Emmie Dark - In His Eyes

What if everything he thinks about her is wrong?

Hugh Lawson and Zoe Waters have a tangled history. But she left ten years ago and he’s put her behind him. Except she’s here again—just when Hugh’s ready to make an offer for her family’s legendary vineyard. And her version of those long ago events is enough to make him question everything he thought he knew.

Hugh can’t let the past destroy his plans for the future. Which means he has to unravel the truth. But as he does, he begins to realize that he may have been as responsible for what happened as Zoe. And that going back could be the only way to move forward.

Zoe studied him curiously

Hugh couldn’t bring himself to look away.

If it was possible for ten years of hurt to be conveyed in someone’s eyes, then Zoe had mastered it.

When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Hugh, it was all a long time ago. We’re both very different people now.”

He certainly hoped so. They were going to have to find a way to deal with each other without this massive lump of history coming between them every time their eyes met.

Hugh wanted to buy Waterford—that meant discussions, negotiations, meetings. Interactions he intended to conduct as an adult, not a broken-hearted seventeen-year-old.

Dear Reader,

Like many people, I really enjoy an occasional glass of wine. It’s a reward after a hard day’s work, or a way to mark a celebration—whether it’s a birthday, an achievement or simply friends coming together to enjoy each other’s company.

I’m lucky enough to have two close friends, Kim and John, who own their own boutique winery—and make a very delicious shiraz. I’ve had the opportunity to do a little work with them over the years, and have seen from the inside both the pleasures and sheer hard work that come with winemaking. I’d like to thank Kim and John for their help with the insight into winemaking and their patience with my frequent questions. Any errors I’ve made are my own.

In this story, my heroine, Zoe, says it takes people of “steely determination and unwavering passion” to succeed in the industry. She’s right. I’ve visited wine regions in various parts of the world, and I will never forget the day I visited a winery where a frost had destroyed the estate’s entire grape crop the night before. Can you imagine? I would be inconsolable. But the owner shrugged and said something like, “It happens. There’s always next year.”

In a way, writing is very similar. It is an art, but there is a little science to it, too. Things don’t always turn out the way you think—characters sometimes have their own plans for themselves. And “steely determination and unwavering passion” are pretty much prerequisites for becoming a romance author!

I hope you enjoy Zoe and Hugh’s story. They’re two people with lots of passion and determination—they just need to find a way to apply it to what their hearts are telling them!

I’d love to hear from you. Visit me at www.emmiedark.com.

Cheers,

Emmie Dark

In His Eyes

Emmie Dark

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After years of writing press releases, employee newsletters and speeches for CEOs and politicians—none of which included any kind of kissing—Emmie Dark finally took to her laptop to write what she wanted to write. She was both amazed and delighted to discover that what came out were sexy, noble heroes who found themselves crossing paths with strong, but perhaps slightly damaged, heroines. And plenty of kissing.

Emmie lives in Melbourne, Australia, and she likes red lipstick, chardonnay, sunshine, driving fast, rose-scented soap and a really good cup of tea.

Books by Emmie Dark

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

ZOE WATERSDROVEUPTHE long, rutted drive and noted that the pale green farmhouse ahead of her desperately needed a new paint job. But then, it had needed one for as long as she could remember. Only these days—more than ten years since she’d last been here—it was beginning to seem as if the flakes of paint were what was holding the crumbling weatherboards together.

Zoe wasn’t sure whether she should feel comforted that so little had changed or disgusted by the neglect.

She pulled into the yard behind the house and climbed out of the rental car, stepping carefully to avoid the soft, squelching mud threatening her inappropriately delicate shoes.

The signs of dereliction were even more obvious here.

A strange, melancholy sense of déjà vu settled over her as she looked around. Now that she surveyed things closer up, it was clear that not only did little appear to have changed—pretty much nothing had. Everything had just decayed a touch more. The scattered car bodies near the back fence had rusted a little redder and sunk a little deeper into the overgrown grass. The door to the shed that held the tractor and her grandfather’s other old-fashioned and outdated farm equipment was crooked, the top hinge clearly broken.

Zoe sighed heavily and leaned against the car, warm from the two-hour drive from Melbourne.

The task ahead of her seemed to grow exponentially as she surveyed the ruins of Waterford Estate.

The only building that still looked in reasonable condition was the tin shed and converted refrigerated shipping container that housed the winery. Well, what passed for a winery on the Waterford estate. She wondered if all those rich people in Sydney, California and France on the Waterford mailing list who so eagerly awaited her grandfather’s vintage Shiraz each year would feel quite the same way if they could see where it came from.

She sighed again and ran a hand through her hair as the wind whipped the long strands into her eyes. Wrapping her light jacket more tightly around herself, Zoe shuddered—she’d forgotten the icy chill of the wind out here and how it could leach into your bones. Too much time in California. Too used to the endless sunshine and warm breezes, unlike the capricious weather of this part of the valley—stinking hot in summer, subject to grape-endangering frosts seemingly out of nowhere in spring. Right now—winter—the weather was at least somewhat predictable. Cold. With a side of rain and wind.

She mentally surveyed the contents of the suitcase still sitting in the boot of the car. She was going to have to buy some new clothes.

A trip into town. Yippee.

The thought sent a different kind of shiver through her.

Turning away from her survey of the ruined outbuildings, Zoe shielded her eyes from the weak sun. The Waterford vines stretched out in long, bare lines to the north and east of the house, dormant for the winter yet still visibly neglected. It was a tragic state for any viticulturist to see—some of the oldest vines in the valley, planted by Zoe’s great-great-grandfather and tended by a member of the Waters family for more than a hundred years.