Книга - In the Australian’s Bed: The Passion Price / The Australian’s Convenient Bride / The Australian’s Marriage Demand

In the Australian's Bed: The Passion Price / The Australian's Convenient Bride / The Australian's Marriage Demand
Miranda Lee

Lindsay Armstrong

MELANIE MILBURNE


Back by popular demand! These great value titles feature stories from Mills & Boon fans' favourite authors. The Passion Price by Miranda Lee Jake Winters has that edge of danger about him, even though he’s now a successful, wealthy Sydney lawyer. When he comes back into Angelina’s life, the intense sexual attraction between them is still too hard to deny – can Angelina let Jake have her body, but keep her secret…?The Australian’s Convenient Bride by Lindsay Armstrong Handsome cattle-station owner Steve Kinane needs a housekeeper – and Chattie Winslow is perfect. Chattie and Steve try hard to resist the sexual chemistry between them. Then Steve discovers her reason for being in the Outback, and proposes an irresistible marriage of convenience.The Australian’s Marriage Demand by Melanie MilburneWhen Jasmine wakes up the morning after a society wedding, she’s in Connor Harrowsmith’s bed! She’s snapped by the Sydney paparazzi as she stumbles from his hotel room! With both their reputations at stake, Connor insists they wed, but he is not thinking of a marriage on paper…









In the Australian’s Bed


These sexy men from Down Underwon’t be denied!

Three sensational, contemporaryromances from three favouriteMills & Boon® authors!


Miranda Lee is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated and briefly pursued a career in classical music, before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Don’t miss Miranda Lee’s exciting new novel,Bride of Vengeance, available in January 2009from Mills & Boon® Modern™.




IN THE AUSTRALIAN’S BED


THE PASSION PRICE

by

Miranda Lee

THE AUSTRALIAN’S CONVENIENT BRIDE

by

Lindsay Armstrong

THE AUSTRALIAN’S MARRIAGE DEMAND

by

Melanie Milburne




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




THE PASSION PRICE


by

Miranda Lee


CHAPTER ONE

‘THE ad says the property is open for inspection every Saturday afternoon between two and three,’ Dorothy pointed out. ‘I’m going to drive up there today and have a look at it. What do you think of that?’

Jake put down the newspaper and looked up at the woman who’d been more of a mother to him than the woman who’d given birth to him thirty-four years before.

As much as he loved Dorothy, Jake wasn’t going to indulge her in such a ridiculous idea.

‘I think you’re stark, raving mad,’ he said.

Dorothy laughed, something she hadn’t done all that often this past year.

Jake frowned. Maybe it wasn’t such a ridiculous idea, if it made her happy.

Hell, no, he immediately reassessed. She was seventy-one years old. Way too old to go buying some run-down boutique winery up in the back blocks of the Hunter Valley.

Still, perhaps it would be wise not to mention Dorothy’s age in his arguments. She was sensitive about that, like most women.

Not that she looked her age. Dorothy Landsdale was one of those women who had never been pretty, but had grown more handsome with age. Tall, with broad shoulders and an impressive bosom, she had an intelligent face, with few lines on her perfect skin, a patrician nose and intense, deeply set blue eyes. Her silvery hair, which was dead straight, was always cut very short in a simple yet elegant style.

That was Dorothy’s style all round. Simple, yet elegant. Jake had always admired the way she looked and dressed, although he sometimes wondered if she’d had her lips permanently painted red, because he’d never seen her without her favourite lipstick on.

Not that it mattered. Frankly, red lips suited her, especially when she was smiling.

Jake determined not to say anything that would wipe that wonderful smile off her face.

‘Look, let’s be sensible here,’ he began in the same calm, cool, you-and-I-are-reasonable-people voice he reserved for juries during his closing addresses. ‘You know nothing about wine-making.’

‘Actually, you’re wrong there, Jake, dear. You obviously don’t know this, but Edward once planned on buying a boutique winery in the Hunter Valley. He fancied going up there on weekends. He collected a whole shelf-full of books on the subject of wine and wine-making at the time. Made me read them so we could talk about the subject together. But then he brought you home to live with us and that idea was abandoned. Though never entirely forgotten. He still dreamt of doing it after he retired.’

Jake experienced a dive in spirits, as he always did when the judge was talked about. He and Dorothy had both been shattered when Dorothy’s husband of thirty years had died of a coronary last year, a few short months before his retirement. Jake had taken the news extra hard. If Dorothy was like a mother to him, Edward had been like a father, and more. He’d been Jake’s mentor and best friend. His saviour, in fact. A wonderful man. Kind and generous and truly wise.

Jake knew he would never meet his like again.

Edward had left Jake a small fortune in his will, an astonishing document with a written request that within six months of his death Jake was to use some of his cash legacy to buy a luxury harbourside apartment and a yellow Ferrari. Jake had wept when he’d been told this. He’d confided these two fantasy purchases to his friend one night last year over a game of chess, also confessing that he would probably never buy them, even if he could afford to. He already had a perfectly nice apartment, he had explained to Edward. And a reliable car.

But Edward’s last wishes were sacrosanct with Jake and he’d taken possession of the new apartment—set on prestigious McMahon’s Point—just before Christmas a couple of months back. The Ferrari had come only last week. He’d had to wait ages to have a yellow one imported and delivered.

Both the apartment and the car had already given him great pleasure. But he would give them both back—hell, he’d practically sell his soul to the devil—to have the man himself sitting alive and well at this breakfast table with them.

‘So that’s what this is all about,’ he said with a raw edge in his voice. ‘You want to make Edward’s dream come true.’

‘In a way. But don’t get me wrong. This would mostly be for me. I need a new venture, Jake. A new interest in life. Edward would hate for me to be moping around all the time, thinking my life was over because he was no longer here. When I saw that ad in the Herald this morning, it jumped right out at me. But it’s not just the winery. I simply love the look of the house.’

Jake glanced down at the photograph of the house. ‘It just looks old to me.’

‘It’s beautiful. I love old Australian farmhouses. Look at those gorgeous wraparound verandas. First thing I’d buy would be a swing seat. I’d sit there every afternoon with a gin and tonic and watch the sunsets. I’ve never had a house, you know. I’ve always lived in apartments. I’ve never had a garden, either.’

‘They’re a lot of work, houses and gardens,’ Jake pointed out. ‘Wineries, too,’ he added, suddenly thinking of another time and another winery.

It, too, had been in the Hunter Valley. But not one of the boutique varieties. A reasonably large winery with acres under vine, producing tons of grapes each season that the anti-machinery Italian owner always had picked by hand.

Which was where he had come in.

Jake hadn’t thought about that place, or that time in his life, for ages. He’d trained himself over the years not to dwell on past miseries, or past mistakes.

But now that he had, the memories came swarming back. The heat that summer. The back-breaking work. And the utter boredom.

No wonder his eyes had kept going to the girl.

She’d been the only child of the Italian owner. Angelina, her name was. Angelina Mastroianni. Lush and lovely, with olive skin, jet-black hair, big brown eyes and a body that had looked fabulous in the short shorts and tight tank tops she lived in.

But it was her come-hither glances which he’d noticed the most.

As a randy and rebellious seventeen-year-old, Jake had been no stranger to sex. No stranger to having girls come on to him, either.

Yet it had taken him all summer to talk Angelina into meeting him alone. He’d thought she was playing hard to get, a conclusion seemingly backed up by the way she’d acted as soon as he’d drawn her into his arms. She hadn’t been able to get enough of his kisses, or his hands. He hadn’t discovered till after the big event, and her father was beating him to a pulp, that she’d only been fifteen, and a virgin to boot.

Within the hour, he’d been bundled off back to the teenage refuge in Sydney from whence he’d come. The subsequent charge of carnal knowledge had brought him up in front of the very man who’d sent him on the ‘character-building’ work programme at the winery in the first place.

Judge Edward Landsdale.

Jake had been scared stiff of actually being convicted and sentenced, something he’d miraculously managed to avoid during his rocky young life so far. But he’d felt his luck had run out on this occasion and the prospect of a stint in an adult jail loomed large in his mind, given that he was almost eighteen.

Fear had made him extra-belligerent, and even more loud-mouthed than usual. Judge Landsdale had seen right through him, and also seen something else. God bless him. Somehow, Edward had had the charges dropped, and then he’d done something else, something truly remarkable. He’d brought Jake home to live with him and his wife.

That had been the beginning of Jake’s new life, a life where he realised there were some good people in this world, and that you could make something of yourself, if someone had faith in you and gave you very real, hands-on support.

Angelina had lingered in Jake’s thoughts for a long time after that fateful night. In the end, however, he’d forced her out of his mind and moved on, filling his life with his studies and, yes, other girls.

Now that he came to think of it, however, none of his girlfriends so far had ever made him feel what Angelina had made him feel that long-ago summer.

Who knew why that was? Up till their rendezvous in the barn, they’d only talked. Perhaps it had been the long, frustrating wait which had made even kissing her seem so fabulous. The sex had hardly been memorable. She’d panicked at the last moment and he’d had to promise to pull out. Then, when she’d been so tight, he hadn’t twigged why—young fool that he was. His only excuse was that he’d been totally carried away at the time.

Really, the whole thing had been nothing short of a fiasco, with her father finding them together in the winery only seconds after Jake had done the dastardly deed. He’d barely had time to zip his jeans up before the first blow connected with his nose, breaking it and spurting blood all over one highly hysterical Angelina.

Jake reached up to slowly rub the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t crooked any longer. Neither were his front teeth still broken. He didn’t have any tattoos left, either. Dorothy had taken him to the best Macquarie Street cosmetic surgeons and dentists within weeks of his coming to live with her, beginning his transformation from Jake Winters, dead-beat street kid and born loser, to Jake Winters, top litigator and sure winner.

He wondered what had happened to Angelina in the intervening years. No doubt that hotheaded father of hers would have kept a closer eye on his precious daughter after that night. He’d had big dreams for his winery, had Antonio Mastroianni. Big dreams for his lovely Angelina as well.

With the wisdom of hindsight, Jake could now well understand the Italian’s reaction to discovering them together. The last male on earth any father would have wanted his daughter to get tangled up with was the likes of himself. He’d been a bad boy back then. A very bad boy.

Not to Judge Edward Landsdale, though. When Edward had first met Jake, he hadn’t seen the long hair, the tattoos or the countless body piercings. All he’d seen was a good boy crying to get out, a boy worth helping.

Aah, Edward. You were right, and wrong at the same time. Yes, I have made something of myself, thanks to you and Dorothy. But beneath my sophisticated and successful veneer, I’m still that same street kid. Tough and hard and self-centred in the way you had to become on Sydney’s meaner streets to survive. Basically, a loner. Such programming is deep-seated, and possibly the reason why my personal life is not as great as my professional life.

A top trial lawyer might benefit from being on the cold-blooded side, from never letting emotion get in the way of his thinking. But how many of my girlfriends have complained of my lack of sensitivity? My selfishness? My inability to truly care about them, let alone commit?

I might be able to argue great cases and win verdicts, along with massive compensation payments for my clients, but I can’t keep a woman in my life for longer than a couple of months.

And do I care?

Not enough.

The truth is I like living alone, especially now, in my fantastic harbourside apartment. I like being responsible for no one but myself.

Dorothy, of course, was a responsibility of sorts. But Dorothy was different. He loved Dorothy as much as he had loved Edward. That was why he visited her every Friday night, and why he sometimes stayed the night. To make sure she was all right. Edward would have wanted him to look after Dorothy, and he aimed to do just that.

Not an easy task, Jake reminded himself, if she was living way out in the country.

He really had to talk her out of the ridiculously romantic idea of buying this winery.

But talking Dorothy out of something was not always an easy thing to do…

When Jake’s eyes glazed over and he kept idly rubbing his nose, Dorothy wondered what he was thinking about. Edward, probably. Poor Jake. Edward’s death had really rocked him. They’d become so close over the years, those two. The crusty old judge with the heart of gold and the cocky street kid with no heart at all.

Till Jake had met Edward, that was.

Impossible to remain completely heartless around Edward. Dorothy knew that for a fact. The day she’d met her future husband, she’d been forty years old. Overweight and on the frumpy side, way past her prime. Edward had been five years younger at thirty-five, tall and handsome and beautifully dressed. He’d come to her aid when she’d been knocked over in Market Place by some lout on a skateboard. He’d taken her for a cup of coffee to settle her nerves and swiftly made her forget that she was a dried-up old spinster with a dreary office job and a bitter cynicism about men, especially the good-looking ones.

She’d fallen in love with Edward that very first day. Why he’d fallen in love with her, she had no idea. He’d claimed it was the heat in her eyes. Whatever, she’d lost those extra pounds she’d been carrying over the next few weeks. In her few spare hours, she’d also smartened herself up. Bought some decent clothes. Had her hair styled by a good hairdresser. And started always wearing the red lipstick Edward had admired.

They’d been married six months later, to predictions of doom from relatives. But their marriage had proved to be a great success, despite their not having any children.

Other men might have resented that. But not Edward. When she’d tearfully questioned him over his feelings about her infertility, he’d hugged her and said he’d married her for better or worse, and that resenting realities was a waste of time. But that was when he’d started working with charities that helped underprivileged boys, and where he’d lavished all his unused fatherly love.

Still, he hadn’t become too personally involved with any of the boys till Jake had come along. Jake, of the ice-blue eyes and serious attitude problem.

When Edward had first brought Jake home to live with them, Dorothy couldn’t stand the boy’s smart mouth and slovenly ways. But gradually, a miracle had happened. Jake had changed and maybe she had changed a bit, too, becoming more tolerant and understanding.

Whatever, they’d both ended up genuinely liking each other. No, loving each other. Like mother and son.

Dorothy knew that if she bought this winery Jake would come and visit her up there as much as he did here, in Sydney. The Hunter Valley wasn’t all that far away. A two-hour drive. It would do him good, she thought, to get out of the city occasionally. To relax and smell the flowers, so to speak. He worked way too hard. And it wasn’t as though there was any special girl to keep him here in Sydney at the weekends. He’d broken up with that last one he’d been dating. A bottle-blonde with a flashy smile and a figure to match.

Why Jake kept choosing girls for their sex appeal alone, Dorothy couldn’t fathom. When she’d complained about this side of Jake to Edward a couple of years back, he’d said not to worry. One day, Jake would meet the right girl, fall head over heels, get married and have a family.

Dorothy wasn’t so sure about that last part. She didn’t think having a family would ever be on Jake’s agenda. Damaged children often veered away from having children themselves.

No, she wasn’t holding her breath over that ever happening.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she said gently.

Jake snapped back to reality with a dry laugh.

‘Not worth even ten cents. So when do you want to leave?’

Dorothy smiled. ‘You’re going to drive me up there?’

Jake shrugged. ‘Can’t let my best girl go careering all over the countryside by herself. Besides, I’ve been dying for an excuse to give my new car a proper spin. Can’t do that on city roads.’

‘Jake Winters! I have no intention of dying at the hands of some speed-happy fool in a yellow Ferrari.’

Jake laughed. ‘And this from the wild woman who’s planning to buy some run-down winery in the middle of nowhere! Don’t worry, I won’t go over the speed limit. And hopefully, once you see this dump for real, you’ll be happy to stay right where you are and take up pottery.’

‘Pottery! What a good idea! There’s sure to be room for a kiln at the winery. The ad says there are ten acres of land, and only five under vine.’

Jake gave up at this point. But he was sure that Dorothy would see the folly of her ways and change her mind once she saw the place, and where it was.

‘If we leave around ten,’ Dorothy said excitedly, ‘we’d get up there in time for lunch. Lots of the larger wineries have great restaurants, you know.’

Jake frowned. Mr Mastroianni had been going to build a restaurant at his winery. And guest accommodation. He’d also been going to change the name of the winery from its present unprepossessing name to something more exotic-sounding. Angelina had told him all about her papa’s grand plans, but Jake’s mind had been on other things at the time and he couldn’t remember what the new name was. Or what the old name was, for that matter. Though it hadn’t been Italian.

According to Angelina, the winery had belonged to her mother’s family. Jake did recall her telling him that her mother had been middle-aged when her father married her. She’d died having Angelina.

‘I looked up a few of the restaurants on the internet last night,’ Dorothy was rattling on. ‘There’s this really interesting-looking one on the same road as the place we’re going to inspect. It’s at a winery called the Ambrosia Estate. Isn’t that a wonderful name for a winery? The nectar of the gods.’

Jake’s mouth dropped open. That was it! Ambrosia!

‘What is it?’ Dorothy said. ‘What did I say?’

‘Did Edward ever tell you the story of how I came to be in his court?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. You…’ She broke off, her eyes widening. ‘Good lord, you don’t mean…’

‘Yep. The scene of my crime was the Ambrosia Estate.’

‘Goodness! What an amazing coincidence!’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

Dorothy gave him a sheepish look. ‘I—er—I’ve already made us a booking at the restaurant there for twelve-thirty.’

Jake couldn’t help being amused. What a crafty woman she was. ‘You were very confident I’d drive you up there myself, weren’t you?’

‘I think I know you pretty well by now. But honestly, Jake, if you want me to change the booking to somewhere else, it’s easily done.’

‘No, don’t worry. I doubt I’d be recognised. I’ve changed somewhat since my bad-boy days, don’t you think? Though it’s just as well you made the booking. If old-boy Mastroianni knew Jake Winters was eating lunch in his restaurant, I’d be fed hemlock. Italians have long memories and a penchant for revenge. He might not know my face but I’ll bet he’d remember my name.’

Oh, yes. He’d bet the name Jake Winters was burned into Antonio Mastroianni’s brain. And whilst Jake really didn’t want another confrontation with Angelina’s father, the possibility of running into Angelina again sparked an undeniable surge of excitement.

She would be what age now? Thirty-one? Thirty-two? Had to be thirty-two. She’d been two years younger than him and he was thirty-four.

Logic told Jake that a thirty-two-year-old Italian girl would be long married by now, with a brood of bambinos around her skirts.

At the same time he reasoned that even if she was married, she’d probably still be living at the winery, with her husband working in the family business. That was the way of Italians. No, she was sure to be there, somewhere.

The desire to see Angelina again increased. Was it just curiosity, or the need to say he was sorry for what he’d done? She’d been terribly upset at the time.

But what would an apology achieve after all these years? What would be the point?

No point at all, Jake decided with a return to his usual pragmatism. Best he just have his lunch and leave. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of Angelina. And maybe he wouldn’t.

Who knew? He probably wouldn’t recognise her. It was sixteen years ago after all.


CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU can look for your father when you turn sixteen,’ Angelina promised.

‘But that’s not till November!’ her son protested. ‘Why do I have to wait that long? It’s not as though Grandpa’s around any more to get upset. I mean…Oh, gosh, I know that sounded bad. Look, I miss Grandpa as much as you do, Mum. But this is important to me. I want to meet my dad. See what he looks like. Talk to him.’

‘Has it occurred to you that he might not want to meet you? He doesn’t even know you exist!’

‘Yeah, I know that, but that’s not his fault, is it? No one ever told him. He’s got a right to know he has a son.’

Angelina sighed into the phone. She still could not come to terms with Alex’s sudden obsession with finding his biological father. Every time she rang her son at school, and vice versa, it was his main topic of conversation.

Of course, when his grandfather had been alive, the subject of Jake Winters had been forbidden. In Antonio Mastroianni’s eyes, the tattooed lout who’d seduced and impregnated his daughter was nothing better than a disgusting animal, not worthy of discussion. Alex’s birth certificate said ‘father unknown’.

When Alex had been old enough to ask questions, his grandfather had told him that his father had been bad, and that he was lucky not to have anything to do with him. He, Antonio Mastroianni, would be his father as well as his grandfather. In return, Alex would carry the Mastroianni name and inherit the family estate.

To give her father credit, he had heaped a great deal of love and attention on Alex. The boy had adored his grandpa in return and, in accordance with his grandfather’s wishes, Alex’s father was never mentioned.

But within weeks of his grandfather’s tragic death late last year, Alex had started asking his mother questions about his real father, wheedling Jake’s name out of her, then every other detail about him that she could remember, before finally demanding that they try to find him.

Just the thought of coming face to face with Jake again after all these years had put Angelina into a panic, which was why she’d initially come up with the ‘wait-till-you’re-sixteen’ idea. But since then, she’d thought about the situation more calmly and stuck to her guns.

Because heaven only knew what Jake, the grown man, would be like. The last she’d heard he’d been going to be charged with carnal knowledge and would probably go to jail, something which had given her nightmares at the time. Till another nightmare had consumed her thoughts, and her life.

At worst, Jake might now be a hardened criminal. At best, Angelina still doubted he’d be the kind of man she’d want her son to spend too much time around. She didn’t agree with her father that Jake had been born bad. But maturity—and motherhood—made her see Jake in a different light these days. He had been from the wrong side of the tracks, a neglected and antisocial young man, something that time rarely fixed.

‘I don’t want to discuss this any further, Alex,’ she stated unequivocally. ‘That’s my decision and I think it’s a fair and sensible one.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he grumbled.

‘Yes, it is. By sixteen, hopefully you’ll be old enough to handle whatever you find out about your father. Trust me. I doubt it will be good news. He’s probably in jail somewhere.’

Silence from the other end.

Angelina hated having to say anything that might hurt her son, but why pretend? Crazy to let him weave some kind of fantasy about his father, only to one day come face to face with a more than sobering reality.

‘You said he was smart,’ Alex pointed out.

‘He was.’ Street-smart.

‘And good-looking.’

‘Yes. Very.’ In that tall, dark and dangerous fashion that silly young girls were invariably attracted to. She’d found everything about Jake wildly exciting back then, especially the symbols of his rebelliousness. He’d had studs in his ears, as well as his nose, a ring through one nipple and a tattoo on each upper arm. Lord knew how many other tattoos he’d have by now.

‘In that case, he’s not in jail,’ Alex pronounced stubbornly. ‘No way.’

Angelina rolled her eyes. ‘That’s to be seen in November, isn’t it? But for now I’d like you to settle down and concentrate on your studies. You’re doing your school certificate this year.’

‘Waste of time,’ Alex growled. ‘I should be at home there with you, helping with the harvest and making this year’s wines. Grandpa always said that it was crazy for people to go to university and do degrees to learn how to make wine. Hands-on experience is the right way. He told me I’d already had the best apprenticeship in the world, and that I was going to be a famous wine-maker one day.’

‘I fully agree with him. And I’d never ask you to go to university and get a degree. I’m just asking you to stay at school till you’re eighteen. At the very school, might I remind you, that your grandfather picked out for you. He was adamant that you should get a good education.’

‘OK,’ he replied grudgingly. ‘I’ll do it for Grandpa. But the moment I finish up here, you’re getting rid of that old fool you’ve hired and I’m going to do the job I was brought up to do.’

‘Arnold is not an old fool,’ Angelina said. ‘Your grandfather said he was once one of the best wine-makers in the valley.’

‘Once, like a hundred years ago?’ her son scoffed.

‘Arnold is only in his sixties.’ Sixty-nine, to be exact.

‘Yeah, well, he looks a hundred. I don’t like him and I don’t like him making our wines,’ Alex stated firmly, and Angelina knew her son’s mind would never be swayed on that opinion. He’d always been like that, voicing his likes and dislikes in unequivocal terms from the time he could talk. If he didn’t like a certain food, he’d simply say, ‘Don’t like it.’ Then close his mouth tightly.

No threat or punishment would make him eat that food.

Stubborn, that was what he was. Her father had used to say he got it from him. But Angelina suspected that trait had come from a different source, as did most of Alex’s physical genes as well. His height, for one.

Alex had been taller than his grandfather at thirteen. At fifteen he was going on six feet, and still growing. And then there were his eyes. An icy blue they were, just like Jake’s. With long lashes framing them. His Roman nose possibly belonged to the Mastroianni side, as well as his olive skin. But his mouth was pure Jake. Wide, with full lips, the bottom lip extra-full.

He’d probably end up a good kisser, just like his father.

‘I have to go, Alex,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’m needed up at the restaurant for lunch. It’s always extra-busy on a Saturday when the weather’s nice.’

‘Yeah. OK. I have to go, too. Practise my batting. Kings School are coming over this afternoon to play cricket. We’re going to whip their butts this time.’

Angelina smiled. For all her son’s saying he wanted to be home at the winery, he really enjoyed life at his city boarding-school. He’d been somewhat lonely as an only child, living on a country property.

Located on Sydney’s lower North Side, St Francis’s College had come highly recommended, with a sensible balance of good, old-fashioned discipline and new-age thinking. Their curriculum included loads of sports and fun activities to keep their male students’ hormones and energy levels under control.

This was Alex’s fourth year there and he was doing very well, both in the classroom and on the sports field. He played cricket in summer and soccer in winter, but swimming was his favourite sport. The shelves in his bedroom were chock-full of swimming trophies.

‘Good luck, then,’ Angelina said. ‘I’ll give you a ring after you’ve whipped their butts. Now I really must go, love. Ciao.’

She hung up, then frowned. Cricket might distract Alex from his quest to find his father for the moment, but she didn’t like her chances of putting her son off till his birthday in November. That was nine long months away.

Nine months…

Angelina’s chest contracted at the thought that it was around this time sixteen years ago that she’d conceived. Late February. Alex’s birthday was the twenty-fourth of November.

Today was the twenty-fourth, she realised with a jolt. And a Saturday as well. The anniversary of what had been the most earth-shattering day of her life.

Angelina shook her head as she sank down on the side of her bed, her thoughts continuing to churn away. She did not regret having Alex. She loved him more than anything in the world. He’d given her great joy.

But there’d been great misery to begin with. Misery and anguish. No one could understand what it had been like for her. She’d felt so alone, without a mother to comfort her, and with a father who’d condemned her.

Antonio Mastroianni hadn’t come round till the day Alex had been born, the day he’d held Angelina’s hand through all the pain of childbirth and finally realised she wasn’t just a daughter who’d disappointed him, but a living, breathing human being who was going through a hell of her own.

After that, things had been better between them, but nothing would change the fact that she’d become a single mother at the tender age of sixteen. By the time Alex had been born, she’d long left school, plus lost all her school friends. When she’d come home from the hospital, there had just been herself in the house all day with a crying, colicky baby and her father, who tried to help, but was pretty useless. Some days she’d wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. Instead, often, she’d just sat down and cried along with Alex.

Meeting Jake Winters that summer sixteen years ago had sure changed her life forever. And the thought of meeting him again scared the living daylights out of her.

Not because she felt in danger of falling in love with him again. Such an idea was ludicrous. But because of the danger of Alex falling under his father’s possibly bad influence. She hadn’t sacrificed her whole life to raise a secure, stable, happy boy, only to surrender him to someone she didn’t really know, and possibly couldn’t trust. Alex needed good male role models now that his grandfather wasn’t around to direct him, not some rebel-without-a-cause type.

Angelina tried to imagine what Jake would be like today. Could he possibly have come good, or had he gone down the road to self-destruction? Was he even alive? Maybe she should start looking for him herself, do a preliminary reconnoitre. She didn’t have to hire anybody, not to begin with. She could ring all the J Winters in the Sydney phone book first.

Yes, that was what she would do. She’d get on to that tomorrow. She would try in the evening. Most people were home on a Sunday evening.

Another thought suddenly popped into her mind.

What if he was married, with a wife and a family?

Angelina knew the answer to that as surely and instinctively as Alex had known that his father was not in jail.

No way!

The Jake who’d chatted her up that summer had been a hater of all things traditional and conservative. Marriage would never be for him. Or family life. Or even falling in love. She’d grown up sufficiently now to see that Jake hadn’t cared about her one bit back then. All their intimate conversations whilst grape-picking together had been nothing but a way for him to get into her pants.

Which he had. But only the once. And even that must have been an anticlimax, for want of a better word.

Looking back, it was ironic that she hadn’t enjoyed the actual event that had ruined her life at the time. She might have borne the memory better if she’d been carried away on the wings of ecstasy to the very end.

Jake’s lovemaking had promised well to begin with. He’d been more than a good kisser, actually. He was a great kisser. His hands had been just as effective, with a built-in road map to all her pleasure zones. Her breasts. Her nipples. And of course the white-hot area between her legs. Soon she’d been all for him going all the way, despite some last-minute panic over getting pregnant. But the sharp pain she experienced when he penetrated her had swiftly brought her back to earth. All she’d felt during the next ten seconds or so was a crushing wave of disappointment.

Even if her father hadn’t watched over her after Jake like a hawk, Angelina had steadfastly refused to become one of those single mums whose son woke up to a different man in his mummy’s bed every other week. She’d made her bed, as her father had often told her, and she’d bravely resolved to lie in it. Alone.

To be honest, however, her opportunities for having even a brief fling hadn’t exactly been thick on the ground to begin with. As the stay-home mother of a young child, she’d rarely been in the company of eligible men. Her weekly shopping trip to the nearby town of Cessnock had been her only regular outing. In fact, Angelina hadn’t been asked out by a single member of the opposite sex till three years ago.

Two things had happened around that time to greatly change her life circumstances. Alex had gone off to boarding school and she’d enrolled in a computer course at the local technical college. She’d known she had to do something to fill the great hole in her life created by her precious son going off to school.

Once she had some computer skills under her belt, Angelina had felt confident enough to try working on the reception desk at the resort. To her surprise, she’d taken to the service industry like a duck to water. Soon, she’d been also escorting groups of guests on tours of the property, serving in the cellar and helping out at the restaurant at lunchtime on the weekends, its busiest time. She just loved talking to people, and they seemed to like talking to her.

Before this, she’d only done behind-the-scenes jobs around the resort such as cooking and cleaning, hardly esteem-building activities. Not that she’d had much self-esteem by then. Her stay-at-home years when Alex had been a baby and a toddler had gradually eroded her confidence and turned her from an outgoing girl into a reserved, almost shy woman.

Now, suddenly, she had blossomed again, thoroughly enjoying the social interaction and yes, the admiration—however meaningless and fleeting—of the opposite sex.

She’d begun taking care with her appearance again, exercising off some of the extra pounds which had crept on over the years and paying more attention to her hair, her clothes and her make-up.

Of course, her father had noticed her transformation, plus the attention of the male tourists and guests. And yes, of course, he’d commented and criticised. But this time she’d put him firmly in his place, telling him she was a grown woman and he was to keep out of her personal and private life.

Not that there’d been one. Despite her father suspecting otherwise, she hadn’t taken up any of the none too subtle offers she’d received from the many men who now asked her out. She didn’t even want to go out with them, let alone go to bed with them. Maybe it was crazy to use her teenage experience with Jake as a basis for comparison, but none of these men had made her feel even a fraction of what she’d felt when she first met Jake.

Of course, Angelina understood that the intensity of her feelings for Jake had largely been because of her age. He’d represented everything that a young, virginal girl found wildly exciting.

Angelina had no doubt that if Jake himself walked back into her life at this moment, she would not feel anything like she had back then. She no longer found long-haired, tattooed males even remotely attractive, for starters. The sight of him might make her heart race, but only with fear, fear of the bad influence he might have on her highly impressionable and very vulnerable son.

Thinking of this reminded her that, sooner or later, she would come face to face with Alex’s father again, possibly sooner rather than later, if she started those phone calls tomorrow evening.

The thought bothered her a great deal.

‘Damn you, Jake,’ she muttered as she stood up and marched across her bedroom towards her en suite bathroom. ‘Sixteen years, and you’re still causing me trouble!’


CHAPTER THREE

THE yellow Ferrari caught Angelina’s eye the moment it turned from the main road into the Ambrosia Estate. She stopped what she was doing—opening a bottle of wine at one of the outdoor tables—and watched the brightly coloured sports car crunch to a halt in the nearby car park, her lips pursing into a silent whistle when a dark-haired hunk in designer jeans, pale blue polo shirt and wraparound sunglasses climbed out from behind the wheel.

What a gorgeous-looking guy!

Angelina’s gaze shifted over to the passenger side. She could see another person sitting in the car but couldn’t make out any details. The sun was shining on the windscreen. But Angelina was willing to bet on it being a pretty blonde. Men like that invariably had pretty blondes on their arms.

The hunk hitched his jeans up onto his hips as hunks often did. Not because his clothes really needed straightening, she’d come to realise during her recent people-watching years. It was a subconscious body-language thing, a ploy to draw female attention to that part of his body.

And it worked. Angelina certainly looked, as did the two middle-aged ladies she was serving. Both widows, their names were Judith and Vivien. They were on holiday together and had been staying at the Ambrosia Estate for a few days.

‘Cocky devil,’ Judith said with a wry smile in her voice when the hunk started striding round the front of the yellow Ferrari in the direction of the passenger side.

‘He has every right to be,’ Vivien remarked. ‘Just look at that car.’

Judith snorted. ‘Don’t you mean, just look at that body?’

Angelina had actually stopped looking at the hunk’s broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged body and was frowning over his walk. It was a most distinctive walk, somewhere between a strut and a swagger. He moved as if he was bouncing along on the balls of his feet.

‘Jake…’

The word escaped her lips before she could help it, and her two lady customers immediately looked up at her.

‘You know the guy with the yellow sports car?’ Judith asked, grey eyes narrowed. She was the sharper of the two ladies.

‘No,’ Angelina denied, dismissing the crazy notion that the man could possibly be Jake. ‘But his walk reminded me of someone I used to know.’

‘A sexy someone, I’ll bet.’

Angelina had to smile. ‘Very.’ She pulled out the cork on the bottle of chilled Verdelho and poured both ladies a full glass. Each one immediately lifted their glass to their lips. They did like their wine, those two.

The emergence of a grey-haired lady from the passenger seat of the Ferrari surprised the three of them.

‘Good lord!’ Judith exclaimed. ‘Not quite what I was expecting. So what do you reckon, girls? His mother? Or do we cast lover boy in the role of gigolo?’

‘Oh, surely not,’ Vivien said with a delicate little shudder.

‘You’re right,’ Judith went on. ‘She’s much too old to be bothered with that kind of thing. But she’s not his mother, either. Too old for that as well. Possibly a great-aunt. Or a client. He might be her financial adviser. She looks as rich as he does.’

‘I’ll leave you two ladies to speculate,’ Angelina said as she placed the bottle in the portable wine cooler by their table. ‘Wilomena will be over shortly to take your orders. Enjoy your meal.’ And your gossiping, she added silently.

As she made her way back inside, Angelina threw another glimpse over her shoulder at the man and woman who were now walking together along the path that led over the small footbridge, past the outdoor dining area and along to the main door of the restaurant. The hunk was holding the woman’s arm but his head was moving from side to side as though he was looking for something. Or someone.

Angelina found herself hurrying out of his line of sight, tension gripping her insides. Her actions—plus her sudden anxiety—really irritated her. As if it could possibly be Jake! How fanciful could she get?

That’s what you get when you start thinking about ghosts from the past, Angelina. You conjure one up!

She resisted the temptation to watch the hunk’s approach through the picture-glass windows of the restaurant, though she did go straight to the counter where they kept the reservation book, her eyes dropping to run over the names that had been booked for lunch. There was no Winters amongst them.

Of course not. Why would there be? The hunk just walked like Jake, that was all. OK, so he was built a bit like Jake as well. And he had similar-coloured hair.

Dark brown hair, however, was hardly unusual. On top of that, this guy’s hair was cropped very short, almost in a military style. Jake had been proud of his long hair. He would never have it cut like that. Not that the short-all-over look didn’t suit the hunk. It was very…macho.

Jake had been very macho.

It couldn’t be him, could it?

Once he came inside and took off those sunglasses, Angelina reassured herself, there would no longer be any doubt in her mind.

And if he did have eyes like chips of blue ice? came the gut-tightening question. What then? How did you deal with such an appalling coincidence? What sick fate would send him back to her today, of all days?

The restaurant door opened and Angelina forced herself to look up from where she was practically hiding behind the front counter.

The hunk propped the door open with one elbow and ushered his elderly companion in ahead of him. The lady was not so fragile-looking up close, her face unlined and her blue eyes bright with good health. But she had to be seventy, if she was a day.

And the hunk? It was impossible to tell his age till he took those darned sunglasses off. He could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty, although there was an air of self-assurance about him that suggested he’d been around a while.

The grey-haired lady stepped up to the counter first. ‘I made a booking for two for twelve-thirty,’ she said with a sweet smile. ‘The name’s Landsdale. Mrs Landsdale.’

Angelina was highly conscious of the hunk standing at the lady’s shoulder. Was he staring at her from behind those opaque shades? It felt as if he was.

‘Yes, I have your booking here, Mrs Landsdale,’ she replied, proud of herself for sounding so polite and professional in the face of the tension that was building inside her. ‘Would you like to dine inside, or alfresco? It’s really lovely outside today. No wind. Not too hot. And not too many flies.’

The lady’s smile widened. ‘Alfresco sounds wonderful. What do you think, Jake? Shall we sit outside?’

Angelina froze. Had she heard correctly? Had the woman really said that name?

Angelina stared, open-mouthed, as he finally took off his sunglasses, her whole world tipping on its axis.

It was him. Those eyes could not possibly belong to anyone else.

‘Jake,’ she blurted out whilst her head whirled with the incredibility of this scenario.

‘Hello, Angelina,’ he said in the same richly masculine voice he’d already had at seventeen. ‘I’m surprised you recognised me after all these years.’

If it hadn’t been for the eyes, she might not have. He was nothing like the boy she remembered, or the man she’d imagined he might have become. This Jake was smooth and suave and sophisticated. More handsome than ever and obviously no longer underprivileged.

‘Goodness, you mean this is Angelina,’ the grey-haired lady piped up before Angelina could find a suitable reply. ‘Jake, you naughty boy. Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

He lifted his broad shoulders in an elegant shrug. ‘I spotted her through the windows, and decided if she didn’t recognise me back I wouldn’t embarrass her by saying anything.’

Well, at least that meant he hadn’t deliberately come looking for her, Angelina realised with some relief. Still, this was an amazing coincidence, given she’d been thinking about him all morning. She could feel herself trembling inside with shock.

‘I—er—didn’t recognise you till you took off your sunglasses,’ she admitted whilst she struggled to pull herself together. Think, girl.

‘You do have very distinctive eyes, Jake,’ she added, bracing herself to look into them once more. This time she managed without that ridiculous jolt to her heart.

‘Do I?’ he said with a light laugh. ‘They just look blue to me. But now that you have recognised me, I must ask. Is your father around?’ he whispered. ‘Should I put the sunglasses back on, pronto?’

Angelina opened her mouth to tell him that her father was dead. But something stopped her. Some sudden new fear…

This man before her, this grown-up and obviously wealthy Jake might present more of a danger than the loser she’d been picturing barely an hour earlier. This man had the means to take her son away from her, in more ways than one.

She had to be very, very careful.

‘You’re quite safe in here,’ she said, deciding she would tell him absolutely nothing of a personal nature till she’d found out more about him.

But she was extremely curious. What woman—what mother—wouldn’t be?

The questions tumbling round in her head were almost endless, the main one being how on earth had he come to look as if he’d win the bachelor-of-the-year award in every women’s magazine in Australia? And who was this Mrs Landsdale? What did she mean to Jake and how come she knew about her?

Despite—or perhaps because of—all these mysteries, Angelina resolved to keep her wits about her. And to act as naturally as possible.

Picking up a couple of menus, she said ‘this way’ with a bright smile, and showed them to what she’d always thought was the best table outside. It was to the right of the ornamental pond, with a nearby clump of tall gum trees providing natural shade. All the outdoor tables had large umbrellas, where required. But this table never needed one.

‘Oh, yes, this is lovely,’ Mrs Landsdale said as she sat down and glanced around. ‘What a beautiful pond. And a lovely view of the valley beyond too.’

‘Papa chose this spot for the restaurant because of the view. And the trees.’ Too late, she wished she hadn’t brought up her father.

Swiftly she handed them both menus, doing her best not to stare at Jake again. But it was hard not to. Her gaze skimmed over him once more, noting his beautifully tanned skin and the expensive gold watch on his wrist. He had money written all over him. Lots of money.

‘The main-meal menu is on the front,’ she explained. ‘The wine list and desserts are on the back. We don’t have a vast selection at any one time, but the chef does change the menu every two weeks. I can recommend the Atlantic salmon, and the rack of lamb. For dessert, the coconut pudding is to die for. I think you—’

‘If you’re not too busy, Angelina,’ Jake interrupted, ‘could you find the time to sit down and talk at some stage?’

She wanted to. Quite desperately. But pride—and common sense—refused to let her appear too eager.

‘Well, we are pretty busy here on Saturdays.’

‘We can’t linger too long over lunch either, Jake.’ Mrs Landsdale joined in. ‘The property is only open for inspection between two and three. Maybe we could come back here afterwards for afternoon tea and you could catch up on old times with Angelina then. Do you serve afternoon tea here, dear?’

Angelina didn’t answer straight away, her mind ticking over with what the woman had just said about a property inspection. Was Jake a real-estate agent of some kind? Or an investment adviser? What kind of property was the woman talking about?

There were quite a few wineries for sale in the valley at the moment, from the boutique variety to the very large. Arnold’s old place was on the market just up the road. But he was having dreadful trouble selling it. He’d really let the house and garden go since his sister passed away.

There was only one way for Angelina to have all her questions answered. And that was to ask them. Given she’d been going to try to contact Jake anyway in the near future, it seemed silly to pass up this opportunity.

Yet some inner instinct was warning her to do just that, to not let this man back into her life. Not till Alex gave her no choice.

She searched Jake’s face for a hint of the man he’d become, then wished she hadn’t. The sexual power of his eyes was as strong as ever.

There was no use pretending she could just coldly send him away. She had to at least talk to him. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be alone with him. This Mrs Landsdale would be there as a buffer. And a safeguard.

‘We don’t actually serve afternoon tea,’ she said. ‘But the restaurant doesn’t close for lunch till four. You are quite welcome to come back after you’ve inspected this property, if you like. We could have a chat over coffee.’

‘I’d like that,’ Jake returned. ‘Give me an opportunity to find out what you’ve been up to all these years.’

‘Same here,’ she replied, pleased that she could sound unconcerned, when inside she was severely agitated. ‘Now, since time is of the essence, perhaps you might like to have a quick look at the menu and give me your full order straight away. Either that, or I could take your drinks order now, then send a girl over in a couple of minutes for your meal order.’

‘No, no, we’ll order everything right now,’ the grey-haired lady said and fell to examining the menu. ‘Jake, you decide on the drinks whilst I make up my mind on the food. You know my taste in wine.’

‘I see you have a suggested glass of a different Ambrosia wine with each course,’ Jake said as he examined the menu. ‘You know, Angelina…’ he rested the menu on the edge of the table and glanced up at her ‘…I’ve never seen any Ambrosia wines in bottle shops, or on Sydney restaurant wine lists. Why is that?’

‘Oh. We—er—export most of our wine. Here in Australia, we’ve only been selling bottles at the cellar door. Up till now, that is. Ambrosia Wines does have a booth at next weekend’s food and wine expo at Darling Harbour, so hopefully we will be in some Sydney restaurants soon.’

‘I see.’ Jake dropped his eyes and picked up the menu again. ‘These suggested glasses should suit you, Dorothy. You like to try different wines. But I won’t indulge myself. Not when I’m driving. So just mineral water for me, thanks, Angelina.’

‘Flat or sparkling?’ Angelina asked crisply, having extracted her order book and Biro from her skirt pocket.

‘Sparkling, I think,’ he replied. ‘To match my mood.’ And he threw her a dazzling smile that sixteen years ago would have rattled her brains and sent her heartbeat into overdrive.

Angelina’s heart was still going pretty fast behind her ribs, but her brain hadn’t gone to total mush. She flashed him back what she considered was a brilliantly cool smile, the sort of smile she could never have produced at fifteen.

‘Sparkling mineral water,’ Angelina murmured as she jotted it down. ‘Now, what about your meal order?’

When she glanced up from her notebook again, she found Jake staring at her left hand—her ringless left hand. Her fingers tightened around the notebook.

‘You’re not married,’ he said, his tone startled.

‘No,’ she returned in what she hoped was a crisp, it’s-really-none-of-your-business tone. ‘I’m not.’

‘I can’t believe it! I thought you’d have half a dozen kids by now.’

‘And I thought you’d be in jail,’ she countered.

Mrs Landsdale laughed. ‘That’s telling you, Jake. Now, stop badgering the girl and just tell her what you want to eat for now. Keep the third degree till later. But I must warn you, dear, he’s the very devil when he starts questioning people. Not only is he not in jail these days, but he’s also a lawyer. And a very good one, too.’

Angelina wished her mouth hadn’t dropped open at this news. But Jake Winters…a lawyer?

‘Yes, I know,’ he remarked drily. ‘I don’t blame you for being surprised. Sometimes I’m a bit surprised myself. But Dorothy’s right. We’ll keep all this till later.’

Angelina digested this astonishing revelation with mixed emotions. Was this good news or bad news? She supposed it was a lot better than the father of her son being in jail. But a lawyer? She couldn’t think. Too many shocks in too short a time. Best she just get on with what she was doing and think about it later.

‘Have you made up your mind yet, Mrs Landsdale?’ she asked the grey-haired lady.

‘Do call me Dorothy,’ the woman returned with a warm smile. ‘And yes, I’ll have the Atlantic salmon. No entrée. I’ll save some room for that coconut pudding you mentioned. I’m very partial to coconut.’

‘Me, too,’ Angelina concurred. ‘And you, Jake? Made up your mind yet?’

‘The same. I’m easy.’

Angelina wanted to laugh. Easy? If there was one thing Jake Winters would never be, it was easy.





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