admitted, “but I couldn’t go to bed without showing you this first.”
“This is the best wedding present ever,” she said.
“So you’re not disappointed we got married this way?” he asked.
“Are you kidding!?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“I still want to have a real wedding, the kind we can send out fancy invitations for, with one of those eight-tier cakes and everything. We can start the ball rolling when we get back or even plan it as a first anniversary party,” he said.
“Can we hold the ceremony here?” she asked softly. “I can’t think of anyplace better to exchange our vows than right here in this gazebo.”
“Great minds think alike,” he said, hardly able to take his eyes off her.
