The Saxon Brides: Mistaken Mistress

“Thank you.” He gave her a slow smile.

She felt herself flush. “Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a proposition. I’m—”

“In journalist mode?” This time the smile held an edge. “Don’t worry, I never did consider it a come-on.”

“What a relief,” she said, a little barb to keep him from realising how interested she, Alyssa the woman, not Alyssa the journalist, really was. “So are you going to answer?”

“Always the journalist,” he said, and the irony was not lost on her.

She didn’t respond.

Finally he sighed. “I’ve never found anyone that I want to spend my life with.” He gave her a crooked smile. “My parents set a tough example to follow. They met each other at a dance and knew from the first moment.”

“You expect the same?”

He gave her a strange look. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps their romance has grown in the telling.”

“They love each other. They always have. There’s never been anyone else for either of them—ever.”

Alyssa felt a moment of envy at his certainty. “I hope you find it—the once-in-a-lifetime love that you’re looking for.”

He shrugged. “I’m not looking for it. But if I find it, I’ll recognise it and embrace it. And in the meantime I’m not settling for second best.”

“Don’t you get lonely?”

He shrugged again. “Not really. I date. I’ve got friends—”

“And family.” Joshua had friends, he was highly respected, he ran a successful winery. Yet more than anything Alyssa coveted his family.

“Yes, my family is important to me.”

“And your staff …” She waved a hand around the tasting shed.

He nodded, his eyes softening. “Saxon’s Folly is more than a workplace, more than a winery. It’s home.”

“If you ever marry, your wife is going to have to love this place.”

“It’s in my blood,” he said with a simple acceptance that she envied.

“What about Caitlyn?”

He blinked at the sudden question. “What about her?”

“Have you ever dated her?”

“Caitlyn?” He gave a surprised laugh. “What makes you think that?”

“It seemed like such an obvious partnership. The winemaker and the winery boss.”

“I like Caitlyn. She’s smart—a great winemaker. But she’s always been one of the boys. There’s no chemistry.”

“One of the boys?” Caitlyn? Alyssa stared at him in astonishment. Was he blind to the other woman’s tall, slim strength? Granted, she wore jeans and boots and men’s shirts that gave her a tomboy look. But her light blue eyes, dusting of Celtic freckles and strawberry-blond hair had an undoubted charm even if her hair was always pulled back in a no-fuss ponytail and she wore no make up, but she hardly resembled a boy.

Men! Alyssa shook her head in disbelief, but she couldn’t prevent the relief that flowed through her that he’d never been attracted to the other woman.

Joshua leaned toward her. “Here come your first customers. Are you ready?”

She looked up to see three women and two men in their late twenties approaching. Alyssa gave them what she hoped was a welcoming smile and waved them onto the barstools in front of the counter.

“What would you like to taste?” She lined up five tasting glasses. One of the women and the two men chose the Cabernet Merlot, the other two women pondered indecisively. Alyssa poured the red wine into the three tasting glasses and watched as they picked up and swirled it around.

“I’ll try the Semillon,” said one of the two who had been undecided.

“Sav Blanc for me, please,” said the other.

“Black currants,” said one of the men, sniffing at the dregs of the red in his glass. “It smells of black currants.”

The others laughed. “I tasted red grapes,” said the blonde who had tasted the red.

“You wouldn’t be wrong to say black currants,” Joshua’s voice was low and serious.

“And I suppose the Sav tastes of grapefruit?” The woman with the Sauvignon Blanc gave him a flirtatious look from under her lashes.

Unaccountable annoyance rose within Alyssa. “The Saxon’s Folly Sauvignon Blancs are known for their stone fruit flavours.” She forced herself to smile blithely at the flirt.

“Stone fruit?” The woman gave her a blank look.

“Yes, peaches and nectarines.” Alyssa poured a little more wine in her glass.

“Can you tell the difference between a Sauvignon Blanc and a Chardonnay,” asked one of the men, giving her an interested look.

“Yes.” Alyssa took out two clean glasses and placed them before him. She poured a little Chardonnay in the one and a sample of Sauvignon Blanc in the other. “You’re looking for taste on the palate. The Chardonnay will have hints of oak—it’s been barrel fermented—not in the bottle. It’s also a little buttery, whereas the Sauvignon Blanc is fruitier. Have a taste of each.”

“Ooh, can I try, too?” one of the women asked.

“Sure.” Alyssa repeated the ritual for her.

“I taste a hint of peaches,” said the woman.

Joshua had said she tasted of peaches when he’d kissed her up on the hill. A tremor ran through Alyssa. She flashed him a sideways look from under her lashes—and found him gazing at her, his gaze hot, his eyelids heavy.

A flare of excitement ignited deep in her belly.

“The stone fruit flavours are very specific to this region, if you travel down to Marlborough, you’ll discover that the flavour’s grassy, reminiscent of gooseberries.” Joshua’s voice washed over her talking about fruit and flavours and she listened to the mesmerising cadence of his voice, words like peach and smooth and creamy creating a sensuous flow that surrounded her.

“Can you taste the differences between the same wines?”

“You mean, from different producers?”

The tall man nodded.

“That’s called horizontal tasting. So Saxon’s Folly makes Sauvignon Blanc, and over the hill at his winery my brother makes Sauvignon Blanc, too. They’re different. He’s a fine winemaker … but so is Caitlyn Ross our winemaker—”

“A woman makes wine here?” One of the men sounded shocked.

“Good wines, too.” Alyssa found herself bristling a little.

“Of course you’d say that, you work here.”

“Actually I’m a journalist—”

“Ooh, you’re doing a story? How exciting. Which newspaper?”

Alyssa told her the name of the magazine.

“I know you,” said the tall man. “You’re Alyssa Blake—you have a column in the Sunday papers, too. And I’ve seen you on television. So what do you think of the wines here?”

Alyssa gave him a smile, aware that Joshua was growing tense beside her, his hand tightening around the bottom of the wine bottle. Did he really believe that she would say something that might be detrimental to Saxon’s Folly?

“You taste and tell me what you think,” she responded, passing a glass to the man who had spoken. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Joshua’s grip had relaxed a little, his knuckles were no longer white.

“Make sure you get some photos of him—” the flirt pointed at Joshua “—I might even buy a copy of the magazine.” The woman batted her eyelashes in that way that Alyssa found intensely irritating. But she swallowed her annoyance and said nothing.

In the end the group walked away with a purchase of three cases of wine and Alyssa let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Hard work?” Joshua asked, a glimmer of laughter in his eyes.

“Let’s just say it’s not quite the easy sell I thought it would be.” She looked up at him. “So you can tell the difference between the wines you brew and those that Heath makes, hmm?”

He nodded.

“And I suppose you can tell the difference between different Saxon’s Folly vintages?”

“Piece of cake.”

“And then you try and tell me that the samples you supplied for judging in the Golden Harvest Wine Awards taste the same as the same label available for sale in the supermarkets?”

Joshua froze. “Trying to ambush me?” he asked very softly.

Alyssa refused to be intimidated. Joshua made a big deal about his reputation, about how honourable he was. She was entitled to know if that was the truth. What she wasn’t sure about yet was what she would do if she discovered it was all lies. She didn’t want to hurt Kay and Phillip Saxon—or their children. Not now. Not while they were grieving. And she couldn’t bear to find out that Joshua was dishonest.

It surprised her how much she needed to believe that he was as solid and real as the hills surrounding the vineyards he loved. She badly wanted to accept his word.

But she owed a duty to the public. The consumers who were possibly being scammed. She couldn’t rely on her feelings, her desire to find the best in Joshua. Growing up, her father had drummed into her that people lied. All the time. Facts counted. She needed proof. Hard evidence.

It tore her apart to think of what she might discover….

“No,” she said finally. “Just trying to get to the bottom of a disturbing rumour that the Chardonnay Saxon’s Folly supplied for tasting in the recent competition is far superior to what’s available at the retail outlets.”

Seven

“So that’s why you gate-crashed the ball.”

Joshua had known all along Alyssa had an agenda. Bitter disappointment corroded the fondness and respect that had been developing against his will. He’d been right not to trust her.

He propped one elbow on the tasting counter and swivelled his body to face her. “And that’s why you inveigled an invitation to stay at Saxon’s Folly.”

Her eyes flickered. “I told you before, your mother invited me.”

“Right.” Disbelief and sarcasm loaded his voice.

“Honestly, I didn’t know about this until recently. I haven’t agreed to do the story.”

He should’ve known Wine Watch would be on to the story. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Yes.”

Her amazing eyes widened ingenuously. But he wasn’t about to be taken in by a pair of purple pansy eyes and an act of injured innocence. She’d known, all right. And he’d almost been suckered. And Alyssa Blake would not turn down the opportunity to do such a story.

Then the thought crossed his mind that Roland might have let something slip to her. Pillow talk after a hot session between the sheets.

Anger twisted his stomach into knots.

Pushing away from the tasting counter, he straightened to his intimidating height of six foot two inches.

Alyssa didn’t flinch.

Roland had known about the dark cloud hanging over one of the premier Saxon’s Folly wines. As soon as Joshua had learned there was a potential problem with the wine judging, he’d told Roland. He cast his mind back. The conversation had taken place a few days before the ball. He’d wanted to pull the wine from the competition. Roland had assured him there was nothing to worry about, that the sample provided for tasting was uniform and no danger of adverse publicity existed.

Would he have told his lover about the debacle? Joshua didn’t want to believe that Roland had let something so confidential slip to a wine writer who’d already slated Saxon’s Folly in the past. Joshua assessed her. But the wide eyes and patient smile revealed little.

Was it possible that Alyssa had found out from another source? The competition organisers? Highly unlikely. Wine-tasting competitions were run with rigorous secrecy.

Roland must have told her. He must have been taken in by Alyssa’s inviting eyes and confiding manner. Damn! Annoyance at his brother’s gullibility shook him. Being led around by the libido was the oldest trick in the book. Joshua could hardly believe Roland had fallen for it. But Roland had never been able to resist a pretty face.

Joshua scrutinised her. Shiny, dark red hair framed her face in a smooth sheet, the wide-spaced pansy eyes promised untold sensual delights. Yup, definitely a very pretty face. His gaze moved lower. Long legs went on forever in the new denims and the stretchy top, the colour of the lavender that grew outside the homestead, moulded the generous curve of her breasts.

No doubt about it. Roland would’ve have been utterly infatuated. Okay, so maybe he could understand why Roland had blabbed. Alyssa Blake was certainly the sexiest thing he’d seen for a long time. In Mata Hari mode she would be lethal.

He ignored the whisper in his head that suggested he might be every bit as susceptible as his brother had been; that Alyssa Blake had him tied up in knots. He narrowed his eyes. This crazy wanting had never happened before. Why now? Why her?

How was he supposed to deal with the fallout when she reduced him to this damn idiotic state of constant arousal? He fought to get his thoughts in order.

While she knew there was a problem with the judging, it didn’t appear that she knew much more, otherwise she wouldn’t be here, digging for a story.

The story she insisted she wasn’t doing.

Maybe there was still time for damage control. He gave her a grim smile. “There will always be some variations between batches—it’s only the small vineyards with small outputs that can almost guarantee that every bottle will taste the same. We bottle thousands of cases of Chardonnay. There’s going to be a little variation—”

She gave a snort of disgust. “I’m not talking about a small amount. I’m talking about a huge difference—enough to make it taste like two completely different wines. Please don’t take me for a total idiot.”

Joshua held on to his temper with difficulty. “What you’re suggesting is not possible. When we have a batch that comes out so much better, we bottle it as a reserve selection. Why would we pretend it’s the same? Especially when we can command a higher price?”

“To garner awards? To deliberately entice the public to come out in droves and buy an award-winning wine when the one they get is vastly inferior to what they’re expecting? Not that they’d ever find that out.”

His brows drew together at the accusation. “We would never do that.”

“Maybe I should ask Caitlyn that question, since she makes the wines.” Alyssa started to turn away.

She was going to confront Caitlyn? After he’d told her not to question his staff? She was challenging him, walking away from him, after all but calling him a liar. He glared at her shapely back, irate that he noticed how her hips flared in the snug jeans. “It’s not necessary. I am the boss. I speak for Saxon’s Folly. We don’t indulge in questionable practices designed to mislead the consumer. You can quote me on that in your damned article.”

Looking past her he saw that a new group of tasters were heading in their direction. “We’ve got company. Better behave yourself,” he said softly, and he knew by the sudden tension between her shoulder blades that she’d heard.

Arranging his features in a pleasant, welcoming smile, he added, “You leave tomorrow. My final word is that you’re not to go to the winery … or try to interview my staff without me present.”

She threw him a searing look over her shoulder. “I’ve no reason not to behave. I’m telling you the truth, Joshua. I’ve no intention of writing this story. I’m too close to … everything.”

But instead of feeling relief at her revelation, Joshua felt annoyance because it underlined how much his brother had meant to her. Too close to … everything. His irritation was exacerbated as Alyssa flashed the wide smile that caused his body to snap to attention. Even more irritating was the fact that it wasn’t directed at him, but at the approaching enthusiasts.

He couldn’t trust her for a moment. She would do exactly what was best for Alyssa Blake, as always. He started to seethe.

Mata Hari indeed.

When Alyssa stirred on Monday morning, an appalling sense of dislocation rocked her at the thought of leaving Saxon’s Folly later today.

The end had come before the beginning had started. She still had so much to learn about Roland. Grief eroded to a raw ache as she walked down to the stables for the last time with an unusually silent Joshua beside her.

Earlier, she’d considered calling off the ride, given Joshua’s annoyance with her yesterday. But now as Alyssa watched Joshua saddle the two horses, she found she was looking forward to visiting a place that Roland had loved.

It would give her a chance to say goodbye. Closure. That’s what she was looking for.

Then she could put Roland finally to rest. She wished that she could tell the Saxon siblings the truth. She’d come to like them all very much. She watched Joshua tighten the girth. With him the connection went deeper than fondness. The last thing she wanted was to leave him with the wrong impression of her relationship with Roland.

But she’d promised Kay ….

In return for her silence she’d gotten a week to trace Roland’s footsteps, learn about his life. And that week of time had a high price: her secrecy. She’d given her word and she could not go back on that. End of story.

Joshua led Breeze toward her, his expression unreadable. “Come, I’ll give you a leg up.”

She approached a little nervously. Breeze turned her head, pricked her ears and gave Alyssa an enquiring look.

“Bend your leg.”

Alyssa obliged. The next moment Joshua hoisted her through the air. She landed in the English saddle and picked up the reins, while he adjusted the stirrups.

She stared down at his dark head. His hand brushed the inside of her jean-clad thigh, causing a frisson of heat. Her breath caught. She hated this tense awkwardness that yawned between them like a chasm and craved a return of the Joshua who had shown her around the vineyards. The Joshua with love for the land and passion in his eyes.

Even though she’d told David she couldn’t do the article, Alyssa couldn’t help wishing that Joshua would cooperate on the story. That way he’d have a chance to air his side of the situation to the public and she’d be able to do the article that David wanted so badly—and even clear up the damage she’d done to Joshua’s reputation last time.

The end result would be win-win all round. Then she and Joshua might be able to resolve this friction between them. Become colleagues or even—

“How does that feel?”

At the question she abandoned her wishful thinking and stood up in the stirrups. Both legs felt even. She pulled a face. “Wobbly. Like I haven’t been on a horse in a very long time.”

Joshua’s head tilted back and his black-as-midnight eyes clashed with hers. Her heart flopped over.

“Your stirrup leathers … are they even?”

“They’ll do.” Alyssa made a pretence of fiddling with the reins—anything to avoid looking at Joshua, not to feel that shameless heart-stopping surge of want that simply glancing at him aroused.

“Okay.” With economy of movement, Joshua swung himself easily up onto the bay’s back. Alyssa watched furtively through lowered lashes as he settled himself. He sat straight, totally at one with the horse beneath him; the broad shoulders tapering down beneath his blue-and-cream-striped shirt to where his faded jeans rode low on his hips. She didn’t even see the command he gave to make the bay move. No doubt he’d been riding all his life.

As they rode out of the stable block, a black horse trotted poker-legged along the length of the fence, neck arched, his head held high. Beautiful but defiant.

“I’m glad you’re not riding him.” Alyssa tipped her head in the stallion’s direction.

“I want to enjoy the ride.” Joshua turned his head to look at the horse. “And I won’t if I ride that animal. It takes hours to catch Ladykiller.”

Alyssa gave the stallion a look of sympathy. But the horse belonged here. She didn’t—and never would.

Joshua had made that very clear.

An hour later the rolling grasslands ended. The trail entered dense, overgrown bush and narrowed dramatically. They rode in single file with Joshua ahead.

Alyssa looked around with interest. Roland would’ve taken the same path and passed beneath the same trees. She called out, “So how much farther to go?”

Joshua turned in the saddle. “Not long now. We’re nearly there.”

Birds chirruped in the canopy overhead and bits of sunlight dappled the lush green ferns under the trees. Alyssa’s heart lifted. She banked the scents and sounds to remember later, when she was back in the rat race of Auckland amidst the hurly-burly of deadlines and rush-hour traffic.

“Hold tight,” Joshua said a few minutes later.

Alyssa’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the incline that he planned to ride down.

She tugged on the reins to slow Breeze down. “I can’t go down there!”

“Yes, you can. Believe in yourself. Lean back a little, hold the pommel of the saddle and try to relax. Come, follow me. You can do it.”

Already he was descending. Alyssa could hear the scrabble of loose stones under his mount’s hooves, could see his back swaying in time to the horse’s stride. Rigid with apprehension, she let the reins slide through her fingers as Breeze extended her neck, lowered her head and pricked her ears forward. Alyssa grabbed at the pommel, and stared through the space between the mare’s ears and hoped frantically for the best.

At the bottom of the incline she let out a whoop of triumph that caused Breeze’s ears to flicker back. “I did it!”

She couldn’t believe the sense of achievement she felt.

Joshua was waiting. He shot her the first grin he’d given her for what felt like a century. “Of course you did. Did you think I would’ve let you get hurt while you were in my care?”

As she heard the words, a penny dropped. Joshua was the boss. The final responsibility always stopped with him. Shielding a female worker from ugly gossip after she’d been harassed, making sure his mother wasn’t upset while she mourned her dead son, protecting Amy from any sexual indiscretion that Roland might have committed. How many more burdens did he assume?

The boss. The guy who carried all the weight. Didn’t he ever tire of it?

“Don’t you ever want to share the load a little?”

“What load?” The grin disappeared and he stared at her blankly.

Alyssa wanted the grin back, wanted to see the flash of white teeth and the way his eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners. “The load of taking care of everyone around you. It must grow exhausting.”

“Not really. I like to see people grow and achieve things that they doubted they could.” He nodded at the incline. “Like you did there.” He wheeled the big bay around and moved forward.

And that was the quality that made him such a great boss. She’d watched him at work in the winery. He had the ability to encourage people to try new things, to strive to do their best. Alyssa was thinking so hard about Joshua, she almost missed the first view of the waterfall as they rode into a sunlit clearing, and Joshua reined in ahead of her.

Her breath caught at the sight of the water tumbling down the sheer rock face, frothing into a lazy pool at the bottom. Roland must have spent hours here. A perfect swimming hole for a hot summer’s day.

Breeze stopped alongside Joshua’s bay.

“I didn’t bring togs to swim in,” Alyssa said.

“The water is icy this time of the year. In a month or so it will be warmer. We can eat instead.”

Hunger rumbled in her stomach. “I didn’t even think of food.”

“I brought some lunch,” Joshua revealed, dismounting. “We can eat that beside the waterfall.”

“You made food?”

“Not me, Ivy made it.”

But he’d remembered to organise it. Alyssa had always considered herself organised, but Joshua’s attention to detail was overwhelming.

He helped her off the horse, his hands firm at her waist. Alyssa suppressed the flare of awareness. Relief overtook her when Joshua moved away to tether the horses. She sat down on a soft mound of grass above the water’s edge. From here the view of the waterfall was spectacular. It bubbled over a ledge of rock and plummeted over the drop into the dark green pool below, the sound oddly soothing. A sense of peace stole over her.