Spaniard's Seduction / Cole's Red-Hot Pursuit: Spaniard's Seduction
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“I regret I said something that upset your mother.” Rafaelo stood his ground, lean and dangerous as a jungle cat. “But that was never my intention.”
Caitlyn looked from one man to the other—half brother to half brother. Now that she knew the truth she could see the similarities. Heath was younger, of course. But the dark eyes, the slope of their angular cheekbones, the determined set of the jaw branded them blood kin. Would Heath recognise it?
“What exactly did he say?”
Heath spoke directly to Caitlyn. He didn’t even deign to look at the Spaniard. Misery sliced through Caitlyn as she recognised the icy set to Heath’s features. She sensed the whole unfortunate situation was about to escalate to the next level.
And she had been the catalyst.
Before she could answer, Rafaelo cut in, “I am here, you may address me. I have a name. It is Rafaelo Carreras.”
Heath gave him a brief, insultingly dismissive look. “Did you say something?”
Caitlyn tensed.
But Rafaelo didn’t rise to the bait. “My name is Rafaelo Carreras—”
“I don’t particularly care what your name is,” Heath interrupted. “I want to know what you said to upset my mother.”
Enough was enough. That had been more than rude; it had been downright incendiary. Caitlyn stepped between the two men.
“Heath—” She broke off and rested her hand on his arm, dearly familiar, and tried not to tremble.
It was painful to see Heath and Rafaelo bristling at each other like this. Profiles so similar, so classic, like two sides of an ancient coin.
“Heath, Caitlyn, Megan sent me to find you both. Aren’t you coming to join our guests for coffee?” Joshua Saxon was crossing the cobbled lane toward them.
“First I want to hear what he—” Heath gestured to Rafaelo with a contemptuous flick of his head “—said to make Mother cry.”
Joshua’s eyebrows jerked up. “Mother is crying?”
“Yes, and he’s responsible.”
Caitlyn felt terrible. She’d caused this. If she’d left well enough alone, Rafaelo would have confronted Phillip alone—without her and Kay present—and there would’ve been a whole different outcome.
“Heath,” she said. “It isn’t his fault Kay is crying. It’s m—”
“He might not have intended it.” Heath shoved his shoulders forward. “But whatever he said still upset her.” Heath ploughed forward, thrusting Caitlyn aside with one hand. She stumbled against the kerb stones. Heath made a grab for her, apologising profusely as she regained her footing.
Rafaelo moved like lightning, his jaw clenched tight. “Be careful,” he snarled at Heath. To Caitlyn he said, “Are you okay?”
She gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.” The stumble had been worth it. It had checked Heath’s aggressive rush at Rafaelo.
Except Rafaelo was staring at where Heath’s hand rested on her arm. Discomforted, feeling as though she’d been caught doing something wrong, Caitlyn pulled free.
Heath raked his fingers through his hair. “You still haven’t told me what you said to my mother.” There was aggression in every line of Heath’s lean, loose-limbed body. Caitlyn knew that stance. Even in university days, Heath-the-hellraiser had never backed away from a brawl, often throwing the first punch.
It would be terrible if he hit Rafaelo.
And for once, Caitlyn wasn’t sure that Heath would win. Rafaelo looked tough and mean, his eyes narrowed, the small scar beneath his mouth pale against his dark skin. A fighter. An accomplished one, she suspected.
That thought was disturbingly disloyal.
Then Rafaelo’s shoulders squared. “I came here today because six months ago I learned something has been kept secret from me all my life. I learned that the man I believed is my father never was, that a man who lives across the world is.”
Caitlyn felt a little of the tension seep out of her. Rafaelo was making every attempt to stay calm and measured in the face of Heath’s animosity. Perhaps the situation could still be saved.
“What does that have to do with—”
“You’re Heath? Correct?” asked Rafaelo.
“Why are you asking?” demanded Heath.
Rafaelo shifted his attention to the taller of the two Saxons. “Then you must be Joshua.”
Joshua nodded, his eyes hooded.
“I am Rafaelo—” he held up a peremptory hand as Heath started to interrupt “—and I am your half brother.”
Heath sucked in his breath, an audible sound. “I don’t think so. I think you’re a scammer!”
“Heath!” Caitlyn’s hands went to her mouth.
“This is not a scam.” Rafaelo’s hand dropped and curled into a fist at his side. “You think this is easy for me?”
“You expect us to believe that you found out six months ago? And it took you until now to act on this laughable claim?” Heath sneered. “Why wait so long?”
“I had responsibilities. I had a man to bury—the man I believed to be my father,” Rafaelo said with what Caitlyn considered great restraint. “Afterward there was my mother to comfort and legalities to tend. I came as soon as my obligations allowed.”
With Rafaelo standing to one side, his fisted hands the only evidence that he wasn’t quite as relaxed as the curl of his lips would have them all believe, the air grew thick with menace. Caitlyn held her breath. Heath and Joshua stood shoulder to shoulder, brother beside brother, staring him down.
Caitlyn had seen that pose before. She shuddered. It wouldn’t take much for the frozen tableau to ignite into a brawl.
Determined to prevent that at all costs, she stepped forward to stand beside Rafaelo and, without thinking, placed a hand on his arm. “Rafaelo is about to leave.”
He turned his head. “I am?”
There was a sardonic light in his eyes.
She tightened her grip on his arm. With a sudden sense of shock she felt the texture of the fine wool of his dark suit give under her fingertips, felt the hardness of flesh and muscle beneath. It scorched her.
“Yes, you are. I was walking you to your car,” she said with quiet determination, even as her heart began to race, and the terrifying fear that she worked so hard to avoid bolted through her bloodstream.
“That’s our Cait!” Heath said loudly. “Mate, you better do what she says if you know what’s best for you.”
Rafaelo went rigid under her hold. “I am not a milksop.” He gave Heath an insulting head-to-toe-and-back-again look. “I do not let a woman placate the enemy on my behalf. I do what I want—not what a woman dictates.” When his eyes met Caitlyn’s appalled gaze, his features curdled with contempt. “So you fight his battles all the time?”
Instantly the thrill of apprehension that touching him roused and her irritation at his overt chauvinism were superseded by horrified concern. Not for him—if the Spanish grandee had his features rearranged by Heath it would serve him right. The concern was all reserved for Heath…for the Saxons. Kay would hate to learn that her sons had gotten into a brawl on this day because she’d cried.
Was Rafaelo stupid? Did he not realise what he was provoking? Or did he want a fight for reasons of incomprehensible masculine pride?
That notion caused her to worry even more. But there would be no fight. Not if she could help it.
“Sometimes the little woman knows best,” Caitlyn cooed up at Rafaelo, fluttering her lashes, and moving squarely in front of him, daringly brushing his lapels free of imaginary fluff. Anything to stop Heath swinging the punch that she suspected was pending. But the tension in the lean body so close to hers, the sudden bulge in the chest muscles under her fingers, made her wish she hadn’t been so reckless.
Heath watched and laughed uproariously. “Our kitten is now Cait-the-seductress. Priceless.”
That hurt.
She blinked back the sudden prick of tears and, feeling totally ridiculous, she yanked her hands away from Rafaelo.
Furiously angry with Heath for highlighting how unwomanly she was, with Rafaelo for starting this whole debacle just by being there, and with Joshua for doing nothing to stop it, Caitlyn swung away, turning her back on all three of them.
“Fine,” she said in a voice that indicated the situation was anything but okay. She pushed an annoying strand of hair out of her face, wishing it was back in its customary ponytail. And wishing that she could kick off the uncomfortable shoes and skirt and unfamiliar jacket. Above all, wishing she was a million miles from this maddening trio. “Do it your way. I’ll just leave you all to bash each other’s brains out. See if I care.”
“Slowly, querida.” Rafaelo caught her arm.
His hold was firm, possessive. His fingers were square and tanned against the apricot hue of her jacket. No rings. But the knuckles were ridged. Yes, a fighter.
Shockingly, her arm started to tingle alarmingly under the warmth of his touch. Caitlyn lifted her gaze and gave him a fulminating glare. There was speculation in his expression—and something else. He glanced at Heath and back to her. He released her arm, and his gaze became calculating.
And that was when she knew that he’d seen what no one else had. The miserable remains of her hopeless infatuation for Heath.
Horror swept her. He wouldn’t say anything, would he?
Then she realised that of course he would. Why shouldn’t he? The damn man didn’t like her one little bit. She’d been a thorn in his side since the moment he’d arrived. Why shouldn’t he humiliate her?
But instead of adding to her humiliation, she heard him say, “Caitlyn will walk with me. I am leaving. But be warned, I will be back.”
Relief flooded her as he wheeled away from Joshua and Heath. But Caitlyn wasn’t sure whether it was because the fistfight had been forestalled…or because one of her heart’s innermost secrets had been saved. Either way, she couldn’t help feeling a surge of gratitude toward Rafaelo as she trotted off in his wake.
Three
A lanky youth with a baseball cap jammed down on his head was standing with his back to the door when Rafaelo walked into the reception area of the winery the next morning.
“Buenos días,” he said, “I’m looking for Phillip Saxon.”
The youth turned and Rafaelo found himself staring into a pair of very familiar pale blue eyes. No youth this. Those unique eyes could only belong to one person…
Caitlyn Ross.
He did a rapid inspection to see how he could have made such an unforgivable mistake. The jeans she wore were faded and baggy, stained with the juice of grapes. The oversized navy-and-white striped T-shirt bore a sports team’s logo and swamped her slender body. The baseball cap pulled low over her forehead hid the fine, beautiful copper-blond hair. Every trace of the feminine creature he’d met yesterday had vanished.
Except for the eyes.
Those hadn’t changed. They met his directly, challenging him, stirring a primal need. The slow pounding of his heart under the force of her gaze ensured that he paid careful attention to everything about her.
“Did you call to let Phillip know you were coming?”
The awakening attraction withered. “Are you always so—” he searched for the word he wanted “—bossy?”
Irritation flashed in her eyes. She edged toward a stone archway. “I’m not bossy. I just don’t want you causing trouble with the Saxons.”
¡Vale! Okay, she’d made her feelings clear enough. Rafaelo followed her through the arch into the winery. Immediately the familiar smell of French oak surrounded him. Two rows of vats lined the long, dimly lit room where they stood. Another step forward brought a newer fragrance. The feminine fragrance of wildflowers. Caitlyn’s fragrance.
Subtle. Evocative. Unexpectedly fragile.
Rafaelo drew a deep breath. “So you’ve decided that I’m the big bad wolf coming to eat your lambs?”
She shook her head. “I’d hardly describe Phillip or his sons as lambs.”
Tipping his head to one side, Rafaelo said, “Perhaps they are the wolves…and I am the lamb?”
“Cute!” She beamed at him. It broke up the serious intensity of her face and revealed a dimple on the left side of her mouth and gave her expression a mischievous cast. “Definitely not. You’re a wolf—pretending to be in lamb’s clothing.”
Desire jolted through him. But he wanted to laugh, too. The dimness of the winery seemed to grow brighter. The unrelenting heaviness that had consumed Rafaelo ever since he’d first learned he wasn’t fathered by the man he’d always called Papa but by some not-so-perfect stranger who’d never wanted anything to do with him—or his sweet mother—started to lift.
“I am a Lopez on my mother’s side—so maybe I am part wolf. You’d better take care and treat me with mucho respect.” He gave her a lazy grin, showing his teeth, his heart lightening still further as her smile broke into peals of unrestrained laughter.
“Lopez? Oh, of course, lupis. Yes, you’d have to be a wolf.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and the fresh wave of desire that crashed through him shook Rafaelo to the core.
“My, my, what sharp teeth you have,” she mocked gently.
“Is that an invitation for the wolf to bite?” He leaned toward her, drawn by the irrepressible sparkle in her eyes. The scent of wildflowers intensified. He wanted to yank her into his arms. Kiss her until she was breathless. “To hunt?”
She flushed, a flood of scarlet across the pale skin and drew quickly away, her smile fading.
“No…no.”
The sudden panicked look she gave him made Rafaelo frown.
Before he could ask her what he’d done to bring that blind fear to her eyes, she shuffled away. “Uh, I have to go. You’ll find Phillip in his office. Go out that door, past the stainless steel vats. Turn right and head down the corridor to the office at the end.”
And then she was hurrying away without offering to show him the way into his father’s lair. Rafaelo stared after her tall, slim body with consternation. What had happened? One moment she’d been laughing, teasing him…there’d been a bubble of suppressed excitement surrounding them…and then she’d run.
What had scared her? Him? Dios, he didn’t pose any danger—at least, not to her.
Still trapped in a tizzy over the amused interest she’d glimpsed in Rafaelo’s eyes and the shameful surge of desire that had been so quickly followed by fear, Caitlyn crossed the forecourt outside the brick structure that housed two immense stainless steel vats. As she approached the tasting shed, a streak of silver flashed past her peripheral vision.
Heath.
She paused. For so long she’d been attuned to his every move. A glimpse of his silver Lamborghini usually stirred secret yearnings. Impossible yearnings. But today she merely frowned. With Rafaelo here, Heath’s presence would only lead to more tension.
Heath seldom appeared during working hours. It was no secret that he and Phillip had differences of opinion—differences that had been significant enough for Heath to walk out of his job as winemaker at Saxon’s Folly three years ago.
She lifted a hand and waved.
Heath waved back. Slowly Caitlyn made her way over to where he’d pulled the car in beside Rafaelo’s beaten-up rental. Heath was already clambering out of the low-slung car under the angled doors.
Propping her hip against the battered vehicle, she folded her arms and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Dad called. He wants me here for a meeting.”
“Phillip called you?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Phillip and his youngest son usually did little but argue—each convinced that their own opinion was the only one that could be right.
“Yep. Before you start thinking reconciliation, he called Joshua, too. So your job is safe, kitten,” Heath teased, ruffling the top of her head.
She ducked her head away and pulled off the baseball cap. “I’m not worried about you wanting my job. You put me up for it, remember?”
He tugged her ponytail. “Course I remember, rat’s tail.”
Instead of the hopeless longing that usually filled her at his joking, brotherly manner, Caitlyn felt only annoyance. And irritation with herself for wasting so much time on a man who never looked past the fact that she’d been a first-year student when he’d been studying for his doctorate. Then she’d been one of the few girls in a department dominated by guys and had chosen to become one of them—rather than the trophy that they bickered over, a path that would have put her truly on the outside.
She couldn’t help thinking of the way that Rafaelo had looked at her in the winery earlier. His scrutiny had made her wish she hadn’t been wearing scuffed sneakers and stained jeans.
That was until they’d started the talk about wolves and hunting, before she’d chickened out and hightailed it away as fast as her legs could carry her. Predatory males scared her spitless.
She shoved Rafaelo out of her thoughts and concentrated on Heath. “So Joshua is coming, too?”
“Yeah, apparently there’s someone that Dad wants us to meet.”
Rafaelo.
It had to be.
Phillip couldn’t know that Joshua and Heath had already met Rafaelo yesterday…and almost come to blows.
Or maybe he did. “Uh…Heath…did you say anything to your parents about meeting Rafaelo yesterday?”
“Rafaelo?” Heath’s cell phone started to ring and he dug into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve it.
“The Spaniard,” she clarified, as the ringing grew louder.
“I remember exactly who Rafaelo is. I can’t see why I should be bothering to discuss his spurious claim with Father.”
Caitlyn waited as Heath answered his call, resting the phone in the angle between his shoulder and jaw.
“I’m here, Dad.” He winked at Caitlyn. “What’s the hurry?” He listened for a moment and all humour left his face, he started to frown. “Be there in two minutes.”
His expression filled Caitlyn with dread. “What’s the matter?”
“Sounds like Dad’s got a bit of a problem.”
“Problem?”
“Six foot-plus of pure bastard by the sounds of it. But not for much longer.”
Heath tore across the drive, Caitlyn hard on his heels.
She thought of Rafaelo, his reluctance to call Phillip by his given name…or to acknowledge him as “my father.” She thought of the isolation he must be experiencing among the tight-knit Saxon clan. She thought of Rafaelo standing toe-to-toe with Heath yesterday. She thought of his fury about Phillip’s treatment of his mother.
Her heart sank. A fight was brewing. “Wait, I’m coming, too.”
Caitlyn rushed into Phillip’s office hard on Heath’s heels. The office—if it could be called that—had windows with old-fashioned wide wooden sills that overlooked the vineyards, an antique desk clear of everything except a blotter and a gold pen in a marble holder, and a conference table with four chairs arranged around it. Three of the chairs were currently occupied by Phillip, Joshua and Rafaelo. The tension in the room was palpable.
“So this is about him?” Heath gestured with a thumb toward Rafaelo and took the last seat.
“Yes.” Phillip did not elaborate.
Caitlyn hovered, feeling a little out of place—she was after all not family—then Rafaelo rose to his feet.
“Caitlyn…” he gave her name an exotic resonance “…take my chair.”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
“I insist.” He stepped away from the table and perched himself on the windowsill.
“Sit down, Caitlyn.”
She gave Phillip a quick smile. “Thanks.”
Phillip didn’t smile back. There were shadows of strain around his eyes, and a grim set to his mouth. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink last night.
Once seated, Caitlyn—and the Saxons—had to look up to Rafaelo where he sat, turning their heads at an uncomfortable angle. With the light behind him, it was impossible to read his expression. She wondered if Rafaelo had been aware of these advantages when he chose the spot by the window that put him outside the family circle.
Except the family circle was incomplete. At least two members were missing. “Where’s Megan?” she asked.
“On her way,” replied Josh.
“And Mother?” This time it was Heath who asked the question that Caitlyn had dared not voice.
Phillip hesitated. “She’s working on a press release with Alyssa. She thought it better that she wasn’t here. Alyssa excused herself, she says she needs to get the release off.”
“But Mother always attends any family meeting.” The words burst from Heath.
“Not this one apparently.” Phillip looked pained.
Megan came through the door like a whirlwind. “Sorry, I was with Mum and Alyssa.” She sounded out of breath, as though she’d been running.
“Here, have my seat,” Caitlyn leapt up, increasingly conscious that while she was part of the inner decision-making team of Saxon’s Folly, Rafaelo was right, this was not her business. This was family stuff. As much as she viewed the Saxons as extended family, she probably shouldn’t even be here.
“Sit,” Megan insisted. “I’ll pull up Dad’s desk chair.” Heath rose and helped her bring it over. They all shuffled around to make space for her.
“Now what’s this about?” Megan demanded.
Caitlyn squinted toward Rafaelo, interested to see how he was going to bridge the gap with his father…his siblings…to start to build the relationship that, despite his denials, she was convinced he’d come across the world to build.
“I want my share of Saxon’s Folly.” Rafaelo spoke from the window.
Caitlyn stared at Rafaelo in disbelief.
“Your share?” Heath was on his feet.
“Sit down, Heath,” Phillip ordered.
Heath sank back, dark colour rising beneath his tan. He gave Rafaelo an unfriendly glare.
“Yes, my share.” Rafaelo’s voice was very smooth, his Spanish accent very evident. But Caitlyn noticed that sparks leapt from his eyes. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared. “The birthright I was robbed of when he—” Rafaelo pointed at Phillip “—refused to acknowledge my mother’s pregnancy.”
“We’ve only got your word that my father is yours.” Heath was the first to retort.
Rafaelo looked at him as though he’d crawled out of a muddy pond. “Even your mother acknowledges that my mother once lived in the area. Even she recognised the probability that—”
“Probability?” Heath mocked.
Joshua looked from one to the other. “Heath—”
“What?” Heath swung round. “He’s scamming us—”
Joshua rested a steadying arm on his brother’s forearm. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Looking at the two of you is like looking into a slightly warped mirror. The resemblance is there, even though it’s a little off.”
Heath did a double take, then his gaze narrowed. “You’re saying he’s Dad’s son?”
“I am! He—” Rafaelo nodded in Phillip’s direction “—can confirm it.”
“Sit.” Joshua tugged Heath’s arm. Once Heath had settled down, he added, “It’s a definite possibility. He looks like us. His heritage is stamped all over his features. Given that, I don’t think there’s any point going down the prove-your-paternity road now. Although I’m sure Father will have the necessary DNA tests done.” Joshua cast his father a glance.
“So what does that mean?” Megan asked.
“It means we have a problem. Rafaelo feels entitled to a share in Saxon’s Folly. How are we going to solve this?” Joshua directed the last at Rafaelo.
“I want what I am owed.”
The dark fire in Rafaelo’s eyes that had so appealed to Caitlyn had subsided, leaving an empty void of black. No emotion. No anger. No hatred. Nothing that she could understand.
“What about your mother’s responsibility in all this? Even what—thirty-something years ago?—women knew the risks of unprotected sex. It was hardly the dark ages.” Megan shrugged. “I feel sympathy for your mother’s plight, but she was foolish enough to mess around with a married man.”
“She didn’t know he was married.” Rafaelo didn’t raise his voice, but suddenly there was a sense of danger, a very real threat in the room. “He lied to her.”