by Julie James
Jordan brought Nick over to the bar and caught the eye of the sommelier, the same one Xander had hired for the party the past couple of years.
He grinned as he came over. "Ms. Rhodes! I was hoping you'd be here tonight. I've been saving something special for you. A 1990 Chateau Sevonne."
A '90 Sevonne. Sweet Jesus, her heart began to race.
"Did you just gasp?" Nick asked as the sommelier poured their glasses.
Jordan tried to play it cool. "I don't think so."
"I'm pretty sure I heard it."
"Okay, maybe there was a tiny gasp," she conceded. "Because the 1990 Chateau Sevonne is supposed to be extraordinary. Thrilling. Breathtaking."
"Sounds orgasmic," Nick said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
The sommelier made a hasty retreat.
Jordan gestured in his direction. "Very nice—you chased him away before he could tell us about the wine."
"Does it matter?" Nick asked skeptically. "At the end of the day, doesn't it all pretty much taste the same?"
She shook her head. "Truly, Nick. I don't even know where to begin with you."
He leaned confidently against the bar, baiting her with his grin. "Giving up already?"
She looked him up and down, debating. Then she picked up the two glasses the sommelier had poured and handed one over. "Not yet." She stopped Nick, her hand on his, when he tipped his glass to take a sip. "Uh-uh, virgin. With wine like this, a little foreplay is required."
He eyed her over his glass. "Foreplay?"
"Absolutely." Time for Wine Tasting 101. "So here's how this works. When tasting a wine, as opposed to casual drinking, there are four basic steps you need to remember: sight, smell, taste, then spit or swallow."
Nick paused at that last part and cocked his head. "And your personal preference on the latter would be ...?"
"Only lightweights spit."
His right eye twitched.
Jordan raised her glass, fully into teacher mode now. "So the first step is sight."
Nick gave his glass a quick once-over. "Looks like wine to me. Check."
She shook her head. "No, tilt the glass and hold it over the white tablecloth." She demonstrated, holding her glass at a forty-five-degree angle. "You want to look at both the center of the wine, to determine its intensity, and the edge of the wine, to check its hue."
"And why am I doing this?"
"The wine's color can tell you a lot about whether it's a youthful wine or if it's showing signs of age." She continued her demonstration. "Then swirl the glass and watch how quickly the wine filters down after it stops moving. The slower the wine's legs flow down the glass, the higher the alcohol content in the wine."
"You know, by law they have to print the alcohol content right on the label. That could be a good clue, too."
"Perhaps we should save all questions and comments until the end of the tasting ritual."
He shrugged. "Fine by me. I'm as eager as the next guy to get to spit or swallow."
She so was going to regret giving him that as ammunition. "Next up is smelling the wine."
"This sure is a lot of foreplay." Nick peeked over the bar. "Don't they have any wines back there that are into quickies?"
Jordan struggled with that one, the edges of her mouth twitching. Don't laugh. It'll only encourage him. She marched on. "You want to swirl the glass to release the aromas of the wine, then bring it up to your nose and smell." She watched his technique, and corrected, "Don't hold the glass to your nose for too long—your olfactory senses will fatigue and you won't be able to pick up the different aromas."
Another skeptical look. "Olfactory fatigue?"
"Just try it again," Jordan said. "And this time, tell me what you smell."
Nick did as she asked. "I smell wine."
Jordan smiled reassuringly. "I used to say the same thing when I first started out. It takes a while to develop a nose for wine, to be able to distinguish the different aromas."
"Okay, Ms. Expert, what do you smell?"
"Sorry. No hints until you taste it for yourself," she said. "Now, when you take a sip of the wine, suck in some air—that will open its flavors. Then swish it around your mouth before swallowing. Normally, I'd say you could spit it out if you want, but this wine costs fifteen hundred dollars a bottle. If you spit it out, about twenty people here will drop dead of a heart attack."
She lifted her glass, ready to taste the wine, when she saw the look of shock on Nick's face. "What?"
"Fifteen hundred dollars a bottle?" he repeated.
"Yep." She held up her glass. "Cheers." She took a sip of the wine and went through the whole routine: sucking, swishing, and swallowing. She felt the heady rush, the liquid warmth that flowed through her body, and the feeling of bliss that built and peaked and then slowly ebbed. And finally, the light-headed, flushed feeling. The afterglow.
Orgasmic, indeed.
She opened her eyes and saw Nick staring at her.
"I feel like I need a cigarette and a shower after watching that." His eyes seemed warmer than usual. "Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Whatever it is you would normally say after drinking that wine."
"I'd talk about how it felt in my mouth and what it tastes like," she said.
His gaze fell to her lips. "And?"
"It felt large and smooth. A real mouthful."
"Are you kidding me with this?"
Jordan laughed at his expression. "No, I'm serious—that's how I would describe the wine. I can't help it if one might read certain connotations into it. Wine is a very sensual thing."
Rafe Velasquez approached them. "What do you think of the Sevonne? It's a real mouthful, isn't it? Big and smooth."
"So everyone keeps telling me," Nick grumbled.
"He's new to wine," she explained.
Rafe gestured to Jordan. "Ah, well. You're certainly in the right hands tonight."
At that moment, she noticed Xander making his way toward the door, about to leave. Time for her to make her move.
"If you two would excuse me, I see Xander heading upstairs. I need to steal him away to discuss business. Will you be okay on your own?" she asked Nick.
His demeanor was so casual she almost thought he didn't catch that This Was Her Signal.
"I'll be fine," he said. "I'm sure I can find some way to amuse myself while you're gone."
Rafe slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Jordan. I'll make sure he stays out of trouble."
"Thank you, Rafe, that's very nice of you," she said, thinking she'd have a good laugh over that one later. She turned back to Nick. "I'll see you in a few minutes, then?" The plan was that he would come upstairs and find her on the terrace when he'd finished planting the recording devices.
His eyes held hers, calm and steady as ever.
"Before you know it."
Eleven
JORDAN SAW XANDER climbing up the glass staircase and called after him. "Xander—wait."
He turned around on the steps. "Jordan. Enjoying yourself tonight?"
"At your party? Always." She stopped on the step below him and gestured to her wineglass. "The Sevonne is fantastic, by the way. I like all your selections tonight."
"I paid attention to the ones you recommended last year."
"I'm flattered. And speaking of fabulous wine, there's something else you might be interested in."
"What's that?"
Jordan moved up a step to stand next to him. "A 2000 Château Pétrus."
Xander's eyes brightened with interest. "Tell me more."
"One case, going to auction through Sotheby's."
"Where and when?"
Hong Kong in April, but she didn't tell him that yet. She was about to act coy, which was something she really didn't want to do, but it seemed like the easiest way to make sure Xander stayed out of Nick's way. She took a deep breath and dove in. "Join me for a drink on the terrace, and I'll tell you everything."
She screwed it up.
Finally, he tipped his glass to hers. "What are we waiting for?"
He gestured for her to lead the way. When her back was to Xander, Jordan finally began to breathe again, wondering how anyone survived undercover work. Thirty minutes into her first—and last—assignment and she'd nearly broken out in hives. She needed to be smoother, especially once she and Xander got onto the terrace.
For better or worse, she was on her own now.
NICK WAITED FIVE minutes after Jordan left the room. He listened politely to the guests around him, drawing as little attention to himself as possible as they discussed tannins and nuances and structure and all sorts of other mumbo jumbo that didn't hold his attention half as much as when Jordan talked about wine. When he finished his glass of Chateau Some-Fancy-French-Crap, he asked Rafe where the bathrooms were located.
"Down the hallway, on the right-hand side," Rafe said.
Of course, Nick had already known that. He excused himself and left the room. He walked past the bathrooms and kept going toward the staircase. If anyone spotted him, he was simply a guest who had gotten lost in the cavernous lower level after having a couple of drinks.
He paused on the other side of the staircase, at the edge of the hallway that led to Xander's office. Satisfied that no one was around, he moved on. The first door on his left was a storage room; the next door, on the right, was a massive utility room that housed the building's heating and cooling systems. When he reached the door at the end of the hallway, he grabbed the handle and turned.
Locked.
Obviously, he'd expected this, but it had been worth checking nevertheless. Nick reached underneath his jacket and shirt to the small pouch he had strapped to his hip. He pulled out a lock-pick set. One of the benefits of playing a criminal for six months was that he'd refined certain illicit skills, and he doubted that Eckhart's simple deadbolt lock would give him much trouble. Being careful not to leave any sign of tampering behind, he twisted a flat, skinny torque tool into the lock while applying pressure. Then he used a pick to push up the lock pins one at a time. When the last pin was in place, he turned the torque tool like a key.
Voilà.
Nick stepped inside the office. He shut the door behind him and locked it. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and put a tiny receiver into his right ear. "Jack. I'm in."
Pallas's voice came through without any interference. "Sounds like you and Eckhart are getting along swimmingly."
At least he knew that the microphone strapped to his chest, which had been active since he and Jordan had arrived at the party, was working. "Eckhart is lucky I'm being such a gentleman tonight. Otherwise, I'd be tempted to throw my coat over his head, toss him in the back of the van, and show him what happens to people who get mouthy with FBI agents."
"And people say I have a dark side," Jack said. "At least you're learning a thing or two about wine. Good to hear you're making such an effort to improve yourself."
"Does the U.S. attorney know how much you like spending your Saturday nights eavesdropping on private conversations?" Nick asked.
"The U.S. attorney knows exactly how I like spending my Saturday nights."
Nick grinned at that. Then he surveyed the room, getting down to business. Eckhart's office was just as Jordan had described it: an oversized mahogany desk, two walls of built-in bookshelves, a file cabinet in the southwest corner of the room (which he checked—locked), and two leather armchairs centered by a coffee table. Five recording devices should cover the space easily.
His eyes moved to two electric sockets, low on the walls, that were immediately visible, and the glass light fixture on the ceiling in the center of the room. All great places to start. Another bug underneath the coffee table, and a fifth one attached to the bottom of Xander's desk, and they should be good to go.
Nick pulled a small screwdriver out of his lock-pick set. "Are you guys ready?"
"Ready," Jack said in his ear. "As soon as you get the first bug in place, we'll do a sound check."
Two nights ago after Bordeaux had closed, Reed and Jansen, the tech guys in the van with Jack, had attached a small receiver with an antenna to one of the air-conditioning units outside the building. The receiver would transmit the signal from the recording devices inside Eckhart's office over a several-block radius, which allowed them to park the van with the monitoring equipment farther away from the restaurant to reduce visibility.
Nick took the first recording device out of his suit pocket, ready to rock and roll. "Is Agent Simms hooked in?"
"I'm here," whispered Agent Simms, the "bartender" working in the VIP room. "I've got a visual on Eckhart and Rhodes. They just came up the stairs."
"Why am I not linked in to Jordan's mic, Jack?" Nick asked impatiently. He wanted to be sure he could hear her conversation with Xander. Both for the security of the assignment and just ... because.
"We're working on it," Jack said. "We're dealing with eight different frequencies between the microphones on you three and the bugs. All right, Reed says you should be able to hear Jordan and Eckhart now."
"SO HOW DID you find out about the auction?" Xander asked as they cut through the VIP room. "I haven't heard anything about a case of 2000 Pétrus coming up for sale."
"I have my ways," Jordan said with a hint of mystery. Actually, it wasn't so mysterious; a friend of hers from Northwestern worked in the wine department of Sotheby's and often gave her advance notice of big-ticket wines before they were entered into their catalog.
She and Xander stopped at the bar for their drinks.
"How can I help you, Mr. Eckhart?" asked the redhead bartender. Her eyes momentarily held on Jordan.
Xander gestured for Jordan to go first. "What'll it be?"
"Tough choice. You know I have a fondness for both the Vineyard 29 and the Quintessa."
"Close your eyes. I'll surprise you," he said.
Jordan wondered how she would handle this situation were she not involved in a covert sting operation with the FBI. Here she was at the party with another man, yet Xander was obviously flirting with her. Ultimately, she realized, she didn't have the luxury of handling the situation as she might have normally. Keeping Xander preoccupied was her focus right then. So she obligingly closed her eyes.
She heard Xander whisper something to the bartender.
"This is going to be a trick, isn't it? You're going to pour me a glass of a ten-dollar wine to see if I can tell the difference," Jordan said.
"Like I would ever serve a ten-dollar wine," Xander scoffed. "Okay. You can open your eyes now."
She did, and saw Xander holding two glasses of red wine.
"Shall we?" he asked, with a nod in the direction of the terrace.
Several guests watched them curiously as they made their way out of the VIP room and through the main lounge. As soon as they stepped onto the terrace, Jordan felt the rush of cooler air as it swept over her bare shoulders.
"Over here," Xander said, leading her to a heat lamp perched near the balcony that overlooked the Chicago River.
All the other guests were inside, and Jordan suddenly wondered if anyone could see them. She took some comfort in the fact that Nick could at least hear her.
Xander handed her one of the glasses. "Happy Valentine's Day." He clinked his glass to hers.
"Thank you." Jordan took a sip of the wine, tasting the dark red fruit, rose petals, chocolate, and chili powder. "It's the Vineyard 29."
"You're good," Xander said.
"It's one of my favorites. I should recognize it by now."
"How many people know enough about wine to appreciate how fantastic this one is?" Xander stood against the railing, stretching one arm in her direction. "I guess a better question is, how many people can even afford this wine to know how good it is? You and I are similar in so many ways, Jord
an."
Hmm ... not so much. First, she generally didn't associate with infamous criminals. Twin brother excepted. Second, she usually tried to avoid being a snob, a character trait Xander seemed to have fewer qualms with.
Changing the subject, she looked out at the water and the backdrop of the Chicago skyline at night. "The view is great out here."
Xander moved closer to her, his eyes holding on her face. "Yes, it is." He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Uh-oh.
Jordan debated how to finesse her way through this predicament. She hoped that Nick was moving his ass as fast as humanly possible down there in Xander's office, because the situation up here on the terrace was starting to get awfully damn sticky. Normally she'd be giving Xander the polite version of her "Back off, buddy" speech, having no desire to fan the embers of affection of a man who was in cahoots with notorious gangsters. But given the parameters of the evening, she needed to stick it out a bit longer.
Kyle, dear brother of mine, if you so much as get a parking ticket after this, I'll call you Sawyer for the rest of your life. Oh—and I'll also tell Dad about the time you broke Mom's rocking chair playing WrestleMania with Danny Zeller and blamed it on the dog.
"You flatter me, Xander," Jordan said, subtly putting a few inches of space between them. "But I've seen pictures of that model you're dating. She's beautiful."
"Come on, Jordan. You know you're gorgeous," he said. "And if your date hasn't told you that ten times tonight, he's an idiot."
"My date probably wouldn't be too pleased if he knew we were having this conversation right now."
"Yet still, you asked me out here."
"To talk about the Pétrus."