Read the book: «Spaniard's Seduction / Cole's Red-Hot Pursuit»

Spaniard’s Seductionby Tessa Radley

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

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

What he’d come for…

His share of Saxon’s Folly.

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

Cole’s Red-Hot Pursuitby Brenda Jackson

“I need company.”

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

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

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

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

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

Available in October 2009from Mills & Boon® Desire™

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

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

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

SPANIARD’S
SEDUCTION

BY

TESSA RADLEY
COLE’S RED-HOT
PURSUIT

BY

BRENDA JACKSON

MILLS & BOON^®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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SPANIARD’S SEDUCTION

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

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

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

Take care,

Tessa

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

One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The car rolled to a stop.

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

Cold purpose settled in the pit of his stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps not a school friend after all.

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“No, but—”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be.”

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

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

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

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

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

She wanted to find love.

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

She wanted what other people had.

Love. Togetherness. A life.

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

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

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

Even if he had found her wanting.

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

He was gone.

Rafaelo had found his target.

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

Phillip Saxon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now.

Rafaelo tapped him on the shoulder. “Disculpe.”

The older man spun round.

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

“No.” The denial burst from Saxon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phillip looked horrified at his statement.

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

“No—stay.”

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

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

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

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

He thought he could buy off Rafaelo.

“Caitlyn, perhaps you should leave us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t find them.

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

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

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

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

“I…Kay, this is—” He broke off.

Rafaelo waited in stony silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heard Phillip’s indrawn breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re impertinent.”

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

“Be careful,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two

Trust him?

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

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

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

“Rafaelo Carreras.”

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

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

“Kay—”

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

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

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

But Kay didn’t budge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thirty-five.”

Kay was not telling Rafaelo to get lost.

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

Rafaelo told her.

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

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

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

“Never wanted me to know?”

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

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

And it appeared that Rafaelo wasn’t lying.

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

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

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

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

He stopped, then turned.

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

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

His fault.

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

She quickened her pace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t know this man at all.

He was a stranger.

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

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

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

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

She had to make Rafaelo understand that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you want to get to know him?”

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

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

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

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

Rafaelo looked astonished.

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

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

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

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

His eyes flashed. “I have every right—”

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

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

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

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

Rafaelo stared at her. Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His face darkened and his lips parted.

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

“Say what?”

“That he’s not your father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I regret I said something that upset your mother.” Rafaelo stood his ground, lean and dangerous as a jungle cat. “But that was never my intention.”

Caitlyn looked from one man to the other—half brother to half brother. Now that she knew the truth she could see the similarities. Heath was younger, of course. But the dark eyes, the slope of their angular cheekbones, the determined set of the jaw branded them blood kin. Would Heath recognise it?

“What exactly did he say?”

Heath spoke directly to Caitlyn. He didn’t even deign to look at the Spaniard. Misery sliced through Caitlyn as she recognised the icy set to Heath’s features. She sensed the whole unfortunate situation was about to escalate to the next level.

And she had been the catalyst.

Before she could answer, Rafaelo cut in, “I am here, you may address me. I have a name. It is Rafaelo Carreras.”

Heath gave him a brief, insultingly dismissive look. “Did you say something?”

Caitlyn tensed.

But Rafaelo didn’t rise to the bait. “My name is Rafaelo Carreras—”

“I don’t particularly care what your name is,” Heath interrupted. “I want to know what you said to upset my mother.”

Enough was enough. That had been more than rude; it had been downright incendiary. Caitlyn stepped between the two men.

“Heath—” She broke off and rested her hand on his arm, dearly familiar, and tried not to tremble.

It was painful to see Heath and Rafaelo bristling at each other like this. Profiles so similar, so classic, like two sides of an ancient coin.

“Heath, Caitlyn, Megan sent me to find you both. Aren’t you coming to join our guests for coffee?” Joshua Saxon was crossing the cobbled lane toward them.

“First I want to hear what he—” Heath gestured to Rafaelo with a contemptuous flick of his head “—said to make Mother cry.”

Joshua’s eyebrows jerked up. “Mother is crying?”

“Yes, and he’s responsible.”

Caitlyn felt terrible. She’d caused this. If she’d left well enough alone, Rafaelo would have confronted Phillip alone—without her and Kay present—and there would’ve been a whole different outcome.

“Heath,” she said. “It isn’t his fault Kay is crying. It’s m—”

“He might not have intended it.” Heath shoved his shoulders forward. “But whatever he said still upset her.” Heath ploughed forward, thrusting Caitlyn aside with one hand. She stumbled against the kerb stones. Heath made a grab for her, apologising profusely as she regained her footing.

Rafaelo moved like lightning, his jaw clenched tight. “Be careful,” he snarled at Heath. To Caitlyn he said, “Are you okay?”

She gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.” The stumble had been worth it. It had checked Heath’s aggressive rush at Rafaelo.

Except Rafaelo was staring at where Heath’s hand rested on her arm. Discomforted, feeling as though she’d been caught doing something wrong, Caitlyn pulled free.

Heath raked his fingers through his hair. “You still haven’t told me what you said to my mother.” There was aggression in every line of Heath’s lean, loose-limbed body. Caitlyn knew that stance. Even in university days, Heath-the-hellraiser had never backed away from a brawl, often throwing the first punch.

It would be terrible if he hit Rafaelo.

And for once, Caitlyn wasn’t sure that Heath would win. Rafaelo looked tough and mean, his eyes narrowed, the small scar beneath his mouth pale against his dark skin. A fighter. An accomplished one, she suspected.

That thought was disturbingly disloyal.

Then Rafaelo’s shoulders squared. “I came here today because six months ago I learned something has been kept secret from me all my life. I learned that the man I believed is my father never was, that a man who lives across the world is.”

Caitlyn felt a little of the tension seep out of her. Rafaelo was making every attempt to stay calm and measured in the face of Heath’s animosity. Perhaps the situation could still be saved.

“What does that have to do with—”

“You’re Heath? Correct?” asked Rafaelo.

“Why are you asking?” demanded Heath.

Rafaelo shifted his attention to the taller of the two Saxons. “Then you must be Joshua.”

Joshua nodded, his eyes hooded.

“I am Rafaelo—” he held up a peremptory hand as Heath started to interrupt “—and I am your half brother.”

Heath sucked in his breath, an audible sound. “I don’t think so. I think you’re a scammer!”

“Heath!” Caitlyn’s hands went to her mouth.

“This is not a scam.” Rafaelo’s hand dropped and curled into a fist at his side. “You think this is easy for me?”

“You expect us to believe that you found out six months ago? And it took you until now to act on this laughable claim?” Heath sneered. “Why wait so long?”

“I had responsibilities. I had a man to bury—the man I believed to be my father,” Rafaelo said with what Caitlyn considered great restraint. “Afterward there was my mother to comfort and legalities to tend. I came as soon as my obligations allowed.”

With Rafaelo standing to one side, his fisted hands the only evidence that he wasn’t quite as relaxed as the curl of his lips would have them all believe, the air grew thick with menace. Caitlyn held her breath. Heath and Joshua stood shoulder to shoulder, brother beside brother, staring him down.

Caitlyn had seen that pose before. She shuddered. It wouldn’t take much for the frozen tableau to ignite into a brawl.

Determined to prevent that at all costs, she stepped forward to stand beside Rafaelo and, without thinking, placed a hand on his arm. “Rafaelo is about to leave.”

He turned his head. “I am?”

There was a sardonic light in his eyes.

She tightened her grip on his arm. With a sudden sense of shock she felt the texture of the fine wool of his dark suit give under her fingertips, felt the hardness of flesh and muscle beneath. It scorched her.

“Yes, you are. I was walking you to your car,” she said with quiet determination, even as her heart began to race, and the terrifying fear that she worked so hard to avoid bolted through her bloodstream.

“That’s our Cait!” Heath said loudly. “Mate, you better do what she says if you know what’s best for you.”

Rafaelo went rigid under her hold. “I am not a milksop.” He gave Heath an insulting head-to-toe-and-back-again look. “I do not let a woman placate the enemy on my behalf. I do what I want—not what a woman dictates.” When his eyes met Caitlyn’s appalled gaze, his features curdled with contempt. “So you fight his battles all the time?”

Instantly the thrill of apprehension that touching him roused and her irritation at his overt chauvinism were superseded by horrified concern. Not for him—if the Spanish grandee had his features rearranged by Heath it would serve him right. The concern was all reserved for Heath…for the Saxons. Kay would hate to learn that her sons had gotten into a brawl on this day because she’d cried.

Was Rafaelo stupid? Did he not realise what he was provoking? Or did he want a fight for reasons of incomprehensible masculine pride?

That notion caused her to worry even more. But there would be no fight. Not if she could help it.

“Sometimes the little woman knows best,” Caitlyn cooed up at Rafaelo, fluttering her lashes, and moving squarely in front of him, daringly brushing his lapels free of imaginary fluff. Anything to stop Heath swinging the punch that she suspected was pending. But the tension in the lean body so close to hers, the sudden bulge in the chest muscles under her fingers, made her wish she hadn’t been so reckless.

Heath watched and laughed uproariously. “Our kitten is now Cait-the-seductress. Priceless.”

That hurt.

She blinked back the sudden prick of tears and, feeling totally ridiculous, she yanked her hands away from Rafaelo.

Furiously angry with Heath for highlighting how unwomanly she was, with Rafaelo for starting this whole debacle just by being there, and with Joshua for doing nothing to stop it, Caitlyn swung away, turning her back on all three of them.

“Fine,” she said in a voice that indicated the situation was anything but okay. She pushed an annoying strand of hair out of her face, wishing it was back in its customary ponytail. And wishing that she could kick off the uncomfortable shoes and skirt and unfamiliar jacket. Above all, wishing she was a million miles from this maddening trio. “Do it your way. I’ll just leave you all to bash each other’s brains out. See if I care.”

“Slowly, querida.” Rafaelo caught her arm.

His hold was firm, possessive. His fingers were square and tanned against the apricot hue of her jacket. No rings. But the knuckles were ridged. Yes, a fighter.

Shockingly, her arm started to tingle alarmingly under the warmth of his touch. Caitlyn lifted her gaze and gave him a fulminating glare. There was speculation in his expression—and something else. He glanced at Heath and back to her. He released her arm, and his gaze became calculating.

And that was when she knew that he’d seen what no one else had. The miserable remains of her hopeless infatuation for Heath.

Horror swept her. He wouldn’t say anything, would he?

Then she realised that of course he would. Why shouldn’t he? The damn man didn’t like her one little bit. She’d been a thorn in his side since the moment he’d arrived. Why shouldn’t he humiliate her?

But instead of adding to her humiliation, she heard him say, “Caitlyn will walk with me. I am leaving. But be warned, I will be back.”

Relief flooded her as he wheeled away from Joshua and Heath. But Caitlyn wasn’t sure whether it was because the fistfight had been forestalled…or because one of her heart’s innermost secrets had been saved. Either way, she couldn’t help feeling a surge of gratitude toward Rafaelo as she trotted off in his wake.