Читать книгу Spaniard's Seduction / Cole's Red-Hot Pursuit - Brenda Jackson - Страница 12

A lanky youth with a baseball cap jammed down on his head was standing with his back to the door when Rafaelo walked into the reception area of the winery the next morning.

“Buenos días,” he said, “I’m looking for Phillip Saxon.”

The youth turned and Rafaelo found himself staring into a pair of very familiar pale blue eyes. No youth this. Those unique eyes could only belong to one person…

Caitlyn Ross.

He did a rapid inspection to see how he could have made such an unforgivable mistake. The jeans she wore were faded and baggy, stained with the juice of grapes. The oversized navy-and-white striped T-shirt bore a sports team’s logo and swamped her slender body. The baseball cap pulled low over her forehead hid the fine, beautiful copper-blond hair. Every trace of the feminine creature he’d met yesterday had vanished.

Except for the eyes.

Those hadn’t changed. They met his directly, challenging him, stirring a primal need. The slow pounding of his heart under the force of her gaze ensured that he paid careful attention to everything about her.

“Did you call to let Phillip know you were coming?”

The awakening attraction withered. “Are you always so—” he searched for the word he wanted “—bossy?”

Irritation flashed in her eyes. She edged toward a stone archway. “I’m not bossy. I just don’t want you causing trouble with the Saxons.”

¡Vale! Okay, she’d made her feelings clear enough. Rafaelo followed her through the arch into the winery. Immediately the familiar smell of French oak surrounded him. Two rows of vats lined the long, dimly lit room where they stood. Another step forward brought a newer fragrance. The feminine fragrance of wildflowers. Caitlyn’s fragrance.

Subtle. Evocative. Unexpectedly fragile.

Rafaelo drew a deep breath. “So you’ve decided that I’m the big bad wolf coming to eat your lambs?”

She shook her head. “I’d hardly describe Phillip or his sons as lambs.”

Tipping his head to one side, Rafaelo said, “Perhaps they are the wolves…and I am the lamb?”

“Cute!” She beamed at him. It broke up the serious intensity of her face and revealed a dimple on the left side of her mouth and gave her expression a mischievous cast. “Definitely not. You’re a wolf—pretending to be in lamb’s clothing.”

Desire jolted through him. But he wanted to laugh, too. The dimness of the winery seemed to grow brighter. The unrelenting heaviness that had consumed Rafaelo ever since he’d first learned he wasn’t fathered by the man he’d always called Papa but by some not-so-perfect stranger who’d never wanted anything to do with him—or his sweet mother—started to lift.

“I am a Lopez on my mother’s side—so maybe I am part wolf. You’d better take care and treat me with mucho respect.” He gave her a lazy grin, showing his teeth, his heart lightening still further as her smile broke into peals of unrestrained laughter.

“Lopez? Oh, of course, lupis. Yes, you’d have to be a wolf.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and the fresh wave of desire that crashed through him shook Rafaelo to the core.

“My, my, what sharp teeth you have,” she mocked gently.

“Is that an invitation for the wolf to bite?” He leaned toward her, drawn by the irrepressible sparkle in her eyes. The scent of wildflowers intensified. He wanted to yank her into his arms. Kiss her until she was breathless. “To hunt?”

She flushed, a flood of scarlet across the pale skin and drew quickly away, her smile fading.

“No…no.”

The sudden panicked look she gave him made Rafaelo frown.

Before he could ask her what he’d done to bring that blind fear to her eyes, she shuffled away. “Uh, I have to go. You’ll find Phillip in his office. Go out that door, past the stainless steel vats. Turn right and head down the corridor to the office at the end.”

And then she was hurrying away without offering to show him the way into his father’s lair. Rafaelo stared after her tall, slim body with consternation. What had happened? One moment she’d been laughing, teasing him…there’d been a bubble of suppressed excitement surrounding them…and then she’d run.

What had scared her? Him? Dios, he didn’t pose any danger—at least, not to her.

Still trapped in a tizzy over the amused interest she’d glimpsed in Rafaelo’s eyes and the shameful surge of desire that had been so quickly followed by fear, Caitlyn crossed the forecourt outside the brick structure that housed two immense stainless steel vats. As she approached the tasting shed, a streak of silver flashed past her peripheral vision.

Heath.

She paused. For so long she’d been attuned to his every move. A glimpse of his silver Lamborghini usually stirred secret yearnings. Impossible yearnings. But today she merely frowned. With Rafaelo here, Heath’s presence would only lead to more tension.

Heath seldom appeared during working hours. It was no secret that he and Phillip had differences of opinion—differences that had been significant enough for Heath to walk out of his job as winemaker at Saxon’s Folly three years ago.

She lifted a hand and waved.

Heath waved back. Slowly Caitlyn made her way over to where he’d pulled the car in beside Rafaelo’s beaten-up rental. Heath was already clambering out of the low-slung car under the angled doors.

Propping her hip against the battered vehicle, she folded her arms and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Dad called. He wants me here for a meeting.”

“Phillip called you?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Phillip and his youngest son usually did little but argue—each convinced that their own opinion was the only one that could be right.

“Yep. Before you start thinking reconciliation, he called Joshua, too. So your job is safe, kitten,” Heath teased, ruffling the top of her head.

She ducked her head away and pulled off the baseball cap. “I’m not worried about you wanting my job. You put me up for it, remember?”

He tugged her ponytail. “Course I remember, rat’s tail.”

Instead of the hopeless longing that usually filled her at his joking, brotherly manner, Caitlyn felt only annoyance. And irritation with herself for wasting so much time on a man who never looked past the fact that she’d been a first-year student when he’d been studying for his doctorate. Then she’d been one of the few girls in a department dominated by guys and had chosen to become one of them—rather than the trophy that they bickered over, a path that would have put her truly on the outside.

She couldn’t help thinking of the way that Rafaelo had looked at her in the winery earlier. His scrutiny had made her wish she hadn’t been wearing scuffed sneakers and stained jeans.

That was until they’d started the talk about wolves and hunting, before she’d chickened out and hightailed it away as fast as her legs could carry her. Predatory males scared her spitless.

She shoved Rafaelo out of her thoughts and concentrated on Heath. “So Joshua is coming, too?”

“Yeah, apparently there’s someone that Dad wants us to meet.”

Rafaelo.

It had to be.

Phillip couldn’t know that Joshua and Heath had already met Rafaelo yesterday…and almost come to blows.

Or maybe he did. “Uh…Heath…did you say anything to your parents about meeting Rafaelo yesterday?”

“Rafaelo?” Heath’s cell phone started to ring and he dug into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve it.

“The Spaniard,” she clarified, as the ringing grew louder.

“I remember exactly who Rafaelo is. I can’t see why I should be bothering to discuss his spurious claim with Father.”

Caitlyn waited as Heath answered his call, resting the phone in the angle between his shoulder and jaw.

“I’m here, Dad.” He winked at Caitlyn. “What’s the hurry?” He listened for a moment and all humour left his face, he started to frown. “Be there in two minutes.”

His expression filled Caitlyn with dread. “What’s the matter?”

“Sounds like Dad’s got a bit of a problem.”

“Problem?”

“Six foot-plus of pure bastard by the sounds of it. But not for much longer.”

Heath tore across the drive, Caitlyn hard on his heels.

She thought of Rafaelo, his reluctance to call Phillip by his given name…or to acknowledge him as “my father.” She thought of the isolation he must be experiencing among the tight-knit Saxon clan. She thought of Rafaelo standing toe-to-toe with Heath yesterday. She thought of his fury about Phillip’s treatment of his mother.

Her heart sank. A fight was brewing. “Wait, I’m coming, too.”

Caitlyn rushed into Phillip’s office hard on Heath’s heels. The office—if it could be called that—had windows with old-fashioned wide wooden sills that overlooked the vineyards, an antique desk clear of everything except a blotter and a gold pen in a marble holder, and a conference table with four chairs arranged around it. Three of the chairs were currently occupied by Phillip, Joshua and Rafaelo. The tension in the room was palpable.

“So this is about him?” Heath gestured with a thumb toward Rafaelo and took the last seat.

“Yes.” Phillip did not elaborate.

Caitlyn hovered, feeling a little out of place—she was after all not family—then Rafaelo rose to his feet.

“Caitlyn…” he gave her name an exotic resonance “…take my chair.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“I insist.” He stepped away from the table and perched himself on the windowsill.

“Sit down, Caitlyn.”

She gave Phillip a quick smile. “Thanks.”

Phillip didn’t smile back. There were shadows of strain around his eyes, and a grim set to his mouth. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

Once seated, Caitlyn—and the Saxons—had to look up to Rafaelo where he sat, turning their heads at an uncomfortable angle. With the light behind him, it was impossible to read his expression. She wondered if Rafaelo had been aware of these advantages when he chose the spot by the window that put him outside the family circle.

Except the family circle was incomplete. At least two members were missing. “Where’s Megan?” she asked.

“On her way,” replied Josh.

“And Mother?” This time it was Heath who asked the question that Caitlyn had dared not voice.

Phillip hesitated. “She’s working on a press release with Alyssa. She thought it better that she wasn’t here. Alyssa excused herself, she says she needs to get the release off.”

“But Mother always attends any family meeting.” The words burst from Heath.

“Not this one apparently.” Phillip looked pained.

Megan came through the door like a whirlwind. “Sorry, I was with Mum and Alyssa.” She sounded out of breath, as though she’d been running.

“Here, have my seat,” Caitlyn leapt up, increasingly conscious that while she was part of the inner decision-making team of Saxon’s Folly, Rafaelo was right, this was not her business. This was family stuff. As much as she viewed the Saxons as extended family, she probably shouldn’t even be here.

“Sit,” Megan insisted. “I’ll pull up Dad’s desk chair.” Heath rose and helped her bring it over. They all shuffled around to make space for her.

“Now what’s this about?” Megan demanded.

Caitlyn squinted toward Rafaelo, interested to see how he was going to bridge the gap with his father…his siblings…to start to build the relationship that, despite his denials, she was convinced he’d come across the world to build.

“I want my share of Saxon’s Folly.” Rafaelo spoke from the window.

Caitlyn stared at Rafaelo in disbelief.

“Your share?” Heath was on his feet.

“Sit down, Heath,” Phillip ordered.

Heath sank back, dark colour rising beneath his tan. He gave Rafaelo an unfriendly glare.

“Yes, my share.” Rafaelo’s voice was very smooth, his Spanish accent very evident. But Caitlyn noticed that sparks leapt from his eyes. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared. “The birthright I was robbed of when he—” Rafaelo pointed at Phillip “—refused to acknowledge my mother’s pregnancy.”

“We’ve only got your word that my father is yours.” Heath was the first to retort.

Rafaelo looked at him as though he’d crawled out of a muddy pond. “Even your mother acknowledges that my mother once lived in the area. Even she recognised the probability that—”

“Probability?” Heath mocked.

Joshua looked from one to the other. “Heath—”

“What?” Heath swung round. “He’s scamming us—”

Joshua rested a steadying arm on his brother’s forearm. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Looking at the two of you is like looking into a slightly warped mirror. The resemblance is there, even though it’s a little off.”

Heath did a double take, then his gaze narrowed. “You’re saying he’s Dad’s son?”

“I am! He—” Rafaelo nodded in Phillip’s direction “—can confirm it.”

“Sit.” Joshua tugged Heath’s arm. Once Heath had settled down, he added, “It’s a definite possibility. He looks like us. His heritage is stamped all over his features. Given that, I don’t think there’s any point going down the prove-your-paternity road now. Although I’m sure Father will have the necessary DNA tests done.” Joshua cast his father a glance.

“So what does that mean?” Megan asked.

“It means we have a problem. Rafaelo feels entitled to a share in Saxon’s Folly. How are we going to solve this?” Joshua directed the last at Rafaelo.

“I want what I am owed.”

The dark fire in Rafaelo’s eyes that had so appealed to Caitlyn had subsided, leaving an empty void of black. No emotion. No anger. No hatred. Nothing that she could understand.

“What about your mother’s responsibility in all this? Even what—thirty-something years ago?—women knew the risks of unprotected sex. It was hardly the dark ages.” Megan shrugged. “I feel sympathy for your mother’s plight, but she was foolish enough to mess around with a married man.”

“She didn’t know he was married.” Rafaelo didn’t raise his voice, but suddenly there was a sense of danger, a very real threat in the room. “He lied to her.”

All the Saxon siblings looked to their father.

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

“I don’t remember—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Journals? Caitlyn’s stomach tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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