The Saxon Brides

Leaving the sitting room, Alyssa glanced both ways down the passage that led off the sitting room. At one end, a door stood ajar, at the other, the door was firmly closed. With soft footsteps she made her way to the closed door at the far end. The handle twisted under her touch. As she stepped through the doorway, her throat closed.

Without a doubt this was where her brother had slept.

It hurt too much to stand beside the double bed that he would never waken in again. Through an archway she glimpsed a desk. A few steps took her to what had clearly been his private domain. His trophy room. Two glass-fronted cabinets held an impressive array of silverware. A closer look revealed schoolboy medals for athletics, awards for rugby, while trophies for eventing were prominently displayed, holding pride of place.

She made her way back into Roland’s bedroom, and stopped at the sight of a door leading off into a bathroom en suite. An electric razor lay on the marble slab, charging, awaiting its next use. Alyssa picked up the wooden-backed hairbrush. There were short strands of red hair in its bristles. She disentangled a hair, then pulled one from her own head. Laying them side by side, she compared the texture and colour. Hers was darker, his was coarser. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook the two hairs free.

Closing the door behind her had a certain finality.

At the other end of the corridor the open door beckoned. She couldn’t resist the call. Joshua’s rooms. She stepped past a study, papers neatly stacked on a desk, past the walk-in dressing room with the bathroom that lay beyond. The instant she stepped into his bedroom, she smelled his scent. Familiar. Taunting. The dinner jacket she’d returned hung draped over a chair, and she lifted it to her face, inhaling the rich, living male scent that had surrounded her outside the chilly hospital. She dropped down onto the navy bedcover and fought back tears. She sat there for what seemed like an age. Finally she rose and returned the jacket to the chair. Collecting her tray, with the now-cold cocoa, from the landing, she made her way upstairs to her own room.

The silence of the empty house was suffocating.

A hollow emptiness pressed down on Alyssa. Here, in the heart of the Saxon family’s home, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.

Joshua had swept Amy—along with his parents and Megan—off to dinner. It was good for Amy to get out. His eyes rested on his parents—and good for them, too. Yet as they sat at the window table of an upmarket-café overlooking Napier’s Marine Parade, an unaccountable sense of guilt nagged at Joshua at the thought of Alyssa alone in the great house.

“Why so pensive?” He found Megan staring at him curiously as he set his knife and fork down.

“Just thinking.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “About a woman?”

“No comment, wench.”

She laughed. Then her cell phone pinged to announce a new message and she looked down at the screen with a secret smile.

“New admirer?”

A slight stain of uncharacteristic colour tinged his sister’s cheeks. “Maybe.”

“When do we get to meet him?” Kay leaned forward, looking interested, while beside her Phillip shook his head and laughed.

Megan rolled her eyes at Joshua. “See what you’ve started.”

He grinned. “Serves you right for being so secretive.” And she wasn’t alone. Roland had been keeping secrets, too. A lover who no one knew about, for one. His gaze rested on Amy. She hadn’t spoken much, but he thought she was looking happier since leaving her solitary cottage. Joshua had no intention of letting her find out about Alyssa’s relationship to her fiancé.

Amy was the reason Alyssa wasn’t here tonight. There was no need for him to feel guilty about not inviting her. But nor should Alyssa’s presence at Saxon’s Folly be kept secret. Amy worked as a PA at the winery. She’d find out soon enough.

“Did my mother tell you that Alyssa Blake, the wine writer, is staying with us?”

“Alyssa Blake?” Amy bristled in disbelief. “Really? After that article she wrote?”

“She wants to write a tribute to Roland for Wine Watch magazine.” Joshua held his breath, waiting for Amy’s—and his parents’—reaction.

To his surprise, Amy nodded. “It would be a nice way for Roland to be remembered.”

His mother perked up. “I have some photos she can use … I’ll have to find them.”

Neither of them had fallen apart at the idea. Joshua started to feel as though he’d overreacted by telling Alyssa he’d be keeping her under his scrutiny … yet, from past experience, he felt he couldn’t trust her.

What would she be doing right now? Eating in the salon, settled in front of the large picture windows that overlooked the garden? Or would she be in the bath, soaking out the stresses of the past days? He liked the idea of Alyssa naked in the bath, covered with frothing bath foam. He liked the idea far too damned much.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and censored the provocative images. How had this happened that thoughts of the woman could reduce him to a state of hot and bothered?

Restlessness drove him out of the café on the pretext that he had a call that he needed to make. Once outside, he stood on the pavement surrounded by smokers who had come out the restaurant for a quick smoke after their meal.

He fingered the keypad of his phone. He wanted to call home, speak to Alyssa and reassure himself that she was okay. His mother was right. It had been rude to take off and leave her alone. However much he disapproved of her relationship with his brother she, too, must be experiencing grief over his death—much like Amy was. And that disturbed him.

He stared at the phone. What reason would he give for calling her? It was unlikely that she’d even answer the homestead phone.

Finally he pocketed his phone. For the first time in his life he wished that he smoked. It might’ve helped to ease this unsettling tension inside him.

By the time he got back to the table, everyone was talking about one of the scandals in local politics. Joshua signalled for the bill. He wanted to leave. The feeling that he should not have left Alyssa alone on her first night at Saxon’s Folly, with nothing but grief to keep her company, grew stronger.

As they drove up the long drive to the house, Joshua saw that the wing where Alyssa was staying was in darkness. He’d worried for nothing. She was already fast asleep.

It was the siren that woke Alyssa from a restless slumber and confused dreams full of disturbing, disjointed encounters with Roland and Kay and Joshua.

Disorientated by the shriek, uneasy from the aftermath of the nightmare, she swung her legs out of bed.

Men’s voices filtered in through her window. Quickly Alyssa pulled on her robe, grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Kay had told her there had been a fire in the past, but the homestead had survived without great damage. Could it be happening again?

Downstairs the house was empty, the doors of the salon flung wide onto the verandah. No smell of smoke. No red haze to signal a fire. But Alyssa could hear the sound of motors. Fire engines? To the left she could see floodlights. Moving outside, she made her way down the stairs, toward the vineyards where she could hear the commotion.

It took the sound of the helicopter overhead to alert her.

Frost.

Of course. The siren had been a frost warning.

Alyssa glanced at her watch. Four o’clock in the morning. The roar of motors morphed into the drone of tractors. As she came closer she could see the giant fans hitched behind and whirring as the tractors drove up and down between the rows of vines. Overhead the rotors beat the warmer air down, desperate measures before the frost settled on the vines.

A figure materialised out of the murk.

Joshua.

“Did the siren wake you?”

Instantly she was aware of her hastily pulled on robe, which must look incongruous with her bare feet and the handbag slung over her shoulder. As he came closer she saw that his hair was mussed adding to the impression that he, too, had risen in a hurry.

“I thought it was a fire alarm.”

“Not fire, only frost.”

Only frost. There was little to be dismissive about frost. She knew the dangers of frost at the delicate budding stage. “Did you catch it in time?”

Joshua nodded. His eyes glinted in the light from the house behind her. “We’ve got good equipment. And all the local helicopter companies are on standby. Heath usually does a flyover once he’s finished his yards—he’s a qualified pilot.”

The air beat down on them, Alyssa’s hair whipped across her face. She rocked on her feet and almost fell against Joshua.

His hands shot out. “Steady.”

Pulling out of his grasp, she pushed her windswept hair off her face and gave a strangled laugh. “Sorry, it’s the wind.”

“You can go back to bed now, there’s no emergency. You’ll only get chilly standing out here.”

She was conscious of his gaze taking in her dishevelled hair, her sleep-mussed face and the comfortable terry robe that was a world away from the glamorous, sophisticated image she preferred to present.

As the self-consciousness spread within her, she became aware of how isolated they were from the rest … how hidden and sheltered under the cover of night. Her pulse picked up, she breathed slowly, trying to hide her agitation. How could this man have such an effect on her?

“Okay, I’m going.” Her voice was hoarse, a croak of sound in the night.

His gaze darted over her wind-ruffled hair, to where the robe gaped in front. Alyssa yanked the sash tighter. He stilled. She sensed his tension, knew he’d picked up on what she was feeling. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you were woken.”

“It’s not a problem. I should catch another couple of hours sleep if I go back to bed now.”

Immediately she wished she hadn’t used the word bed. It brought an intimacy that she didn’t want. And Joshua was aware of it, too. The utter stillness that surrounded him told her that. For one wild moment she felt herself swaying toward him, inching closer. Then she caught herself.

This was madness.

Joshua believed she’d been his brother’s mistress.

Spinning away, she hurried back to the homestead, nerves of apprehension fluttering like drunken butterflies in her stomach when she heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind her.

Alyssa set her bare foot on the first step and paused, not daring to look back. “See you at breakfast.” She tried for a casual, throwaway tone, and knew she’d fluffed it up when he stepped closer.

“Not so fast.”

She froze. Her chest rose and fell, and her toes curled into the cold stone stairs. She was eternally grateful for the fans, for the drone of the rotors. Hopefully Joshua wouldn’t hear the thunder of her heart.

He stopped beside her. And touched her face. Gently. His fingertips cupped her cheek, turning her head toward him.

The thunder of rushing blood grew loud in her ears. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, the same scent that clung to his jacket. To her intense horror all the emotion she’d experienced in his bedroom welled up inside her. Joshua grew blurred. The tears she’d been suppressing since Roland died spilled over.

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” She wiped frantically at her eyes. “I’m not.” She faced him, blinking furiously.

His features softened in the light from the salon behind her. “Come here.”

“I’ll be okay,” she choked out.

“Hush.” He reached out and took her into his arms.

The storm of sobs caught her unawares and caused her shoulders to shake and her stomach to ache. His arms were strong and he cradled her against his chest, rocking her slightly. The merino lambswool sweater he wore was soft and warm under her cheek, and she could feel his heart beating steadily under her hand. It was comfortable and safe. Alyssa wished she could stay in his arms forever.

The tears fell faster.

Simply holding her, he let her cry, saying nothing.

The tempest subsided. Her sobs quietened.

And in the silence of the pre-dawn it all changed. Suddenly Joshua’s hold wasn’t only about comfort. There was something else, too. In slow degrees she became aware that the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips had picked up, that his breathing had become irregular. A sense of expectancy hung over them.

A moment of indecisiveness. To snuggle closer? Or push him away? She was desperately tempted to move closer.

Whatever she did now would change their relationship irrevocably.

But he made the decision for her, easing his grip. “My touch has never had that effect on a woman before. I’ve never made a woman cry before.”

Alyssa knew he was trying to lighten the moment, trying to make her smile. But she couldn’t.

She hiccupped. Mortification set in. How could she have dissolved into weak, womanly tears in his arms?

After a little silence, she said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I’m crying like a baby.”

“It’s been a hell of a week.” He pulled her closer again and rested his cheek against her hair. The unexpected contact was achingly tender. The pulsing sensuality had evaporated. “Cry all you want.”

She regretted the loss of whatever it was that had stirred between them. She ached. But his tenderness made the tears flow afresh. Alyssa sniffed, furious with herself for appearing so vulnerable. “You must think I’m so dumb.”

His arms tightened around her. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” After a moment, he added huskily, “I miss him, too.”

Six

A little awkwardness from her emotional meltdown still lingered when Alyssa entered the sunny glass-walled breakfast room later that morning. But she gradually relaxed once she realised the room was empty until Joshua strolled in from the kitchen.

“Oh, you startled me.” Her heart started to race and not only from the shock of his sudden appearance. He looked utterly, heart-wrenchingly gorgeous. He’d changed. A black shirt and blue jeans replaced the sweats. The lambswool sweater that had been so soft against her skin earlier was gone.

“Where is everyone?” Her voice was annoyingly breathless as she fixed her attention on his face.

“Working. We rise early. No city hours at Saxon’s Folly.” His eyes scanned her, making her aware of how out of place her boutique-chic, pin-striped pantsuit and suede shoes must seem. At once she wished she’d worn the jeans she’d bought yesterday morning.

Today’s early-morning encounter with Joshua had put her on the defensive, forcing her to don corporate armour to withstand the devastating effect he had on her. Off balance, she said with a touch of acerbity, “Oh, then what are you still doing here?”

The beautiful bone structure tightened, and his mouth firmed into a sculpted line and all affability vanished.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” There was not an ounce of gentleness in his narrow-eyed inspection.

“Why?” she asked baldly, tensing for a confrontation.

“Have you forgotten? You’re accompanying me today. So eat up, I need to get moving.”

She had forgotten all about it. Her brain had been short-circuited by the nightmare, then jolted by the siren. The crying jag and Joshua’s show of sympathy had only deepened her turmoil. She met that granite gaze. “I don’t need a guard dog.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

His way or hit the highway. His flinty eyes and the rocklike set to his jaw warned her that there would be no point in arguing. Not if she wanted to stay at Saxon’s Folly.

No hint of the gentle pre-dawn Joshua remained. She’d been duped into believing that he was empathetic. Nurturing. Safe.

Mistake.

This was the real Joshua Saxon. Too arrogant. Too sure of himself. Too darn everything.

But even knowing all that, she couldn’t stop the sensual awareness that prickled under his penetrating regard. What a pity her body was so out of sync with her brain about the kind of man that was good for her.

Alyssa helped herself to toast, scooped on homemade marmalade, and let out the breath she’d unconsciously been holding, “So, what are you going to show me today?” She tilted her head to one side. With Joshua, attack was probably the best line of defence. “More etchings?”

“I’m a pretty straightforward kind of guy. I say what I want. I don’t need those kind of ploys—if I wanted you, I’d tell you.” His grim smile held little humour.

So he didn’t want her anymore. Alyssa withered a little inside and bit into her toast. Discovering her identity had killed his interest. After a few minutes of eating in silence, wishing she’d resisted the temptation to provoke him with the etchings dig, Alyssa followed him out to the Range Rover.

He took her to the vineyards first. “The vines are the heart of Saxon’s Folly.” Leaping down from the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for her to alight, then bent and picked up a handful of red soil and let it trickle through his fingers. “And this is the lifeblood.”

Some hidden place deep within her responded to the passion in his voice. Standing a little distance from him, she fought it as she’d fought the hold he wielded over her senses. But she suspected this ability that Joshua Saxon possessed to get under her defences, deep into the heart of her, was more dangerous than the way her body responded so wantonly to his.

What was it about this man?

She examined him. Sure, he was tall, dark and dangerously gorgeous. But she’d never been one for looks alone. And, yes, the slanting morning sun struck his almost-perfect features giving his skin a rich, golden glow as he dusted his hands off. But it wasn’t that alone that made her heart leap.

“This block was originally planted in 1916. Strange to think about it, isn’t it?” He glanced at her. “Men from Napier, a few miles away were going off to fight in Europe during the Great War, and here, on this piece of land a world away from the war, a dozen Spanish monks planted vines. Even during times of death, life must go on.”

And just like that he held her captive. Alyssa knew Joshua was talking about more than the vines that he touched with careful fingers. He was talking about Roland. About grief. About life continuing on the other side.

She resented him for it. Resented him bitterly for this uncanny ability to get through to her on the most elemental level, to hold her in his thrall.

In an attempt to break the sudden tension that snapped like a pulled string between them, she said, “What cultivar is that?”

“The monks thought they were planting Cabernet Sauvignon. Only years later when the grapes were ready to harvest did they discover their mistake. They’re Cabernet Franc. Too late then to pull them out. They made their wine.”

She assessed him. The way his Driza-Bone hat tipped over his forehead, the way he stood with his legs planted hip-width apart on the soil. Master of all he surveyed. “You love it out here, don’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Pleasure lit up his eyes. A flash of white teeth transformed his face into breathtaking sexiness. Her stomach dropped as desire swept her. “Before Dad decided he wanted to step down as CEO of Saxon’s Folly, I managed the vineyards. I never wanted to make the wine. I wanted to grow the fruit that winemakers like Heath and Caitlyn so magically transform into a nectar fit for the ancient gods.”

The sheer beauty of the picture he painted touched Alyssa on a primal level. Here was a man with roots, who knew who he was. A man so solid, so confident in his own skin that she couldn’t help but admire him … and want him.

Alyssa suppressed the yearning. She couldn’t afford the distraction that Joshua presented. Drawing a shuddering breath, she said, “So you miss it?”

He nodded. “I still keep an eye on the vineyards. But I’ve appointed two vineyard managers. One here, and one for the blocks over at Gimblett’s Gravels where most of the grapes for our reds are grown.”

After an instant of hesitation, she asked daringly, “Do you miss having Heath to work with since he walked out?”

A frenetic buzz caused Alyssa to pull a vibrating cell phone out of her handbag. She glanced at the caller ID. David. She killed the call.

“Sorry.” She smiled sunnily at Joshua. “You were about to say?”

His face expressionless, he said, “That last question sounded a little too much like an inquisition. Alyssa Blake in journalist mode. You should’ve taken your call.”

Heavens, he was perceptive. Thank goodness he had no idea who had been calling. “I’ll ring back later.” Changing the subject, Alyssa gestured to the rolling vineyards around them. “And how did all this end up in your family’s hands?”

“After the Great War the monks decided to move on. The land was sold. My Saxon forefather won it three years later in a poker game. The monks had planted vines for sacramental purposes—everyone laughed when Joseph Saxon said he was going to grow wine in commercial quantities. The land was barren, people told him. But he was determined to prove them wrong.” Joshua’s mouth slanted wryly. “Stubborn old bastard. The locals called it Saxon’s Folly. The name stuck.”

“So that’s who you get it from.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The name Saxon?”

She laughed appreciatively. “The stubbornness. The hard-nosed streak.”

He touched his nose. “Soft as butter.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling up at him. And warmth rose within her as he smiled back at her.

But Alyssa was no longer smiling when, back in her bedroom, she managed to sneak a call back to her editor later that afternoon.

“I’ve been hearing things about Saxon’s Folly … rumbles in the jungle,” David said without preamble. “Let me see what more I can find out. I’ll get back to you to see if there’s enough for a story.”

A story about Saxon’s Folly?

Alyssa’s heart sank. “I haven’t heard anything … and I don’t want to do a story now. Isn’t there anyone else available?” She was no longer certain she could guarantee an impartial perspective. “I’m on leave, David.”

“Maybe you won’t need to use up your leave,” he said cryptically. “I’ll call you once I know more. And don’t forget to send that obituary through by tomorrow.”

Alyssa killed the phone. Oh, heavens, Joshua would have conniptions if he discovered David was considering assigning her a story about his precious vineyard and family. It would be best to say nothing. After all, David’s rumbles might turn out to be nothing more than unsubstantiated rumours.

With that conclusion, Alyssa’s step lightened. For now, she would put it out of her mind and concentrate on learning about her brother’s life for her own satisfaction. Nothing more.

“Jump in,” Joshua called to Alyssa late the following afternoon as he throttled back the engine of the Range Rover and drew up behind her.

A quick hello and she clambered into the cab, slinging her handbag at her feet. His rapid sideways glance showed long, feminine legs encased in dark blue denim and a purple T-shirt moulding curves that caused his chest to constrict and heat to shoot downward.

He forced his gaze away from her. “My meeting was unavoidable.” His voice was suddenly husky. He cleared his throat. “What have you been doing?” Better, Joshua decided.

“Nothing much.” Alyssa paused, pulling a notebook and pencil from her bag. “After you left I took a walk around the winery—Caitlyn kindly showed me around.”

Joshua relaxed a fraction. He’d been uneasy about leaving Alyssa alone, uncertain what mischief she might wreak left untended. But he’d had no choice. Work came first. He risked another glance at her. Her hair was blowing around her face and her rosy lips tilted up.

Another surge of lust hit him. Shaken by the force of it, he tightened his fists around the steering wheel and focused on the track leading up the hill ahead.

“That’s all?”

“And your mother showed me some family photo albums and told me about the stories behind Roland’s trophies.” The words sounded torn from her.