Tessa Radley - The Saxon Brides

No, you don’t .

Finally, to her immense relief, he took her hand and shook it, before letting it drop. “What are you doing here?”

Alyssa found she was shaking. Roland had touched her. His skin had been warm and solid. Real. She’d met him. At last.

Struggling for composure, she said, “I’d like to arrange to interview you for a feature in Wine Watch .”

Now she had his full attention, but his expression had shifted to wariness. “What would the focus of the story be?”

“I’m doing a story on how some of the strongest brands in the industry have been built. As the marketing director of Saxon’s Folly Wines, I’d like your comments.”

“You haven’t been too complimentary about Saxon’s Folly in the past, Ms. Blake.”

“Maybe I’ve had a change of mind.” Please, God, let him believe it. She needed a chance to meet with him one-on-one. They had so much to talk about.

“I don’t know—”

“Please.” She was practically begging now. “It will be a positive article. I promise.”

“Why should I trust you? Joshua believed you were going to do a feature on the estate. Instead you lambasted his management methods.”

“Joshua Saxon had it coming,” she said heatedly. “He’s the most aggravatingly uncommunicative man I’ve ever interviewed.” The man had refused to see her in person, had given her precisely ten minutes of his time on the phone. And during each miserable second of those minutes his terse voice had made it clear that he was doing her a favour. A very junior cellar hand who’d been in the job for less than a week had shown her around the winery. Alyssa had asked him about his job and discovered that the previous cellar hand had been fired under very hush-hush circumstances. A few calls to the disgruntled former employee and she had a different story from the one she’d planned to do. Now she told Roland, “The facts bore me out.”

“Joshua didn’t think so.”

“I did my job.”

He looked her up and down. “Some job.”

“I tell the public what they ought to know.” She knew that sounded pious. So she drew a steadying breath. “Look, this is getting us nowhere. The piece I’m working on now is different. You can even see the copy before it goes to print.” Something she’d never offered but she had to see him privately.

He looked dubious. “Why the change of heart? And why ask me now, here at the ball? Why not contact me by more conventional ways, telephone—or even e-mail—to set up an appointment?”

I tried .

You never responded .

She’d tried as Alice McKay. She’d reveal Alice tomorrow. All she could do now was tempt him with the promise of a great profile. He was a marketing man. Unlike his arrogant brother, he knew he needed the goodwill of the press. “It will be great publicity for you, for Saxon’s Folly.”

But already he was moving past her. Time to give him an ultimatum. She spoke to his back. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Alyssa knew she’d lost his attention. “When?” Alyssa switched into the familiar role, closing the escape route. “I’m in the area tomorrow. Shall we meet at The Grapevine—” she named a popular café “—in town?”

He turned his head and gave a slow nod, and her heart leapt. At last! Quickly she confirmed a time. Alyssa wanted to punch a fist in the air and yell, “Yes.” After all the years …

But instead she smiled sedately and banished her impatience. Time enough tomorrow to celebrate.

Joshua Saxon was frowning. The fascination that his mystery lady in red held for him was fast becoming a compulsion. He’d been holding the two bottles of Perrier, and positioned himself so that he wouldn’t miss the lady when she reappeared. But she hadn’t.

Either he’d missed her. Or she hadn’t been as desperate to go to the cloakroom as she’d led him to believe.

He made for the balcony on the off chance that she’d passed him and gone outside.

As soon as he stepped outside he wished he hadn’t. Roland, no mask concealing his features, had Amy pinned against the balcony rail, trying to say something. But Amy was shaking her head wildly, her mask askew, telling Roland she was going home.

Under the hanging party lights Joshua caught a glimpse of tears streaking her cheeks. Roland growled that she wasn’t going anywhere.

None of his business. Neither of them would thank him for the interference.

Then he spotted a flash of dark red in the gardens below and all thoughts about his brother’s romantic problems fled. Alice. He leapt down the stairs that led to the garden.

“You aren’t leaving already, are you?”

She turned, her rich red dress swirling around her legs, every line of her body revealing her surprise.

“Umm …”

“You were.” Outraged, he stared at her. Suddenly it had become critically important to know who the provocative woman was, where to find her. But he couldn’t tell her that. Instead he said, “You can’t leave before the unmasking.” He checked his Rolex. “It’s only three-quarters of an hour away. And then the real party begins.”

“I need to make this an early night.”

Joshua almost laughed. Women rarely used that line on him. “The Saxon ball happens only once a year. No early night tonight.”

“I have a big day tomorrow.”

“Big day?” His curiosity was well and truly captured.

“Work.”

She definitely wasn’t the most talkative woman he’d ever met. And that intrigued the hell out of him. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Work? On a Sunday?”

She nodded. “Some of us are slaves to demanding bosses.”

Her lips curved into an irresistible smile, and Joshua found himself smiling back. He couldn’t imagine any boss forcing this woman to work against her will. He twisted the cap off one of the bottles of Perrier he held and handed it out to her. “At least take the time to finish the drink you needed so badly.”

She looked startled, and a little embarrassed colour stained the elegant jaw that the mask didn’t cover. “Oh, thank you.”

“Do you want a glass?” Joshua twisted the cap off his own bottle.

“No, this is fine.”

He gave her a reckless grin. “I probably wouldn’t get you one—you might disappear again.” Tilting his head to one side, he waited for her response. For an explanation of where she’d been.

But she only drew a sip and said, “Mmm, this is good.”

The soft hum of appreciation riveted his attention on her mouth; the lips pursed against the top of the bottle were full and lush as she drank thirstily from the bottle. A sudden stab of sexual awareness pierced him.

“Dance with me,” he said brusquely. He wanted to hold her in his arms again, feel her body against his.

“Here?”

“Why not?” Joshua moved closer. Out here there were no hordes of dancers to navigate in an overheated room. It was private in the cool intimacy of the gardens.

She didn’t resist as he took the bottle from her fingers and propped it with his against the base of a Nikau palm. Nor did she utter a word of objection as one arm slid round her waist and drew her toward him.

His left hand closed around her right. Their bodies caught the rhythm first, then their feet started to shuffle against the night-damp grass.

She smelled of jasmine and heady notes of ylang-ylang. On a conscious level Joshua found his vintner’s nose analysing the feminine mix of scents, scents only a woman confident of herself, of her sexuality and her place in the world would wear. The man in him responded to the rich, sensual aromas on another—much baser—level.

Her hip slid against the top of his thigh.

Desire exploded through him. A rush of heat chased through his bloodstream, wild and unwanted. He resisted for an instant in time, then he shifted, giving in to the heat, his leg brushing between hers as they moved.