Spaniard's Seduction / Cole's Red-Hot Pursuit. Brenda Jackson
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