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