Spaniard’s Seductionby Tessa Radley

Lying in bed, staring into the darkness, Caitlyn remembered the single kiss she had shared with Rafaelo.

She moved restlessly, the cotton sheets cool and smooth against her hot, aching skin. The response the Spanish nobleman had aroused in her was intense, physical, consuming. If only he wouldn’t be leaving once he got what he’d come for.

What he’d come for…

His share of Saxon’s Folly.

Suddenly she felt chilled, and the darkness seemed to turn hostile. Rafaelo would never be able to reconcile with the Saxons. There was too much bad blood between them. And she was trapped in the middle—between the family she adored, and the man she was coming to love…

Cole’s Red-Hot Pursuitby Brenda Jackson

“I need company.”

Patrina studied Cole’s expression, searching his eyes for some clue to his meaning. “Company?”

“Yes, company. I don’t like eating alone,” Cole said.

Patrina had a sinking feeling. He didn’t know her and there was a lot she didn’t know about him. But one thing was certain—the sizzling, sexual chemistry flowing between them. And yet, the last thing on her agenda was getting involved in an affair destined to go nowhere. Besides, Cole Westmoreland was a lawman.

She glanced at Cole and saw a sexy smile curve his lips and a twinkle spark in his dark-brown eyes. The man was messing with her rational mind, and making it difficult for her to breathe.

“It looks like we’re stuck here together,” he said, glancing out the window. At that moment, Patrina realised that whether she liked it or not, she was temporarily stranded with Cole Westmoreland.

Available in October 2009from Mills & Boon® Desire™

High-Society Secret Pregnancy by Maureen Child & Front Page Engagement by Laura Wright

Spaniard’s Seduction by Tessa Radley & Cole’s Red-Hot Pursuit by Brenda Jackson

Claiming His Runaway Bride by Yvonne Lindsay & High-Stakes Passion by Juliet Burns

SPANIARD’S
SEDUCTION

BY

TESSA RADLEY
COLE’S RED-HOT
PURSUIT

BY

BRENDA JACKSON

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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SPANIARD’S SEDUCTION

Tessa Radley loves travelling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teenager, Tessa wanted to be an intrepid foreign correspondent. But after completing a Bachelor of Arts and marrying her sweetheart, she became fascinated by law and ended up studying further and practising as a lawyer in a city practice.

A six-month break travelling through Australia with her family reawoke the yen to write. And life as a writer suits her perfectly: travelling and reading count as research, and as for analysing the world…well, she can think “what if” all day long. When she’s not reading, travelling or thinking about writing, she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons, or her zany and wonderful friends. You can contact Tessa through her website, www.tessaradley.com.

Dear Reader,

Caitlyn Ross is a gutsy character who tugged at my heartstrings from the first moment I met her in Mistaken Mistress, the opening book in the THE SAXON BRIDES trilogy. Caitlyn yearns for love. And when Rafaelo sprang to life, I knew I had found the man for her.

Passionate. Sensual. Mediterranean. Rafaelo is a special kind of hero—he’s a Spaniard. But to Caitlyn, there is the danger that he can destroy the family she loves so dearly.

Yet despite the many things that divide Rafaelo and Caitlyn—opposing loyalties, past traumas and vastly differing upbringings—both of them overwhelmingly love the rich traditions of making wine. To each of them, terroir, a French word describing a very special piece of dirt that is the birthplace of great wines, is almost as important as family.

Please share Rafaelo and Caitlyn in discovering the joy—and confusion—of love. And please visit www. tessaradley.com to find out more about upcoming SAXON BRIDES books.

Take care,

Tessa

It’s people who make places great to work in. To the team at Jay Inc…thanks for the wonderful years!

One

Rafaelo, Marques de Las Carreras, was seething with hot Spanish rage. And when Rafaelo seethed, wise people gave him a wide berth until he cooled down to his normal impeccable courtesy.

Rafaelo told himself he had reason to be furious. He’d flown from Spain via London to Los Angeles and on to his final destination of Auckland, New Zealand. A security furore in Heathrow had caused a six-hour delay, resulting in a missed transatlantic connection to the United States.

There had been no first-class seats available on the flight he’d finally caught and the carrier had been packed as full as a tin of sardinas. He’d been wedged between a sweating overweight car dealership owner and a fraught-looking woman with a screaming baby. It had not improved his mood.

By the time Rafaelo landed in Auckland eighteen hours later than scheduled, it was to discover that his monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage had vanished, and to top it all, the Porsche reserved for him had been hired out when he’d failed to turn up earlier.

Not even flashing traveller’s checks, his platinum bank card or large-denomination American dollars could commandeer him a vehicle. Sorry, no cars available. There was an international sporting event on in the area, explained one car-hire company after another.

The Marques de Las Carreras wasn’t accustomed to apologies, certainly not from an indifferent middle-aged woman filing her nails—who didn’t respond to either his most charming smile or, when that failed to get results, to his dangerously lowered tone.

It was unheard of for him to be treated like a peon—usually his name was enough to secure him the best. The best seats at the bullfight, the best table in the restaurant, the best-looking woman in the room. And to come back to his present situation, the best car for hire.

He blinked, told himself this couldn’t be happening. Finally he managed to rent a vehicle—if the battered and dented yellow-and-black apparition plastered with neon-coloured Make Waves and Shoot the Tube stickers could be called that—from an operator most appropriately named Wreck Rentals. It had cost him plenty.

Not only had he been royally ripped off, but he also hadn’t slept in two days and a night. Nor had he showered. His clothes were creased. He was driving an abomination.

Twenty minutes later, teeth gritting as the thing—he couldn’t truthfully label it a vehicle—shuddered, Rafaelo slowed at a large hand-carved sign welcoming visitors to Saxon’s Folly Winery, home of the Saxon family.

The lane into which he turned was lined with established trees. Farther along the lane, a modern winery complex appeared. Through the trees Rafaelo glimpsed a large stately residence.

The car rolled to a stop.

He stopped breathing. The house was exactly as his mother had described it. Tall. White. Lacy wrought iron trimmed the balconies. The elegant triple-storey Victorian homestead was drenched in history.

Cold purpose settled in the pit of his stomach.

Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he edged forward and parked the abomination in the shade of a giant oak. It was then that he discovered that the hand brake didn’t hold. To Rafaelo’s immense displeasure, he had to climb through a triple-strand wire fence to find a suitably large rock to place under the back tire, and by this stage his hands were dusty and his immaculate suit had a smudge of mud down the front.

“Madre de Dios,” he cursed with quiet ferocity, then set off to find Phillip Saxon. And his destiny.

Caitlyn Ross noticed the stranger the moment he arrived at the memorial service being held for Roland Saxon in the winery’s courtyard. Behind her the vineyards stretched to the hills in the distance, to the hills that formed The Divide. But for once she didn’t spare a glance at the vines.

Her attention was riveted on the stranger. It wasn’t his height, the dark, overlong hair or his black eyes that caught her attention. With Heath and Joshua Saxon in the vicinity, there was no shortage of tall, dark, black-eyed men.

Rather, it was the fire that lit those black eyes and made them snap with energy, the way he stood holding himself with stiff formality at the back of the crowd that had gathered to remember Roland Saxon.

She had no idea who he could be. Or what his association to the Saxons was. And that was unusual. Having worked here since she left university, Caitlyn was part of the inner circle of the family. But this man was definitely a stranger.

Beside her, someone sniffed and pulled out a handkerchief. Phillip Saxon had finished his speech.

Remembering the occasion, Caitlyn forced her attention away from the mystery man. Alyssa Blake was speaking now, a short, moving address. Roland had been her brother. No one had known that he’d been adopted by the Saxons as a baby until very recently. Caitlyn knew it had to be a huge adjustment for Heath, Joshua and Megan, the Saxon siblings, who had believed that Roland was bonded to them by blood.

Her gaze sneaked back to the stranger. Even sandwiched between Jim and Taine, two of her cellar hands, he stood apart. She watched as he scanned the gathering, those snapping eyes assessing…making a judgement…then moving on to the next person.

Who was he?

Yet another journalist come to dig up dirt on the family? They didn’t need that. Not now.

She examined the tall, suit-clad body. Despite the dusty patches on his suit, he didn’t look like a journalist. He couldn’t be paparazzi because there was no giveaway bulge of an oversized camera lens anywhere to be seen. She supposed he could be a school—or university—friend of Roland.

Caitlyn slipped through the throng, murmuring apologies as she went. It took her only a minute to skirt the edges of the gathering. She paused beside Jim, who made way for her with a sideways smile. Caitlyn nodded in acknowledgement and edged into the space created beside the stranger.

Yes, he was tall all right. At least three inches taller than her own five feet eleven inches.

Softly she murmured, “We haven’t met.”

He raked her with those hellfire eyes. A bolt of sensation shot through her. An awareness that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“I am Rafaelo Carreras.” His voice was mesmerizing, the accent deliciously foreign. Within Caitlyn, in a deep-down sealed-off place, warmth uncurled. She tamped down the unwelcome sensation. No hint of New Zealand in that voice.

Perhaps not a school friend after all.

Curious, and wanting to hear him speak again, she asked, “Did you know Roland?”

It was possible. As marketing director of Saxon’s Folly Estate & Wines, Roland had travelled all over the world.

“No.”

One word, abruptly spoken. And clearly he wasn’t volunteering any further information. Again the suspicion that he might be a news journalist, carrion descending to feast on the family’s sorrow, stirred. The Saxons had been through enough. All her protective urges aroused, Caitlyn said in a low, fierce voice, “Then what are you doing here?”

He inspected her. His narrowed gaze started at her shoes—the serviceable black leather pumps that she’d had for ten years and only wore for wine shows. He considered her unstockinged legs, pale from a longer-than-normal winter spent under worn jeans. His gaze lingered on the hemline of her skirt, an unfashionable length this season. But then, she never wore anything other than jeans and trousers, so what did it matter? Then he studied the jacket that she wore. It had cost her a fortune and she’d only bought it because Megan, whose sense of style was fabulous, had insisted. The peach-coloured linen did wonderful things for her Celtic skin and ginger-blond hair—she knew that because Megan had told her—but it probably wasn’t suitable for today’s sombre occasion.

Finally he lifted his eyes to her face. As his gaze met hers, the impact jarred through her. There was nothing in the black depths to suggest that he’d liked anything he’d seen. To the contrary, she could find only a disdain that made her flinch.

“You are a member of the Saxon family?” He raised a haughty brow.

“No, but—”

“Then why I am here does not concern you.”

Caitlyn blinked. She was not used to such blatant rudeness. How to deal with him? Her gaze flickered to Pita, the security guard who patrolled the winery every night. Since an incident three weeks ago when a pair of youths had caused mischief down at the stables, security at Saxon’s Folly had been stepped up. Pita was big and burly. He would have plenty of men here to help evict this man if need be.

She eyed the dark-haired stranger covertly. It would take quite a few men to restrain him. Under the dark suit his body appeared lean and his shoulders broad. The man was built like a fighter—an impression strengthened by the harsh features, the ridged nose and fiery eyes. He wouldn’t back away from a fight.

She held his gaze. “Well, I am concerned.”

“Don’t be.”

His mouth clamped into a hard line causing apprehension to weigh heavily in Caitlyn’s stomach. Another quick glance showed that Pita was still within earshot. She wavered. Should she summon him…have the stranger escorted away?

Did the Saxons need the commotion? She glanced around the gathering. Alyssa was speaking in a breaking voice about how she’d grown to know Roland through the memories of his mother and his siblings—Joshua, Heath and Megan. No, commotion was the last thing the Saxons needed right now.

What if this man turned out to be a valuable business connection? And she’d tried to have him thrown out? Caitlyn shuddered just thinking about it. No, she’d leave him alone. For now.

A rustle and the soft murmurs of the crowd caught her attention. Alyssa had finished speaking and was stepping down from the paved stage, wiping her eyes. Joshua Saxon moved forward and put his arm around her, his head close to Alyssa’s as he led her away. Joshua and Alyssa were engaged now. Despite the up-heavals in the past month, they had managed to find each other…and love.

A pang of some unfamiliar emotion shot through Caitlyn. Not jealousy—she’d never felt anything vaguely romantic toward Joshua—but something a little like envy.

She wanted to find love.

She was tired of being Caitlyn Ross, chief winemaker at Saxon’s Folly, top graduate of her year…the smart student that all her fellow students considered one of the boys.

She wanted what other people had.

Love. Togetherness. A life.

But she knew that her chances of that were scant. Not that she was complaining. There was nothing wrong with her life. She loved Saxon’s Folly. There had been a time when she’d hoped she and Heath Saxon might…

But there was little chance of that now. And to be truthful Heath had never seen her as anything other than Good Ol’ Caitlyn. Damn, she was practically one of the boys.

Although nothing about the bold inspection she just received made her feel remotely like one of the boys. She resisted the temptation to slide her gaze sideways to the stranger beside her. His inspection had been heavy with male arrogance, but there was no doubt that he’d been assessing her as a woman.

Even if he had found her wanting.

It had been so long since she’d drawn any male attention—these days she took care to avoid it. At last, against her will, resenting the effect he had on her, she gave in to temptation and peered sideways, to see what those never-still eyes were looking at now, and her stomach plummeted into her practical black shoes.

He was gone.

Rafaelo had found his target.

Silently, unwaveringly, he made his way in the direction of the tall man with the distinguished wings of grey at his temples.

Phillip Saxon.

He stopped behind the older man and waited for what was clearly a memorial ceremony to end. He’d wanted to savour this meeting. He’d called Saxon, spoken to his PA, and without listening to her protests that Saxon wasn’t seeing people right now, had advised that he would be arriving to meet with the older man. He hadn’t revealed why he wanted to see Saxon—only that he was the owner of a Spanish vineyard of some reputation. But he hadn’t planned for this meeting to take place in public.

A movement behind him caught his eye. Rafaelo frowned impatiently as he watched the crowd part for the tall, slim strawberry blonde who had waylaid him minutes before.

He tightened his lips as she came closer. She was not beautiful—she lacked the self-awareness that beautiful women possessed. But she had something…

Then he met her startlingly pale blue eyes, read the determination in them.

He glanced dismissively away. She couldn’t stop what he’d come all the way to New Zealand to achieve. Nor would he allow himself to be distracted.

The crowd was shifting. A tall, black-haired man stood at the edge of the courtyard beside a vine and a rosebush that the raw earth beneath revealed had recently been planted.

“These have been planted in the memory of my brother, Roland. May he live in our hearts forever,” the black-haired man said.

All around Rafaelo women were reaching for handkerchiefs. But he barely heard the gut-wrenching sobs of sorrow. He only heard the words my brother, Roland. So Roland Saxon was dead. That would make the speaker either Joshua or Heath Saxon. An unfamiliar heavy heat coalesced in his chest.

He turned to gaze at Phillip Saxon and instantly the emotion became identifiable. Rage. Saxon moved forward, away from him. The ceremony had ended.

Now.

Rafaelo tapped him on the shoulder. “Disculpe.”

The older man spun round.

There was a long silence as Rafaelo stared into Phillip’s face. He examined the narrow nose. The dark hair that sprung back from a high forehead. He stared into the dark eyes—so like his own—and watched them widen.

“No.” The denial burst from Saxon.

Another beat of time passed. Rafaelo waited, letting the other man put it all together.

“It can’t be.” Saxon was shaking his head.

“Phillip?” The strawberry blonde stood there. “Is everything okay?”

Rafaelo resented his focus being taken from Saxon. But he did a double take at the unfriendly suspicion in the pale eyes that clashed with his. A frisson of a wholly unfamiliar sensation prickled the back of his neck. He did a startled double take.

Get rid of her. As a young man he’d survived countless bullfights by listening to his senses. He heeded the warning now.

“We would like some privacy, please,” he demanded, giving her the freezing glare that he usually reserved for the paparazzi.

Phillip looked horrified at his statement.

“Do you want me to go?” Her words were directed at Saxon, but she never took her eyes off him.

“No—stay.”

Rafaelo reassessed. She must be more important than he’d initially thought. Estupido! He could kick himself for dismissing her as a nonentity. Narrowing his eyes, he scrutinised her. He knew she wasn’t Megan Saxon—he’d met Megan once, briefly, at a wine show in France several years before. This woman was too tall and her colouring was all wrong. And she’d denied being part of the family earlier.

So who the devil was she? He examined her from head to toe, ignoring her indrawn breath. She lacked the polish of the circle the Saxons moved in, lacked the salon-set hair, the designer-label clothes. That meant she had to be an employee, he decided. A presumptuous one.

“You want her to stay? On your head may it rest,” Rafaelo addressed Saxon. “I didn’t think you’d want this conversation to be public knowledge. At least not until we’ve had an opportunity to negotiate.”

Saxon understood. His spine straightened and relief flashed in his eyes, coupled with contempt.

He thought he could buy off Rafaelo.

“Caitlyn, perhaps you should leave us.”

Caitlyn? That would be Caitlyn Ross. Rafaelo did a double take. She didn’t look anything like what he’d anticipated of the acclaimed Saxon’s Folly winemaker. He’d thought she’d be older for starters. More sophisticated. This woman looked to be in her midtwenties, too young to have accomplished everything that his research had told him she had.

Caitlyn was shaking her head. “No way am I leaving you alone with him. What he—” she jabbed a slender finger in Rafaelo’s direction “—said sounded like a threat.” The pale eyes duelled with his. “I’m staying right here.”

Brave, too. Foolishly so. “You should stay out of things that do not concern you,” he told her, lowering his voice.

“So now you’re threatening me.” Colour flooded her translucent skin.

“Advising, not threatening. There is a difference,” Rafaelo pointed out with gentle irony. “This is family business….” He drew the phrase out mockingly. “It has nothing to do with you.” Then he turned his narrow-eyed attention back to Phillip Saxon.

“The family’s business has everything to do with me,” she said hotly.

“Caitlyn is like family,” Phillip spoke at the same time.

The look she gave Saxon was filled with gratitude—and annoyed Rafaelo immensely. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and glared at both of them.

Saxon swallowed convulsively and Rafaelo watched mercilessly as the man sought the words that might make Rafaelo go away.

He wouldn’t find them.

For the first time since he’d learned the truth, Rafaelo felt his heart lighten. He started to enjoy himself. Saxon was in a tight spot and he wouldn’t get out. And this woman, who looked as innocuous as milk and honey, was proving to be a challenge that he had not foreseen.

“Caitlyn, dear, where did you arrange with the caterers for the canapés to be served?” Kay Saxon sounded harried as she joined them.

As Caitlyn opened her mouth to answer Saxon’s wife, Rafaelo stepped forward. “Introduce us,” he commanded.

Phillip Saxon blanched. He gave his wife an agonised look, and then his eyes darted back to Rafaelo.

“I…Kay, this is—” He broke off.

Rafaelo waited in stony silence.

“I’m sorry,” Phillip said at last, “I do not know your name.”

Rafaelo smiled. It was not a nice smile. He was too angry for that. “My name is Rafaelo Carreras.”

The wife gave him a polite smile and held out her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Carreras.”

So she thought him a business associate. She had absolutely no idea. Rafaelo’s smile widened and his anger sharpened. “Ah, a handshake is so English. And I know we will be getting to know each other extremely well.” He stepped forward and brushed her cheeks with his in the European way. Over her shoulder he saw the horror…the despair…in Phillip Saxon’s eyes. He had the look of a man tied to the railway tracks in the face of the rush of an oncoming express—his tortured expression revealed that he knew the crash was inevitable, that he could do nothing except wait for the approaching disaster.

Good, the man was afraid. Phillip Saxon had sensed that he, Rafaelo, could destroy his privileged world, everything he held dear.

Then a movement forced his attention to Caitlyn. Her hand was outstretched. “If you’re going to get to know the Saxons well, then we’d better introduce ourselves, too. I’m—”

He ignored the proffered hand, and her introduction trailed away into silence. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned forward. She smelled of wildflowers, soft and subtle.

“Encantado de conocerte.” Very happy to meet you. His lips brushed one cheek, he heard her gasp. His head lifted. Deliberately he kissed her other cheek, no social brush, but a careful placing of his mouth against the pale, silken milk-and-honey skin. He paused for a moment before whispering in her ear, “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Ross.”

She pulled back, a startled expression on her face, a touch of fear in her eyes. “You know my name?”

She was too modest. Of course he knew her name. Rising star. Winner, two years ago, of a silver medal at the World Wine Challenge. And last year she and Saxon had secured a coveted gold medal. His mouth curved. “You’d be surprised by how much I know.”

He heard Phillip’s indrawn breath.

The fear subsided and her eyes sparkled with anger. “Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think, Mr. Carreras. It’s Ms. Ross.”

“Ah,” he said softly, eyes narrowing at her attempt to hold him at a distance with icy formality. “I should’ve known.” And he watched the fresh annoyance flare in those pale, clear eyes.

He preferred her anger to her fear. For a split second he wondered what she was afraid of—because she couldn’t know why he was here. Then Saxon shifted and he moved his attention back to the man he’d come across the world to find.

“Caitlyn, Kay, perhaps it is better that I speak to Mr. Carreras alone.” Saxon sounded anxious.

A frown pleated Kay’s forehead. “But why should that be necessary?”

“There may be things that your husband hasn’t told you, Mrs. Saxon.” The address held a certain irony that only Rafaelo was aware of.

She waved a dismissive hand. “My husband tells me everything.”

“Perhaps not.” Rafaelo’s mouth slashed upward.

“You’re impertinent.”

It was not Kay Saxon who spoke. Rafaelo turned his attention on the blonde. If anyone was impertinent, it was her. He was the Marques de Las Carreras. All his life the family name had commanded respect. Until now…

“Be careful,” he murmured.

“Or what?” Caitlyn challenged. “What are you threatening to do? This is Saxon property, there is security—” She gestured toward a burly man in a dark uniform.

“Caitlyn.” Phillip put a hand on her arm.

But with her protective instincts roused, she would not be stopped. “Call Pita. He can’t just walk into Saxon’s Folly and threaten you, Phillip.”

Rafaelo stared at her. “I am not threatening anyone. I will not be evicted. But I am certain that that he—” Rafaelo couldn’t bring himself to address the man directly “—would prefer to talk alone.”

Phillip released her. “Caitlyn, perhaps he is right.”

“I would like to hear what this man has to say, what he thinks you might not have told me.” Kay Saxon dug her Ferragamo-clad heels into the ground. “Caitlyn is right—he is impertinent.”

Anger ignited deep in Rafaelo’s heart. All the inconveniences of the past two days flamed high, and the pain and rage he’d been keeping under tight control for the past months burst into a blinding conflagration.

He raised an arched, black eyebrow. “It is impertinent to travel all the way to New Zealand to meet my father?”

Phillip dropped his head forward into his hands and uttered a hoarse groan.

“Your father?” Caitlyn looked bewildered. “What does that have to do with—”

Rafaelo glared at her. “It has nothing to do with you—it is a family matter. But trust me, Phillip Saxon is my father.”

Two

Trust him?

Never! Caitlyn drew a shaking breath but kept quiet. Lashing out at the arrogant Spaniard wouldn’t help the fact that she’d exposed Kay to a dreadful revelation.

If she hadn’t pushed him, challenged him, the outcome might have been very different…

“What did you say your name was?” Kay was asking Rafaelo, her face suddenly pale.

“Rafaelo Carreras.”

Slowly Kay started to shake her head. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“He’s lying,” Caitlyn said fiercely, determined not to let Kay be upset. She had enough to contend with already.

“Kay—”

“Wait.” Kay warded off Phillip’s attempt to talk to her. “Carreras, it’s Spanish, isn’t it?”

Caitlyn didn’t like the sudden gleam in Kay’s eyes. Nor, it appeared, did Phillip.

“Kay, love, let’s go. There are people waiting to pay their respects.” Phillip curled an arm around his wife’s shoulders, the skin stretched thin across his cheekbones.

But Kay didn’t budge.

Rafaelo placed his hands on his hips, and thrust his shoulders forward. He looked ready for battle. “Madam, my full name is Rafaelo Lopez y Carreras.”

“Lopez? There was a girl…a young woman…” Kay’s brow pleated as her voice trailed away. “I think her name was Maria Lopez. In fact, I’m sure of it. She was researching her family…I seem to remember that her father, or perhaps an uncle, had died in the Napier earthquake. Yes, that’s right. It’s coming back to me. Her name was Maria.”

“My mother’s name is Maria,” Rafaelo said in a flat voice, his eyes shooting daggers at Phillip.

Eyes widening, Kay put her hand over her mouth and, shrugging out from under his arm, turned to her husband. “Tell me this isn’t true.”

Caitlyn’s stomach dropped like a stone at the expression in Kay’s eyes. She clenched her hands into fists. Surely, Kay couldn’t believe what Rafaelo claimed was true?

Phillip took a large white handkerchief from his pocket and, without unfolding it, rubbed it across his brow.

“You are not going to deny it, are you?” Kay’s face had drawn into tight lines. She turned her attention back to Rafaelo, studying him with critical eyes. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

Kay was not telling Rafaelo to get lost.

“That’s the same age as Roland.” Kay paused and sucked in an audible breath. “When were you born?”

Rafaelo told her.

Hurt flickered across Kay’s face. “That makes you Phillip’s eldest son…even if Roland our—my—first child hadn’t died.”

There was a world of reproach in the look that Kay gave Phillip.

Hurriedly he reached for her. “Kay, I’m sorry. I never—” He broke off, shamefaced.

“Never wanted me to know?”

Phillip didn’t answer and Kay tugged her hand free and walked away. After a horrible silence, Phillip took off after her.

Finding that her hands were shaking, Caitlyn balled them against her mouth. God. It had all happened so fast…

And it appeared that Rafaelo wasn’t lying.

A sideways glance revealed that Rafaelo’s face held no expression. No glee. No gloating. So why had he done it? Why had he come all the way across the world and dropped this devastating bombshell on the Saxons?

He met her questioning gaze with a decided lack of expression and said, “So I am not a liar.”

Then Rafaelo was walking away from her, too, his back ramrod-straight, his black head held at a proud, arrogant tilt. Caitlyn stared after him, her mouth hanging open. Finally she came to her senses.

“What were you hoping to achieve by staging that little scene?” She hurled the words like pebbles at the space between his shoulders.

He stopped, then turned.

Caitlyn glanced around. A little way off a couple stared curiously in their direction. Farther away groups stood around talking. “It’s too public here for the conversation I have in mind. Come with me.”

He didn’t look like the kind of man who followed orders. She half expected him not to follow as she crossed the lane that led past the winery to the house and wound her way along the shoulder of the hill, down the northern slope planted with Cabernet Franc vines. For once Caitlyn didn’t notice the pale green of the leaves, or how the land opened up to meadows where wildflowers had started to bloom in deep drifts along the fence line. She was too mad.

His fault.

Normally, she was even-tempered, easy to get along with—she never lost her temper and rarely even told off any of her cellar hands. But Rafaelo Carreras had managed to get under her skin with his intransigence, with his hard-ass, unbending attitude. She glanced back, he was following. Good.

She quickened her pace.

Caitlyn took him to the stable block. As they entered the yard in front of the L-shaped block, several horses stuck their heads over the half doors, ears pricked with interest. The familiar warm smell of horses and hay calmed her a little. At the end of the row, one stall was closed top and bottom and Caitlyn could hear the animal inside battering the door with his hooves as he demanded to be let out.

That would be Lady Killer. Apart from him, there should be no interruptions. Certainly, there would be no danger of being overheard by guests who’d come to attend Roland’s memorial service.

She swung around and glared at Rafaelo. “Do you have any idea what you interrupted?”

“I called the winery. I made an appointment.”

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think so. Not for today. Not when Kay and Phillip are unveiling a memorial plaque for their son.”

“No, no. The appointment was for yesterday.” His hands raked his hair. “But I experienced some delays.”

She scanned his appearance. Not even the wrinkles and specks of dust could hide the fact that the suit was unlike anything she’d seen before. It fitted like it had been handmade—even if it was looking a little shabby right now. “The security scare in London?” She nodded at his startled look. “I heard about it on the news. I’m sorry, but Phillip and Kay haven’t been taking appointments for the last few days.”

He looked a little abashed. “The woman who answered the phone said something but I wasn’t listening.”

So he wasn’t lying. The frustration in his eyes was too real.

“You must’ve spoken to Amy, the winery’s PA. Roland was her fiancé.” Poor, poor Amy. She would almost certainly not have remembered to tell Phillip about any appointment. She was perilously close to a breakdown. “So I’m sorry, but Phillip probably didn’t get the message.” But that still didn’t excuse Rafaelo’s harsh behaviour. “Once you realised that a memorial ceremony was taking place, couldn’t you have left?”

“So the memorial service is for Roland? The eldest son?”

His face wore a strange expression. Caitlyn gave up trying to decipher what it meant. “Yes, Roland died in a car accident, several weeks ago.” The night of the annual Saxon’s Folly masked ball. “A terrible tragedy.”

“My condolences.” He bowed his head. Briefly. Politely. Then, like a dog with a bone, continued, “I have travelled many miles, I came with a purpose—I’d made an appointment. I wasn’t to know Saxon knew nothing of it. Nor do I have any intention of turning tail and leaving without fulfilling that purpose.”

“That’s it? That’s all you can say?” Caitlyn stared at him in disbelief. “After that confrontation you just forced?”

“I had no intention of forcing a confrontation—it was you who provoked that.”

He gave her a frown filled with dislike. Caitlyn opened her mouth, then shut it again. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed out of it?

Yet she knew that would’ve been impossible. She’d taken one look at the tall, dark foreigner, heard the sardonic edge to his voice as he harangued Phillip and she’d leapt into the fray to protect her employer. Hell, Phillip was more than an employer. He was her sounding board…her mentor…a dear friend.

“You must understand that the Saxons are like family to me.” It was true. “I could no more leave you to bully Phillip than I could walk away from a delinquent drowning a kitten.”

“I am not a bully,” he growled, blood rushing under his olive skin. “I am not a delinquent. I do not drown kittens. I am a man of honour, something that your employer is not. I would never leave a young woman pregnant and alone.”

Suddenly aware of his height and the strength of him as he loomed over her, Caitlyn felt a whisper of fear and took a step back.

He followed, relentlessly closing the space she’d claimed. “I wanted to face my cowardly father with the fact that he has a son he has never cared to acknowledge—and a woman who he had abandoned without giving her any emotional or financial support.”

Another step and the whitewashed wall of the stables pressed against her back; Caitlyn could feel the roughness of the plaster through the linen jacket. She swallowed nervously. “Maybe he didn’t know—”

“He knew!” Rafaelo loomed over her, dark and menacing, and planted a balled fist on either side of her head. “My mother wrote to him when she first learned she was pregnant.”

“Perhaps—” Her voice cracked as he bent forward. Up close the snapping eyes were full of anger, his mouth drawn into a hard line that highlighted the small white scar below his bottom lip. No sign showed of the good humour that the laugh lines around his eyes suggested.

She didn’t know this man at all.

He was a stranger.

What had possessed her to seek out privacy far from everyone else? Caitlyn swallowed again, horribly conscious of how isolated they were here in the empty stable yard.

Bravely she found her voice. “Perhaps the letter went astray.”

“My mother wrote to him again, she was desperate. Is it likely that two letters went astray? New Zealand is, after all, hardly Mars.”

The turmoil in his eyes twisted Caitlyn’s insides into a knot and her anxiety about her own safety subsided. She fell silent. It did sound bad. But she couldn’t believe Phillip would act so callously. Despite Rafaelo’s accusations, she knew Phillip was a man of honour, a decent man, respected throughout the region for his business acumen and the fund-raising he did for charity.

She had to make Rafaelo understand that.

But before she could try to convince him, he pushed his hands away from the wall. The suffocating space between them widened, and Caitlyn sucked in a breath of relief.

“My mother even contacted him by telephone. Phillip Saxon made it clear that he wasn’t interested in the child he had fathered, told my mother that he wouldn’t be leaving his wife.” There was a corrosive bitterness beneath that exotic accent.

Caitlyn glimpsed pain and suppressed rage in his expressive eyes. Unbidden, her hand came up, driven by an urge to rest it on his shoulder, to comfort him. Then the memory of his head bending over hers—of the suffocating closeness of a moment ago—returned and a sharp sliver of the poisonous fear pierced her. Hastily she dropped her hand to her side.

“There must have been some mistake,” she whispered at last, thinking the response that he roused in her was definitely a mistake. She didn’t want, or need, this.

“It was no mistake. Phillip Saxon abandoned her.”

The edge in his voice took her mind off her body’s incomprehensible reaction and made her think about what it must have been like for his mother to find herself alone and pregnant. Three decades ago it would have been worse; society had been much less accepting.

Yet Caitlyn couldn’t help the wave of sympathy for Kay that flooded her. Poor Kay! How humiliating this must be. How horrible to discover her husband’s betrayal of their marriage vows at a time when she was struggling to come to terms with grief over the loss of her son.

In front of her Rafaelo shifted, his eyes unseeing, focused on an inner hell.

The last lingering vestige of apprehension left her. Caitlyn stepped away from the wall. “You’re not the only one who has suffered.” Surely Rafaelo would see that he had more in common with his father than he believed? “Phillip lost a son recently. Can’t you find it in yourself to show him pity?”

“I’m well aware that I am not the only person to suffer bereavement.” From this close her eyes were level with his mouth. His mouth…

Quickly she glanced up, only to find Rafaelo looking down his haughty nose at her. At once Caitlyn realised that he’d misunderstood her.

“I meant both of you are grieving. Perhaps you can offer comfort—”

“I have no intention of offering him anything,” Rafaelo growled. “I owe him nothing. Nada.”

Caitlyn’s cheeks grew hot at his stubborn intransigence. “He’s your father, and he’s just lost a son. Why don’t y—”

The black eyebrows jerked together. Something violent flashed in the depths of his stormy eyes. “Phillip Saxon is not my real father. My father is dead. My father taught me to ride, to fish, to swim—and about wine. And that man is not Saxon.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered in a subdued tone, not knowing what else to say.

He sighed then, a harsh, grating sound. “On his deathbed, the man who all my life I’d believed to be my father, informed me that he and my mother had lied to me, that I was not his son.”

He’d felt betrayed. The sympathy Caitlyn felt for him grew. It had been wrong of his mother to keep the truth from him. But what choice would Maria have had? She’d probably wanted to forget Phillip existed. Now Rafaelo had arrived at Saxon’s Folly, betrayed, grieving…angry at the world.

It was an explosive situation. “Kay doesn’t deserve—”

“I concede that my timing is unfortunate.” The dark eyes lost a little of their angry fire. “But it was not my intention to deliberately set out to cause Kay Saxon pain.”

“Only Phillip,” she retorted, and watched his head jerk back. “You want to hurt him. Why? Because he rejected you when you were a child? Or because you’re scared that he won’t accept you now?”

A range of emotions flickered across his face, receding one by one, until only irritation remained. “I am not a child. I am a realist. I don’t even know this man who fathered me—”

“But you want to get to know him?”

“No! I don’t need to know him. I dislike him. I have no respect for hi—”

“So you want to wound him, don’t you?” Caitlyn could feel herself getting hot and bothered as annoyance spread through her. “What do you plan to do to make up for the hurt he caused you?”

“It’s not about me. I want the bastard to pay for what he did to my mother.” The words burst from him in a torrent.

The silence that fell between them was deafening, broken only by the scrape of an iron shoe as a horse shifted.

Rafaelo looked astonished.

There was another emotion, too. Bewilderment? Confusion? Irritation? It passed too quickly for Caitlyn to read. Either way, it showed there was a chink in that impenetrable armour.

Before she could respond, her cell phone rang. “Where are you?” Megan demanded. “We need you.”

Oh, damn. She was supposed to be helping with the reception.

“Be there shortly.” Caitlyn hit the button to end the call. Meeting his gaze, she said, “I have to go—and so should you. I think you’ve caused enough disruption today.”

His eyes flashed. “I have every right—”

“Not today,” Caitlyn said with certainty. “You need to calm down before you speak to your father.” She tensed, waiting for him to rail at her for calling Phillip that. But to her surprise he didn’t interrupt, so she continued, “Give the Saxons a chance to mourn, to remember Roland with dignity.”

His eyes narrowed until all she could see were slits of onyx. “Tomorrow.”

Caitlyn started to thank him. The compromise could not have been easy, but he steamrolled over her. “In the evening I am flying back to Spain. I do not have time to—how do you say?—twiddle my fingers.”

“Twiddle your thumbs.” She started to smile, refusing to let his disgruntlement spoil her pleasure in his concession. “It will be for only one night.”

Rafaelo stared at her. Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably.

“You will have dinner with me tonight? At my hotel?”

Suddenly his eyes held a lazy warmth that turned Caitlyn’s knees to liquid. The sensation was disturbing…and extremely unwelcome.

“No, I will not have dinner with you.” She couldn’t. Dared not. Not even to try and talk him out of the hatred he held toward the Saxons. “But may I suggest—”

“You are about to order me around again, no?”

She drew a deep breath. “No. Not order. Make a suggestion that will benefit both you and Phillip—and your relationship in the future.”

“I have told you, I have no relationship with him.” He was all disdain again, looking down that arrogant nose, the glimmer of interest that had warmed his eyes a moment ago well and truly doused.

The Spanish grandee, Caitlyn thought with a brief pang of regret at the loss of his more approachable manner. Then she said, “I think you do want a relationship with your father, otherwise why else did you come all this way?”

“Because—” He checked himself. “This is none of your concern.”

Caitlyn suppressed the urge to roll her eyes skyward. “Oh, yes, because I’m not family, right?”

He stared at her unblinkingly, until an uncomfortable prickle started beneath the loose hair at her nape and shivered down her spine.

Hastily Caitlyn said, “I suggest that you spend the evening planning how best to cement the relationship with your father. I also think you should call tomorrow and let Phillip know that you’re coming and give him some idea what you wish to see him about.”

The edge of his lips curled up. The smile—if it could be called that—was full of male superiority and mockery. And it set her teeth on edge. It was a smile that made it clear that he would not take advice. Not from her. Not from anyone. Rafaelo Carreras was his own man and he would do what the hell he wanted.

Finally his lips moved. “It is not my way to let the opposition prepare.”

Damn, but he was annoying with his formal diction, his immaculately tailored suit, and his give-not-one-inch manner…and that beautiful mouth that said such hateful, intransigent things.

“He’s your father…not the opposition.” Caitlyn heard her voice rising.

His face darkened and his lips parted.

She struggled for calm. “Okay, okay. You don’t need to say it.”

“Say what?”

“That he’s not your father.”

Rafaelo’s mouth snapped shut, but his expression remained black as thunder. As she watched that very same mouth compressed into the hard line she was starting to recognise. Then he said, “Phillip Saxon has done nothing to earn the title of father. Right now he is my enemy.”

Caitlyn tore her gaze from that riveting mouth and met the pair of black, smouldering eyes, where she read his implacable hatred for his father. And unexpectedly her heart ached for Rafaelo—and the Saxons.

After the disturbance he’d caused, Caitlyn was determined to escort Rafaelo politely off the estate herself even if the delay meant that she’d have to contend with Megan’s wrath. She wanted no further chance encounters between Rafaelo and the Saxons. At least, not until this day was over.

But as she marched him back along the lane that led to the winery complex, Heath’s voice broke in from behind them, “Caitlyn, do you know what happened to Mother? She’s crying.”

“Uh…” Caitlyn’s heart sank and she suppressed the urge to utter a short, sharp curse. Making her way to the verge of the lane to get out of the path of an approaching car, she said, “Kay’s crying?”

Kay hadn’t cried since Roland had died. Her unnatural stoicism had caused the entire family much concern. But given today’s emotionally charged occasion, it was hardly surprising that she’d broken down. Beside her Rafaelo paused, too. Caitlyn was aware of his body quivering with tension as he slowly turned to face Heath Saxon.

“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.”

All the Saxon siblings looked to their father.

“Is that true?” It was Megan who asked the damning question that was in everyone’s eyes.

“I don’t remember—”

“Don’t compound your lie with another.” There was contempt in Rafaelo’s voice.

Phillip dropped his head in his hands. “Okay, it’s true. But later she knew I was married…and she didn’t break it off.”

“She loved you.” Rafaelo’s tone was thick with contempt. “She thought you were going to leave your wife and marry her.”

Phillip’s head reared back. “I never promised her that.”

The Spaniard shook his head in disgust. “Tell them how young she was.”

Phillip shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

The look Rafaelo gave him was loaded with disbelief. “She was eighteen. Eighteen. Little more than a child. And you took advantage of her inexperience.”

“What about Mother?” Megan nailed him. “Did she know of this affair?”

Phillip shook his head. “Not until yesterday. After Maria left she never returned.”

“But she tried to contact you.” Rafaelo’s mouth curled. “She came to New Zealand to visit the grave of her great-uncle Fernando, a monk who’d come from a Spanish monastery to follow his faith in Hawkes Bay. He’d died tragically in the earthquake of nineteen thirty-one. My mother was given the journals that he’d kept by a local historical society. She made the mistake of showing them to her lover—” he glared at Phillip “—who stole the methods Fernando had perfected.”

Journals? Caitlyn’s stomach tightened.

Phillip bent his head and stared blankly at the table in front of him. Then he murmured, “I do not have any such journals in my possession.”

Misgivings filled Caitlyn. She was acquainted with the journals that she suspected Rafaelo was ranting about. Three volumes. Bound in black leather. Penned in black ink in a stylish sloping hand. A learned man’s handwriting. Probably a monk’s writing. Possibly Rafaelo’s great-great-uncle’s handwriting.

She opened her mouth. Phillip lifted his head and caught her eye. She closed her mouth.

Right now those volumes lay in her possession. In her bedside drawer to be precise. Her stomach heaved. Why was Phillip obfuscating? Could it be true? Had Phillip Saxon stolen the works from a young, impressionable woman? Was it possible that Phillip had seduced Maria only for the diaries?

Caitlyn didn’t want to think about it. It was too awful. But Phillip’s life’s passion had been his fascination with creating a fortified wine that would win international awards and respect—it was a vision he’d ignited in Caitlyn when she’d started working at Saxon’s Folly as a raw student.

The sound of a snort of disgust roused her from her uneasy reflections.

“If this share that you claim belongs to you is based on the fortune we supposedly make from sherry, then you’re sadly misinformed,” Heath said. “With the increase in taxes on fortified wines, it’s hardly a prize worth pursuing. My father and I have had differences of opinion over his stubborn persistence in continuing down this road before.”

The sick feeling in Caitlyn’s stomach intensified. Along with guilt. Because she’d shared Phillip’s obsessive interest. They’d discussed…dreamed…of buying a tract of land in the Jerez region of Spain, of producing a blend that could be properly labelled and sold as sherry. It would be a winner.

“Or perhaps it’s nothing more than an opportunistic get-rich-quick scheme?” Heath’s voice was filled with derision.

The Spaniard drew himself up, his gaze turning to black ice. “I don’t need a get-rich-quick scheme. I am the Marques de Las Carreras.”

Megan gasped. “The Marques de Las Carreras? Then you spoke about manzanilla sherry at a show in Paris—”

Rafaelo switched his gaze to the youngest Saxon. “Yes, we met briefly.”

“I congratulated you on the silver medals your estate attained for the world-renowned fresh, light manzanilla sherry you produce.”

Rafaelo nodded. “Unfortunately not quite as magnificent as the Saxon’s Folly fino product.”

Joshua was frowning. “So if it’s not a question of money, what do you really want?”

“I want him—” Rafaelo nodded his head toward Phillip without sparing him a glance “—to make good the wrong he did me—and my mother.” He slid off the window seat and dusted off his hands. “I want a proportionate share of Saxon’s Folly—and, as the eldest son, I would expect an additional portion. And I want Fernando’s journals back.”

Four

“Have you no pity?” Caitlyn caught up to Rafaelo as he strode out into the blinding sunlight. She shuddered at the memory of the uproar that had erupted after Rafaelo’s demand. He’d simply looked down his nose and told the Saxons that his lawyers would be in touch. “The Saxons are grieving.”

Rafaelo didn’t answer as she bowled along beside him, her long legs easily keeping up with him.

“If it’s revenge that you’re after, you’re making a massive mistake. The biggest loser will be you.”

He stopped and swivelled around to face her.

“How can I lose?” Thankfully the black void had gone. The fire was back snapping in his eyes. “And what if I do want revenge? After what that bastard did to my mother, I’m entitled to it.”

Caitlyn blinked at the virulence in his tone.

“It’s not about whether you’re entitled to the satisfaction it brings you, Rafaelo,” she said finally. “It’s about whether you can let it go.”

“I’m not listening to this mumbo jumbo. I will have my revenge. I will get my share in Saxon’s Folly—and then I will sell it.”

“Sell it?”

“Yes, sell it.”

Caitlyn stared at him aghast at the utter finality in his voice. This, then, was what he’d come for. And he’d ruthlessly honed in on the Achilles’ heel of the Saxon family. “The Saxons have always kept control of the business. They’ve fought off attempts by conglomerates to buy them out. You can’t do this.”

He gave her an evil smile. “Just watch me.”

His timing was perfect. There had never been a better time to destroy the Saxons. It would take time for the family to regroup after the shock of Roland’s death. Time that they didn’t have…if Rafaelo made good on his threat.

Couldn’t he see what he was doing—what he was destroying?

He couldn’t do this. A sense of calm settled over her. Caitlyn squared her shoulders, her spine stiff and straight and stared him down. “I won’t let you do this.”

His gaze was implacable, revealing no emotion. “I never expected you to say anything else, Ms. Ross. You’re on their side.”

Rafaelo could see that Caitlyn Ross was fighting not to argue with him. Her shoulders rose and fell under the ridiculous oversized sports shirt that served only to emphasise her slender femininity. The slim column of her throat framed by the crisp white collar, her wrists so narrow under the banded cuffs.

He watched in silence as she released her breath in a shaky sigh. So she’d seen the wisdom of refraining from arguing—but the effort to remain mute was costing her dearly.

“Nothing to say?” he raised an eyebrow and suppressed a triumphant smile when she gave him a searing look.

“Plenty,” she said from between tightly gritted teeth, “but I’m trying not to antagonise you.”

Her honesty surprised a shout of laughter from him. “Why hold back? You’ve been forthright until now. Say what you think.”

“But where has it gotten me?” she asked. “All I’ve done is make everything worse. Because of me Kay’s hurting—”

“She would’ve found out.” His mouth slanted. “The appearance of a bastard son is hard to hide.”

“Thanks for that.” But her expression remained tight.

Rafaelo wanted the sparkle back. “Come, heckle me, tell me what you were going to say.”

“You think I’m too outspoken, don’t you?”

“It’s refreshing.” He couldn’t tell her that few people—much less women—argued with him these days. That would sound conceited. It was clear she already considered him an arrogant, entitled bastard.

“Tell me what you wanted to say. Would it have antagonised me? Or did you want something from me?” He added the last with a certain degree of wearied resignation.

Most women wanted something from him—marriage, his title, his wealth. A life of indolent luxury as Marquesa de Las Carreras. Even those who gave up on the wedding ring and settled for a skirmish in his bed, expected to be lavishly showered with jewels and clothes and to be royally entertained during their tenure as his mistress.

When had it all grown so tedious?

When had he given up hope of finding a woman who loved him for who he, Rafaelo, was?

“What do I want from you?” Her gaze locked with his, scorching him with the impact. “I want you to reconsider what you intend to do.”

“You mean give up the share that’s rightfully mine?” he objected, disconcerted by the glow of those peculiarly translucent eyes.

“No, no. I can understand you wanting a share in all this—” she waved a hand to encompass their surroundings “—in the wealth, the family, the land, the beauty that is Saxon’s Folly. I don’t expect you to forfeit that. And I’m sure you’ll be able to work something out with the Saxons. But don’t sell it. Stay. Get to know your family—”

“I’m a busy man—I don’t have time to take off.”

“What’s a month? Or even a couple of weeks? You’ve got years ahead of you.” She looked like she was about to stamp her foot. “Darn it, they’re your flesh and blood, Rafaelo. Your family. And if you can’t do that, can’t forget about your thirst for revenge, then go catch that airplane this evening.”

Was she daring him? He stared at Caitlyn. No, she couldn’t be. She didn’t understand who, what, he was. She didn’t know about the huge estate, Torres Carreras, he owned in Spain. She didn’t know about the power he commanded. She only saw him as a threat to her beloved Saxons. Nothing more.

He’d never met anyone like her.

She didn’t seek engagement rings or glittering baubles. She wanted nothing monetary from him. He had a suspicion if he turned and vanished into the ether and never returned she would be relieved.

The realization came as a shock. It had been a very long time since he’d met someone who didn’t demand something material from him. All she asked was that he befriend his father—his half siblings—or, if he couldn’t do that, she expected him to leave.

What she wanted was selfless—for the Saxons.

But he couldn’t oblige. But she needn’t know that. Yet. “I’m no longer leaving this evening. I changed my flight booking.”

But she wasn’t fooled. Rafaelo read the disappointment that clouded her exquisite eyes. She knew that he was staying because he wanted his share of Saxon’s Folly with a driving lust. Not because he needed it. But because of what it represented, the chance to set right the wrong that had been done to his mother…to Fernando’s memory.

Rafaelo suspected she even understood that he wanted the satisfaction of watching Phillip’s face when he broke the news that he’d sold his share to the first bidder. Caitlyn Ross saw what others didn’t. She’d known he wanted revenge.

To his astonishment he found himself saying, “If I do as you want, if I extend my stay from a couple of days to a couple of weeks will you have dinner with me?”

A stillness came over her and a frostiness descended around her. “That’s not fair!”

“Why not? If I stay, I’ll be doing what you want—and I’ll be doing something I don’t want to do.”

Her eyes went from cloudy to utterly opaque, blanking out all emotion. “It’s not that I don’t want to have dinner with you….I don’t date.”

Rafaelo was puzzled by her response. Annoyed, too, his pride affronted. Women didn’t turn him down when he invited them out. Usually they leapt all over him. Yes, Rafaelo. Whatever you want, Rafaelo. Do you want it now or later, Rafaelo? Instead Caitlyn was edging away. So what in the devil’s name was this about?

“Don’t date?” He looked her up and down. “But why not? You’re an attractive, nubile young woman.”

She coloured and looked away, then said softly, “I don’t talk about it, either.”

Her closed expression warned him to tread carefully. It had to be about her romantic mooning over his dumb-ass half brother. Rafaelo’s annoyance grew. “Is it because of what you think you feel for Heath?”

The look she gave him was horrified. “What do you mean?”

Rafaelo waited.

At last she said, “It has nothing to do with Heath.” She gave a broken little laugh. “How can it? Your brother doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Half brother,” he corrected. “He’s a fool. And so are you for pining over one man. Madre de Dios—” he raked a hand through his hair “—how long has this been going on?”

She spread her hands helplessly. “It’s complicated. You don’t—can’t ever—understand.”

“So I’m a simpleton?”

“No…no. Please, I’m not insulting your intelligence. It’s my fault.”

Mouth twisting with wry humour, he murmured, “Ah, this is one of those circumstances where a modern woman would say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ hmm?” The consternation in her eyes made him regret the impulse to tease her. Almost. He made one of the lightning-fast decisions that he was famed for. “I’ll stay. Two weeks. I’ll extend my booking in town.”

“No!” At his look of surprise she tempered her tone. “You can’t possibly stay in a hotel. There are three guest cottages on the estate. I’m sure you can stay in one of them.”

“All right.”

Her face lit up, as if he’d promised her Christmas.

Rafaelo gazed into her pale eyes. They should have been cold and wintry. They ought to have frozen out this loco attraction. Instead they sparkled like clear, pure crystal, radiating enthusiasm and pleasure, drawing him deeper under her spell.

With a struggle he found his voice. “Don’t read too much into all this.”

“I understand,” she said at last. “You’re still going to sell your share in Saxon’s Folly.”

“And don’t think you’ll change my mind,” he growled.

Several days later Caitlyn let out a tired sigh. The path that led over the gentle hill from the winery to the stables, where she lived in a loft apartment, seemed longer and bumpier than usual. Her hot, tired feet dragged.

In the distance the golden glow of the late-afternoon sunlight cast a creamy glaze over the whitewashed stables. To the left, a ray of sun glinted off the chrome trim of Joshua Saxon’s Range Rover, where he inspected the vines. At the end of the block a copse of native trees marked the start of rolling grass meadows dotted with horses, some grazing, others slumbering, heads low, tails whisking to keep the flies at bay.

It had been hellish in the winery. Surrounded by oak casks, Caitlyn had spent the day racking wine, transferring it from one cask to another to remove the lees. She’d worked quickly to lessen the exposure to air. Her back ached and her feet were hot and sore in the scuffed sneakers. She longed for the sharp needles of a cool, refreshing shower…followed by a good book and her own company for a while.

Except today was Thursday. Family night. The night the Saxons all made a point of having dinner together—and included regulars as part of the extended family. Caitlyn was one of those regulars. Even Amy, Roland’s grief-stricken fiancée, would be there. Since Kay had reluctantly agreed that Rafaelo could stay in one of the vineyard cottages, it was possible Rafaelo would have received an invitation to dinner, too.

If the Spaniard was there, the Saxons would need all the support they could muster, she couldn’t abandon them. Caitlyn glanced down, caught sight of her jeans and wrinkled her nose. Kicking a stone out of her path, she decided that solitude and the best seller she was reading would have to wait. But a shower was a necessity—along with a clean change of jeans—before she’d be respectable enough to grace anyone’s dinner table.

The sound of whistling gave her pause. Her head came up. She searched and located Rafaelo lounging on a tussock just inside a paddock near the stable block, his back propped up against the fence post, his harsh profile softened by lips pursed to whistle. Caitlyn couldn’t help noticing that his overlong hair gleamed blue-black like Tui feathers in the sun. She slowed, her heartbeat accelerating with the discomforting awareness that the sight of Rafaelo brought.

She looked away.

Lady Killer was standing a distance away, ears flickering back and forth, the muscles in his haunches bunched and his tail tucked between his legs, every line of his body screaming his protest at the human invading his space.

“Come, sit.” Voice low, Rafaelo patted the mound of grass beside him.

Her pulse went wild. She could no longer pretend she hadn’t spotted him and sneak past. “I thought you were sleeping.”

He cracked one eye open. “That’s what I wanted the stallion to think.”

“He hates people, that horse.” Caitlyn drew nearer and folded her arms across the top railing of the fence, propping her chin on her forearm. At the sound of her voice, the stallion’s ears flattened against his skull.

Rafaelo continued to whistle, a slow mesmerizing sound. Lady Killer stood, stiff-legged, not grazing, his tension showing his fury and his resentment.

Eyes half-closed, the Spaniard murmured, “Sit down. You’re threatening him by standing there.”

“Me? Threatening him?” Caitlyn gave a snort of disbelieving laughter and glanced nervously to the patch of grass Rafaelo was patting.

Taking in Rafaelo’s long, relaxed body reclining on the invitingly green grass, his lazy gaze focused on the horse, she decided that the man was no threat to her. Bent double, she stepped through between the railings and lowered her tired, aching body beside Rafaelo.

He didn’t react. A fantail twittered and fluttered crazily in a nearby bush. Gradually the tension leached from Caitlyn’s muscles. It was heaven to rest back on her elbows and inhale the fresh scent of crushed grass.

Rafaelo didn’t even open his eyes to spare her a glance. Caitlyn snatched up the opportunity to examine him. The hawkish profile, the sensually pursed lips, the olive skin stretched tight across his cheekbones, the small jagged scar beneath his mouth. He was too male to ever be called beautiful.

Then it came to her. The perfect word to describe him.

Macho.

“He’s not as tough as he’d have everyone believe.” At his words, she turned her attention back to the horse.

“Ha! Don’t believe that. There’s a reason he’s called Lady Killer—and it’s not because of his flirty ways with the mares,” she muttered darkly.

“He’s not a killer. He’s an Andalusian,” Rafaelo continued. “In my country we value such horses. We care for them and train them. We do not leave them to become wild and wary like this stallion.”

“He hasn’t been abandoned,” she protested. “Roland bought him about four months before his death. He had plans to turn him into a dressage horse. But the horse is difficult. And with all the work at the winery, Roland didn’t have enough time to put into him. Then he died.”

“Someone needs to take the horse in hand.”

“No one has the time.”

“Or the interest.” Rafaelo’s voice was flat. “I have two weeks. I will speak to my father. Someone needs to give that animal time.”

Caitlyn glanced at him in shock. He was no longer pretending to sleep; all his attention was fixed on the stallion. Caitlyn had been furious with him for pursuing his plan for revenge, to wrest a piece of Saxon’s Folly away from the Saxons. But perhaps it had cooled his anger. It was certainly the first time she’d heard him refer to Phillip as “my father.” She suspected Phillip would be relieved to have Rafaelo’s time occupied, preventing him from skulking around the winery, poking around the fortified wines that they produced. But contrarily she said, “It will be a waste of time. No one can catch that horse, he leads them a fine dance. Jim simply opens his door in the morning and shoos him into the paddock, leaving him a hay net for the day. In the evening, we open his stable door and he comes in for his evening meal.”

The eyes that connected with hers were frighteningly direct. “Who is Jim?”

“One of the cellar hands. He helps Megan feed the horses and muck out the stalls in the morning. Although some students from the local polytechnic who do their practical coursework here also help. And so do I when Megan’s overseas at a wine show.”

“You can ride?”

“Yep, I usually exercise Breeze when Megan’s away.” She pointed to a pretty chestnut mare in the next field. Under his intent gaze the tingling returned, and she moved restlessly. “What can you do with the stallion in two weeks?”

He shrugged. “Teach him to trust me.”

“No chance. That horse doesn’t trust anyone.”

“He already knows I won’t hurt him.”

“Hurt him?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “If anyone is going to do hurting, it’s that mad creature.”

“He’s not mad, he’s scared.”

She stared at him. “Scared? How do you work that out?”

He didn’t turn his head. His profile was harsh and jagged against the verdant grass and the foliage of the surrounding trees. “The first time I raised my arm, he squealed and kicked and tried to bite me. Now, when I raise it, he flinches and puts his ears flat. Someone has hit this horse around the head.” There was cold fury in Rafaelo’s voice.

“It wasn’t any of the Saxons.” Caitlyn sprang to their defence. “He was already difficult when Roland bought him.”

“Stop worrying. I don’t suspect your precious Saxons. But it angers me that a good animal has been ruined by someone’s uncontrollable anger.”

Caitlyn fell silent. She perused him, a new respect filling her. His strength and power was clearly visible in his long, whipcord body and inflexible will, yet he was gentle, too. She didn’t want to examine why that moved her so profoundly.

“Does anyone groom the stallion?” he asked.

Caitlyn focused on the horse with relief. “Not since he trapped Jim between those powerful hindquarters and the wall and aimed a vicious kick at his head. Jim was lucky to clamber up the wall out of the way.”

Rafaelo fell silent.

The fantail was still twittering and over near the stables Caitlyn saw that a pair of swallows had appeared in the evening sky—the first she’d seen this season.

Rafaelo spoke suddenly, “I’ll make you a deal. Dinner in town says that within a week I’ll have that horse caught, groomed and eating out my hand.”

“Loser pays?” Caitlyn started to laugh. There was no chance that Rafaelo was even going to get near the horse. “You better bring your wallet.”

“I don’t intend to lose.” He threw her a narrow-eyed look that stirred the flutter of butterflies in her stomach and caused her laughter to die. Then he smiled, a wide white grin that sparkled with victory, causing adrenaline to jolt through her.

“I’ll do that,” he said softly, “we’ve got a date.”

Too late she saw the trap. Caitlyn stared at him. Win or lose, she was committed to an evening out with him.

Great going for a woman who didn’t date.

Five

An hour later, scrubbed and clean, Caitlyn pushed back the heavy drapes and stepped through the French doors into the formal salon of the Saxon homestead. She stopped at the sight of Phillip and Rafaelo eyeing each other across the wide expanse of a magnificent Persian rug like a pair of wary wolves.

Both men turned to her, relief in two sets of dark eyes. The tension eased a little when Caitlyn started prattling about Lady Killer. A first. Normally the mere mention of the stallion’s name was enough to cause dissent, but for once Phillip appeared to welcome the topic and soon the men were debating whether the stallion could be turned into a dressage horse.

Caitlyn fell silent, watching Rafaelo warily. She hadn’t forgotten how easily he had lulled her into a sense of false security earlier. Her wariness increased when she caught Rafaelo’s hooded eyes scanning the room as he examined the paintings, the furniture, the jewelled hues of the acres of Persian carpet underfoot that contrasted with the polished kauri floorboards.

Was he calculating the value of what his share in the immense historic Victorian homestead might be worth?

“Just be careful,” Phillip was saying, “that bloody horse caused an accident last month. Alyssa was badly hurt.”

“Do I hear my name?” Alyssa picked that moment to enter the salon, Joshua at her side. Sleek and sophisticated, she was wearing a burnt amber dress that suited her dramatic beauty and dark red hair.

By comparison Caitlyn felt underdressed in denims faded almost to white and not even her newest sneakers and the black tank top she wore eased the sensation. Then she shrugged the discomfort away. Joshua was wearing jeans, too. There was no expectation to dress for dinner at Saxon’s Folly. There never had been. The Saxons might be wealthy, but they weren’t pretentious.

“We’re talking about your fall,” Caitlyn said, remembering that awful moment when Alyssa had lain on the cobbles in the stable yard, so still and so pale, Joshua kneeling beside her, his eyes wide with panic.

For one horrible moment Caitlyn had thought Alyssa was dead—and so had a devastated Joshua. The memory still made Caitlyn’s skin crawl.

“My hand hardly hurts anymore.” Alyssa held up her hand, showing off a narrow bandage. “The physiotherapist says I’m well on the mend, I just need to keep doing my exercises.”

“I should’ve shot that stallion.” Joshua put an arm around Alyssa and pulled her close.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Alyssa protested, huddled against his chest.

“Alyssa was riding the stallion?” Rafaelo looked surprised.

“No, no,” said Caitlyn. “She was riding Breeze. Two kids were lurking behind the trees in the paddock. Lady Killer—”

“I do not like that name,” Rafaelo interjected. “It makes the horse sound like a murderer.”

“He damn nearly killed Alyssa.”

“Nonsense, Josh, I’m fine,” said Alyssa.

Joshua brushed his cheek against Alyssa’s hair, his expression bemused. Alyssa smiled up at him, love in her eyes, the rest of the company forgotten. Caitlyn couldn’t stop the melting sensation that filled her at the sight of them together. This was the kind of love that she’d once dreamed of finding…one day.

Little chance of that now…

Finally, Joshua said, “He’s a Devil Horse.”

“Then call him Diablo, it’s better than Lady Killer,” Rafaelo suggested. He inclined his head to Alyssa. “I apologise for interrupting your account.”

Caitlyn took over the story as Joshua placed a kiss on Alyssa’s temple. “When Joshua and Alyssa arrived back from their ride, Lady Killer…Diablo,” she amended at Rafaelo’s hard stare, “was in a right royal lather with those hoodlums in his paddock. They made a dash for it. At the roar of the motorbike, Breeze bolted.”

“Alyssa fell badly and needed treatment for her hand,” Phillip added. “I’ll accept that particular incident might not have been the stallion’s fault, but what he did to Jim—trapping him in the corner of the stable—was downright mean. If anything like that happens again, I’m going to have him destroyed.”

“Let me see what I can do with the horse first,” Rafaelo cut in.

“Take care.” Phillip appraised Rafaelo’s height, his broad shoulders. “If you can master him, as far as I’m concerned you can have him.”

Rafaelo looked startled. Then his features hardened into a determined mask. He started to say something, but paused as Kay entered the salon, Megan close behind her. With a frown Caitlyn noticed that Kay was wearing a dressy skirt. When had the dress code for these Thursday-night family dinners changed? The crease between her brows smoothed when she saw that Megan still wore work clothes.

“Dinner will be another fifteen minutes,” Kay announced. “Looks like we’re all here.” Kay scanned the gathering. She barely glanced at Phillip and her expression clouded over as her gaze rested briefly on Rafaelo. Caitlyn sensed the older woman’s pain at being faced with such incontrovertible evidence of her husband’s infidelity. The lines around the older woman’s eyes had deepened since Rafaelo’s arrival—and the revelation of Phillip’s betrayal.

“Amy’s not here,” said Caitlyn, more to distract Kay’s attention from Rafaelo than for any other reason.

“No, she didn’t feel up to it.” Shadows shifted in Kay’s eyes. “It’s been quite a week.”

That was an understatement. Kay must be thinking of Roland’s memorial service…of her dead son.

“Heath hasn’t arrived yet. He’s late. Again.” Phillip’s tone was riddled with censure.

Kay looked even more upset.

In an effort to head off an argument between Phillip and Kay, Caitlyn said, “If his day was as crazy as mine, he probably finished work not long ago.” Her swift defence of Heath earned her a narrow-eyed stare from Rafaelo that caused her stomach to dip and roll.

“He’s late. Stop making excuses for him, Caitlyn.” Phillip’s bushy eyebrows lowered. “Now, why don’t we sit down in comfort while we wait for my tardy son to arrive.” He gestured to the pair of sofas that faced each other. “Can I get anyone a pre-dinner drink?”

Joshua collapsed into an armchair and Alyssa perched on the arm, while Megan settled herself in a navy brocade armchair that had always been Roland’s spot. A pang of sadness shook Caitlyn. Roland was sorely missed. Joshua must’ve had the same thought because his hand slid over Alyssa’s in a way that could only be described as comforting.

Caitlyn made for one of the sofas.

“Would you like a glass of sauvignon blanc or sherry?” Phillip asked Caitlyn.

“Sherry, please.”

Rafaelo sank down beside her on the sofa. Caitlyn stilled, instantly aware of his overwhelming, breathtaking masculinity. Then she turned to him and said in a cheerfully polite voice, “You must taste Flores Fino. It’s a Saxon’s Folly favourite.”

“I’ll try the white wine.” Rafaelo’s lips were tight. “So, you call it sherry here, do you?”

Uh-oh. Detecting tension, she picked her words carefully. “Habit. The label doesn’t refer to sherry—it describes it only as Flores Fino. But in the style what we produce is Spanish fino, based on—”

“Based on?”

Based on his great-uncle’s process.

She shook her head and took a quick sip from the glass that Phillip handed her. Despite the sweetness of the amber liquid, her mouth tasted bitter. Rafaelo had come not only to seek vengeance on his mother’s behalf but also because he believed that Phillip had stolen his great-great-uncle Fernando’s journals. Yet after that dreadful confrontation in Phillip’s office, Phillip had pulled her aside to explain that he’d bought the journals from Maria before swearing Caitlyn to silence. He didn’t want Rafaelo getting his hands on the journals—or the magic methods they recorded.

To her relief Rafaelo didn’t demand an answer. Instead he asked, “That is Flores Fino, yes?”

Her heart thudding with anxiety, she ran her tongue over dry lips, her mind blank. Finally she nodded.

“The first time I tasted Flores Fino—” Rafaelo nodded toward her glass “—I was, how do you say, blown away? It was what I had been trying to achieve for years. As a child my mother told me tales of the sherry my great-great-uncle had made. She tried to remember what she’d read in the journals.” He gave Phillip a dark look. “She’d jotted down some short notes in her diary, the notes of a history student, not a winemaker. But, helped by my fa—by the Marques—they gave me a start.”

Caitlyn swallowed, distressed by the longing in his eyes.

“I wanted to produce a fino sherry like that. A sherry that would’ve made my great-great-uncle proud.” An air of poignant longing clung to him. Then he shook himself and it vanished. “Instead I tasted that in France. Everyone was excited by the outstanding quality. It was like tasting the nectar of the gods. Perfection.” Rafaelo gave her a sidelong glance that made her heart sink still farther. “I noted the makers. Ross and Saxon. And admired—yearned for—their talent.”

Caitlyn suspected she knew where this would end. “Rafaelo—”

“But it wasn’t God-given talent, was it?” There was a rawness to his harsh tone. “I cannot tell you what I felt when my father—the Marques—revealed that my real father was Phillip Saxon.” His eyes were flat and empty, all the energy and spark gone. “It was as if the missing piece to the puzzle had been dropped into my lap. I hardly needed to hear the story that my mother wished to tell. Because I knew.”

Caitlyn waited, dry-mouthed.

“I knew instantly that the nectar I had tasted was too similar to the notes my mother had given me. I knew…” His voice trailed away as Phillip came closer. Looking from Caitlyn to Phillip, he asked with a hard edge, “So who is the expert then?”

In the manner of a true academic Caitlyn had been fascinated by the leather-bound volumes. She’d fished the dusty journals off the bookshelves and had read them, cover to cover. It had fired her up. She had seen the possibilities.

“I’ve always made sherry,” Phillip said, trying to look modest, and Caitlyn’s shoulders sagged. “Caitlyn worked with me when she first came, but once Heath left she had so much else to do.”

For a moment annoyance at the dismissal of her role in establishing Saxon’s Folly as a top producer of fortified wines overcame her relief. Then she caught sight of the fury in Rafaelo’s face and she wanted to cry. Rafaelo believed Phillip’s skill came from Fernando’s journals—the very journals he believed Phillip had stolen from his mother. Phillip’s attitude would do nothing to dampen Rafaelo’s desire for revenge. Did Phillip not realise that far from establishing himself as a figure of admiration in Rafaelo’s eyes, he was simply alienating, enraging, his firstborn son more?

Finally she compromised. Let Phillip have his pride, but she had to take responsibility, too. “Phillip has always been my mentor—it was something we were both fascinated by. But it’s true that since Heath bought Amy’s father’s estate on the other side of The Divide and ceased to be Saxon’s Folly’s winemaker, I’ve had less time for sherry.”

“Heath should never have left,” Phillip muttered.

Across from them, Joshua started to frown.

“Too many things we couldn’t agree on, Dad,” Heath said quietly from the doorway. “And I will have sherry, thanks.”

“You’re late,” Phillip said gruffly.

“Mother told me that Amy wasn’t coming this evening. I stopped in on my way here to see if she was okay.”

“It would’ve done her good to get out for the evening.” Kay shook her head sadly. “She hasn’t been at work the whole week.”

“She looked so pale and unhappy the last three weeks, I think it’s better that she’s taken some time off.” Megan looked troubled. “I don’t think she ever grieved properly after Roland’s death. She was so busy trying to cheer us up…and pick up the slack at the winery.”

Heath came closer. “I tried to talk her into coming tonight—she didn’t want to. Hell, I can’t even get through to her right now.” Frustration simmered in Heath’s eyes. “Everything I suggest, she resists.”

“Should I talk to her?” Joshua looked around at the others, his gaze alighting longest on Alyssa. “Will that help?”

Heath hesitated. “Maybe.”

“Both of you need to back off and give her time. She’s lost the man she loves.” Alyssa turned her hand and threaded her fingers through Joshua’s and squeezed. “In her shoes I’d be heartbroken.”

“That she is.” Heath collapsed on the sofa facing them, and Caitlyn decided that he looked even more weary than she felt. It was a terrible time for Heath, Megan and Joshua. Their brother’s death, the shocking discovery of Rafaelo’s existence and learning of their father’s betrayal of their mother all meant that everyone’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

Caitlyn wished that the clock could be turned back and everything made right.

Ivy arrived bearing a tray and offered around dainty glasses filled with amber-coloured sherry and glasses of pale gold sauvignon blanc.

Rafaelo bent forward to set down his glass of wine as Ivy departed.

“Wait.” Caitlyn touched his arm. “Don’t put it there.”

He stared down at her hand on his arm, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. The impact was like a burst of static. From his raised eyebrow, Caitlyn knew he’d felt it, too.

His skin felt hot under her touch. Caitlyn started to snatch her hand away. Then stopped. No, darn it. She was a respected award-winning winemaker. What was she doing jumping away from a man’s bare skin like some terrified little virgin?

So she left her hand on his arm and returned his stare. The contact was electrifying. Under her fingertips she felt the muscles contract. His eyes grew blacker than midnight.

All of the sudden Caitlyn had a sense of getting in deeper than she’d ever been before. For a cowardly moment she half wished she had withdrawn her hand, when she’d had the chance, but now that moment had passed.

Irrevocably.

He smiled, and said so softly that only she could hear, “I’m getting used to your telling me what to do.”

She blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. That table has been in Kay’s family for centuries. I wanted to set down a coaster—” Caitlyn reached for a hand-painted box and extracted a pile of glass coasters, setting them out on the low table that separated the two long sofas. “I don’t want it to be marked from the glasses.”

“I’m surprised Kay places the table where it could risk getting damaged.”

“She likes to surround herself with possessions with meaning. I don’t think she’d mind it being marked—she’d see that as part of the beauty.”

“But you’re protecting her from heartache?”

“Yes. The Saxon family has been very good to me. It’s my turn to protect them. Wouldn’t you—if you were in the same position?”

Their eyes held for a long moment and a beat of perfect understanding arched between them.

Phillip’s voice broke in, “What do you think of the sherry, Heath?”

Heath lifted the sherry glass and sipped. “Very good.”

“It’s more than good. It’s a winner,” said Phillip argumentatively. But Heath didn’t respond. “Sure you don’t want a taste, Rafaelo?”

“Quite sure.” Rafaelo’s tone was measured and frighteningly formal, his curved lips compressed into that hard line that caused Caitlyn to shiver.

She gave Phillip a quick look. He was so caught up in his battle with Heath that he didn’t seem to sense that he was antagonizing Rafaelo. Couldn’t he fathom that the sherry was a volatile topic tied up with Rafaelo’s complicated relationship with his family? The mother, her great-uncle and the father to whom Rafaelo believed he owed his loyalty. She wished Phillip would shut up.

Heath stretched out his legs—jean-clad Caitlyn noticed with relief—and addressed Rafaelo, “That’s where my path diverges from my father’s. I’m not a trophy hunter, I simply make solid no-fuss wines to drink with meals.”

“Don’t pay attention to him.” Joshua tipped his head sideways against the back of the armchair. “The wines he produces are superb—far from no-fuss.”

“You should taste them, Rafaelo, they’re fabulous.” Caitlyn ran interference again, watching the byplay between the Saxon males and trying to fathom the underlying currents.

“Thank you for that endorsement, kitten,” Heath said.

“Kitten?” Rafaelo’s lip curled in disgust. “Kitten?”

“My nickname,” said Caitlyn, very quickly. She flashed Heath a half smile, wishing that the undercurrents would evaporate.

Even Joshua’s eyes narrowed, revealing his awareness of the rising tension in the room despite his outwardly relaxed appearance. On the other side of the room, Kay was chewing her lip, her eyes flitting from her husband to the Spanish interloper to her younger son—clearly Kay was worried, too.

And beside her Rafaelo felt like a powder keg about to explode.

In the golden glow of the tall candles, Rafaelo studied the straw-coloured wine in the Baccarat glass, then he glanced over the top to where Caitlyn sat beside him, her meal finished, too.

Kitten!

Rafaelo suppressed a snort. Heath had it wrong. This woman was no kitten. His half brother didn’t know her. He drew comfort from that thought. She turned her head. Her eyes, the colour of pale, unearthly crystal, so clear, so pure, connected with his. Desire jolted through him.

She reminded him of a wolf. Fiercely protective. Her eyes glowing, all-seeing, uncanny in the candlelight.

“What do you think?”

He stared at her. What did he think? Madre de Dios, he couldn’t think. Not while her eyes transfixed him, entrapped him in their clear depths.

“Would you prefer red?”

She was talking about the wine, he realised belatedly, jerking himself back to reality, to the glass in front of him, to the dining room in the Saxon homestead, and to the conversation dominated by weather and Brix.

A conversation that he would normally command. But not tonight. Tonight turbulence raged within him. He sensed resentment from his half siblings. Not that he blamed them. Anger lingered against Phillip—his dishonourable father—who blatantly offered around sherry, boasted about the awards he’d garnered, from a process he had stolen from a vulnerable, loving woman. Some of his dark emotion spilled onto Caitlyn; her name had been listed alongside Phillip Saxon’s as winemaker.

He pushed himself to his feet. “Excuse me, please.” Rafaelo stalked to the tall doors that led outside. For the first time in years he craved a cigarette. But he’d given them up a decade ago. He felt her presence before she stepped outside.

“I needed a breath of fresh air,” he felt compelled to explain.

Then Caitlyn smiled and the blackness eased inside him. Rafaelo told himself that he was being too harsh. She’d been an employee, acting under instructions…Phillip Saxon’s instructions. And the desire for her that had been tamped down ignited again.

“So how did you come to work for Saxon’s Folly?” he asked Caitlyn to get his head out of that dark black pit it was stuck in.

“Heath tutored me during my first year at university—we became friends. He organised a vacation job for me at Saxon’s Folly. After I finished studying, the family offered me a full-time position as a cellar hand.” And she’d always wondered what had motivated that offer.

Rafaelo tilted his head sideways studying her. “What made Heath single you out?”

“He’s a kind man. I think he felt sorry for me.” Caitlyn laughed without humour.

Sorry for her? What was wrong with the man? Rafaelo wondered. “But why?”

She hesitated. “I was a swot.”

“A swot?” Rafaelo asked, puzzled by the word.

“I studied too much. I came out of university with a first class honours degree, a willingness to learn and not much else. I always had my nose in a book.”

“Ah.” Had she seized the opportunity to work at Saxon’s Folly because of Heath Saxon? Such a smart woman, so besotted over such a dumb ass.

Through the glass doors, Rafaelo cast his clueless half brother a damning look. Didn’t he see under the worn jeans and sneakers to the woman she was?

“Heath was already winemaker here,” Caitlyn was saying. “He’d taken over from Phillip, who had worked at a killing pace for the past ten years and wanted to start slowing down. Joshua studied locally and ran the vineyards, while Roland looked after the marketing side.”

“That was around the time he—” Rafaelo couldn’t bring himself to use Saxon’s name “—decided to give his sons shares equal to those that his wife held in Saxon’s Folly, while retaining the largest share himself.” Only to the legitimate sons, of course.

Caitlyn’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I made it my business to find out such things,” he said in reply to her unanswered question.

“He gave Megan a share equal to her brothers’.”

“Only later, once she’d finished her studies.”

“She was younger.” Caitlyn came instantly to Phillip Saxon’s defence.

“So why did Heath leave Saxon’s Folly?” That was one question Rafaelo wanted answered.

Caitlyn lifted her shoulders in a small movement and let them drop. “Heath and Phillip had had a bitter fallout. I was assistant winemaker by that time. Heath suggested that Phillip and Kay offer me the top job, winemaker at Saxon’s Folly.”

He read the pride in her eyes, the disbelief that still lingered. “Didn’t you think you could do it?”

“It had been my secret dream, so deeply buried that I never saw any chance of it coming true.”

“Especially not with a Saxon already in the winemaker role,” he said drily. “You needed Heath to move on.”

“I never wanted that!” Her eyes sparked with anger. “That’s a horrid thing to imply. Heath’s always been fantastic to me. Supportive, encouraging. I…” Her voice trailed away.

Rafaelo didn’t need her help to join the dots.

Caitlyn shook her head. “Oh, what’s the use of trying to explain? You’ll never understand.”

He understood. More than she thought. She fancied herself in love with Heath Saxon.

Caitlyn saw his mouth tighten. She wished he could get over this stupid antagonism that he and Heath shared.

How could she explain what it had meant to her to be promoted to chief winemaker? That had been Mount Olympus back then. Attaining such lofty heights had seemed more farfetched than the hope of catching Heath’s attention—a dream which she was starting to realise had been nothing more than the crush of a bookish late developer. She turned away from Rafaelo, unwilling to think about what had prompted such a ground-shifting revelation, and made for the tall glass doors.

“I’m going back inside.” After a long moment, she heard him follow and tried to tell herself that she didn’t care what he did—as long as he didn’t harm the Saxons.

Later, after murmuring farewells to Phillip and Kay, Caitlyn glanced to where Rafaelo stood listening to Alyssa and Joshua argue about whether Saxon’s Folly should be sponsoring a newly created food and wine TV show. Since their conversation, Rafaelo hadn’t said much. Hell, he’d even declined dessert—no one ever refused a helping of Ivy’s pavlova.

But then she’d been silent, too, caught up in the discovery that she wasn’t in love with Heath Saxon—that it had been nothing more than a very convenient crush that had prevented the need for a boyfriend when she hadn’t wanted one. And later…

Well, later it had meant there’d been no pressure on her to come to terms with what had happened.

Her breath hissed out. A whole new world opened ahead of her. One filled with men and passion and all the things she’d spent five years avoiding. She glanced toward Rafaelo.

In one of those freakish tricks of timing, Alyssa and Joshua stopped arguing and looked toward the French doors. Rafaelo’s gaze followed. Caitlyn was caught staring. She gave them a little wave and mouthed, “Good night.”

Rafaelo came toward her. “I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s not necessary.” Caitlyn gave a breathy little laugh. “Goodness, I’ve walked home often enough. This isn’t the city. This is Saxon’s Folly, I’m hardly in any danger of getting mugged. If I’d thought that, I’d have called Pita, the guard, to walk me home.”

“I thought you might like the company,” Rafaelo murmured. “I’m on foot, too. The stables are on my way home.”

Coming up behind him, Alyssa said, “Caitlyn’s right. Saxon’s Folly is as far removed from the city as you can get—ask me, I’m the original fast-lane gal, aren’t I?” And she gave Joshua a loving smile that had him hurrying to her side, his dark eyes melting.

For a raw instant Caitlyn felt a tearing of envy. She wanted to be loved like that. For a fraction of time she let her gaze rest on Heath, then she swung her attention back to Rafaelo.

His eyes were piercing. Caitlyn felt as if he could see all the way to her soul, to the need that lay there, beneath the frozen wastes.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded strangled. “I’d like you to walk me home.”

Rafaelo glanced at Heath and back to her. “Would you?”

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