God, she was alluring. And her scent enticed me. Just as I’d remembered. Following her, I watched her walk. I wanted to touch her. And I wanted her to again touch me. Her jeans fit snugly around her firm behind. It was a picture of nothing less than sheer perfection.

Any other time, I would have been perusing the décor for intriguing artwork. But Helena’s body and the way she moved had my rapt attention. She was the only composition I was interested in at the moment.

When we passed the wall of windows that overlooked the shoreline, I did take in a glimpse of the sun as it glistened across the water. “This really is a magnificent view, isn’t it?” I commented, hoping Helena knew I was referring to the coastline, not the outline of her bottom.

“Spectacular,” she agreed, putting the wine case on the counter and removing the bottle. “I never tire of it.”

“I should think not,” I said.

Helena peered outside and then at her watch. “We should sit outside before the sun goes down,” she suggested. “Does that sound all right?”

“Absolutely.”

She held out the bottle of Pinot Blanc in one hand and the wine key in the other.

“We should start with the white, correct?” Helena asked.

“Without question,” I answered. “That’s the way they do it at wine tastings.”

“Would you like to do the honors? I’d like to see your technique with a corkscrew,” Helena challenged me teasingly, smiling and tilting her head.

Walking towards her, I laughed, and took the bottle and the wine key. “I have to tell you, I’m very good at this.”

“I’m sure you’re very accomplished,” she remarked, placing her elbow on the countertop, resting her chin in her hand, and eyeing me with a knowing grin.

I grinned back at her and set about my task. I opened the blade of the wine key, and expertly cut a clean full sweep around the lip of the bottle and peeled off the foil. Replacing the blade, I folded out the corkscrew and inserted the tip into the cork, just slightly off center. With a few brisk turns, the coils disappeared. My left hand placed the edge of the silver double hinge on the lip of the bottle, and with two quick downward motions on the handle of the wine key with my right hand, I slid the cork out flawlessly.

I flashed her an expression of self-satisfaction.

Drawing herself up from the countertop to stand at full height, Helena admired my feat.

“Well, I must say, I’m properly impressed, Bette. What other hidden talents do you possess?” she asked flirtatiously.

Glancing at Helena sideways, I knew I had to ignore that shameless display of coquetry if I was going to get through the next few minutes without taking her in my arms and kissing her. Although, still, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why I was experiencing desire for a woman who I once deemed the most loathsome creature on earth. Fuck! What was I doing here?

“I can also pour with a striking flair,” I said, interrupting the flow of my internal conflict. “Do you have some stemware?” I inquired.

“Of course, some beautiful etched glasses I found in London last year,” Helena answered.

She turned to open the cabinet behind her. As she reached to an upper shelf, I delighted in the graceful line of her body, her toned arms, and the curve of her breasts. I couldn’t help myself.

When she placed the index and middle fingers of both hands around the stems of two glasses, I diverted my gaze. I couldn’t be caught admiring her physical attributes.

Placing the wine glasses in front of me, she found me dutifully reading the description of the wine on the label of the bottle.

“Here we go,” she announced.

“These are exquisite glasses,” I said.

“Thank you,” Helena beamed. “Now astound me with your decantation technique.”

“Not too much to it, really,” I remarked as I picked up the bottle and poured. “Just an elegant little twist at the end to prevent an aberrant drip,” I explained as I successfully concluded my performance.

“Amazing,” is all she would say.

I handed her a glass of the cool nectar, and picked up the other goblet.

“To an enjoyable evening,” Helena toasted, clinking my glass with hers.

“To an enjoyable evening,” I repeated. And we took our first of many sips of wine that night.

****************

Bette carried our wine glasses outside by the pool, while I balanced the cheese and fruit in one hand and gripped the handle of the ice bucket with the other.

“Sit here, Bette,” I offered, nodding, “So you can appreciate an unrestricted panoramic view.”

“This is truly breathtaking,” she said, looking out over the ocean and seating herself at the patio table.

She reached up to assist me with the platter, placing it between us, as I set the chiller on its stand to the right of my chair.

“This is a beautiful presentation, Helena,” she said eying the assorted morsels I’d prepared for us. “What all do we have here? I recognize the melons and berries, of course, and slices of Brie, but what are these other cheeses?”

I pointed to the unidentified cheeses, and named them for her, “This is a Danish dill Havarti. And this,” I said, picking up the soft white cube between my thumb and forefinger, “is a Gruyère, imported from Switzerland. Here, try it, Bette,” I offered, holding it out. I decided it was much to soon to try to start feeding her. “You don’t mind us eating with our fingers, do you?”

She looked at the cheese between my fingertips and then into my eyes. “No, I don’t mind at all,” she said, reaching cautiously, and then carefully plucking the tidbit from between my fingers.”

“I can bring out some appetizer plates and forks, if you’d prefer,” I said.

“No, Helena. Really. This is wonderful just the way you have it,” Bette replied.

I gauged her reaction to the Gruyère. “Do you like it?” I asked.

“Oh, Helena, this is marvelous. It melts in your mouth,” she said excitedly.

“Doesn’t it?” I laughed.

Picking up her wine glass, and swirling it, Bette tilted it back between her lips.

“And the wine complements the Gruyère nicely,” she informed me.

Selecting a succulent-looking, large strawberry, I smiled and relaxed into the back of my chair, glass in one hand, fruit in the other. I know it wasn’t my imagination that I noticed Bette skim my cleavage as my chest expanded with a deep, relaxing breath. It was all I could do to restrain myself from reaching across the table to lean in for a kiss. I wanted to place her hand on one of my breasts so that she could feel my nipples harden and grow excited at her touch.