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Chapter Three

‘YOU do know that you’re being an ass?’

Rafe looked up from the paperwork on his desk and regarded his sister through narrowed eyes with grim humour. She’d been circling around the topic of his treatment of Simone now for at least half an hour, waiting for an opening that he hadn’t given her. This wasn’t the tack he would have advised her to take with him, but he figured she’d find that out soon enough. ‘How so?’

‘The way you’re making Simone feel unwelcome.’

‘She is unwelcome.’

‘She’s my bridesmaid. She’s the sister of the groom. And pretty soon she’s going to be family.’

Rafe scowled. He really didn’t need the reminder.

‘Tell me, Rafe, what are you going to do come Christmas time when we’re all together? Or when you’re invited to the christening?’

‘What christening?’ His gaze flew to his sister’s stomach. His own stomach lurched unevenly. Caverness was hard on its children. All of its children. He hoped to hell that with this child, things would be different. ‘You’re not…?’

‘Not yet,’ she murmured. ‘But some day I plan to be, many times over, and I want you in my children’s lives.’

Oh, dear Lord, now they were multiplying. ‘Couldn’t we have this discussion after you have them?’

Gabrielle eyed him sternly. ‘My point is that you and Simone are two of the three most important people in my life. Can’t you at least try to be in the same room as her for more than five minutes?’

‘Five minutes is a long time,’ he said. Especially when a man was torn between wanting to strip a woman down to her skin and bury himself inside her, or, conversely, strip her to her skin, tie her to a bedpost and flay her for causing him such pain. Either way, getting her naked seemed to be a priority. ‘I’ve been working my way up from three.’

‘Can’t you just—?’

‘No,’ he interrupted, in a low, controlled voice that nonetheless carried with it a warning she would do well to heed. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Why not invite her over and show her the vineyard? She’d love to see what we’ve done here. I know she would. But whenever I say come over, she says no.’

‘Smart woman.’

‘Yes, she is. Also beautiful, generous, kind, and the only woman you’ve ever truly loved,’ finished Gabrielle cuttingly. ‘Which is why you’re being an ass.’

‘Isn’t this where you came in?’

‘Yes.’ Gabrielle regarded him darkly. ‘But it wouldn’t have had to be a circular argument if you’d shown some sense. You told me I was stuck in the past when I said I wanted to return to France. You said I was mad to go and visit Josien. Well, maybe I was mad to think that Josien would want to see me, but I tried, and I’ve moved on, and now I’m marrying the man I love beyond measure, and Simone, my beloved childhood friend, is back in my life. I’m not the one stuck in the past, Rafael. I’m not the one who’s too scared to look back because there’s too much pain there that I haven’t dealt with yet.’ Her eyes begged his forgiveness. Her words cut him to the bone. ‘You are.’

When Rafael worked, he worked hard. When Rafael brooded he worked harder. He’d taken to the fields after his words with Gabrielle. Taken the Toyota and a trailer and an axe so he could cut down a dead and dangerously leaning tree. It would drop down on a border fence regardless of where he placed his cut so he’d brought the fence cutters too, and wire and materials for rebuilding the fence later. He might get around to putting the fence back up today.

He might not.

Why the hell would someone want to look back on a childhood like his? On a mother who’d ruled with an iron rod, or a leather horsewhip or whatever else had come to hand. A mother whose moods had see-sawed faster than light. Remote one minute, a banshee the next, but never ever loving towards her children. Gabrielle she’d tolerated, on occasion. Her feelings for her son had been crystal clear and brutally unwavering.

She hated him.

Rafael smiled grimly. Over the years, the feeling had become entirely mutual.

The slam of his axe bit deep into the tree’s heartwood. The axe was small. The tree was huge. It would take a while to bring it down.

Good.

He needed the exercise and he sure as hell needed the release. And as for being too scared to revisit his time with Simone…

Thwack went the axe into the wood. He wrenched it free and swung again. This time when it lodged into the wood he left it there. He returned to the ute, reached in the window for his phone and dialled the guest house. When Sarah answered he got her to put the call through to Simone’s room.

‘I’m felling a tree,’ he said when she answered. ‘Then I’m repairing a fence. And then I’m showing you around the vineyard. I will be filthy. I will be hard to communicate with. I will be at the Angels Landing cellar door at four.’

There was a pause. A very lengthy pause.

Then, ‘I’ll be there,’ Simone said dryly, and hung up.

Gabrielle laughed when Simone relayed the gist of the conversation to her. She belly laughed when Simone relayed the conversation word for word.

‘Stop it,’ Simone ordered. ‘Did I laugh at you when you were worried about seeing Luc again? No. I gave you sympathy.’

‘You have my sympathy,’ said Gabrielle earnestly, right before the laughter started up again. ‘He’s such an ass. Do you have a plan?’

‘Working on it.’ Simone settled back against the bed head. ‘The only way Rafael seems to think he can deal with me is if he calls all the shots. I’ve been very patient with him, Gabrielle. Extremely patient. But you do realise it has to stop.’

‘Oh, I do.’ Gabrielle tried for solemnity, she really did. But moments later she was lying on her back on the end of the bed as mirth took hold of her again.

‘Stop that.’ Simone poked at her with her foot. ‘I need you coherent. I need a plan.’

Gabrielle wiped at her eyes as her laughter subsided. Eventually, she sat back up. ‘Well, it’s about time,’ she said. ‘Does it involve seduction? Puppies? Pheromones?’

‘No. That would be a threatening move on my part and his defences would go up. We don’t want that.’

‘No, we most certainly don’t.’ Gabrielle drummed her fingers on the bedspread. ‘Why don’t you play the damsel in distress and have him come to your rescue?’

‘Because he wouldn’t,’ said Simone dryly. ‘No, for that to work properly I’d have to legitimately be in distress, and I hate that role.’

Gabrielle started to grin. Simone stopped her with a glance. ‘He needs to stop seeing me as a threat, but I can’t be seen to be weak. He needs to see me as an ally.’

‘Alliance is good,’ said Gabrielle cautiously. ‘Who’s the common enemy?’

‘There’s the catch. Apart from Josien, who’s not here and to my way of thinking seems to be going some way towards improving her relationship with you and losing her enemy status into the bargain, we don’t have one.’

‘What about a common goal?’

‘Common goals are good, and I think we may have a common goal in wanting your wedding day to be a magical one. I wanted to ask you…’ Simone took the time to phrase her question with care. ‘Rafe doesn’t have a problem with you marrying into the Duvalier family, does he?’

‘No,’ said Gabrielle with a quick shake of her head. ‘Oh, Rafael knows as well as I do that there’ll be challenges ahead and that some people won’t approve of this union—but he’s not one of them. He knows I’m marrying the man I love, Simone. He knows Luc’s heart is true. Rafe may not be entirely comfortable with gaining you for a sister-in-law, but he’s given my marriage to Lucien his backing and his blessing. He may be an ass,’ said Gabrielle with a grimace, ‘but he’s my ass, and he only wants what’s best for me. I think you should take his invitation as a sign that he’s trying to make his peace with you. Whether he will or not is anyone’s guess. But he’s trying.’

Simone put her hands to her head and rubbed hard before finally smoothing her hands over her hair. She’d had a sleepless night and a jet-lagged day and she needed a strategy for dealing with Rafael that would keep her heart safe. So far, she’d come up empty.

‘He is very good with damsels in distress,’ said Gabrielle again. ‘It’s that overprotective streak that was honed to perfection during the childhood he tries hard to forget. You couldn’t just—’

‘No,’ said Simone abruptly. To call on Rafael’s vulnerability—the very protectiveness that had once made her love him so deeply—and play it for a weakness?

‘No, Gabrielle. I could not.’

By ten to four the tree was down, the fence was fixed and Rafe was heartily wishing that he’d brought the chainsaw along with him to finish the job. The axe was blunt, his shoulders ached, and the release that he’d sought in hard physical labour had so far eluded him. He was hot, he was bothered, and why the hell he’d let Gabrielle goad him into spending time alone with Simone was a mystery to him.

He wanted a cold shower and an even colder beer, and he wanted to forget he’d ever suggested showing Simone around the vineyard he’d brought back from ruin.

He wanted a woman, wanton and willing. One he could lose himself in for a time and walk away from unscathed.

Not Simone, sensual and fearless, who would call forth desires too deeply held.

Not Simone.

Cursing beneath his breath, he loaded up the ute and headed for the cellars. With any luck she’d be running late and he’d have time to wash down and cool off before she arrived. With a bit more luck she might have changed her mind about touring the vineyard with him altogether.

A silver-grey Audi sat in the car park beside the cellar door.

A dark-haired ingénue wearing a vivid pink strapless sundress leaned against it and watched his approach.

Guess not.

‘A tree?’ she said once he stood before her.

‘And a fence.’ He’d warned her that he would be filthy. He looked down at his T-shirt where tree sap and splinters vied for supremacy. Possibly not this filthy, but there was a tap and a sink inside and he had a spare T-shirt in the ute. He found the shirt and headed for the door. ‘Come on through.’

Simone followed him into the building, a gable-roofed corrugated-iron shed of muted greens and greys. It didn’t have the ancient appeal of the champagne storage caves of Caverness, but it suited the landscape well enough, and the scarred and mismatched wooden furnishings of the tasting room held a certain rustic charm.

‘Let me get rid of some of this dirt before I take you through to the vats,’ he said as he headed for the washbasin behind the bar.

‘Of course.’ So far, Rafael more than lived up to his promise of general dishevelment. He had the body for it though, long and leanly muscled, and a perfection of face guaranteed to cut through any amount of dirt. As far as Simone was concerned, the intensity of his brilliant blue gaze served only to clinch the deal. Dirt or no dirt, Rafael Alexander was a breathtakingly beautiful man.

He knew it. How could he not?

But his looks did not define him. There was more to him than that. A kindness of soul that warred with the fierceness of his emotions. A protective streak, honed razor-sharp by the circumstances of his childhood. A will to succeed that bordered on obsessive, and when he focused his attentions on something or someone…well, a woman didn’t easily forget such a time.

She’d never managed to.

Simone took a seat on the customer side of the bar, fully intending to study the wine-tasting list. She might have even managed to pay attention to the vintages on offer if Rafael hadn’t chosen that particular moment to peel his T-shirt from his body.

She tried to draw breath, tried to look away, but the latter was impossible and the former took determined effort. She found her breath, and then her voice. ‘Your back—’

He had his back towards her. He stilled, but he didn’t turn around.

‘Something against tattoos?’ he asked quietly.

‘No.’ Dear heaven, no. ‘It’s exquisite. But the words…’

Never look back.

He sluiced his face and arms; he took his sweet time before finally reaching for a nearby hand towel and turning to face her. ‘What about them?’

‘They just seem so…’ How could she explain the impact of those harsh, hard words carved into his skin, no matter how beautiful the pattern they made? ‘…Desolate. Surely some things are worth remembering?’ A young girl and a handsome older boy coaxing a tiny frog out of her boot and into the home she’d made for it. A first kiss sweeter than sunshine. A first love’s gentle caress. She sought his gaze and held it. ‘Aren’t they?’

He didn’t answer. Just looked away, picked up his clean T-shirt and pulled it on.

‘When did you get it?’ she asked next. She couldn’t seem to let go of the notion that he’d paid somebody to cut those words into his skin.

She didn’t think he was going to answer that question either, but then a parody of a smile stole across his lips, and his gaze met hers, mocking and bitter. ‘When I first came to Australia. Right after I left you.’

‘Hmm,’ she said finally, while deep down inside resentment began to build in response to the implication that his hurt, and the tattoo that went with it, were all her fault. ‘I just wept for six months, cursed you for six more, and kept my happy memories of you close. I still keep them close. It must be a gender thing.’

‘Maybe it’s a strength of feeling thing.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ she said tightly. How dared he turn his memory of her love for him into something weak and fleeting? How dared he paint her the villain? ‘You want to forget the past, Rafael? Fine. Go ahead. It’s your loss.’ Anger fuelled her feet as she stalked towards him. ‘You want to live for the present and look to the future? Fine. Here we are. Show me your bloody vineyard!’

‘Careful, Simone.’ His eyes had narrowed. A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Swearing doesn’t become a lady.’

‘If you had any kind of memory left you’d remember that I often take exquisite pleasure in not behaving like a lady. Would you like a demonstration?’

‘What are you going to do, princess?’ They were toe to toe. Tension radiated from him in waves. ‘Hit me?’

‘Oh, no.’ Tempting as it was. ‘You got enough of that throughout your childhood, remember? Then again, you probably don’t. No, I was thinking of something a whole lot more subtle, by way of a demonstration.’ She put her hand to his chest, to his heart, before finally curving it round the back of his neck and pressing her lips to the strong curve of his jaw. Gently.

‘You think I didn’t love you,’ she murmured. Another kiss for that stubborn jaw, followed by the slow slide of her lips across to the edge of his mouth. ‘You think your feelings were the stronger and that you were the only one who was left desolate and grieving.’

She gave him time to move away, she did give him that.

His chest heaved and he drew a ragged breath. But he stayed right where he was.

‘You’re wrong,’ she whispered, and set her lips to his. Lord have mercy on her soul.

His lips were warm and firm. And closed. She touched the tip of her tongue to the crease in them and tasted salt. She felt the shudder that ripped through him, but his mouth stayed stubbornly closed to her. She started to pull away. Experiment over. Experiment failed.

And then his hand came up to cup her face, his lips opened beneath hers, a dam broke somewhere, and the world around her simply disappeared.

Reckless. She was so damned reckless. She always had been, especially when it came to making love. Rafe deepened the kiss, revelling in her abandoned response. The way her fingers curled into his hair, the way that greedy, generous mouth felt against his. Memories crashed down on him. He remembered that mouth, remembered marking her body with his mouth. He’d never forgotten.

Desire ate at him and she let him feed, encouraging his possession while her scent wrapped around him and clouded his thinking.

And then he closed his hands around her waist and dragged her against him as she wound her arms around his neck and all rational thought stopped. There was only heat and need, such a fierce and roiling need.

Simone’s lips clinging to his, her body so soft against his hardness, and an ache that wouldn’t be eased until he was buried inside her. His body burned for more. The ragged stitching holding his heart together threatened to unravel as he took and tasted as if it were his last drink before hell.

‘Remember me,’ she whispered. ‘Remember this.’

He heard the words. And the wound on his heart tore wide open.

He cursed savagely and dragged himself free of her. Of memories he didn’t want. Of a kiss he couldn’t handle. He cursed again and turned away. One step, and then another while he fought to master the desire that rode him and attempted to recover some of his sanity.

Back to the sink to fill his hands with rushing cold water from the tap so he could splash it on his face and his hair. His T-shirt stayed on. Old pain remained hidden but she knew it was there now and he cursed her for that insight. She should never have come here. She should have known to let sleeping beasts lie.

He reached for the towel and buried his face in it, before tossing it to the bench and turning to face her.

She looked shattered. Dishevelled. And beaten. Not at all the calmly composed mistress of the Duvalier champagne empire.

‘That really wasn’t a good idea, was it?’ she said shakily.

‘No.’

No, thought Simone bleakly.

‘Dammit, Simone,’ he said next, and his voice was tight and hard. ‘What the hell do you want from me? You asked for friendship, conditional or otherwise, and I’m doing my damnedest to deliver, but that wasn’t friendship! It was war.’

She knew it. She wished she’d never kissed him. She wished she’d never come. ‘You wanted war, soldier boy. From the moment you stepped from your truck,’ she said defiantly. ‘All I did was oblige you.’

‘I did not want war,’ he said bleakly. ‘I wanted…something else. God knows what exactly, but something that would satisfy Gabrielle and the children.’

Children? Bewilderment took the edge off her defiance and her shame, and she grabbed it for the lifeline it was. ‘What children?’

‘Gabrielle’s children.’

‘Gabrielle’s pregnant?’

‘No.’

She hadn’t been drinking. Swear to God, she hadn’t touched a drop. But she couldn’t for the life of her follow this conversation. ‘Do you think that some day we might manage a simple comprehensible conversation?’

‘Working on it, princess.’

‘Oh, I can tell.’

‘Stop,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m working on it. It would help a great deal if you worked on it too. Do you want us to be at loggerheads on Gabrielle and Luc’s wedding day?’

‘No, but—’

‘Zip.’ His hand signal repeated the order. ‘Neither do I. We’re starting again. Here and now. Do you still want to see the vineyard?’

‘Yes. But not if—’

‘Stop!’ he ordered, exasperation writ clearly on his features. ‘I swear you’ve become irritatingly argumentative in your old age.’

Old age? She was twenty-six. ‘Better that than an autocratic bore.’

He sent her a sinner’s smile. ‘You’re not bored.’

‘This is never going to work,’ she muttered as her body responded lovingly to that smile.

‘I knew you’d see it my way eventually,’ he said. ‘But for the sake of this wedding, let’s pretend there’s at least an outside chance that it might. Twenty minutes to tour the plant. Another twenty to show you the vines, after which I’ll take you up the hill and show you the view. An hour, at most, and during that time we shall attempt to find new common ground. How hard can it be?’

‘You’re right. We need to think positive,’ said Simone. ‘No touching. No talk of the past. No incendiary comments. No problem.’ She needed to stop thinking about that heart-wrenchingly beautiful tattoo. ‘Got any alcohol?’

‘Follow me.’

He showed her the crushing plant, the mixing, processing, and ageing vats—stainless steel and state-of-the-art, all of them. The bottling equipment was older and labour-intensive, but his volumes were small at the moment too. Doubtless he would trade up and it would be replaced when volumes grew.

The brand-new wine storage shed stood behind the processing one and if it lacked a little something by way of character when compared with the storage caves of Caverness, well, that was only to be expected. Temperature controlled and ruthlessly organised, his oak barrels stood in neat rows, pale as sand and also very new.

He noticed her frown and gave a Gallic shrug. Seasoned oak wine barrels were a rarity in Australia and the people who had them held them, he told her. They were impossible to import. He’d had to buy new.

He kept strictly to the topic of winemaking.

Simone aided his endeavour by asking technical questions.

Rafael gave technical answers and stayed at least three metres away from her at all times.

Apart from the hungry snake of desire in the pit of her stomach, her greedy eyes, and his warning glares, everything seemed to be going very well.

Only forty-nine and a half minutes to go.

They headed for Rafe’s work vehicle, a high-wheeled table-top truck and completely incompatible with a knee-baring sundress. Her dress rode up to high thigh as she settled into the passenger seat. Damn Gabrielle and her wardrobe suggestions. She knew she never should have listened to them. Rafael’s hands went to the steering wheel and stayed there. His knuckles turned white. His gaze turned black.

‘Fix it,’ he said tightly.

She fixed it.

Rafe drove. He wasn’t three metres away from her now. Simone battled the tension that came with enforced proximity and tried to think of questions that would make it go away and stay away, but she was running out of questions and Rafe’s answers were getting shorter. Yes, the trellising was his design. He’d wanted maximum sunlight, better air flow through the canopy and easier picking. Yes, the companion planting worked to keep pests away. The predatory ladybirds he released onto the vines also worked to keep pest numbers low.

Yes, he did eventually have to spray towards the end of the growing season. Yes, it wiped out his ladybirds. He released new ones straight after harvest.

Yes, the ducks were in residence in order to keep the grubs down.

No, they did not have names.

He showed her the dam and the wetlands below the vines. Half a dozen waterfowl and a pair of magnificent black swans had made the wetlands their home.

The swans didn’t have names either.

He drove up a steep dirt track to the top of a hill and showed her the lay of his land while the minutes ticked away, the silences grew longer, and the tension between them reached excruciatingly lofty heights.

‘What time is it?’ she said.

‘Four thirty-eight.’

Thirty-eight minutes in each other’s company without bloodshed was good. ‘You about ready to call it an hour?’

‘God, yes,’ he muttered gruffly, and that was that.

He stood staring at the view while she got in the truck and smoothed her skirt down her legs as far as it would go. ‘It’s all good,’ she said. ‘You can get in now,’ she added, and sent him a bright and guileless smile to deflect the glittering gaze he shot at her.

He got in. They started down the dirt track at speed. Rafe was clearly in a hurry to put an end to this tour. It wasn’t wimpish to cling to the door handle and start reciting the Lord’s Prayer, was it?

He shot her a glance, still glittering but this time tinged with amusement. He slowed down a fraction.

‘I got a letter today,’ he said.

Letters were good. Of course…it all depended what was in them. She eyeballed him cautiously.

‘It was from someone calling himself Etienne de Morsay. Apparently, he’s the head of some remote kingdom on the edge of the Pyrenees. Do you know of him?’

‘Yes.’ It was a startling enough statement and question to get her attention and chase pesky things like unwanted desire for dark angels bearing grudges into the shadows for a time. ‘He was one of my father’s school friends. We used to stay at his estate whenever my father took us to Spain. He was always very nice to Luc and me.’

Simone frowned, remembering the tightness in Luc’s expression upon seeing Etienne de Morsay at the Hammerschmidt auction. ‘He was also the one who bid against Luc for the Hammerschmidt vineyard. The one who pushed the price through the roof. What did he want?’

‘He wants me to work for him for three months and oversee the restoration of a vineyard on his estate. He’s done his homework. He knows a lot about what I’ve done here. I’m trying to figure out how he even knows about me.’

‘Not from me.’ Simone shook her head. ‘I haven’t had any real contact with Etienne in years. He came to Daddy’s funeral. He attended the Hammerschmidt auction. Luc spoke with him afterwards.’ From a distance they’d looked like jaguar and lion at war over the same prey. Gabrielle had been with them for a time, remembered Simone, but she’d cut out fast. ‘Maybe Luc mentioned you. Or maybe my father did, years ago. I don’t know how you turned up on his radar. What I do know is that this isn’t a small commission. It’s a very prestigious one with significant nonmonetary benefits attached. Etienne de Morsay is a very influential man. Restore his vineyard to glory and your reputation throughout Europe as a premiere vigneron will be assured.’

Rafael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel at her words. He said nothing for a while, just concentrated on the road ahead, and then finally he spoke again. ‘De Morsay says he’s in Sydney. He wants a meeting. And he wants to see the vineyard.’

‘It’s up to you, of course,’ she said delicately, not quite sure whether Rafael was asking for her advice or making a statement. ‘But I would be inclined to arrange that meeting.’

‘I will.’ Rafael slid her a sideways glance. ‘What’s it like, this little kingdom of his on the edge of the mountains?’

‘Maracey?’ said Simone. ‘It’s very rugged. A little bit wild.’

‘What’s its main industry? Its main source of income?’

‘Not grapes,’ said Simone. ‘Brokerage, I think. Maracey territory is neutral ground. A lot of unofficial politicking takes place there. Daddy once said that without de Morsay diplomacy, mainstream Europe would have given up on Spain decades ago.’

They’d made it back to the cellar door car park. Rafe slid his truck into place beside the hired Audi.

‘Thank you for the tour,’ she said politely.

‘Thank you for the information.’

They were being civil. He was not looking at her as if he wanted to bed her, strangle her or both. Clearly, it was time to leave.

‘So…I’ll see you at the wedding,’ she said as she got out of his truck and prepared to shut the door.

‘Looking forward to it,’ he said.

Liar. She didn’t say it aloud. Apparently she didn’t have to. The look Rafe sent her acknowledged how hard he was going to find playing groomsman to her bridesmaid.

‘Play your part, Simone, and I’ll play mine,’ he muttered. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’

‘Of course,’ she said with a bright smile that masked every last one of her tumultuous feelings towards this man, not the least being anger at his assumption that she needed to be told how to behave. ‘I’m all for a wedding-day truce. On one condition.’

His vivid blue gaze hardened. ‘I don’t do conditions.’

He’d do this one. Simone smiled again. ‘I’ll keep my peace with you during this wedding ceremony and reception, Rafael. I’ll do it willingly, and not for you. But afterwards…don’t expect my patience with your boorish behaviour to continue.’

He smiled tightly. ‘You’re not bored.’

She could be gentle with him, just this once. ‘Neither are you. Why is that, do you think?’

‘Shut the door, Simone.’

‘In a minute.’ There was something else he needed to know. Something he would already know, damn him, if only he’d let himself remember the past. ‘Gabrielle and Luc are wonderful together, Rafe. I want their wedding day to be perfect. I want their marriage to be a success. The demands of the Duvalier empire can be harsh and unforgiving but Luc and I are aware of that. We’ll see to it that those demands don’t crash down on Gabrielle all at once. We’ll take good care of her. On my life and Luc’s, we’ll protect her as you have.’

He nodded and looked away, his jaw set. ‘I know you will.’