Hours later, I grab a bottle of Madame M, two glasses, and Emmaline’s hand, and pull her toward the cellar door. This time, we sneak down the stairs like two delinquent teenagers. We push through the second door at the bottom of the stairs, and this time, I turn the lock. “Lots different from the last time we were down here, huh?” I’ve brought in a black leather couch, and created an intimate tasting space, complete with a rug and a low table created out of a wine barrel split in half.
“Ooh, I love this,” she gasps, and sashays across the room to the couch, and sinks into the plush leather.
I follow and place the glasses and bottle on the low table, then pull her into my lap. “I love this,” I say, running a hand down her side. “You, here. On my lap. Getting ready to kiss me.”
She compli
