One Secret Night (11 page)

“I think I’ll leave them for now,” she said. “If you could sit there, at the table for a moment, I’ll do a few test shots and see.”

Ethan did as she bid without comment. Isobel moved around him, her camera poised and ready for action. The minute she caught him in her viewfinder, her stomach clenched. He was so incredibly beautiful in the most masculine kind of way. A persistent buzz of awareness set up deep inside her but she fought to ignore it. Taking a step back, she scrolled through the photos she’d just taken.

“Stay where you are,” she instructed. “We’re going to need additional light after all.”

She fussed with the spots, taking more shots, until with a grunt of satisfaction, she knew she had the right juxtaposition of light and shadow.

“Okay, we’re ready to roll,” she said, lifting her camera to her eye again. “Now, just start talking and leading me through the wine-tasting process. Use two glasses on the table, as if you have company.”

She waited for Ethan to move. He appeared to hesitate, as if to say something, but then he reached for the gold-labeled Shiraz on the table. Instinctively, Isobel began to shoot.

“Wine tasting is an adventure that engages your senses,” Ethan started, his voice deep and smooth and sending a thrill of delight through Isobel that she couldn’t ignore. “It’s more than just taste, although taste is vitally important and highly individual. It also involves you visually, engages your olfactory senses and plays on your emotions and memories at the same time.”

Isobel’s finger worked the shutter button unconsciously as Ethan opened the wine and gently poured a sample into each of two empty glasses on the table. His voice provided a background commentary that stroked her senses to boiling point, making it more and more difficult with each shot to keep her focus on her subject and not on what his passion for his subject was, in kind, doing to her.

Ethan lifted one of the glasses from the table, angling the bowl slightly away from him, and began explaining about color and tone. Isobel was so caught up in his words that she forgot she was supposed to be merely a silent observer, and found herself speaking up.

“To be honest,” Isobel interjected, “My wine expertise has always come down to what I like the taste of and how much I like that taste. I’ve never really stopped to consider color or density.”

Ethan turned and gave her a smile that just about made her toes curl. Clearly, in this moment, his animosity had been forgotten. “Then you’re seriously missing out. Put the camera down and come here. Try it.”

“But I thought you only had an hour for me today.”

He shrugged. “So I’ll have to make up time somewhere else. This is important. The better you understand the method, the better the photos will be, right?”

Isobel didn’t answer, she merely placed her camera down on the table and sat opposite Ethan. She felt absurdly pleased when he gave her a nod of approval.

“Let’s see if we can’t instill a better appreciation of the process of tasting wine, hmm?” he said.

“You make it sound like a ritual,” she commented, picking up her glass and doing as he’d done earlier, tilting it and studying the color and clarity with the same absorption she usually reserved only for her proofs.

“It is, in a way. And there’s nothing wrong in making a ceremony out of it, in showing our appreciation for the work that’s gone into bringing this bottle to the table all the way from the vine.”

Ethan’s enthusiasm for his subject shone through in his every gesture and every word. If at all possible, it made him even more attractive to her, and as he continued to lead her through the formalities of using her senses to see, smell and taste the wine he’d chosen for the shoot she felt herself falling for him just that bit more. Ethan the vintner was a far cry from Ethan the authoritative brother and family head. He was just as deliberate and in control, but it felt easier and more natural to let him take the lead in this arena where he was so clearly an expert...and where he was using his expertise to enhance the pleasure she’d find in the experience. As she tasted her wine and allowed the carefully formulated final product roll around in her mouth, she wondered briefly what it would be like to see him year-round—to observe him work through every step of his magical process, turning harvested fruit into a sensation of aromas and flavors that gave her a new appreciation for his art.

See him year-round? What on earth was she thinking? She was transient and she liked it that way. Seeing a man like Ethan Masters year-round would mean staying in his world, because he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to uproot himself to live in hers. A man like him had roots that went deeper in the soil at The Masters than those of the vines that striated the fields around them. He wouldn’t accept anything less than a permanent, lifelong commitment.

She didn’t do permanent. Had never wanted to.

A shocking afterthought penetrated deep into her heart.

Until now, perhaps.

Twelve

T
o give herself some distance from her thoughts, Isobel deliberately set her glass down on the pristine white cloth and reached for her camera again. As she did so, a drop of wine from the rim of her glass tracked down the outside of the bowl and along the stem, spreading onto the base until it leaked into the finely woven linen, leaving a stain.

As she had with her presence here.

Ethan liked everything neat and organized, with every piece tucked into place. Isobel brought mess and chaos with her everywhere she went. She’d brought it to Ethan’s life. The thought came to her sharp and swift, and it hurt. She still believed she’d done the right thing by sharing with Tamsyn the information. But only now did she fully appreciate the repercussions of what she’d done. Only now, when she really considered what it might be like to be part of his family, did she think of the damage she might have done to all of them by opening the door between Tamsyn and the secret the rest of her family had made the decision to keep.

This family, these people, they were intertwined with one another just as much as the vines were on the frames they grew along. Each dependent on the other for its success, its support. And she’d potentially undermined that.

It just went to show that she was better off on her own. Whenever she spent time with a strong family or community, it only went to prove to her that she had no idea how to belong. No idea how to be anything other than alone.

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” she blurted.

“For the spot on the cloth? Don’t worry. We’ve seen far worse.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not that. I mean for telling Tamsyn. I know you had your reasons for keeping the news about your mother to yourself. Whether I agreed with them or not I shouldn’t have interfered.”

Ethan sighed and rose from the table. “No, you shouldn’t have interfered, but I won’t accept your apology, either.”

He wouldn’t? A sudden spurt of anger flared and, just as quickly, extinguished inside of her. He wouldn’t. No, of course not. She was the outsider here. The interloper who’d well and truly set a cat among the pigeons.

“That’s okay, I understand,” she managed to say through lips that felt as thick and unresponsive as rubber. “Look, I think I have everything I need here today. Let me run these through my computer and I’ll forward you a selection to choose from for your brochure.”

“Isobel, wait.”

His voice was a command, not a request. It was so like him, she thought with a rueful twinge of recognition.

“You want me to take some more shots?”

“No.” He brushed her question aside with an impatient movement of his hand.

A hand that had done exquisite things to her body. A hand that had left her panting and demanding more—which was exactly what he’d given. A tiny shudder rippled through her. This was torture. Very different from what had been threatened toward her before she’d vacated the country she’d last been in, but equally as devastating emotionally.

She stood silently, awaiting his next move and wishing he would get to whatever it was that he wanted to say. Once he was done, maybe he’d finally let her go to gather her scattered nerves back to some semblance of order again. But his words, when they came, knocked the air straight out of her lungs.

“I owe
you
an apology.”

She didn’t know what to say, how to act. She let instinct take over.

“No, you don’t. I was in the wrong. I acted without really thinking it through.”

He mustered a half smile. “I can’t say I’m thrilled with the way you went about it, but you were still right. If anyone deserved the full story about our parents it was Tamsyn. I should have told her from the start, when I’d found the discrepancy in my father’s personal accounts. If not then, certainly when I found out that our mother was still living.”

“I...I don’t know what to say.”

It was a new sensation for Isobel. Normally she had no trouble blurting out whatever came next in her mind. But this? An apology from this incredibly strong and proud man? She knew how hard it must have been for him to back down like this.

“Then don’t say anything. Just listen. Tamsyn and I had a long talk last night. She’s still mad at me, and rightly so, but I accept that I was being overprotective. I do still try to shelter her—she
is
my little sister, after all, and I doubt my need to shield her from things will ever go away entirely. But she’s an adult—one who had every right, just as you said, to know what I knew. We’ve discussed it all. Our memories of our mother, the little we got out of our father, the information the solicitor gave me—everything.”

“I’m glad you guys could sort it out,” Isobel said, gathering her things together to hide her awkwardness.

To her surprise, his hands closed around hers, halting her in her actions. How on earth had he moved so fast? He drew her round to face him.

“Isobel, I am sorry for the way I spoke to you. I’ve been angry since the day I met you—struggling to come to terms with my father’s death, with my additional responsibilities here, with the awful truth he kept from Tam and me all those years. I began to associate you with that emotion, and it wasn’t fair.” His mouth quirked into a crooked smile, one that made her heart somersault in her chest before he continued. “I’m not proud to admit it, but I needed you that first night to take me away from all of that—to wipe things from my mind. By the morning, when you’d gone, I felt as though I had it all under control again. Then, when you turned up here, it just brought my vulnerability back to me. Being weak isn’t something that sits comfortably on my shoulders.”

“Believe me, whatever pleasure or escape you got from us being together, I got that, too.”

“Escape? What do you need to escape from, Isobel?”

He lifted a hand to move a strand of hair from where it had fallen across her cheek. His touch sent an instant line of fire searing across her skin.

For a minute she thought of the atrocities she’d so recently left behind her. The ones she still felt a moral burden to bring to public awareness through her blog and, with luck, more gallery showings worldwide. This world here at The Masters was so far removed from the day-to-day existence she’d come to accept as normal that, by contrast, it was almost a fantasy come true.

But whose fantasy? She hadn’t stood still long enough in the past ten years to even begin to remember what it was like to be rooted in one place. To call somewhere home. And she didn’t want to, she reminded herself with a hard mental shake. No matter how compelling the impetus to do otherwise.

“Isobel?” Ethan prompted.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just...nothing.”

“Am I forgiven?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into hers as if willing it to be so.

“Of course,” she answered as lightly as she could manage. “But you must forgive me, too.”

“Done,” he agreed.

Isobel pulled her hands from his and stepped back. “Right, now that’s settled, I’d better get back to work.”

She felt flustered, his behavior today surprising her more than she cared to admit—showing a side of him that she hadn’t envisioned.

“Don’t let me hold you back,” Ethan replied, turning to the table and recapping the wine bottle. “Here, take this back to your cottage and when you try it, think about what we went over.”

Isobel very much doubted she’d ever be able to think about anything or anyone else when she touched wine again, but she accepted the bottle and then collected her camera bag and left the winery. Outside the autumn sunshine was clear and bright, quite a contrast to the controlled environment she’d just left and, she realized, a perfect analogy for her and Ethan. His world was controlled by season and longevity, security and routine. Her world was full of light and air and impermanence. They didn’t belong together. Aside from a physical synchronicity that transcended all others, they were complete and utter opposites.

But if that was the case, why did it hurt so much to think about leaving here, leaving him?

* * *

Ethan returned from dinner with Shanal feeling completely out of sorts. Despite his overtures, she’d shown no interest in developing their relationship any further than their existing friendship. He’d seeded their conversation with hints about her hopes for the future, her dreams. Marriage hadn’t figured in there at all. And then there’d been the lack of physical contact or even chemistry between them. Sure, they’d talked long into the evening about their work, but he knew that if a marriage between them was to work, they needed more. They needed some compatibility beyond inquiring minds and similar interests.

Yet every time he thought about compatibility, a different face swam into view. A face framed with sun-kissed blond hair. A face with blue eyes, not green. He’d felt better for apologizing to Isobel and hoped the truce between them would dull the edge of the wild infatuation that had plagued him from the moment he’d first seen her. He’d sworn to himself he’d keep his hands off her from now on. It was too dangerously addictive being around her.

Fortunately, creating distance between them at The Masters had proven quite straightforward as she threw herself into finishing the assignment. They’d crossed paths only briefly since she’d done the tasting shoot, acknowledging one another’s presence with little more than a nod or a wave in passing. Their dealings were now confined to email as he’d approved her selection of proofs to be dealt with by their marketing department.

He knew she’d be leaving soon, very soon. It was a relief to know he didn’t have to spend every waking minute wondering if he’d see her or catch a reminder of her scent.

Ethan garaged his car and made his way up to his bedroom, crossing the floor swiftly to draw his drapes closed. As he did each night, however, he paused at the window. His eyes were inexorably drawn to Isobel’s cottage. The interior lights burned until late every night. Either she was a complete night owl or she had about as much trouble sleeping as he did. He closed the drapes with a sharp snap and got ready for bed, forcing his thoughts to turn to Shanal Peat again.

What was it about the two of them that didn’t spark? he wondered as he lay in the dark. He’d thought it would be so simple. Well, he’d make it work somehow. He just had to. He had the future of his entire family network to consider and ensuring its stability was one of his many responsibilities. Someone like Shanal was perfect.

And if he told himself often enough, he might just believe it.

But as the hours ticked over and sleep remained elusive, he found his thoughts straying in a different direction. One that lay only a couple of hundred meters from him right now. One that was completely wrong for him and his plans for the future on so many levels he shouldn’t even be thinking of her at all.

Ethan rolled over and focused on making his body relax, emptying his mind, breathing deep—and then starting with his toes and working up his body, clenching and releasing muscles until he all but melted into the surface of his mattress. Then an image of Isobel flicked into his mind again. Just like that he was taut as a bow once more. Taut and aching and thinking all kinds of inappropriate thoughts for a man who was attempting to woo a different woman altogether.

What kind of man did that make him? Certainly not one he was proud to be. All his life he’d striven for excellence, worked tirelessly for his family’s and, more important, his father’s respect. And he’d earned it. He’d basked in their pleasure in his achievements, at first academically and then later on with the wines he’d produced to many international accolades.

He’d done it all for them but he’d done it for himself, too. He enjoyed the ride, the challenges, the success. Why couldn’t he succeed at this? Why did his friendship with Shanal lack the vital catalyst that pushed a relationship past amity and into passion?

And why couldn’t he get his mind off a woman who was wrong for him in every way? She was a free spirit, while he was bound by a hundred different ties. He thrived on responsibility and commitment while she ran the other way. He wanted to spend his life at The Masters, contributing to his family’s legacy, while by all indications, she couldn’t get away fast enough. And yet somehow, Isobel challenged him on every level—mentally and physically. He didn’t want to want her like this but she was now embedded in his psyche.

He got out of bed with a frustrated growl and went through to his bathroom for a glass of water. Something, he hoped, that would slake the thirst that made him crave so much more than a long draw of cool liquid.

She’d be leaving The Masters soon, probably even leaving Australia, and that was a very good thing, he told his hazy reflection in the moonlit en suite. A very good thing, indeed.

But the thought of never seeing her again made his body ache and turned his mind to the two nights they’d shared. He wanted more. He wanted her. He wanted that sensation of having his senses scattered to the wind, he wanted to take risks and do crazy things with her. He wanted, even for only that briefest moment, to be wonderfully and truly happy again. To forget the responsibilities and pressures that confined him and to give himself over fully to the moment.

He wanted Isobel Fyfe.