Spaniard's Seduction / Cole's Red-Hot Pursuit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He damn nearly killed Alyssa.”

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

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

Little chance of that now…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kay looked even more upset.

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

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

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

Caitlyn made for one of the sofas.

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

“Sherry, please.”

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

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

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

“Based on?”

Based on his great-uncle’s process.

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

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

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

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

Caitlyn swallowed, distressed by the longing in his eyes.

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

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

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

Caitlyn waited, dry-mouthed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Heath should never have left,” Phillip muttered.

Across from them, Joshua started to frown.

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

“You’re late,” Phillip said gruffly.

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

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

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

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

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

Heath hesitated. “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irrevocably.

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

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

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

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

“But you’re protecting her from heartache?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kitten!

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

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

“What do you think?”

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

“Would you prefer red?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitated. “I was a swot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caitlyn’s eyes widened in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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