One Secret Night

The bitterness in his voice hung in the air.

Isobel sighed. “It isn’t easy to understand the choices our parents make.” That much, she knew from personal experience. “Usually, I guess they think they’re protecting us.”

“Why would I need to be protected from the truth? Don’t I deserve to know why he thought my sister and I would be better off without our mother in our lives?”

“Maybe it wasn’t as clear-cut as that.”

Ethan shook his head. “It must have been. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to get the rest of our family to support him in his lie. My aunt and my uncle and his wife, they all knew the truth. They’ve all kept the secret for all these years.”

“Are they still alive?”

“Yeah, we all live on the family property. We see each other pretty much every day.”

“Then maybe you can find out from them,” she suggested. “Whatever the outcome, though, Ethan, there’s no point in holding a grudge against a dead man. Right or wrong, your father made his decisions. They can’t be undone or the past changed. The only thing you can do is move forward.”

“Is that what you do?” he asked. “Move forward and not ask questions?”

She smiled and lifted her head and met his serious dark brown gaze. “Except for right now, yeah, something like that. It saves on baggage.”

Ethan shook his head slightly. “I can’t imagine living like that.”

Isobel shrugged. “It’s not for everyone. Certainly not for someone like your father, for example. For whatever reason, he kept those payments going for years, got your whole family involved, with the idea that he was protecting you and your sister. I imagine you’re probably very much like he was. Strong.” She coasted her fingertips over his shoulders and down his arm. “Intelligent.” She ran her fingers back up his arm and lightly touched his forehead. “And protective.” Her fingertips traveled back down to his chest and she rested her full palm against it. “Those are the qualities about your father you should remember him by. And how much he must have loved you.”

Ethan remained silent for a while before speaking. “You have an interesting insight for someone who never met my father and who never met me before tonight.”

“You think I’m being presumptuous, offering you my opinion?”

“No, not that. If anything, you probably described my father to a tee. I suppose that coming to terms with everything, losing him as suddenly as we did, I had briefly lost sight of that. I still want to know why he never told me about our mother, though.”

“Is tomorrow soon enough for that?” Isobel asked, raising onto her knees and straddling him as she’d done earlier. “Because I think, for now, it might be fun to distract you with other things.”

Four

Isobel woke as the sun was beginning to cast a corona around the edges of the heavy floor-length drapes at the window. For a moment she was disoriented, but soon remembrance flooded her mind. She lay motionless next to Ethan’s sleeping body, listening to his steady breathing, reveling in the warmth that radiated from him. Wow, she thought, that had been quite a night. Who would have thought that Mr. Buttoned-Up would be quite so skilled in the bedroom? She smiled to herself. It was true what they said. It was the quiet ones you had to watch.

Her body still tingled and she felt wonderfully alive. Last night had been special. Very special. She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Ethan in the half light. His beard had grown, dusting his jaw with an even darker haze than had been apparent at dinner. That, and his mussed-up hair, made him look more untamed and approachable than he’d been before. It was as if he was two people. A public, reserved Ethan and a private one. She liked that she’d gotten a chance to spend time with both.

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To awaken him both mentally and physically. But caution stilled her hand. If she was going to leave, best to leave now, while he was still sleeping. That way, they could avoid the awkward goodbye that would come after she told him she’d rather not keep in touch. She wasn’t prepared to invest time into any type of commitment. It wasn’t her way. And this guy, well, he had commitment written all over him. In fact, she didn’t doubt that she’d been an aberration for him.

She slid carefully from the bed and found her dress and shoes on the floor at the end of the bed. Her panties were a lost cause, she decided, after silently scanning the carpet for a minute. Besides, she had clean pairs in her pack. Giving a mental shrug, she held her things to her and carefully made her way to the door, thanking the efficiency of modern maintenance that the door opened and closed silently, allowing her to exit the bedroom without making a sound.

In the main room she located her pack behind the sofa where Ethan had left it last night and quickly got dressed. She’d give just about anything for a hot shower and a toothbrush right now, but she didn’t want the sound of running water to wake Ethan. Now that she’d made her decision to cut and run, she didn’t want anything to stand in her way. Not even the man who’d ensured she’d enjoyed what had unarguably been the best sex of her entire life.

Her inner muscles clenched on the memory of the pleasure he’d wrung from her. No hit and miss with him. She smiled. No, he was hit after hit every time. A girl could get addicted to that, could want to hang around for more of the same. She reminded herself that she wasn’t the hanging-around type. Not for any reason, and certainly not for a man. She was a wanderer through and through, with little to call her own aside from what she could carry in her pack.

Ethan had talked about a family business, relatives that he worked with and spent time with every day. She couldn’t imagine an existence more different from her own. No, there was no room for commitment in her life, and no place for some as impermanent as her in his.

Isobel threaded the straps of her shoes through the fingers of one hand while hoisting her pack over one shoulder with the other. She turned to blow a silent kiss in the direction of Ethan’s bedroom. It had certainly been fun while it lasted.

In the elevator on the way to the ground floor, Isobel slid her sandals onto her feet and smoothed her dress, thanking the good sense she’d learned years ago to only purchase non-crush fabrics. Sometimes it cost a little more, but it was worth it when you lived a transitory life out of a backpack.

The air had a definite autumnal chill to it when she exited the massive glazed doors of the apartment building and she hesitated under the portico, deciding where she should head to next.

She really needed to find somewhere inexpensive to check into so she could shower and change and get her professional head back on her shoulders. Last night had been a sinfully satisfying deviation from her usual behavior but the sooner she put it behind her, the better. Question was, how was she to do that? She waited in the cool morning air for a few minutes and then, as luck would have it, a taxi pulled to the curb to drop off a passenger. Someone returning from overseas, judging by the amount of luggage the driver hefted from the trunk of the car. As he started to get back in, Isobel stepped forward.

“Excuse me, is there any chance you could take me to a low-price hotel near here?”

“Sure, love. Hop in.”

Thanking her lucky stars, Isobel pushed her pack into the backseat and followed it onto the worn upholstery. As the car pulled away, though, she wondered what might have happened if, instead of slinking away, she’d stayed to waken Ethan. Where could they have gone from last night? That they would have made love again was in no doubt. In fact, they could have skipped the potential for morning-after awkwardness and worked their way straight through to afternoon delight.

No, she told herself sternly, forcing her head to remain resolutely facing forward. As good as their night together had been, she had to remember her motto, her very code for living. Never look back.

Besides, she had work to do that would have drawn her out of town soon, anyway. A job that was a cakewalk when it came to it, but that would bring in a tidy paycheck. It was these safe, easy glamour jobs that gave her some much-needed rest after a more trying assignment, and paid enough to subsidize the side of her work that was really important.

She’d allowed herself a month to get the project completed to both her and her client’s satisfaction. One month to recoup funds, to rest and recharge, and then she was heading back to the African continent. Back to what she did best and what spoke to her heart. What she earned in the next few weeks would grease the palms necessary to get her exactly where she needed to be to take the pictures she needed to take.

But even as the tires on the taxi ate the kilometers putting space between her and Ethan, she still felt that tug—that desire to turn back. To explore the vulnerability that lay beneath the face Ethan presented to the world at large. To revel in the strength and capability he exuded. The guy was addictive. Dangerously addictive. It was just as well she’d never see him again because deep down she knew he had the power to make her want to stay with him longer than a night and she couldn’t do that.

No, she’d never do that.

Ethan stretched against the fine cotton of the bedsheets and reached beside him for Isobel’s sleeping form, but his hand came up empty. In fact, the room itself held an emptiness that left him in no doubt that she’d moved on.

Conflicting thoughts plagued him as he rolled out of bed and walked naked into the main living area of the apartment, just to confirm she had indeed gone. Relief that they didn’t have to face any stilted morning-after discussion, tempered with a deep regret that they couldn’t start the day the way they’d finished last night, warred within him.

Relief won out. Especially in light of the discussion they’d had after the first time they’d made love. What on earth had possessed him to open up in such detail to an absolute stranger? He hadn’t even told his sister the news. In fact, he didn’t even know if he would tell her.

Wasn’t it far better that Tamsyn remember their dad the way he’d have wanted to be remembered—not as a man who’d deliberately altered their family history without so much as an explanation left behind when he died? Didn’t she deserve at least that? Ethan didn’t even want to contemplate what it would do to Tamsyn to learn their mother had willingly abandoned them. How it would destabilize the world they’d grown up in.

God, it was all such a mess. No less so than it had been yesterday but, he had to admit as he walked back into the bedroom and headed for a shower, at least he himself felt a little better about it. Somehow, Isobel Fyfe had woven her magic around him from the minute he’d seen her. Just that one chance glimpse of her before she entered the pub, like a butterfly alighting on a leaf, and his day had taken a decided turn for the better. He turned on the shower and stepped in before the water could come up to temperature, yet even the multijet sprays couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of her touch from his body, or his mind. Somehow, she’d inveigled her way into his thoughts so thoroughly, and in so short a time, that he couldn’t fully dislodge her.

She wasn’t his type, he reminded himself. She was only a one-night stand, by her own choice. He hadn’t kicked her out—she was the one who had left. Their night together had satisfied both of them, and then she had moved on. It was for the best. It was what he’d wanted, too, after all. The prospect of a single night of no-consequence pleasure with a stranger was the only reason he’d invited her back to the apartment. He never expected to see her again. Yet he could still remember the precise pitch of her laugh, the softness of her voice, the warmth of her breath on his skin, the texture of her tongue as it—

Ethan switched the mixer to cold. This wasn’t getting him anywhere but uncomfortable. No, it was best that she’d gone as she had—leaving no trace other than the lingering scent of her fragrance on his bedsheets and the indelible imprint she’d left on his mind. The bedsheets would be taken care of by housekeeping, his mind he could take care of himself. He just needed to change his focus.

Later, as he got ready to head home, back to his work at the winery, he told himself he was succeeding. They couldn’t have taken things any further than they had, even if they’d both been interested in doing so. She was completely disconnected from the things that formed the cornerstones of his world. She was a transitory creature of light and laughter—charming, but unreliable. He was stable, grounded in his work and his family. The people in his life depended on him. He needed to be able to depend on them, as well.

He’d needed distracting last night and she’d definitely been quite the distraction.

It was with a satisfied smile on his face that he let himself out of the apartment half an hour later and took the elevator to the basement-level parking. The Isobel Fyfes of this world were good for a fling, and they’d enjoyed a mutually pleasurable one at that, however, she couldn’t be further from his idea of a forever woman in his life if she’d actively been trying.

No, it was women like Shanal Peat, one of his old university friends who more closely fit that bill. She was serious and clever and, with her mixed Indian and Australian heritage, exquisitely beautiful. They were already close friends. She’d be a far better life mate for a man like Ethan than Isobel could ever be, plus, with her Ph.D. in viticulture, she’d be a brilliant asset to The Masters winery and vineyard. He could see her fitting in well with his family, with her gentle, steady demeanor. She’d understand and respect the generations of tradition that went into their family vineyard, and would slide seamlessly into their lives and work with no confusion or upheaval.

It would be a mistake to even consider someone more bold, more unexpected and spontaneous. Women like that added excitement to life, but they added chaos, as well. No, a woman like Shanal was exactly what he needed. They were a melding of minds and personalities that could only succeed.

Ethan got into his 5-series BMW and headed out the basement and into the glorious sunshine of another beautiful Adelaide autumn morning. This business with his parents was just a minor glitch. He could take care of it later. And, he wagered, as long as the payments to Ellen Masters continued unabated, he had no reason to worry about her suddenly returning and reasserting her parental rights. The secret could remain a secret a while longer. There was no need for his aunts and uncle to know he was aware of the truth—or for his sister to know anything about the matter at all.

By the time he cruised through the gates of The Masters and past the cellar door tasting room and point of sale, it was late morning. He turned down the private road that led to the main house and pulled his car to a halt outside. As he got out of the car, he took a moment to breathe in the scent of the air and fill his lungs with it.

Home. There was nothing quite like it. His eyes drifted to the top of the ridge where the shell of his family’s old home, Master’s Rise, destroyed by bush fire more than thirty years ago, still stood. The stone-wall construction of the late-nineteenth-century building had withstood the voraciously hungry flames that had systematically consumed most of the property, and proved too solid to be economically torn down. Its profile endured as a constant reminder of what could be lost, while the lands that roamed beneath it continued as proof of what could be achieved in the face of disaster.

Ethan looked around at what his family had rebuilt in his father’s lifetime. The large double-storied home that housed most of the family under its roof, the vineyards stretching across the valley and up the hill, the winery, which consumed Ethan’s time and expertise and challenged him in all ways to constantly do better. Yeah, it was good to be home and even better to have this all to come home to.

A movement on the path from one of the luxury cottages, which provided accommodation for guests, caught his attention. Tamsyn, his sister, ran that side of the business, and had probably just finished the final inspection of the cabin for a guest before walking back toward the house.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile as she drew nearer. She gave an exaggerated look at her watch. “Or should I say, afternoon?”

He smiled in return. “It’s still morning,” he confirmed.

“Did you have a good night in town?” she inquired innocently, although the sparkle in her eyes told him she was delving for more information.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, deliberately vague.

Tamsyn sighed. “No gossip?”

“Since when have I been the subject of gossip?”

“You know what I mean,” she said on a huff of disappointment. “You need to get a life, Ethan. Sometimes you’re just too absorbed in this place.”

He looked at her this time, really looked. There was a note in her voice that implied dissatisfaction in her world, something he’d never heard from her before.

“Is everything okay, Tam?”

She pasted on a broad smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be, right? By the way, are you going to be at dinner this evening? I have the new photographer for the catalog shoot arriving later this afternoon and I’d like you to meet—”

“Sure, I’ll be there,” he interrupted. “Same time, same place,” he said with a wink.

It was a family joke. Whichever family members were in residence usually met for predinner drinks in the main salon before dining together. It was a good way to stay in touch, although he knew that some people found it a bit old-fashioned. Personally, he liked that some traditions remained the same, and there was always the option of cooking for yourself—something he was generally loath to do. It would be tough, though, facing his aunts and his uncle. Looking them in the eye and knowing they had conspired to keep a secret from Tamsyn and him for all this time. Did they not wonder, now John Masters was dead, if the truth would come out? Well, Ethan certainly wouldn’t be throwing it into the conversational pot tonight. He still needed time to come to terms with it himself.

He continued. “How’s the wedding business going?”

“Mine, or for here?”

As part of her work in running the accommodation side at The Masters, Tamsyn also oversaw special events—business retreats and the like. Since her engagement to Trent Mayweather just over a year ago, she had happily expanded into coordinating small, but exclusive, wedding packages at the property.

“Either. Both.” Ethan shrugged.

“Fine. The latest bridezilla would seem to finally be appeased by the fact that, since harvest is well and truly under way, we will not have green vines flush with grapes for her favored photo shoot, so overall things are looking good. And since Trent and I have yet to set a date, there’s no business to worry about there,” she replied airily.

Still no date. Despite her determined attempt to sound flip about the issue, Ethan sensed there was an underlying hint of frustration in her voice. Before he could press her further, Tamsyn changed the subject.

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