He caught her looking at him just as the car pulled up in front of Bordeaux. The driver got out and walked around the car to Jordan’s door. Nick studied her carefully, as if gauging her mood.

“So this is it.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a slight shake to her voice. The driver opened the door and she shivered when the cold, February air rushed into the car.

Nick leaned forward to address the driver. “We’ll need just a moment.” He pulled the door shut to give them some privacy.

He spoke quietly. “Jordan, look at me.”

She did, and he held her gaze.

“You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

She nodded, finding comfort in his steady tone. “Okay.”

Then he put his hand on her chin and moved closer—wait, was he going to kiss her?—and she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck as he whispered in her ear.

“But if anything goes wrong tonight, find the red-headed bartender. She’s a friend.”

Jordan’s eyes flew open. Wrong?

She didn’t have time to ask what could possibly go wrong, because Nick pushed open the door and the driver automatically reached for her hand. So she put on her game face and stepped out of the car. Nick followed, and together they walked to the restaurant’s front door and stepped inside.

Jordan had been to Bordeaux several times before, but the elegant décor continued to impress her. Soaring eighteenfoot ceilings, crystal chandeliers emitting a warm glow, and creamy silk wall panels all gave the place a light, airy feel. To their right, across the dining room, was a cream-lacquered arch that led to the VIP wine bar. On the opposite end of the dining room was an outdoor terrace that overlooked the river and another bar, which Xander maintained at comfortable temperatures via heat lamps in the winter months. According to the plan, she would invite Xander to join her for a drink on the terrace to discuss a wine she’d located for him, and that was when Nick would make his move.

She and Nick checked their coats with the hostess and made their way into the restaurant. Jordan immediately spotted several guests she knew, but hesitated before heading over. Just one more minute. That’s all she wanted before she introduced her “date” to the world, and this game of theirs became very real.

Nick seemed to read her mind. “Why don’t we get a drink?” He caught the eye of a waiter passing by.

“Cristal?” the waiter asked, offering them each a flute. Jordan took note of the bottle as he poured—a 2002 Louis Roederer Cristal rosé. As always, Xander had spared no expense.

Focus on the wine, she told herself. Nick had the challenging part of this assignment, not her. Over the course of the next few hours, she didn’t need to do much except smile her way through several glasses of the beverage she’d spent the last several years becoming a semi-expert on.

Nick eyed his drink skeptically after the waiter left. “Conveniently, when you invited me tonight, you failed to mention there would be pink drinks.”

She felt some of the tension leave her. She hadn’t known what to expect with the whole pretending-to-be-dating routine, but so far it seemed to be business as usual between them. “It’s a rosé.”

This appeared to register with him. “Oh, like white zinfandel. My grandmother used to drink that.”

Thank God Jordan hadn’t taken a sip of her champagne, or she would’ve just choked on it. “First rule of the evening: never, ever mention white zinfandel around this crowd. Or things could get ugly very quickly.” She lifted the champagne flute to her nose and instinct took over. She closed her eyes and inhaled, smelling baked apples, almonds, and dried fruit. She took a small sip, letting the champagne dissipate in her mouth before swallowing. The flavors flirted in her mouth, light and coy.

She opened her eyes and noticed that Nick was watching her closely.

“Good?” he asked.

That was an understatement. “Try it.”

“I don’t do pink drinks.” He cocked his head. “Think you’re ready to take on the wine bar yet?”

Jordan got the message—they needed to keep moving. “Sure. Let’s see what Xander has in store for us tonight.”

Together, they made their way to the private room. The wine tasting had begun, and the bar was loud as guests discussed their drinks. Nearly immediately, Jordan noticed the redhead bartender, presumably the “friend” Nick had alluded to earlier. She was attractive, and not at all what Jordan expected an FBI agent to look like. For a moment, she caught herself wondering just how good a “friend” the woman was to Nick. Then she remembered that was none of her business.

“Just starting?” the redhead asked as they approached the bar. She gave away no sign that she recognized them.

Jordan noticed that the bartender’s curly hair was styled in a way that covered her ears. To hide an earpiece perhaps? Curious, she made a note to ask Nick about that later. “We’ll take whatever’s first.”

“So how does this work?” Nick asked after the bartender set a glass in front of each of them. “This is my first tasting.”

“Hmm, a wine-tasting virgin,” Jordan said. “There’s so much I could teach you.”

“Just keep it simple, Rhodes. The basics.”

“Okay, here’s my prediction for tonight: unless Xander plans to break some rules, we’ll start off with a couple light-bodied whites, move on to a chardonnay, then switch glasses and start with the reds. That’s where the fun really happens.”