Книга - One Secret Night

One Secret Night
Yvonne Lindsay


When Ethan Masters learns his family’s secret, it sends him straight into a onenight stand. Too bad he’ll never see Isobel Fyfe again… Until she shows up as his winery’s newest hire. Now Ethan’s playing with fire. Free spirit Isobel knows his family’s secret and has no reason to keep it. So Ethan will do anything to keep her quiet and in his bed.










An image of isobel flicked into his mind.

And just like that he was taut as a bow. Aching and thinking all kinds of inappropriate thoughts.

Why couldn’t he get his mind off a woman who was wrong for him in every way? Who challenged him on every level?

Frustrated, he went into the bathroom for a glass of water. Something that would slake the thirst that made him crave so much more than a long draw of liquid.

She’d be leaving soon, and that was a good thing, he told himself.

But the thought of never seeing her again made his body ache and turned his mind to the night they’d shared. He wanted more. He wanted that sensation of having his senses scattered to the wind. He wanted, even for the briefest time, to give himself over fully to the moment.

He wanted Isobel Fyfe.


Dear Reader,

Welcome to the third story in THE MASTER VINTNERS series. While in Adelaide in May 2010, when I sat having lunch in an Italian restaurant with a friend and dreaming up the first two TMV books, I never imagined that it would lead me to fall in love with a whole new population of characters. The extended Masters family, and their offshoot of friends, have provided my imagination with challenges and story ideas that have kept me occupied for some time.

I was lucky enough to visit a few of the vineyards outside of Adelaide and to admire the beautiful settings, taste the carefully crafted and delicious wines and bask in the ambience of all that is amazing when you visit a country that is not your own. It seemed only fitting, to me, to give those stunning vistas and experiences a longer life in my own heart and mind than the short time I was able to be there.

In One Secret Night, ethan Masters discovers a shocking family secret. It’s a measure of how difficult he finds this information to deal with when he uncharacteristically divulges it to a woman he meets only in passing, and expects never to see again. Their secret night turns into a firestorm of passion and emotion as he and free-spirited Isobel Fyfe learn what it’s like when opposites attract…and fall in love.

I hope you’ll fall in love with ethan and Isobel, too!

Happy reading,

Yvonne Lindsay




About the Author


New Zealand born, to Dutch immigrant parents, YVONNE LINDSAY became an avid romance reader at the age of thirteen. Now, married to her “blind date” and with two fabulous children, she remains a firm believer in the power of romance. Yvonne feels privileged to be able to bring to her readers the stories of her heart. In her spare time, when not writing, she can be found with her nose firmly in a book, reliving the power of love in all walks of life. She can be contacted via her website, www.yvonnelindsay.com.




One Secret Night

Yvonne Lindsay

















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


This book is dedicated to dear friends who helped me brainstorm when my brain was a tranquil place with nothing happening—a lovely thing to have but not when you’re nutting out a plot!

Nalini, Peta and Shar—big thanks for all your help.




One


His mother was alive.

Ethan Masters walked blindly through Adelaide’s city streets, the staggering knowledge continuing to ricochet in his mind. A mind already struggling to come to terms with his father’s recent unexpected death. He’d thought that would be the hardest thing he would ever have to face. But this discovery today, that the man Ethan had idolized and revered above all others had lied to him and his sister for the past twenty-five years, was much worse.

Grief mingled with a sharp sense of betrayal sliced through him anew—its blade serrated and leaving behind a raw pain that throbbed incessantly deep inside his chest. He didn’t know what to do with the information he’d been given today. Part of him wished he’d never learned the truth. In fact, if he hadn’t discovered an anomaly in his father’s personal accounts he would still be none the wiser. The family solicitor’s reluctance to explain had only made him more determined to discover where the monthly payments had been going.

So, now he knew. The woman who had abandoned him and his sister, Tamsyn, had accepted money to stay away, happy to let her children think she’d died in the car accident that had spared their lives.

Even worse, his father’s siblings, Ethan’s uncle Edward and aunt Cynthia, had colluded in the lie.

It went against everything—every family institution—he’d been brought up with. Bad enough that his memories of his parents had been tainted. But to know that so many people he trusted had gone behind his back…it was more than he could take. Maybe he should have gone straight home after his meeting in the city—confronted his aunt and uncle, told Tamsyn the truth. But if he himself found it next to impossible to weigh the information he’d received today, how could he expect to face his sister with the news?

The very idea of telling Tamsyn sent a shudder down his spine. Tamsyn was, by nature, a caretaker. She wanted everyone to be happy, and she worked darn hard to achieve that goal. Always had, even as a child. It was one of the reasons why her branch of the family business was so sought after and came so highly recommended. This news could well destroy her. He couldn’t bear to see that happen. He hadn’t spent the past twenty-five years of his life being her champion to fall at this hurdle now. No, this was his problem to deal with and he needed to work out his next move before facing everyone. He’d reach that decision a darn sight faster without the various demands of the family business, not to mention his extended family buzzing around to distract him.

A flicker of exotic color and movement caught his eye. A young woman who stood out from all the somber office workers marking the end of their working week by spilling from nearby buildings. Small, slender and blond, her dress a multihued swirl that clung briefly to outline her buttocks and thighs as a passing vehicle threw a gust of air in her direction. An incongruously large and cumbersome pack was settled on her back, yet she carried it as if it weighed nothing at all. Intrigued, Ethan watched as she slipped through the doors of a nearby pub and out of sight.

Without a second thought, Ethan followed her footsteps. He pulled himself up short as he entered the building and firmed his lips into a grim line. For someone who hadn’t wanted distraction he’d certainly found it in the noisy confusion of pub patrons—a blend of tourists, students and office workers. For a second, he considered leaving. But what the hell, maybe concentration would come more smoothly after a drink. Straightening his shoulders, he headed to the bar. He scanned the crowd all the while, but he saw no sign of the colorful butterfly that had drawn him here.

Minutes later, Ethan listened to the beat of the music energizing the people on the dance floor—people whose lives were clearly far less complicated than his had so rapidly become—and deftly swirled the red wine in his glass. He watched as the rich ruby liquid ran in tiny rivers down the inside and inexorably into the bowl.

“Not to your taste, sir?” the barman asked from across the gleaming wooden bar.

“It’s fine,” Ethan admitted, belatedly adding his thanks.

He continued to scan the crowd reflected in the mirror over the bar, and allowed his thoughts to wander. Rolled the truth around in his head that the life he’d lived since the accident had been based on untruths.

Looking back, he remembered that his father had been different after the crash. That bit more remote, that bit more stern and demanding of excellence in those around him. That bit less trusting. But once he’d recovered from his own injuries, Ethan, in his six-year-old mind, had rationalized that by believing his father was sad and lonely, just as he and Tamsyn were. So he’d tried his hardest, with everything, to be all his father demanded and more. And all for what? To discover that John Masters had been living a lie for the past twenty-five years and worse, had coerced everyone around him to do the same.

Even knowing it had been achieved, Ethan struggled to see how his father had carried it off. It was the stuff of soap operas, not his life. At least, not the life he’d thought he had.

He lifted the wine goblet and took a mouthful, letting the burst of berry and clove explode on his tongue before swallowing. Not bad, he conceded, but it stood in the shadow of his most recent international-award-winning Shiraz. Then the alcohol hit his stomach, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since leaving The Masters, his family home and seat of their renowned winemaking business, early this morning.

“Deep in thought?”

The ultrafeminine voice caught his attention and he turned to take in the features of the slightly built blond-haired woman who’d inserted herself at the bar next to his chair. The butterfly. Up close he could see she was a little older than the average student here but she definitely didn’t fit in with the corporate types, either. Her eyes were a bright, clear blue, her skin a honeyed light tan. Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly, awaiting his answer.

“Something like that,” he responded.

“They say a problem shared is a problem halved,” she offered with a welcoming smile. “Want to talk about it?”

Her lips glistened with the shimmer of a tinted gloss that perfectly complemented her skin. Her blond hair gleamed and fell in a short waterfall to shoulders exposed by the bright floral halter-necked dress that clung softly to her body. A bolt of sexual energy surged through him, but hard on its heels was a heavy dose of reality. Despite the fact he’d followed her in here, he wasn’t the kind of guy who was into pub pickups. Hooking up with a stranger wasn’t the answer to his problems. He wasn’t ready for this—for her.

“No, thanks.”

His response was more brusque than he’d intended. He was just about to add to it, to somehow soften what he’d said, when she gave him a thin smile, the warmth suddenly leaving her eyes as his “not interested” message got through loud and clear. He turned away slightly, feeling absurdly ashamed of himself, as she placed her order and waited for the barman to deliver it. He hadn’t meant to be rude. After all, upon seeing her outside, hadn’t he come in here seeking her?

Although she wasn’t in his direct line of vision, he found himself acutely aware of her. Of her long, tapered fingers drumming on the wooden bar—her nails surprisingly short and practical—of her light summery fragrance wafting enticingly toward him in the air-conditioned environment. And particularly, of the gentle sway of her body in time to the beat of the music pumping from the bar’s speakers. He should apologize, but as he turned to do so he discovered she’d already downed the shot she’d ordered and now threaded her way back through the crowd.

Relief that she’d moved on mingled with an odd sense of loss. Ethan took another sip of his wine and swiveled on his chair. Leaning back against the edge of the bar, he surveyed the writhing mass of people dancing on the floor. His eyes were immediately drawn to the blonde. She moved with inherent grace to the throb of the beat of the music and he was forced to acknowledge an answering throb in his own body. It had been too long since he’d relaxed and let his hair down. He should have encouraged her friendly overture rather than snubbed her. He scanned the room again before his eyes returned to her. He’d been too quick to turn away from her before and now he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

A guy staggered up from a group of business types with a mounting collection of empties on their table, and made his way through the throng on the dance floor. He stopped behind the blonde woman, placing his hands on her hips and dancing suggestively behind her. Ethan felt a wave of possessive anger claw through him before pushing it back where it belonged. She wasn’t his to worry about, he told himself. Even so, he still couldn’t turn away—especially when she carefully placed her hands on her new dance partner’s and took them from her body. Ethan stiffened on his chair. Having the other guy touch her was all well and good if she was happy with it, but when she so clearly wasn’t…

The guy stumbled a bit, then righted himself only to grab at the woman’s hand and turn her around to face him. He leaned forward to say something close to her ear. An expression of disgust slid across her face and she shook her head while trying to disengage his hold on her. This was wrong on so many levels it made Ethan’s blood boil. No always meant no. Before he knew it, he was off his stool and edging his way through the dancers, his eyes firmly trained on one target and one target only.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, bending and placing a kiss on the startled woman’s cheek. He turned slightly, placing his body firmly in front of her, and faced her wannabe beau. “She’s with me, mate,” he said, his stance and his expression saying in no uncertain terms that it was time for the other guy to back off.

To his relief the man gave him a drunken apologetic smile and returned to his table. Ethan turned back to the blonde.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“You didn’t need to do that. I can take care of myself, you know,” she replied haughtily.

For some reason the thought of this svelte creature, who didn’t even come up to his shoulder, “taking care of herself” made him laugh out loud. “That much was obvious,” he said when he managed to get his mirth under control.

He was surprised when her face creased into a smile and she laughed along with him.

“I suppose I really should just say thank-you,” she said, still smiling.

“You’re welcome. You didn’t look as if you were enjoying his company.”

“No, you’re right, I wasn’t.” She held out her hand. “I’m Isobel Fyfe.”

“Ethan Masters.”

He accepted her hand, instantly aware of the daintiness of hers in his much larger one. His fingers tightened reflexively as every one of his protective instincts roared to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t let her go as he leaned forward slightly, his masculine bulk shielding her from those around them.

“Can I buy you a drink, or perhaps dinner somewhere else?” Ethan asked as he was jostled by the crowd. “It’s a bit of a crush in here.”

For a minute he thought she’d refuse but then she nodded.

“Dinner. Let me get my pack. The barman’s holding it for me.”

Ethan led her back toward the bar, her hand still in his. When she retrieved her large and well-worn backpack from behind the bar, Ethan automatically reached to relieve her of it as they made their way to the front door.

“It’s okay,” Isobel said. “I can manage. I’m used to it.”

“Yes, but at least let me salve my male conscience by carrying it for you. I promise I won’t lose it.”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that.” She smiled, handing the dusty pack, still with airline luggage tags attached, over to him. “Besides, it really doesn’t match my shoes.”

Ethan cast a glance at the high-heeled sandals she wore and had to agree. “Are you okay to walk in those or should we take a taxi?”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

He named a Greek restaurant farther down Rundle Street. “It’s not far.”

“Then let’s walk,” she said, slipping one small hand into the crook of his free arm. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

Ethan slung the pack over one shoulder, hardly caring for the creases it would generate in his Ralph Lauren Black Label suit.

“That wasn’t your usual haunt, was it?” Isobel asked, nodding her head back toward the pub they’d just vacated.

“That obvious?” he asked with a smile.

For a moment he withstood her silent perusal as she eyed him carefully. The sense that she was checking him out in more ways than one made his blood begin to hum in his veins, sending warmth spreading out to his extremities.

“Yes,” she answered succinctly.

Intrigued, he pressed her as to why.

“A few things,” she said as they came to a stop at a street crossing and waited for their signal. “But mainly it’s your demeanor. You’ve got this air about you. Some would say that it’s probably wealth and privilege but I think there’s more to it than that. You look like you aren’t afraid of hard work.” She took both of his hands in hers and turned them this way and that, examining them carefully before letting them go and tucking her hand back in the crook of his arm. “Yes, well tended but not in a prissy way. And yet there’s an air of entitlement about you, or command, if you’d rather think of it that way. You’re willing to work hard, but you’re used to giving orders and having them immediately obeyed.”

Ethan gave a short bark of laughter. “And you can tell all that just by looking at me?”

She shrugged—a delicate motion of her slender shoulders. “You asked,” she replied simply. “Are we crossing?”

Her question reminded him that they were supposed to be going to dinner. He took a minute to clear his mind as they strolled across the intersection and down the sidewalk. How had this happened? he wondered, supremely conscious of her hand nestled at his elbow and the feminine sway of her hips as she walked along beside him. How had he gone from having a drink to unwind, to escorting a woman he’d only just met to dinner? How long had it been since he’d acted on impulse like this?

The answer to the last question was simple. Never.

Isobel felt the tensile strength of the forearm beneath her fingers and relished the tingle of anticipation it set up deep inside. The finely woven wool of Ethan’s suit—she’d missed catching his last name in the noise back at the bar—was just a veneer to the man who wore it. Her senses fizzed with the same sense of excitement she got when she knew she’d captured a particularly good photo—that prickling spider-sense that she was on the verge of something greater than she’d experienced before. And, having made it a lifestyle choice to grab every moment and make it a worthwhile one, dinner with Ethan was just the ticket.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who was free with her favors, but she wasn’t one to let the opportunity to spend a fun evening with an attractive man fall by the wayside, either.

Her instincts had told her he was straight up—that she had nothing to fear from him—and instinct had never let her down before. Besides, she had little reason to believe that anything would happen beyond an entertaining meal together. This guy was totally not her type. Too self-assured, too dominating and too darn good-looking for her equilibrium. Still, the evening promised to be interesting, if nothing else.

They arrived at the restaurant and she was immediately struck by the deference paid to him by the staff. After they were seated at the table, her pack secured safely on the floor between them, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, reaching for his water glass and taking a long draw of the sparkling liquid. No mere tap water for him.

She dragged her gaze from the movement of the muscles in his tanned throat and reached for her own glass, lifting it to her lips.

“It’s amazing. You just take it all for granted, don’t you?” she eventually said.

The look of puzzlement that crossed his face, pulling his heavy dark brows together, was all the answer she needed.

“I don’t follow.”

“They treat you like royalty,” she said with a small laugh. “And you don’t even notice.”

“I’m a regular, and I tip well,” he replied, looking a bit put out.

“It wasn’t a criticism,” she said softly. “I’m sure they respect your patronage.”

It only took a second for her double entendre to hit its mark, whereupon he surprised her by chuckling out loud.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

Isobel shrugged. “I believe in calling a spade a spade, even when it’s a face card.”

“So you gamble?” he probed.

“Only when I know I’m going to win,” she conceded, looking down at her menu rather than meeting his dark-eyed stare across the table.

She thought for a minute of her last assignment. Her photography work gave her a chance to capture and highlight the best in people—and the worst. She was good enough to catch plenty of both, and not everyone was pleased with the results. Her most recent job had turned dangerous when the nation she’d been visiting had politely, but firmly, requested she remove herself from within their borders. It was clear that if she ignored them, their next request would not have been so civil.

On that particular assignment, she’d taken a gamble and she’d thrown in her hand before things got uglier. But she’d be heading back, as soon as she completed her next cookie-cutter job—one of the dull but easy assignments that gave her a measure of financial security. The new catalog shoot would be a walk in the park compared to her usual work and even though it wasn’t as challenging on a social or emotional level as her preferred projects, it would ensure she had sufficient funds to head back to the war-torn country she’d just left to finish what she’d started.

“Do you win often?”

His voice was soft, like velvet, and she felt something deep inside her answer its challenge.

“As often as I can.”

“It’s hardly gambling when it’s a sure thing,” he commented before picking up his menu.

“You can’t blame me for playing it safe.” She nodded toward the printed card in his hands. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

“Everything’s good here but the lamb, in particular, is my favorite.”

“Good. I’ll have that then.”

He closed his menu and put it down. “Just like that? You don’t want another half an hour to peruse your choices and change your mind a half dozen times?”

“Why? Is that what you usually do?” she teased, knowing full well the answer would be an emphatic no.

He gave a slight shake of his head. “I prefer not to waste time. I’ll order for us both.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

She watched carefully as he called the waiter over and placed their order, including a bottle of wine. Again the staff showed him that same respect they had before.

“You must tip really well,” she mocked with a laugh. “I swear that guy was about to offer you his firstborn child.”

“Hardly,” Ethan responded drily before realizing that she was still teasing. “Ah, I see, you think it’s fine to bait me? Okay then, I’ll bite. Since you’re clearly not in the habit of bribing waitstaff into providing good service, what do you do with your money?”

“My money?” Isobel pulled a face. “What I don’t use for travel I try to use to help support worthy causes.”

“Seriously?” His face pulled into a frown. “That’s very philanthropic of you.”

“I barely make a difference,” she said, a note of sadness creeping into her voice as she remembered the helpless futility of some of the people she’d tried to help. “For myself, I’ve learned to need very little.”

“What about when you grow older? How will you support yourself then?”

“I’ll worry about that when it happens.” His frown deepened, prompting her to ask, “You don’t approve?”

“I didn’t say that. Different strokes. I’m involved in a family business. We work together, socialize together—we’re all striving for a common goal. With the business we have, we’re looking forward to the future every day. I can’t imagine just living in the day and not planning ahead. But then, as a family business, there are plenty of other peoples’ futures at stake than just my own.”

“I’m the only one affected by my decisions,” she said simply, “which definitely has its advantages.”

Ethan smiled back at her, and she knew that in some way, even if it was small, he probably envied her freedom. Most people did, but without realizing that it came with its own personal cost at the same time. Ethan clearly had a network of people to help and support him, while Isobel was very accustomed to being on her own.

She took advantage of the companionable silence between them to study him some more. In the subdued lighting of the restaurant, his lean features were all shadows and light. His nose a long straight patrician blade, his upper lip narrow but with a perfect bow to it, the lower lip fuller, enticing. His hair was worn short and controlled but she could detect the faintest of hints of curl in it and she wondered what he’d look like if he let it grow out a bit more, let himself look a little less disciplined and a lot more wild. Her fingers itched to reach for her camera in her pack and to shoot off a series of pictures of him.

The tingle that had started in her body earlier ramped up a notch, sending swirls of heat spooling through her belly and lower. The strong shadow on his jaw showed he was probably a two-shaves-a-day man, but somehow she knew she liked him better like this. Less polished, more primal. She squeezed her thighs together as a surge of desire arrowed direct to her core, and in that moment Isobel knew she was probably going to sleep with Ethan whatever-his-last-name-was tonight and, more, that she wanted to—very, very much.




Two


The food was delicious and she was glad she’d left Ethan to make their selections. She slipped up a little sauce from the edge of her plate with a finger and licked it off, her eyes closing briefly to enjoy the blissful flavor just that bit longer. When she opened them again, she caught Ethan staring at her. That earlier thrill of desire jolted through her again and she saw a flare of reciprocal interest light in his eyes.

What would he be like as a lover? she wondered as she broke eye contact and reached for her wineglass. He wasn’t her usual type, which was probably a male version of herself—free-spirited, unfettered, casual. No, Ethan was definitely different. He exuded stability and strength, not to mention an unfair dose of sex appeal, and she found the combination fiercely compelling.

“Tell me about your travels,” he said, leaning forward to top up her wineglass with a little more of the very fine merlot they’d enjoyed with their meal.

So far they’d kept their conversation very general and superficial. So much so that neither of them really knew much about the other. Isobel preferred it that way. She didn’t like to share too much of herself—at least not more than she was prepared to. She found so many people were critical of her attempts to expose some of the better-kept secrets regarding atrocities against children and families overseas. It was safer, she’d found, to be judicious with the information she shared.

She found it easy to fill the next hour with flip conversation of some of the funnier exploits she’d experienced. Ethan leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily at her recitation of her reaction to a giant centipede coming out of the hole in the ground she’d been using as a toilet during a trip through Nepal. Her own lips turned up in response to his unfettered joy. He had a great laugh, she decided. She liked it when a man could really give in to mirth. It was, in her mind, a good indicator of just how much he’d give in to anything else he was passionate about. Right now, she hoped that was her.

“Can’t say I have anything in my experience to equal or better that,” he said through his laughter. “And none of that puts you off or makes you want to take a more mainstream route?”

“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t really see the world as other people are forced to live it when you do that.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“What?”

“Forced. Aren’t most people living the life of their choice?”

She gave him a pitying smile. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I believe it’s up to each individual to choose his own path.”

“In a perfect world, maybe. Not everyone has the privilege of a perfect world.”

Ethan considered her words before responding. “You’re right. I’m being too general and thinking only in terms of here and my life, my choices.” His face suddenly became serious and she felt his withdrawal as if it were a physical thing when in reality, he was no farther away from her than he’d been two seconds ago. “Even I don’t have control over everything in my world.”

He said it so bleakly, Isobel wondered for a moment what had happened to him that was so terrible. She reached across the table, pressing her fingertips lightly on the back of his hand where it rested on the pristine white tablecloth.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.

“Why sorry?”

“You strike me as the kind of guy who likes to be in charge of what happens.”

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “And at least I can be in charge of how I react to what happens, right?”

They turned their conversation to more general topics after that, Isobel wringing more laughter from Ethan and reveling in the fact that she could. Seeing that glimpse of vulnerability in him had only made him even more attractive to her. It took a strong man to admit his weaknesses and she was hardwired to appreciate a strong man.

They’d been lingering over their coffee and dessert when she saw Ethan look at his watch. Around them, the restaurant had all but emptied.

“It’s getting late,” Ethan said. “Is there anywhere I can drop you off?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’ll just check into the nearest hostel or hotel,” she answered blithely, though she was admittedly a little sorry that their evening was drawing to a close.

The attraction she’d felt toward him all through the meal had only sharpened as she’d spent more time with him, and she wondered if perhaps he was too much of a gentleman to expect their evening together to lead to anything more. As much as she respected honor in a man, she wasn’t feeling particularly honorable herself right now.

“You haven’t booked anywhere?”

“No, I just flew in this afternoon. But it’s no problem. There are a few places within walking distance of here, aren’t there?” She could see Ethan bristle at the thought and she couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled from her at the expression on his face. “I can look after myself, you know.”

“Like you did back at the pub?”

“I would have shaken him off eventually.”

“Yes, it certainly looked that way.” His delicious mouth firmed into a straight line.

“Hey, it’s not a problem. I can get the restaurant to call me a cab if you’re that worried. I only need a place for a night, anyway.”

One night? One night of no questions, no answers. No recriminations. He would probably never see her again. One night of freedom, of passion. Ethan’s mind expanded on the idea with the velocity of bush fire and with more than a hint of its searing heat, as well. He spoke before he could overthink the situation and talk himself out of the idea that had bloomed in his mind. If she went for it, all well and good. If not, no harm, no foul.

“Why not stay with me? I mean, I have an apartment here in the city. There’s more than enough room for you, as well.”

To his surprise her smile widened.

“I’d like that.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I’d like to stay with you tonight.”

A knot of tension coiled tight in his gut. Did she mean what he thought she meant or had his simmering libido simply heard what it wanted to hear? In his whole life he’d never had a one-night stand—had considered them to be the mark of a person with little control, and even less respect for themselves. But his body burned in a way it had never burned before. Still, he felt obligated to be a gentleman about this.

“I have a couple of guest rooms. You can take your pick.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” she replied softly. “Do you?”

He swallowed and shook his head. “Not if you’re comfortable with that.”

She laughed, the sound thrilling across his raw nerves like a soothing caress. “Oh, I expect to get really uncom- fortable, don’t you? Come on, let’s go.”

Ethan was unused to someone else taking the lead but he couldn’t deny the primal surge of attraction that flooded his body at her confidence. For once, the important decisions didn’t lie solely with him. He didn’t have to be the responsible one. He could just relax into doing what felt right. And this felt very, very right.

Without taking his eyes from her face, he gestured to the waitstaff for their bill. It felt like forever before the account was settled, with his usual generous tip added. Then he was hefting Isobel’s pack up over his shoulder again. With his free hand he reached for her, threading their fingers together—the palm-to-palm contact hinting at the intimacy yet to come.

The short cab ride to his apartment building was executed in silence, the distance between them in the back-seat of the cab miles rather than mere feet. But the instant they alighted, Ethan drew Isobel to him again. She looked up at the midrise apartment building and flicked him a wicked smile.

“Penthouse, right?”

He gave a small groan. “Guilty as charged.”

“I love a view,” she replied as they entered the building and took the elevator to the top floor. They entered a private foyer and Ethan watched as Isobel walked across the hardwood floors through a double-story-height room. She came to a halt in front of the wall of glass that looked out through the darkness, over Kurrangga Park and beyond.

“This is definitely a view,” she said softly before turning around to face him. “But I think I like this view better.”

She crossed the floor toward him as he placed her pack on the floor behind one of the oversize cream leather couches. As he straightened, her small hands slid around his waist beneath his jacket.

“Yeah, I definitely like this view better.”

Isobel lifted herself on tiptoe and her lips caressed his ever so gently, like a butterfly kiss. As soft and near ephemeral as her touch was, the impact on his senses was so strong that it was as if someone had ignited every nerve in his body. He could feel her warmth even though she barely touched him. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the light essence of her scent. It wasn’t enough. His hands reached for her, pulling her hard against him, absorbing her as her curves settled against the hard planes of his body. He lowered his head, watching as she lifted her face to him, her eyelids fluttering closed, her lips parting ever so slightly.

And then he kissed her as he’d been unconsciously dreaming of doing from the moment he’d first seen her. She was the perfect balance to him, light to his darkness, pliant to his inflexibility, warmth to the coldness that had settled deep inside him today. Resolutely he pushed all remembrance of what had led him to cross the same path as Isobel from his mind. She was here. He was here. That was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

Her lips were smooth and soft, her tongue a tiny dart that met his and tangled in a hot mess of need and desire. Her hands ripped at the buttons of his shirt, sending them bouncing onto the floor. She pushed the fabric open, baring his chest and belly to her touch. Her fingers spread across his skin, leaving a searing trail wherever she touched.

Ethan lifted his hands to her hair, letting the shoulder-length, silky strands run through his fingers as he reached to cup the back of her head and draw her even closer. He pressed his hips against her lower belly, instinctively seeking some relief for the increasing pressure that built in his groin. She pressed back and he groaned. He felt her hands skim across his belly to the belt of his trousers, where nimble fingers slid the leather free from its buckle, and began to unfasten his waistband. And then, mercifully, her hand was gripping him through his briefs, her fingers firm yet gentle at the same time. But he didn’t want gentle. Not yet.

He ground against her hand and felt her answering response as she gripped him tighter. At the same time his fingers worked against the knot that bound the halter of her dress at the nape of her neck. The fabric finally gave way. Ethan pulled back from her slightly, allowing the top of her gown to slide down over her breasts, exposing them to his hungry gaze. Her nipples were a delectable, soft, peachy-pink, drawn into taut buds that begged for his mouth. He cupped one breast in his hand, rubbing the hard nub of her nipple with his thumb as he bent his head to its partner, drawing the tender flesh into his mouth and rasping its tip with his tongue.

A shudder passed through Isobel’s body, a soft mew of pleasure emitting from between her lips. Ethan transferred his attention to her other breast, laving it with the same attention before he pulled back and bent slightly to slide one arm behind her knees and sweep her up into his arms. Her hands linked behind his neck and she pressed her lips against his chest as he strode to the master bedroom. Her teeth scraped across one nipple, making him almost stop in his tracks as a jolt of sheer lightning passed through his body. But he regained his focus, eventually shoving open the door that led into the bedroom where he slowly lowered Isobel to her feet.

She shimmied her dress over her hips, stepping out of the pool of fabric at her feet, even as she reached for him again. Dressed only in heels and the barest scrap of silk panties, she shoved his jacket off his shoulders and then dispensed with his shirt the same way. Ethan tugged down his pants and kicked off his shoes. He skimmed his socks off as he pushed his trousers away and reached for Isobel.

They tumbled to the bed together in a tangle of arms and legs, each trying desperately to get closer to the other, all the while touching and exploring the skin now exposed to them. He wasn’t sure later how she engineered it, but she ended up straddling him, her legs trapping his thighs as she leaned down to trace his collarbone with the tip of her tongue before moving lower until she licked and nipped again at his nipples. His skin had never felt this sensitive, his responses this intense. He’d never felt so powerless, nor so empowered at the same time.

Even so, it wasn’t in him to simply lie there, supine. Ethan stroked his fingertips over the tops of her thighs, then followed the line of her hip as it curved down along the edge of her panties and into the shadowed hollow of her core. He slid one finger under the flimsy covering, tugging the material aside and exposing her as a true blonde in the dimly lit room. She was wet and hot as he traced his finger around her moist flesh, dipping into her center. She ground against his hand, moaning her pleasure. He pressed his palm against her, even as he slid a second finger inside the scalding grip of her body. Again she pushed against him, her hips moving in a tight circle.

She ceased her exploration of his torso, sitting more upright, allowing him deeper access to her. He looked up at the vision of sheer femininity that hovered above him. Her eyes were open, staring straight into his, as if she could see into his very soul. Her breasts were small, perfect globes that shimmered in the half-light, her nipples drawn into concentrated buds. He stroked his fingers along her inner passage, pressed more firmly with his palm. Her body began to tremble, her stomach muscles—already flat and toned—tightening visibly as her whole body grew taut. And then he felt her crest the pinnacle of pleasure. Her inner muscles squeezing in paroxysms of satisfaction, her thighs shaking, a keening sound of fulfillment escaping from her, even though she had caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Ethan rose up and deftly moved her so she was beneath him, his hands now drawing her panties off her body, his fingers tracing the long, lean muscles of her legs. Once the lacy scrap was discarded, he slid her high-heeled sandals off her feet, massaging the instep of each foot before running his hands back up her legs again. The well-trimmed thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs glistened with the evidence of her gratification, and he nuzzled at the blond hair, inhaling the musky scent of her before exposing the swollen nub of flesh hidden inside. He traced a circle around the shining pink pearl with the tip of his tongue.

“Too soon,” she protested weakly, her body still quivering with the aftereffects of her orgasm.

“Trust me, it’s not soon enough,” he argued, closing his mouth over the tumescent bead and gently scraping his teeth over its surface.

Isobel all but leaped off the bed, her hips surging upward in response to his action. Ethan swirled his tongue around her again, soothing her, before repeating the action with his teeth. She may have been in control of her last peak, but he most definitely would be driving her to her next. He increased the pressure of his tongue and began to suckle firmly. The next time he softly closed his teeth on her he felt her break, her body at first stretched as tight as a bow before the arrow of physical delight flew free, turning her muscles slack and supple beneath him.

He brushed his tongue over her again, then again more soothingly, until he finally withdrew from her and dragged himself up and over her.

“You okay?” he murmured, his hands now stroking her belly, tracing her rib cage and moving slowly to rest against one breast. Beneath his hand he could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

“Okay? Yeah, I think I’m just a bit more than okay,” she said, smiling as she caught his face between her hands and kissed him. “But what about you?”

She flexed her pelvis against him.

“We’re going to take care of that right now,” he said. Supporting his weight on one arm, he reached with the other into the drawer of the nightstand.

He shook out the box of condoms he withdrew and grabbed one packet.

“Here, let me,” Isobel insisted, taking the condom from his hand and tearing the foil open.

She slid the sheath from its confines and positioned it over the aching head of his erection before deftly sliding it over his length. It took almost every ounce of his control not to lose it as, once he was protected, she slipped her hand between them and positioned him at her entrance. She gasped as he probed her swollen, slick flesh, the sound vibrating through him as he fought to prolong this moment for as long as humanly possible.

Then, so slowly that it made his body shudder with the effort, he sank within her inviting depths. Her body gloved him, fitting so perfectly that he knew he would not be able to maintain this level of control for more than mere seconds. Bliss flooded him in an instant—potent and undeniable.

He moved within her, her hips rising to meet his every thrust, each one more powerful than the last, the rising pleasure becoming more exquisitely intense with each stroke. And then, he was there—sensation pulsating through his body and catapulting him into a place he’d never experienced so deeply before. He held her firmly to him, his forehead resting on hers, their rapid breaths mingling in the minute space between them. When he made to pull away, Isobel’s arms closed around him.

“I’m too heavy for you,” he protested as she squeezed tight.

“I like this,” she replied as if the simplicity of the words themselves were fully sufficient.

He relaxed against her, and realized that maybe they were. He’d never felt the full acceptance of himself with another in the aftermath of lovemaking before. It had always been a release, often a deeply satisfying one, but never quite this sense of physical communion. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he took what was—for him—a very novel approach. He decided not to think at all. Not just yet. As his heart rate slowed, he rolled slightly to one side, pulling her along with him.

Isobel reached up a finger to trace the line of his lips, her touch leaving a tingle of longing in its wake. He gave in and leaned into her to kiss her—not a kiss with the flaming sensuality they’d shared before, but one of quiet intimacy. Of thanks. He finally forced himself to break away and moved to rid himself of the condom, returning to the bed as quickly as he could and scooping her against him. Isobel tangled her legs in his and rested her head on his chest. For all that he barely knew her it felt almost frighteningly right.

One night, he reminded himself. That was all this was. Just one night.




Three


Isobel traced a circular pattern with her index finger on Ethan’s chest. She’d been stunned by the force of their lovemaking, by their connection to one another. It almost seemed a shame that she’d be moving on to her next assignment tomorrow without ever seeing Ethan again, but she would live with that. She had to. It was the way she lived her life. Always fluid, always moving. Never staying still long enough to set down roots. It suited her.

And to her surprise, so had he.

She knew deep down that tonight had not been the type of thing a man like Ethan indulged in often, if at all. It piqued her curiosity. Why had he broken with what were probably very rigid personal boundaries to bring her home and share such profound intimacy? It was tempting to believe that it was just her influence that had him throwing caution to the wind, but she sensed that there was more to it than that. Her photographer’s instinct always knew when there was more at play than what could be immediately seen. Before she knew it, the question slid from her lips.

“Why me, Ethan?”

“Huh?”

He sounded sleepy, as if she’d dragged him from that in-between place in the middle of consciousness and slumber.

“What happened to you today?” she asked.

He sucked in a deep breath and his arm tightened around her. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Try me,” she coaxed. “You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn’t usually share what troubles you. Maybe you should try it sometime, like now, with me.”

She kept drawing the circles on his chest and waited in silence for him to make up his mind. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain as he weighed up the pros and cons of sharing with her. It never failed to surprise Isobel that people could share the most personal experiences together physically, yet reveal so little on an emotional level. Somehow it mattered to her to know why Ethan had overstepped his boundaries with her.

“I got some news today that I hadn’t anticipated,” he finally disclosed.

“Bad news?”

“Yes and no.”

“It upset you,” she stated firmly.

“Yeah, I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“It must have been really bad, then.”

She felt him nod. “You could say that. My dad died recently and I’ve been going over his records. I found some payments that didn’t marry up with the data I had before me, so I checked with the family accountant who referred me to our lawyer. That’s where I went today. Basically I discovered that my father hid the truth about our mother from my sister and me. We were told she died twenty-five years ago, but she didn’t. She left us and accepted his money to stay away.”

“Oh, that’s awful. You must have been devastated,” Isobel whispered in shock.

She knew what it was like to find out a parent had been lying to you. It was the deepest kind of betrayal.

“I don’t understand why he did it and now I can’t ask him, either.”

Tension radiated from his body as the frustration he’d been feeling wound tight inside of him.

“Maybe he just wanted to protect you and your sister. If it happened twenty-five years ago then you can’t have been all that old,” she said, trying to soothe him.

“I was six, my sister only three. I would have had some understanding of his decision not to tell us then, if my father had bothered to tell me the truth later, when I was an adult. It’s not as if he didn’t have ample opportunity. Even after he died, there was no letter, nothing in his will to let me know the truth. If I hadn’t started asking questions about the payments, I never would have known.”

The bitterness in his voice hung in the air.

Isobel sighed. “It isn’t easy to understand the choices our parents make.” That much, she knew from personal experience. “Usually, I guess they think they’re protecting us.”

“Why would I need to be protected from the truth? Don’t I deserve to know why he thought my sister and I would be better off without our mother in our lives?”

“Maybe it wasn’t as clear-cut as that.”

Ethan shook his head. “It must have been. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to get the rest of our family to support him in his lie. My aunt and my uncle and his wife, they all knew the truth. They’ve all kept the secret for all these years.”

“Are they still alive?”

“Yeah, we all live on the family property. We see each other pretty much every day.”

“Then maybe you can find out from them,” she suggested. “Whatever the outcome, though, Ethan, there’s no point in holding a grudge against a dead man. Right or wrong, your father made his decisions. They can’t be undone or the past changed. The only thing you can do is move forward.”

“Is that what you do?” he asked. “Move forward and not ask questions?”

She smiled and lifted her head and met his serious dark brown gaze. “Except for right now, yeah, something like that. It saves on baggage.”

Ethan shook his head slightly. “I can’t imagine living like that.”

Isobel shrugged. “It’s not for everyone. Certainly not for someone like your father, for example. For whatever reason, he kept those payments going for years, got your whole family involved, with the idea that he was protecting you and your sister. I imagine you’re probably very much like he was. Strong.” She coasted her fingertips over his shoulders and down his arm. “Intelligent.” She ran her fingers back up his arm and lightly touched his forehead. “And protective.” Her fingertips traveled back down to his chest and she rested her full palm against it. “Those are the qualities about your father you should remember him by. And how much he must have loved you.”

Ethan remained silent for a while before speaking. “You have an interesting insight for someone who never met my father and who never met me before tonight.”

“You think I’m being presumptuous, offering you my opinion?”

“No, not that. If anything, you probably described my father to a tee. I suppose that coming to terms with everything, losing him as suddenly as we did, I had briefly lost sight of that. I still want to know why he never told me about our mother, though.”

“Is tomorrow soon enough for that?” Isobel asked, raising onto her knees and straddling him as she’d done earlier. “Because I think, for now, it might be fun to distract you with other things.”




Four


Isobel woke as the sun was beginning to cast a corona around the edges of the heavy floor-length drapes at the window. For a moment she was disoriented, but soon remembrance flooded her mind. She lay motionless next to Ethan’s sleeping body, listening to his steady breathing, reveling in the warmth that radiated from him. Wow, she thought, that had been quite a night. Who would have thought that Mr. Buttoned-Up would be quite so skilled in the bedroom? She smiled to herself. It was true what they said. It was the quiet ones you had to watch.

Her body still tingled and she felt wonderfully alive. Last night had been special. Very special. She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Ethan in the half light. His beard had grown, dusting his jaw with an even darker haze than had been apparent at dinner. That, and his mussed-up hair, made him look more untamed and approachable than he’d been before. It was as if he was two people. A public, reserved Ethan and a private one. She liked that she’d gotten a chance to spend time with both.

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To awaken him both mentally and physically. But caution stilled her hand. If she was going to leave, best to leave now, while he was still sleeping. That way, they could avoid the awkward goodbye that would come after she told him she’d rather not keep in touch. She wasn’t prepared to invest time into any type of commitment. It wasn’t her way. And this guy, well, he had commitment written all over him. In fact, she didn’t doubt that she’d been an aberration for him.

She slid carefully from the bed and found her dress and shoes on the floor at the end of the bed. Her panties were a lost cause, she decided, after silently scanning the carpet for a minute. Besides, she had clean pairs in her pack. Giving a mental shrug, she held her things to her and carefully made her way to the door, thanking the efficiency of modern maintenance that the door opened and closed silently, allowing her to exit the bedroom without making a sound.

In the main room she located her pack behind the sofa where Ethan had left it last night and quickly got dressed. She’d give just about anything for a hot shower and a toothbrush right now, but she didn’t want the sound of running water to wake Ethan. Now that she’d made her decision to cut and run, she didn’t want anything to stand in her way. Not even the man who’d ensured she’d enjoyed what had unarguably been the best sex of her entire life.

Her inner muscles clenched on the memory of the pleasure he’d wrung from her. No hit and miss with him. She smiled. No, he was hit after hit every time. A girl could get addicted to that, could want to hang around for more of the same. She reminded herself that she wasn’t the hanging-around type. Not for any reason, and certainly not for a man. She was a wanderer through and through, with little to call her own aside from what she could carry in her pack.

Ethan had talked about a family business, relatives that he worked with and spent time with every day. She couldn’t imagine an existence more different from her own. No, there was no room for commitment in her life, and no place for some as impermanent as her in his.

Isobel threaded the straps of her shoes through the fingers of one hand while hoisting her pack over one shoulder with the other. She turned to blow a silent kiss in the direction of Ethan’s bedroom. It had certainly been fun while it lasted.

In the elevator on the way to the ground floor, Isobel slid her sandals onto her feet and smoothed her dress, thanking the good sense she’d learned years ago to only purchase non-crush fabrics. Sometimes it cost a little more, but it was worth it when you lived a transitory life out of a backpack.

The air had a definite autumnal chill to it when she exited the massive glazed doors of the apartment building and she hesitated under the portico, deciding where she should head to next.

She really needed to find somewhere inexpensive to check into so she could shower and change and get her professional head back on her shoulders. Last night had been a sinfully satisfying deviation from her usual behavior but the sooner she put it behind her, the better. Question was, how was she to do that? She waited in the cool morning air for a few minutes and then, as luck would have it, a taxi pulled to the curb to drop off a passenger. Someone returning from overseas, judging by the amount of luggage the driver hefted from the trunk of the car. As he started to get back in, Isobel stepped forward.

“Excuse me, is there any chance you could take me to a low-price hotel near here?”

“Sure, love. Hop in.”

Thanking her lucky stars, Isobel pushed her pack into the backseat and followed it onto the worn upholstery. As the car pulled away, though, she wondered what might have happened if, instead of slinking away, she’d stayed to waken Ethan. Where could they have gone from last night? That they would have made love again was in no doubt. In fact, they could have skipped the potential for morning-after awkwardness and worked their way straight through to afternoon delight.

No, she told herself sternly, forcing her head to remain resolutely facing forward. As good as their night together had been, she had to remember her motto, her very code for living. Never look back.

Besides, she had work to do that would have drawn her out of town soon, anyway. A job that was a cakewalk when it came to it, but that would bring in a tidy paycheck. It was these safe, easy glamour jobs that gave her some much-needed rest after a more trying assignment, and paid enough to subsidize the side of her work that was really important.

She’d allowed herself a month to get the project completed to both her and her client’s satisfaction. One month to recoup funds, to rest and recharge, and then she was heading back to the African continent. Back to what she did best and what spoke to her heart. What she earned in the next few weeks would grease the palms necessary to get her exactly where she needed to be to take the pictures she needed to take.

But even as the tires on the taxi ate the kilometers putting space between her and Ethan, she still felt that tug—that desire to turn back. To explore the vulnerability that lay beneath the face Ethan presented to the world at large. To revel in the strength and capability he exuded. The guy was addictive. Dangerously addictive. It was just as well she’d never see him again because deep down she knew he had the power to make her want to stay with him longer than a night and she couldn’t do that.

No, she’d never do that.

Ethan stretched against the fine cotton of the bedsheets and reached beside him for Isobel’s sleeping form, but his hand came up empty. In fact, the room itself held an emptiness that left him in no doubt that she’d moved on.

Conflicting thoughts plagued him as he rolled out of bed and walked naked into the main living area of the apartment, just to confirm she had indeed gone. Relief that they didn’t have to face any stilted morning-after discussion, tempered with a deep regret that they couldn’t start the day the way they’d finished last night, warred within him.

Relief won out. Especially in light of the discussion they’d had after the first time they’d made love. What on earth had possessed him to open up in such detail to an absolute stranger? He hadn’t even told his sister the news. In fact, he didn’t even know if he would tell her.

Wasn’t it far better that Tamsyn remember their dad the way he’d have wanted to be remembered—not as a man who’d deliberately altered their family history without so much as an explanation left behind when he died? Didn’t she deserve at least that? Ethan didn’t even want to contemplate what it would do to Tamsyn to learn their mother had willingly abandoned them. How it would destabilize the world they’d grown up in.

God, it was all such a mess. No less so than it had been yesterday but, he had to admit as he walked back into the bedroom and headed for a shower, at least he himself felt a little better about it. Somehow, Isobel Fyfe had woven her magic around him from the minute he’d seen her. Just that one chance glimpse of her before she entered the pub, like a butterfly alighting on a leaf, and his day had taken a decided turn for the better. He turned on the shower and stepped in before the water could come up to temperature, yet even the multijet sprays couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of her touch from his body, or his mind. Somehow, she’d inveigled her way into his thoughts so thoroughly, and in so short a time, that he couldn’t fully dislodge her.

She wasn’t his type, he reminded himself. She was only a one-night stand, by her own choice. He hadn’t kicked her out—she was the one who had left. Their night together had satisfied both of them, and then she had moved on. It was for the best. It was what he’d wanted, too, after all. The prospect of a single night of no-consequence pleasure with a stranger was the only reason he’d invited her back to the apartment. He never expected to see her again. Yet he could still remember the precise pitch of her laugh, the softness of her voice, the warmth of her breath on his skin, the texture of her tongue as it—

Ethan switched the mixer to cold. This wasn’t getting him anywhere but uncomfortable. No, it was best that she’d gone as she had—leaving no trace other than the lingering scent of her fragrance on his bedsheets and the indelible imprint she’d left on his mind. The bedsheets would be taken care of by housekeeping, his mind he could take care of himself. He just needed to change his focus.

Later, as he got ready to head home, back to his work at the winery, he told himself he was succeeding. They couldn’t have taken things any further than they had, even if they’d both been interested in doing so. She was completely disconnected from the things that formed the cornerstones of his world. She was a transitory creature of light and laughter—charming, but unreliable. He was stable, grounded in his work and his family. The people in his life depended on him. He needed to be able to depend on them, as well.

He’d needed distracting last night and she’d definitely been quite the distraction.

It was with a satisfied smile on his face that he let himself out of the apartment half an hour later and took the elevator to the basement-level parking. The Isobel Fyfes of this world were good for a fling, and they’d enjoyed a mutually pleasurable one at that, however, she couldn’t be further from his idea of a forever woman in his life if she’d actively been trying.

No, it was women like Shanal Peat, one of his old university friends who more closely fit that bill. She was serious and clever and, with her mixed Indian and Australian heritage, exquisitely beautiful. They were already close friends. She’d be a far better life mate for a man like Ethan than Isobel could ever be, plus, with her Ph.D. in viticulture, she’d be a brilliant asset to The Masters winery and vineyard. He could see her fitting in well with his family, with her gentle, steady demeanor. She’d understand and respect the generations of tradition that went into their family vineyard, and would slide seamlessly into their lives and work with no confusion or upheaval.

It would be a mistake to even consider someone more bold, more unexpected and spontaneous. Women like that added excitement to life, but they added chaos, as well. No, a woman like Shanal was exactly what he needed. They were a melding of minds and personalities that could only succeed.

Ethan got into his 5-series BMW and headed out the basement and into the glorious sunshine of another beautiful Adelaide autumn morning. This business with his parents was just a minor glitch. He could take care of it later. And, he wagered, as long as the payments to Ellen Masters continued unabated, he had no reason to worry about her suddenly returning and reasserting her parental rights. The secret could remain a secret a while longer. There was no need for his aunts and uncle to know he was aware of the truth—or for his sister to know anything about the matter at all.

By the time he cruised through the gates of The Masters and past the cellar door tasting room and point of sale, it was late morning. He turned down the private road that led to the main house and pulled his car to a halt outside. As he got out of the car, he took a moment to breathe in the scent of the air and fill his lungs with it.

Home. There was nothing quite like it. His eyes drifted to the top of the ridge where the shell of his family’s old home, Master’s Rise, destroyed by bush fire more than thirty years ago, still stood. The stone-wall construction of the late-nineteenth-century building had withstood the voraciously hungry flames that had systematically consumed most of the property, and proved too solid to be economically torn down. Its profile endured as a constant reminder of what could be lost, while the lands that roamed beneath it continued as proof of what could be achieved in the face of disaster.

Ethan looked around at what his family had rebuilt in his father’s lifetime. The large double-storied home that housed most of the family under its roof, the vineyards stretching across the valley and up the hill, the winery, which consumed Ethan’s time and expertise and challenged him in all ways to constantly do better. Yeah, it was good to be home and even better to have this all to come home to.

A movement on the path from one of the luxury cottages, which provided accommodation for guests, caught his attention. Tamsyn, his sister, ran that side of the business, and had probably just finished the final inspection of the cabin for a guest before walking back toward the house.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile as she drew nearer. She gave an exaggerated look at her watch. “Or should I say, afternoon?”

He smiled in return. “It’s still morning,” he confirmed.

“Did you have a good night in town?” she inquired innocently, although the sparkle in her eyes told him she was delving for more information.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, deliberately vague.

Tamsyn sighed. “No gossip?”

“Since when have I been the subject of gossip?”

“You know what I mean,” she said on a huff of disappointment. “You need to get a life, Ethan. Sometimes you’re just too absorbed in this place.”

He looked at her this time, really looked. There was a note in her voice that implied dissatisfaction in her world, something he’d never heard from her before.

“Is everything okay, Tam?”

She pasted on a broad smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be, right? By the way, are you going to be at dinner this evening? I have the new photographer for the catalog shoot arriving later this afternoon and I’d like you to meet—”

“Sure, I’ll be there,” he interrupted. “Same time, same place,” he said with a wink.

It was a family joke. Whichever family members were in residence usually met for predinner drinks in the main salon before dining together. It was a good way to stay in touch, although he knew that some people found it a bit old-fashioned. Personally, he liked that some traditions remained the same, and there was always the option of cooking for yourself—something he was generally loath to do. It would be tough, though, facing his aunts and his uncle. Looking them in the eye and knowing they had conspired to keep a secret from Tamsyn and him for all this time. Did they not wonder, now John Masters was dead, if the truth would come out? Well, Ethan certainly wouldn’t be throwing it into the conversational pot tonight. He still needed time to come to terms with it himself.

He continued. “How’s the wedding business going?”

“Mine, or for here?”

As part of her work in running the accommodation side at The Masters, Tamsyn also oversaw special events—business retreats and the like. Since her engagement to Trent Mayweather just over a year ago, she had happily expanded into coordinating small, but exclusive, wedding packages at the property.

“Either. Both.” Ethan shrugged.

“Fine. The latest bridezilla would seem to finally be appeased by the fact that, since harvest is well and truly under way, we will not have green vines flush with grapes for her favored photo shoot, so overall things are looking good. And since Trent and I have yet to set a date, there’s no business to worry about there,” she replied airily.

Still no date. Despite her determined attempt to sound flip about the issue, Ethan sensed there was an underlying hint of frustration in her voice. Before he could press her further, Tamsyn changed the subject.





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