Читать книгу: «The Saxon Brides»

The Saxon Brides
Mistaken Mistress
Spaniard’s Seduction
Pregnancy Proposal

Tessa Radley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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About the Author

TESSA RADLEY loves traveling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teen Tessa wanted to be an intrepid foreign correspondent. But after completing a bachelor of arts degree and marrying her sweetheart she became fascinated with law and ended up studying further and practicing as an attorney in a city practice.

A six-month break traveling through Australia with her family reawoke the yen to write. And life as a writer suits her perfectly; traveling and reading count as research, and as for analyzing the world … well, she can think “what if” all day long. When she’s not reading, traveling or thinking about writing, she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons, or her zany and wonderful friends. You can contact Tessa through her website, www.tessaradley.com.

Mistaken Mistress

For Lesley Marshall,

who is always an inspiration.

One

The annual Saxon’s Folly masked ball was already in full swing when Alyssa Blake crept up the cobbled drive.

“Walk tall,” she whispered to herself as she skirted the shadows between the rows of parked Mercedes and Daimler cars. “Look like you belong.”

The winery’s historic homestead came into sight, brightly lit against the dark sky. A triple-storey white Victorian building that had withstood more than a century of fires, floods and even an infamous Hawkes Bay earthquake. With every step the music grew louder, even though Alyssa couldn’t yet see the partygoers.

At the top of the stone stairs a large uniformed man blocked the double, wooden front doors. Alyssa came to a halt.

Butler?

Or guard?

She wavered for a moment, her heartbeat quickening as her eyes scanned the building.

Don’t panic.

“I’ve lost my invitation.” She practised the timeworn excuse to herself under her breath. It sounded lame. Particularly as she’d never received one of the sought-after silver-embossed, midnight-blue invitations. If the guard took the time to check, he wouldn’t find her on the guest list. But would he check?

Perhaps she could sashay past with a smile? What was the worst that could happen? The doorman, guard—or whatever he was—would fail to locate her on the list of invitees and demand her identity? No one would suspect Alyssa Blake, leading wine writer for Wine Watch magazine, of gate-crashing the annual Saxon’s Folly masked ball. Or at least only the few who knew how much Joshua Saxon, CEO of Saxon’s Folly Wines, detested Alyssa after the article she’d done a couple of years ago—and most people’s memories didn’t extend that far back.

There was a chance the burly doorman would let her in without a second glance. Wearing a long, ruby-red dress and her flamboyant black mask decorated with feathers and diamante studs, it was unlikely he’d suspect her being a gatecrasher. Alyssa hauled in a shaky breath.

She’d made up her mind to brazen her way past the doorman—guard, whatever—when a side door opened and light streaked out into the night. A couple slid out into the embrace of the darkness, laughing. The door swung closed but the latch failed to click shut.

Quickly, like a thief in the night, Alyssa slipped into the enormous homestead. She stood to one side of the entrance hall. Ahead of her, an imposing staircase swept upward.

At the top of the stairs Alyssa stepped into a different world—a world of wealth and privilege where women fluttered like designer-clad butterflies in the arms of men in dress suits and bow ties.

After one glance, she dismissed the dancers. Instead she scanned the vast reception room, searching … searching for the man she’d gone to the lengths of gate-crashing a masked ball to find.

“Have you just arrived?”

She looked up into a pair of glittering dark eyes shielded by a black mask.

“I’m a little late,” she managed, her nerves rolling as the realisation sank in that she’d made it to the ball.

“Better late than never.”

“Never say never,” she quipped, wagging a finger at him.

He laughed. “A woman of strong opinions, right?”

“And proud of it.”

His voice was husky, oddly familiar … and terribly sexy. A sweeping glance from behind her mask showed her that he was tall, the broad, hard planes of his body showing to best advantage in the superbly tailored dinner jacket. Dark hair topped his head while a black mask concealed his face. A handsome face, she speculated.

“Dance with me.” He stretched an imperious arm out. Mr. Tall, Dark and Probably Handsome wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Not that those attributes had any effect on her. She preferred her dates kind, caring and capable … qualities that were becoming harder to find. She stared at the demanding arm.

“I take it that silence means yes?”

Before she could object that it most definitely meant no the arm locked around her shoulder and he propelled her toward the dance floor. She started to object. She wasn’t here to celebrate the budding of the new season’s vines, she’d come with a purpose … and it wasn’t to dance with this sexy, cocky stranger. But nor did she intend to cause a scene and be noticed.

If Joshua Saxon discovered her presence, he’d toss her out before she could even try to explain why she was here. Better not to cause a stir by refusing. At least she would blend in better with the crowd. And she could continue her search from the dance floor.

She let him sweep her into his arms and into the throng of dancers. The covetous glances her partner drew made her reevaluate whether this had been a good idea. Perhaps dancing with him would attract the attention she was so keen to avoid. She assessed him through her eyelashes, measuring what the other women saw: broad shoulders beautifully displayed in a dinner jacket, an uncompromising jawline. She glanced upward into eyes that gleamed behind the black mask.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his voice deep.

She considered that. If he was a member of the wine fraternity, they might have met at a wine show. It was possible he might have seen her during the occasional appearance she made on television, a guest spot on a food show … or perhaps he’d read her Wine Watch articles or the column she wrote for The Aucklander newspaper. But none of those meant he knew her.

So she shook her head.

“Well, I’m going to enjoy seeing your face when we unmask at midnight—it’s a tradition.” As a pair of dancers jostled them, he leaned toward her. “Do you have a name, Oh Silent One?”

Alyssa hesitated, transfixed by the way the hard line of his mouth tilted up into a smile. The contrast was intriguing. “Alice,” she said finally, using the name on her birth certificate rather than the name she’d reinvented herself under as a teenager.

“Alice?” Those lips curved further, deepening the sensual smile. “Do you feel as if you’ve stepped through the looking glass, Alice?”

If he only knew.

“A little,” she confessed in a low voice.

He bent his head closer. “Does that mean this is the first spring masquerade you’ve attended?”

“Yes.”

“That explains why you’re not wearing a costume.”

She let her gaze linger pointedly on his dinner jacket. “You’re not in costume, either.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t have time to plan it this year.”

A busy man, then. But he didn’t need the trappings of a Robin Hood or a regency rake, she decided. He was commanding enough in his own right.

“Most women live to dress up.”

His comment set her teeth on edge. “I am not most women.”

He laughed softly. “I’ll be even more intrigued to meet you face-to-face at midnight. So Alice, you don’t like to dress up, but are you like all the Cinderellas—” he waved a dismissive hand at the beautiful women around them “—here to find a wealthy Prince Charming?” A tinge of cynicism coloured his deep voice.

“Definitely not here to find Prince Charming, wealthy or otherwise.” But she shivered at his percipience. She was certainly here to find someone.

“You’re not given to much conversation.” He sounded far too curious for her liking.

“All these people,” she simpered. “I’m not used to it.”

His gaze raked her. “I’d peg you as a sophisticated city girl—not someone who’d be nervous around people.”

Alyssa glanced down at the plunging V-neckline of her ruby-red dress. She’d better take care … he was altogether too astute. Her pulse pounded in her head. She couldn’t afford to be thrown out—this was her best chance. “Perhaps it’s the excitement. The music … the beautiful people, the handsome masked man.” Her voice was sweeter than syrup. She glanced up through the satin strip of her mask to see how the flattery was going down and caught a white flash of teeth.

“As long as you’re not nervous, Alice,” he whispered. “That’s not allowed.”

Alyssa shuddered as his warm breath skimmed her sensitive ear and arousal shot unexpectedly through her.

“You are nervous. You’re trembling.”

She couldn’t remember the last time a stranger had had such an immediate effect on her. Safer to say nothing.

“You’re the most silent woman I’ve ever met,” he growled, and pulled her closer to avoid a couple dancing with far too much enthusiasm in the mass of bodies.

“Not always.” Not when she wasn’t watching every word—her normal stock-in-trade—in case she slipped up. This disturbing stranger was far too confident … and she was not in the frame of mind to handle him.

Not tonight.

A flash of red hair caused her head to whip around, and reality came crashing in.

Roland! She couldn’t mistake him, not even with a rakish pirate’s eye patch. The red hair was a giveaway. He held a slim, dark-haired sprite in his arms. Across the crowded room Alyssa followed the couple’s progress over her partner’s broad shoulder, saw Roland say something to the brunette and watched her reply.

Alyssa had read that her name was Amy … and she was Roland’s fiancée. The two of them slowed and left the dance floor.

Panic surged through Alyssa. She couldn’t lose them—him. Not when she’d come so close.

“I’m parched, I need a drink,” she said, not caring how abrupt she sounded, and freed herself unceremoniously from her partner’s hold.

“What would you like?” Her stranger showed every sign of coming with her.

“I’ll find myself something.” Alyssa glanced anxiously after her quarry and back to the partner she’d failed to shake.

She mustn’t give herself away.

He was much too distracting, too perceptive. She didn’t want any third parties overhearing what she had to say to Roland. This was private. Too important. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m sure there are other people you should be mingling with … dancing with.”

He wouldn’t lack for partners. He danced like a dream … confident … moving with rhythmic grace, a man aware of his attraction and power. She jerked away from him.

His sensuous mouth twisted. “None as interesting as you, Alice. What would you like to drink? A glass of Saxon’s Folly Sauvignon Blanc? I can recommend last season’s vintage.”

Perhaps letting him get her a drink would get rid of him. “Just water, please.”

He beckoned to a waiter who arrived at breakneck speed.

So much for getting rid of him. Alyssa resisted the urge to swear.

“Just water?” His eyes gleamed through the mask. At her nod, he turned to the waiter. “Two bottles of Perrier.”

Alyssa forced herself not to look for Roland, but she was anxiously aware that if she didn’t find him now, she might lose him again.

“I need the cloakroom,” she improvised. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she flung over her shoulder, and dived into the crowd.

A glance back showed that her Mr. Tall, Dark and Probably Handsome had been detained by two women who each kissed him enthusiastically on both cheeks, the mask clearly an ineffective disguise to the ambitious Cinderellas. Impatience was carved into every line of his tall, muscular body, but he murmured a polite response.

Good, he wasn’t following.

Then Alyssa put him out of her mind as she wove her way between men in tuxedos, women in silk and satin dresses, intent on finding the man she’d come to confront.

But Roland—and his fiancée—had vanished.

Alyssa hurried out onto the balcony outside, brushing past Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara flirting in the shadows, and a couple of men smoking alone.

She peered over the white wrought iron railing, through the criss-cross shadows cast by a clump of tall Nikau palms, into the well-lit garden below. Two couples stood under the trees. Her breath caught. But neither man sported that distinctive red hair. Her pulse quickening with urgency, Alyssa hurried along the wide balcony and down a set of steep narrow stairs and slipped through the side door back into the homestead.

Sweeping up the long skirts of her dress, she hurried, peering into rooms she passed. A quick scan of the large dining room with tables laden with finger food failed to reveal Roland.

Roland must’ve taken his fiancée—Amy—upstairs. Alyssa hesitated, eyeing a staircase that appeared to lead to another wing. The bedrooms must be up there. What if she disturbed them in an … intimate moment?

Her teeth played with her bottom lip. She’d come so far, she couldn’t chicken out now. Drawing a deep breath, she moved toward the stairs.

But before she got there, the door on her right swung open and a brunette burst out. Amy. Her colour was high, her hair mussed. Alyssa stopped, and then Roland came rushing into the corridor, his eye patch in his hand, his expression determined.

“Amy, listen to—”

“Roland?” Like a sleepwalker Alyssa reached out and touched his arm. “Roland Saxon?”

She knew exactly who he was but she couldn’t help enunciating the name that had been imprinted on her mind for years.

He gave her an impatient glance. “Yes?”

“I’m—” She hesitated, her mind suddenly blank. Everything she’d planned to say withered under the attack of doubt devils. Dare she reveal herself as Alice McKay? He hadn’t responded to any of her letters or e-mails, so why should he be any more welcoming now?

He glanced past her to where the brunette had taken the main stairs and disappeared in the direction of the ballroom.

Concerned that he would brush by her and vanish again, Alyssa thrust out her hand and said, “I’m Alyssa Blake. I’m—”

Recognition flared in the eyes that met hers in astonishment. “The journalist who did that hatchet job on Saxon’s Folly. Yes, I know who you are.”

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.

She gave a little gasp, and her body softened into his.

Instantly Joshua relinquished her hand and wound his arm around her shoulders pulling her closer. She was slim and soft in the curve of his arms. He bent his head, nuzzled the smooth skin under her jaw, and heard the sharp, telling little exhalation.

“You smell wonderful,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” She sounded breathless. “You smell pretty good yourself.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Goodness, we should start a mutual olfactory admiration society.”

He doubted that her sense of smell ruled her life as it did his. While he didn’t have his younger brother Heath’s highly developed ability, he’d grown up at Saxon’s Folly immersed in wine, and smelling was as natural to him as breathing.

He nuzzled again. “You smell of dewy nights and dark, exotic spices.” He heard her breathing quicken. This time he pressed a soft kiss under her jaw. She quivered. “So soft,” he murmured throatily.

“Oh.” A sigh escaped her.

Joshua took that as license to nibble gently, and she arched in his arms, her response unequivocal.

His hands explored the bare skin of her back. Under his fingertips he could feel the electric tension tightening within her. But she didn’t push him away. By the time he slid his lips across hers she was ready, her lush lips parted.

She tasted fresh and cool. Of mint and the hint of lemon in the Perrier. A powerful surge of hunger swarmed through him. Instead of tasting carefully, proceeding slowly, he yanked her close and devoured her mouth.

A wild sound escaped the back of her throat. Then her hands were raking up the corded muscles of his back, across his shoulders, her touch sparking a rush of energy that pooled in his groin.

His feet gave up all pretence of dancing. Behind his head her fingers rubbed against the exposed skin of his neck, before burying themselves in his hair. He groaned into her mouth. His tongue swept across the soft, slick inside of her bottom lip, tangled with the sleek wetness of her tongue, then plundered the back of her mouth.

Her response was instant and arousing. Her body tensed against his, and desire ratcheted up inside him until he felt that his skin was too tight. Restlessly, he ground his hips against her, acutely conscious of the blatant hardness of his erection straining for freedom. She moved, too, equally unsettled, and Joshua felt arousal kick up to the next level, his hormones telling his head there was only one place where this could end.

His bed.

For a moment he fought the savage urge. Too soon. He’d never bedded a woman he didn’t know enough about to be relatively certain he’d still like her in the morning.

“God.” He lifted his head, his breathing heavy.

“I should go.” But she didn’t sound very sure.

“Why?” he demanded, and his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

“Because it would be the sensible thing to do. And I’m always sensible.” But her breathlessness belied her claim.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to do something wild? Something totally out of character? Something that might change the rest of your life?” He murmured the inflammatory words against her lips, knowing that was what he was doing now. Allowing his body to rule his brain and letting go with this stranger was the kind of risk he, who liked his odds very carefully calculated, never took.

“Yes, I did that tonight.”

He raised his head a little, trying to read the glitter in her eyes behind the mask, in the pale silver light of the crescent moon overhead.

“By coming here at all,” she said cryptically.

“Come with me.” Joshua reached for her hand and pulled her toward the house, leading her down a dark passage, through the empty hallway to a set of stairs that descended to his suite.

She baulked. “We can’t go down there.”

“Hush. Trust me.”

She trailed behind him as he hurried down the stairs and past the living room that he shared with Roland.

“I suppose there are etchings you want to show me?” But beneath the bite there was breathlessness.

“No etchings.” Joshua veered left toward his destination. “Come here, babe.” He didn’t bother to switch on the lights before he took her in his arms.

“But—”

He kissed her objections away. And when her hands ran over his back, Joshua groaned out aloud. He couldn’t wait for this. Couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this much. He tore off his mask. The expensive Italian-styled dinner jacket landed on the floor, and Joshua yanked the snaps of the dress shirt open.

The touch of her fingertips on the bare skin of his chest was electric. Joshua bit back a curse of pure ecstasy. She drew her palms across his pectorals.

Joshua shuddered.

He drove his tongue deep into her mouth and shifted his hips, knowing she must be aware of how incredibly turned on he was. But she didn’t flinch. Instead her fingers teased, exploring the ridges of his abdominal muscles, brushing his lower belly.

“Woman, you’re killing me,” he said hoarsely.

She gave a little throaty laugh.

That was enough. His senses on fire, Joshua drew her to the bed and came down on the cover beside her. In the darkness he cupped her head in his hands, her hair soft and silky between his fingers. The ties of the mask tangled in his fingers and he tugged them loose. He kissed her cheeks where the mask had rested … her neck … and moved his lips to where he guessed the V-neckline of her outrageous dress would be.

She wasn’t laughing now. Her body arched beneath him, and the swell of her breasts brushed his arm.

“Alice.”

She stilled.

Then his hand closed over the fabric-draped softness of her breast. He heard her gasp out loud.

“Ah, Alice, this is going to be good. I promise.” Impatiently, he peeled the dress down over her shoulders—and discovered she wore no bra. He bent his head to taste the skin he’d exposed.

“Joshua.”

The call jarred Joshua back to reality an instant before the bedroom door burst open. He rolled in front of her, shielding her from the intruder.

Dim light backdropped the figure who stood in the doorway. Joshua snarled, “Dammit, Heath. Can’t you knock?”

Two

The bedside light clicked on. Brightness spilled into every corner of the room, hurting Alyssa’s eyes.

But she didn’t blink. She couldn’t take her eyes off the half-naked man on the bed beside her. The high, slanting cheekbones and black eyes were all too familiar. She’d studied photos of him, wondering how someone so utterly beautifully and flagrantly male could be such an arrogant swine.

Joshua Saxon.

No wonder his voice had sounded so damn familiar. She pulled her knees to her chest and yanked the bedcover over her nakedness, then buried her head in her hands, humiliation crawling through her.

“What do you want, Heath?” There was an edge to Joshua’s voice as he sat up and addressed his brother.

Through the cracks between her fingers, Alyssa peered toward the door. Heath Saxon. The younger, rakehell brother. He’d been featured in Wine Watch as a winemaker to watch. In the photo accompanying the profile, he’d been smiling, tanned. Now he hovered indecisively in the doorway. Until, a flush burning into his pasty skin, he said awkwardly, “Sorry, Joshua, but there’s been an accident.”

Joshua’s shoulders bunched under the open shirt. “An accident?”

Alyssa’s hand dropped to cover his.

“Roland’s been hurt,” Heath said. “We need to go to the hospital.”

Roland hurt? Alyssa was off the bed in an instant, pulling up the neckline of her dress.

“Roland’s my brother,” Joshua said to Alyssa. Then his focus returned to his brother. “What kind of accident?”

“A car accident.”

“What the hell happened?” Joshua asked the question before Alyssa could.

Heath shook his head. “I don’t know, but an ambulance has taken him and Amy to hospital.”

That catapulted Joshua into action. He leapt off the bed, started buttoning his shirt and trod into his shoes. “Do the parents know?”

Heath’s eyes darkened. “I told them there’d been an accident, that you and I would go see how bad it was. They’re telling everyone the party’s over.”

“Good move.” Joshua headed for the door. “If it’s necessary, they can come to the hospital later.”

Before he could disappear, Alyssa said, “I’m coming with you.”

To her relief both men were more concerned with getting to the hospital than arguing with her. Heath gave her a searching look—then glanced at Joshua and raised his eyebrows. Alyssa knew he was making assumptions—assumptions that were totally wrong. He thought she was Joshua’s lover. She didn’t bother to disillusion him.

Nor was it the time to get into lengthy discussions about her relationship to Roland … a revelation that she suspected might come as a huge shock to both men. Joshua was not to find out who she was. She didn’t need a crystal ball to know that she would be unceremoniously tossed out the house.

She couldn’t afford that. She had to find out how badly Roland was hurt.

Once in Joshua’s Range Rover, the tension became palpable. Joshua drove like a man with a lethal mission, in total silence, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. Beside him Heath made call after call from his cell phone, growing increasingly frustrated when he couldn’t get answers out of the emergency staff.

Alyssa huddled down in the back, doing her best to remain invisible lest either man question her right to be here. She prayed that Roland’s injuries were minor. Hopefully he’d be discharged tonight. It would be unbearable if, after all the waiting, she couldn’t meet with him tomorrow.

The moment the Range Rover braked outside the hospital, the three of them leapt out, hurrying for the glass doors that led to the emergency room.

Inside the smell of urgency and antiseptic injected dread into Alyssa. As Joshua’s voice rose, she heard the nurse murmuring “in surgery” and “someone will be with you soon.” Alyssa stopped a distance away. Heath asked a series of short, sharp questions and Alyssa strained her ears to hear the reply. She heard “shocked” and “will need supervision” before Joshua replied, his voice cutting. Alyssa felt for the nurse. He’d used that same voice on her in the past after her story had been printed. It had riled her enough to tell him to get lost before she’d slammed the phone down. But now she hoped it would get the answers they all wanted.

When Joshua came back to where she’d settled to wait, his mouth was tighter than before and lines of strain were etched across his forehead.

“How is my—” Alyssa broke off.

Joshua did a double take. “Your … what?” he prompted softly.

Furious with herself for the near giveaway and fighting to keep her face impassive, she asked in an even tone, “How is Roland?”

Instinct warned her that it was vital not to let Joshua Saxon know how important his answer was to her. He detested Alyssa Blake. As soon as he realised who he’d been kissing … touching … stripping … in the dark, he was going to explode.

“He’s in surgery. No news yet about the extent of his injuries.” The chair scraped against the polished floor as Joshua threw himself down beside her. “Thankfully Amy got off with only some bruising from the seat belt when the car hit a tree.”

Hit a tree? A vision of mangled steel and broken glass flashed across Alyssa’s mind. The sound of screams and groaning metal rent her imagination. She bit her lip and focused instead on Joshua’s drawn features, the beauty dimmed by the savage line of his mouth. For a moment she felt a sense of kinship with him.

“Joshua?”

He lifted his head at the intrusion and the spell was broken. Alyssa felt the loneliness return, stronger and more pervasive than before. There was no bond between her and Joshua Saxon—at least none that wasn’t based on sex. She shook away the disappointment.

Heath was heading toward them. “The nurse says they’ve finished checking Amy out and it shouldn’t be long until she’s back here.”

“It’s a relief that she wasn’t hurt. She could’ve been killed if they’re right about the speed the SUV was doing,” Joshua said darkly.

“Since when did Roland ever drive slowly?” Heath bit out.

Roland had been driving? Alyssa started to shiver with reaction. If only he’d been in the passenger seat …

She thought back to when she’d spoken to him. Had he and Amy had a lover’s tiff? Would he have had the accident if he hadn’t been upset?

“I heard them having a fight earlier in the evening. I considered breaking it up, then decided to mind my own business. My mind was on other things.” Joshua glanced at Alyssa, his face blank. “A mistake.”

So she was nothing more than a mistake. Tightness filled Alyssa’s chest.

“Not your fault,” said Heath. “No guy would welcome interference in that situation. You probably had it wrong. Amy and Roland never fight.”

Alyssa opened her mouth. “When I spoke to Roland—”

“You spoke to Roland?” Joshua interrupted Alyssa. “When?”

“Just before I decided to leave.”

“So before I spotted them on the balcony.” There was a peculiar note in Joshua’s voice. “What did you talk to him about?”

She stared at him, her hackles rising at his peremptory tone. She was a mistake, was she? Well, her business with Roland had nothing to do with him. “It wasn’t important.”

Joshua gave her a narrow-eyed glare filled with suspicion that told her he thought it was important. But before he could challenge her, a doctor in a white coat entered the reception, ushering a slender, white-faced young woman ahead of him.

Heath was on his feet. “Amy!”

Heath and Joshua both started forward.

“Are you her family?” asked the doctor.

“Yes,” said Joshua.

“No,” said Heath at that same moment.

There was a confused silence. The doctor looked from one to the other. “I need to see her family. She’ll require observation tonight.”

“We’ll take care of that,” said Joshua.

“I’ll take her home now,” added Heath, frowning as his gaze scanned Amy.

Alyssa flinched as she saw the scraped skin on the other woman’s pale face. Her fine-boned build made her look frail.

“She’s very lucky. Only one bruise from the seat belt. There’s not even a cracked rib or a broken clavicle where the seat belt restrained her. I have a list of symptoms to watch for. We’re particularly worried about concussion … or any form of head trauma. If she displays any of them bring her straight back.”

Amy stood, unmoving.

“Come on,” Joshua said, putting an arm around her, “Heath is taking you home.”

Amy blinked. “Where’s Roland?”

Joshua answered, “In surgery.”

There was a moment’s silence. “Will he be okay?” There was fear in Amy’s voice. “There was so much blood … and he was so quiet.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Heath said soothingly. “You know Roland, he always bounces back.”

Amy didn’t look reassured. “When will I be able to see him?”

“We don’t know yet.” Joshua’s frustration added a hard edge to his voice. “But I’ll soon change that.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Amy said with a stubbornness that belied her delicate appearance. “Not until I’ve heard what’s happening with Roland. And Heath won’t want to leave, either.”

“Don’t be a child, Amy,” Heath sounded exasperated. “You heard what the doctor said, you need rest and observation. There’s already one—” He broke off.

“Patient?” Amy’s chin lifted. “Don’t worry about me, I won’t collapse. You can observe me here. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen Roland.”

Alyssa suppressed the urge to cheer the other woman on for standing up to the overbearing Saxons. She knew exactly how Amy felt. She, too, wanted to see Roland with a deep, driving ache. She shifted restlessly.

Joshua’s gaze flickered to her before returning to Amy. “Can I get you anything while we wait?” His tone was gentle, not hinting at the frustration he must be feeling at Amy’s intransigence.

Amy shook her head violently. “I’m fine.”

But even Alyssa could see that the other woman was far from fine. How must Roland’s fiancée be feeling, waiting to hear the extent of her beloved’s injuries?

The waiting was bad enough for her. She’d only met Roland once. Very briefly. The man she’d been seeking for years …

A strand of hair fell forward. She stared at it. It was dark red—thankfully not the bright red that topped Roland’s head, more of an auburn shade. But it was something tangible that she shared with him.

There would be more links to discover once they got to know each other. There must be. After all, Roland was her brother and they shared the same DNA.

A stir at the doorway caused Alyssa to lift her head. Kay and Phillip Saxon—Roland’s adoptive parents—had arrived.

“How is he? Can we see him?” Kay’s eyes were frantic, and the powerfully built, gray-haired man beside her looked shattered. Everyone swarmed around them. Alyssa saw her chance.

She stopped a passing nurse. “Roland Saxon … where is he?”

“What’s your relationship to the patient?” The nurse glanced at the clipboard she held. “Are you the fiancée?”

She hesitated, glancing quickly back to where Kay Saxon was bending over Amy, patting her shoulder. It would be better if she didn’t lie outright and simply let the nurse assume she was Roland’s fiancée.

“My name is Alyssa Blake, I’m—”

“Alyssa Blake?” Joshua had come up behind her, unheard. Now his angry gaze impaled her.

Uh-oh.

“Are you the fiancée?” The nurse looked confused.

“No! She’s not my brother’s fiancée,” Joshua hissed from between clenched teeth.

Alyssa’s heart crashed to the floor as she read the disdain and rage in his eyes. Game over. She could kiss her hopes of seeing Roland tonight goodbye.

“So you’re Alyssa Blake, the journalist?”

Suddenly everyone was gathered around. Heath, his eyes almost as glacial as his brother’s. Kay and Phillip Saxon. Only Amy remained seated, her face cupped in her hands.

Alyssa’s gaze flickered from face to face. “Yes, I’m Alyssa—”

“You told me your name was Alice,” Joshua interrupted.

“It is—”

“Alice?” Kay Saxon had gone so white that her lips appeared bloodless.

“Don’t worry—her name isn’t Alice. She’s Alyssa Blake, that bloody journalist who—”

Alyssa cut across Joshua’s rant. “What does it matter right now what my name is? Roland is hurt.”

“You’re right! I’ve wasted enough time on a journalist in the business of telling lies.” Joshua’s gaze scorched her. “It’s my brother who’s important right now. Come, Heath.” Joshua stormed past her, his brother in his wake.

Feeling sick, Alyssa started to follow.

“Wait.” Kay Saxon grabbed her arm.

Alyssa stopped. Maybe Kay would let her see Roland if she told the older woman the truth. That Roland was her brother. That she’d dreamed for so long of this day … of finding her brother … of meeting him. Warily, she searched Kay Saxon’s face for a hint of softness.

“Did Joshua call you Alice?” Kay’s eyes held desperation.

“Yes.”

“But you introduced yourself as Alyssa Blake to the nurse.”

“Yes.” Where was this going? Alyssa could feel impatience rising in her. She needed to find a way to get to Roland’s side. To hold his hand, absorb his pain.

“Does that mean you’re Alice McKay?”

Alyssa froze. “What do you know about Alice McKay?”

“You contacted Roland.”

“Yes. He told you?” She’d wondered how Kay and Phillip would feel about her contacting Roland. It looked as if she was about to find out.

Phillip stood behind his wife, a solid wall of powerful flesh she’d have to scale to get to Roland. “Darling, the doctor will be here in a minute to talk to us.”

“Phillip …” Kay’s hand rested on his arm and Alyssa could see that the fingers were shaking. “Didn’t you hear? This is Alice McKay.”

After one startled moment when everything seemed to freeze, Phillip recovered and in a low voice demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Roland’s parents definitely knew who she was. But neither appeared welcoming. A sinking pit opened in Alyssa’s stomach. She lifted her chin. “I wanted to meet my brother.”

From across the room, she saw Joshua reappear and an ugly frown disfigured his handsome face when he saw her talking to his parents. Clearly he didn’t want them talking to the notorious Alyssa Blake.

“Now is not the time for this. We want you to leave,” Phillip ordered.

Alyssa stiffened and fisted her hands at her sides. “Now is exactly the time for me to be here—my brother is in surgery. I have every right to be here.”

Kay Saxon took her clenched hands. “I understand how you feel, but Roland wouldn’t want you here.”

Alyssa’s throat closed and she felt perilously close to the tears that she’d been fighting. “What do you mean?”

“He never responded to your letters or e-mails, did he?”

With heavy reluctance, Alyssa choked out, “No, he didn’t.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“That he didn’t get them?”

“He did receive them.” Kay’s eyes held shadows. “He chose not to reestablish contact.”

“But I’m his sister.” It was as though she’d ventured into a nightmare world, full of blood and death and unhappiness. All she’d wanted was a brother, a taste of family that most people took for granted. “He can’t not want to meet me!”

Phillip Saxon looked around, frowning.

Kay’s icy grip tightened around her fingers. “Dear, he’s a Saxon—the eldest. Not even his brothers and sister know that he’s adopted. Roland didn’t want it getting out.”

“No!” Her stomach churning, Alyssa rejected what she was hearing. She stared at Kay Saxon, hating the older woman for what she was saying. But then she took in Kay’s sincerity and the deeply etched lines of pain around her mouth and the hatred evaporated.

“This is hard enough for all of us right now, Alice. Don’t force us to reveal the truth … that Roland isn’t a Saxon.”

The impact of what Kay was saying pounded into her. Roland had rejected his birth sister in case their relationship took away his Saxon status. How could she stay under those circumstances?

Tears stung her eyes. “I just wanted to see him, hold his hand.”

“It would be selfish—and not what Roland wants,” Kay Saxon said softly, persuasively. “Right now we have to think about Roland.”

Blinking back her tears, Alyssa nodded. “All right.”

Relief flared in Kay’s eyes. “Thank you.” The older woman hesitated. “Do you have a cell phone, Alice?”

Alyssa nodded.

“Give me your number, dear. I’ll call you as soon as we get an update.”

Alyssa dug a business card out of her bag. Kay took it and pocketed it, glancing past Alyssa as she did so. “Now let’s all talk about something else—Joshua is coming.”

Three

Joshua made his way over to where his parents stood with Alyssa, Alice—whatever her damned name was.

He was aware of the incongruously glamourous, burgundy dress she wore and how it mirrored the colour of her long hair. Against the rich hue her bare shoulders gleamed like pale pearls.

Angrily he suppressed the flare of reckless want. He’d just taken a call from the surgery team advising that his brother was in critical condition—worse than the medical team had originally believed—and here he was lusting after Alyssa Blake, accomplished liar. It was insane.

But even as he drew closer, she gathered up her bag and rose to her feet. He stopped beside his parents and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, at a loss to convey what he had learned. As Alyssa started for the doors one hand shot out and snagged her arm. “Where are you going?”

She kept her head down and continued to walk. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait … I need some answers.”

But she pulled free of his hold and marched toward the external glass doors in a flurry of dark red. Joshua started after her, then stopped as Heath came over and murmured, “Have you told Mum and Dad?”

He shook his head.

His parents must come first.

The next two minutes were a nightmare as he relayed what the surgeon had told him. “It’s the internal bleeding they’re worried about, and the head injury. Roland wasn’t wearing a seat belt. He was catapulted from the SUV. The surgeon said they don’t expect to be out for hours.”

His mother’s eyes stretched wide, shocked. His father straightened stiffly. Heath, his brave, bad-boy brother, was still pale under his tan. Joshua knew they all feared the same unspoken thing—that Roland might die.

Through the glass doors he could see Alyssa Blake’s back, bare above that killer dress. She must be freezing. Then he put how cold she must be out of his mind.

All this had started with her arrival.

Anger turned his vision bright red. Leaving his parents with Heath, he stalked forward. The doors slid open and cool, dank night air rushed against his face.

The doors hissed closed behind him. Ahead lay the almost-empty car park. Alyssa didn’t spare him a glance.

He drew a deep, steadying breath. “You came with me. How do you propose to leave?”

She brandished a cell phone. “I’ve called a cab—I need to collect my car from your home.”

“You can’t be intending to drive back to Auckland tonight?”

“Don’t worry, there’s not a drop of alcohol in my system.” She gave him a sideways glance. “But, no, I won’t be leaving tonight. I want to stay near Roland.”

He drew another, deeper breath and forced himself not to react. Instead he said as calmly as he could manage, “You must be freezing. Here, take my jacket.” He started to shrug off the black dinner jacket he’d grabbed before they’d left the homestead.

But she said, “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“You’ve got gooseflesh.” He touched the skin on her upper arms, and she leapt away as if he’d singed her.

“I don’t need it. The taxi will be here in a moment.”

“You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

She stilled. “Okay, thank you.”

He slid the jacket off. It sounded as if it had taken a lot for her to accept his offer of help. Contrary damn woman. Watching her wind the jacket around herself, he relaxed a little as the pale tempting flesh disappeared out of sight.

“Where will you stay?”

Her mouth curled. “Don’t worry, you won’t need to track me down. I’ll return it to you tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

She named a popular hotel in town.

“And you’re leaving tomorrow, right?” Part of him wanted her to leave, never come back. He couldn’t help the ridiculous superstitious stab of dread that her arrival had heralded Roland’s accident. But there was another part of him, the sybaritic pagan part, who wanted to see her again. Touch her again. Kiss her again.

For one reckless instant he considered doing just that. It would be so easy. One tug, and she’d be up against his chest. He’d feel her body warm against his, he’d taste her lips under his mouth. The cold that froze him inside might seep away under her touch … her kisses.

And then he’d despise himself for it. He shook his head to clear it.

Maybe Alyssa Blake was a witch.

“I might leave tomorrow. It depends.” Alyssa gave him a sideways glance.

But Joshua barely heard. He frowned as he took in her red-rimmed eyes, the silvery stains on her cheeks where the wind had already dried the tears. “You’ve been crying.”

Quickly she averted her face.

“Why?”

The look she gave him revealed too little. Secrets, he thought suddenly. He glanced through the glass doors and his gaze landed on Amy, curled up in the chair, her face wearing an expression of intense misery.

His gaze came back to Alyssa and narrowed. Instead of drowning her, his dinner jacket simply increased her upmarket city sexiness. She was gorgeous, stylish, smart. The kind of woman Roland had always dated before he’d become engaged to Amy….

And Amy had been upset earlier this evening—she and Roland had fought, even though it was common knowledge they never fought. The uncertain suspicion coalesced into certainty.

Alyssa had been having an affair with Roland.

She must have confronted Roland during the evening, and Amy had found out.

It wasn’t important, Alyssa had said when Joshua asked her about her conversation with his brother. He’d known from the flicker in her eyes that she’d been lying. The conversation had been very important.

And now Roland was unconscious….

No wonder Alyssa was upset. Did she feel responsible for causing her lover’s accident?

Did she love his brother?

He raked his hands through his hair as unruly thoughts churned round and round in his overwrought brain. “Who invited you to the ball tonight? You weren’t on the list of official guests—it had to be a personal invitation.” From Roland?

“I didn’t have an invitation. I gate-crashed.” There was defiance in her gaze.

Then she turned away. He heard what she had, the sound of the taxi pulling up at the curb.

But all he could think about was that Roland hadn’t invited her. Or she could be lying. Again. “Why? What did you hope to achieve?”

She didn’t answer and started to move away.

“Tell me, dammit.” Without thought, he reached for her. His hands closed over her shoulders covered with the fine fabric of his jacket. He glared down into her blank features, her lashes lying long and dark against her cheeks. “Tell me!”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Had she tried to break up Roland’s engagement? He struggled to read the beautiful, frozen face. “I think it does.”

She didn’t answer. He slid his hands down and circled her wrists, gave them a shake to get her to meet his gaze.

Wrapped in his jacket, she stood unmoving. And strangely that made him even angrier. He wanted her to object to his hold, he wanted her to struggle, to see her eyes spit fire at him; he didn’t like the limp arms in his grasp, the listlessness in her eyes.

So he softened his grasp and said with quiet menace, “What did you want at Saxon’s Folly tonight?”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.”

He heard the taxi door open.

“Ma’am, did you book the taxi?”

He looked over her shoulder. “The lady’s not ready to leave yet.”

“But I am,” she murmured.

His brows drew together. “I want an answer before you go. What did you want?”

What had happened between her and Roland? Had Roland sent her away—was that why she’d kissed him out in the garden? To get back at Roland? Was that why she’d landed in his bed?

As revenge against his brother?

He didn’t like that idea at all. Yet he couldn’t seem to bring himself to release her arm. The pain in her eyes damn near killed him.

He’d never envied his older brother, but now he did.

Whatever happened, if Roland survived the hours of surgery that lay ahead, Joshua wasn’t going to allow Alyssa to rekindle whatever affair she and Roland had going. He told himself that his resolve had nothing to do with the wild feeling that Alyssa had aroused in him; he had Amy to think about. Sweet Amy who was expecting to marry Roland in two months’ time.

Behind him he heard the doors whisper open.

“Joshua?”

He turned and glared at Heath. “What?”

“Mother wants you.”

Alyssa pulled free. “I’ll get your jacket back to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about the damn jacket.” Inside he seethed. “This conversation is not finished. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She wouldn’t flee town overnight, not while the outcome of Roland’s surgery was unknown. Secure in that knowledge he turned on his heel and followed his brother back into the hospital.

It was going to be a long night.

The sound of her cell phone ringing shattered Alyssa’s restless sleep. The compressing darkness of the hotel room lay like a heavy blanket around her.

It would be Joshua calling to finish the conversation he’d started outside the emergency room. Alyssa dragged herself upright. She wasn’t ready for this confrontation. Then she spotted the green digital numerals of the clock radio and her heart jolted with fear. Four-thirty in the morning. Too early to be Joshua.

Her hand trembling, she picked up the phone.

“Where are you staying?” Little composure remained in Kay Saxon’s voice.

Alyssa’s heart slammed against her ribs in fear as she automatically gave Kay the information she sought. “Is Roland okay?” she asked shakily.

There was an ominous silence. Then Kay said, “I’ll send a cab. You need to come now.” The phone went dead.

It had to be bad.

With few alternatives—the red dress or a pin-striped business suit—Alyssa threw on the pair of baggy sweats and sweater she’d worn for the drive down to Hawkes Bay and was downstairs in minutes. By the time the lights of the cab cut through the dark gray pre-dawn light she was already out on the sidewalk.

Too soon she’d reached the white hospital building. Inside, everything was quiet. She made for the front desk. “Where will I find Roland Saxon?”

“Are you Alice?” A nurse came around the desk at her silent nod. “Come, I’ll take you to him.”

Sick with anxiety, Alyssa was led through double-seal doors into a unit filled with beeps and a sense of life-and-death gravity. At the sound of hissing as the ventilator rose and fell, fear shafted through Alyssa.

She took in the couple hovering by the bed.

Kay and Phillip Saxon.

On a high bed lay a prone figure wrapped in dressings, attached to the life-support machines, an oxygen mask over his face, so swollen that he was rendered unrecognizable. Only the shock of red hair sticking out from the head dressing revealed that this was Roland.

“You have five minutes,” the nurse whispered. “Only family are supposed to be here—and only two at a time. I’ve already stretched the rules.” Then she was gone in a rustle of starch.

Kay Saxon turned, her eyes puffy. She’d aged in the past few hours. “I’m glad you made it.”

“How is he?”

“He’s unconscious. I’m not sure how much is induced—”

Alyssa said desperately, “But he’s going to be all right.”

He had to be.

Kay took her hands. “The doctors don’t think so. That’s why I called you. I couldn’t live with myself if—” Her voice broke.

Cold dread suffocated Alyssa. “They think he’s going to die?”

Kay hesitated. “They told us to call anyone who might want to see him. They warned us to prepare for the worst.”

Her world crashed in. Alyssa fell to her knees, stretching her hands to touch the heavily bandaged hands of the man in the bed.

Her brother.

Her brother who was dying.

Kay sniffed behind her, but Alyssa was crying so hard she couldn’t think.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to have ended.

She was to see him tomorrow. Today. She’d been looking forward to reuniting with the brother she’d been searching for since she was eighteen.

“Nooo!” It was a wail of anguish.

Then Kay was holding her and murmuring to her not to cry because it might upset Roland. As Alyssa’s tears subsided, Kay pulled away. “Alyssa, the boys are coming, and I don’t want them to find you here. Phillip and I don’t want to have to answer their questions. Please, for our sakes—for Roland’s sake—will you go now?”

Before Alyssa could answer, the nurse was there, waiting to escort her out.

She wanted to beg for more time. Her throat closed. The words didn’t come. Finally, she swallowed and managed to speak. “Give me one minute. To say—” her voice cracked “—goodbye.”

Kay nodded and waved off the nurse.

Alyssa bent forward, her lips colder than ice as they brushed the forehead of the man in the bed. She noticed a drip of liquid on his forehead. Water? Another splash. No—tears, she realised. Her tears.

Closing her eyes she prayed. For Roland. For herself. For a miracle. For all the years they’d missed. Then she kissed him and murmured, “Au revoir.”

Blinded by tears, she turned for the door, the room a blur.

Joshua hurried toward the hospital elevator, Heath and his younger sister, Megan, flanking him on either side. The panel above the elevator doors showed that a car was already descending and Joshua found himself drumming his fingers as they waited for the doors to open. Hurry. Hurry.

The doors opened. A nurse exited. Then Joshua saw Alyssa coming out. “How did you get here?”

“In a cab.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He turned to his brother and sister. “You go ahead, I’ll see you upstairs.”

While he waited for the elevator to depart, he inspected Alyssa’s features, taking in the hollows under her eyes, the lack of makeup and the way her glorious hair had been pulled back from her face, as though she’d gotten ready in a hurry. In the tatty sweats she looked nothing like the sophisticated woman he’d met … was it only last night?

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes flicked away from his. “I came to find out if there was any news about Roland’s condition.”

Joshua’s mouth tightened; he suspected she was dissembling. The suspicion of earlier was back in full force. “Why are you so upset? What’s Roland to you?”

She shook her head and didn’t answer.

Joshua couldn’t help thinking about Amy, brokenhearted and sedated for shock. “Heath had to give Amy a sleeping tablet. He’s left her at his home, with his housekeeper watching over her. How could you, Alyssa?”

Alyssa let her hands drop and stared at him blankly.

“She and Roland are getting married in two months. Now it’s all gone to hell because you couldn’t stay away from Roland.”

“What?” Her eyes were stretched wide.

Joshua frowned at the shock in her eyes. He’d surprised himself with the outburst. Normally nothing fazed him. He was the boss—people came to him for guidance and advice. Yet right now he felt like raging at her. For sure he was losing it.

And she was the catalyst.

He pushed a hand through his hair. “Why did you have to come to the ball last night and cause trouble? Was it worth it? Was it worth telling Amy about your relationship with Roland?”

“I didn’t tell Amy a thing.”

Joshua relaxed slightly. So Amy didn’t know that Roland and Alyssa were lovers. But surely Amy must have suspected Roland was embroiled in a heated affair with a woman because Joshua certainly had. All the signs had been there. The constant visits to Auckland, the cell calls that his brother took privately while talking in a low, intimate voice. By not denying her clandestine relationship with Roland, Alyssa had confirmed the suspicions he’d had about his brother for months.

“You must know that if Amy found out about you, it would devastate her. Not to say what it would do to my parents to discover that Roland had been two-timing Amy, their goddaughter. Right now they need to think about all the good things he’s achieved.”

Alyssa’s eyes widened. “You think—” She broke off.

Joshua waited for her to refute that she’d been attempting to seduce Roland away from Amy. Deep down, he wanted that denial. Even though he knew it would be a lie. Instead she stood shifting from foot to foot, her eyes reflecting her inner turmoil.

Raking his hands through his already ruffled hair, he sighed. “It would be better if you left now and returned to Auckland.”

“I haven’t got your jacket here—it’s back in my hotel room.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care about the jacket. I want you gone.”

She said flatly, “I’m not going until—” her throat moved as she swallowed “—until it’s all over. But Amy needn’t worry, I won’t be staying a second more than I have to. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Not wanted? Joshua suppressed the urge to groan. He wanted the woman standing in front of him more than he’d ever desired a woman in his life. But no good could come out of it. Not only had she assassinated his character in print, she’d been his brother’s lover.

And he had no intention of following in Roland’s well-worn footsteps.

Four

Alyssa felt terrible.

Joshua thought she and Roland had been lovers. Worse, he believed she’d come to Saxon’s Folly to steal Roland away from his fiancée. She bit her lip to stop herself blurting out the truth. How could she refute what he believed without revealing the truth about her relationship to Roland?

Yesterday, just before midnight, his parents had demanded that she leave; now Joshua was ordering her to go, too. A sense of hurt settled around her. The sooner she got away from here, the sooner she could retreat to the solitary comfort of her Auckland apartment and lick her wounds in private.

But for now she had to shrug off the hurt. This morning she would hold vigil for as long as necessary. Because this wasn’t about her. It was about her brother.

“Nothing to say?”

The words jerked her attention back to Joshua. He was watching her through dark, suspicious eyes.

“You should go upstairs,” she said quietly. “You don’t want to miss what might be your only chance to say goodbye to Roland because you wasted time arguing with me.” The thought of her brother lying there with little chance of regaining consciousness was unbearable … heartbreaking … and she sniffed back the fresh wave of tears.

“Do you love him very much?” Joshua’s voice held a strange tone.

“Yes, I love him a great deal.” Alyssa didn’t look at him in case he read the depth of the loss and confusion in her eyes. Instead she stared at her feet and noticed that the laces of her left sneaker had come undone. What was a lace? So unimportant in the greater scheme of things.

“He never mentioned you.”

She sighed. How tricky this had all become. Clearly Roland hadn’t wanted his brothers to know that he wasn’t a Saxon by birth. Now, because of her promise to Kay Saxon and out of her respect to her brother, she couldn’t tell Joshua the truth—even though she desperately wanted to. They’d connected on some primal level, she and Joshua. She didn’t like lying to him. Finally she settled for, “We hadn’t known each other very long.”

One brief meeting last night … she’d shaken Roland’s hand. And this morning she’d touched his unconscious body.

From the old cuttings in the town’s archives she knew he’d played rugby as a boy and captained his team to a regional win. She’d shuddered in fear as she’d watched television footage of Roland as a late teen riding his horse over solid fences with a determination that had won him numerous eventing titles. An article in a wine magazine had said Roland joked that he’d liked fast women and good wine. Alyssa had wondered what Amy had thought about that! A recent appearance on a lifestyle television programme hosted by a pretty blonde had revealed that he wore jeans with panache. Every last fact she could glean about him, she had uncovered.

Yet Roland didn’t know her at all.

“Maybe he didn’t say anything because he knew you wouldn’t be pleased with his friendship with Alyssa Blake, despised journalist.” Now, through desperation, she’d cornered herself into an outright lie. Before last night’s meeting, Roland had only known her from the letters and e-mails … written in the name of Alice McKay.

“Friends?”

Joshua looked her up and down in a way that made her regret donning the ancient sweats. A disturbing prickle of awareness followed in the wake of his gaze. She shut it out ruthlessly. “Yes, friends. Why not?”

“I can accept that Roland didn’t want us to know he was sleeping with you.” Joshua’s lip curled. “First, because he knows I think you’re a hack writer and have no respect for you after that hatchet job you did. And sec—”

“Hack?” She glared at him in outrage. “I only did—”

He held up a hand. “Let me finish. Second, I’m sure Roland didn’t mention you because you’re of little importance—certainly not worth losing Amy over.” Joshua gave her a long, hard stare. “Roland was always a bit of a ladies’ man. But I’m not going to let Amy be hurt.”

Alyssa drew a deep, steadying breath and counted silently to three before saying slowly and distinctly, “I have absolutely no intention of hurting Amy.”

“Good. Then we understand each other.” Joshua stabbed the button to summon the elevator. “You’re trouble. As long as you keep far away from Saxon’s Folly, my family—and Amy—everything will be fine!”

“You should go and see Roland,” she said with urgency.

He gave her a snooty look. “My brother has the luck of the devil—he’s a survivor.”

Alyssa prayed to God that he was right. But his words caused a flare of hope. Joshua knew his brother. If he thought Roland might live …

“And when he’s out of here, you stay far away from him.”

No chance.

Joshua blamed her for the argument between Amy and Roland last night. She thought about the pretty TV-show hostess who’d interviewed Roland only a month ago. Alyssa had gone to see her. The woman had giggled that Roland was a great lover—and lamented the fact that he was already taken. Not that it had stopped him, she’d added, giving Alyssa a lascivious smile.

Maybe Amy had quarrelled with him over the hostess, but it wasn’t up to Alyssa to reveal that scandal to Joshua. It might turn her stomach having Joshua accuse her of being Roland’s lover … but no one except she and his parents knew how vile that accusation really was.

She wasn’t the troublemaker Joshua had branded her.

Alyssa started as the elevator pinged beside her and the doors slid open. “Think what you want about me—I don’t care,” she said at last, suppressing the sting of his words.

Joshua strode into the waiting elevator. His gaze swept over her, cool and dismissive. “I’m sure you don’t care about anything except yourself.”

Alyssa decided that it was just as well she could seethe over Joshua’s departing comments while she sat in the hospital café drinking stale coffee. But under her fuming she still fretted about how Roland was faring upstairs in that sterile ward.

Drained of all emotion, Joshua paused in the entrance of the coffee-cum-flower shop in the hospital lobby. His eyes burned. After almost twenty-four hours awake, he needed a shower, a change of clothing and sleep.

But right now there were other things—important things—to which he needed to attend.

His chest expanded as he hauled in a deep breath.

And the first that needed sorting was sitting at a table beside a rack of magazines, staring into a coffee cup, a napkin crumpled in her fist. Some sixth sense must have alerted Alyssa to his presence because her hand tightened around the mangled, once-white napkin and she looked up.

The vulnerability in her eyes vanished the instant she spotted him, replaced by wariness. Okay, so this conversation wasn’t going to be easy. But it couldn’t be delayed. He started forward.

“Alice—” No, not Alice. “Alyssa,” he corrected himself. He’d kissed Alice. He’d never willingly touch Alyssa. “My mother sent me to tell you …” He broke off and swallowed the burning bile at the back of his throat.

She was on her feet, her hand against her mouth. “Roland … is he conscious? Can I see him?”

He shook his head. An appalling sorrow splintered inside his chest. There was frustration and bewilderment, too.

“Why? Just for a few minutes? Please?”

Her eyes were wide, beseeching. As much as he disliked her, it was clear that she loved his brother, that she’d do anything, even beg, to be with him. Damnation! This was more difficult than he’d expected.

His legs carried him to her without his realising it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Alyssa—”

Her hand touched his sleeve. He flinched, and she jerked it away.

“I won’t make waves. I won’t do anything to cause Amy anxiety. I just want to see my—Roland.” She was frantically shredding what was left of the paper towel.

He caught her flailing hands and tossed the napkin on the table, hating what he had to do. “Alyssa, you don’t understand. Roland is dead.”

“What?” She rocked on her feet, looking as if she was about to faint.

“Steady.” He moved closer, shifting his hold to her shoulders, propping her up with his body.

Her eyes were wide, staring. Shocked. Little flecks of black floated in the unseeing smoky purple irises.

“Alyssa?”

“Is it true?” She pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, looking shaken to the soul.

Joshua nodded, swept by a wave of terrible pity. She’d said she loved his brother. Had Roland known the depth of her love? Had he even appreciated it? Joshua doubted it. But he couldn’t afford to relent. Family came first.

Alyssa Blake was more than capable of looking out for herself.

Besides, she was too much of a forbidden temptation. “So you’ll be leaving in the morning?”

Her head came up. The magnificent eyes flashed. “I’ll go after the funeral. Please, leave me alone until then.”

And as he watched the tears pool, the foolish and chivalrous part of him wished he had the right to hold her, comfort her and wipe those tears of hopelessness from her eyes.

Alyssa crept in and stood in the back of the church, keeping her head bowed, and stared blankly at the order of service booklet that had been given to her by the usher at the door.

Yesterday she had called David Townsend, her editor at Wine Watch magazine, requesting a few days’ leave, without giving him any explanations. If she mentioned the word bereavement, she suspected that the tears that dammed up the back of her throat might overflow. Once she started, she feared she might never stop.

David had given her two days.

Alyssa had told him she’d be back in the office on Wednesday. But standing here in the crowded church, work … and Auckland … seemed so far away. A numbing mist enveloped her. Beneath the booklet she held, her gray pin-striped pantsuit seemed woefully inadequate. She’d intended to wear the outfit to the one-on-one meet she’d coerced Roland into. A quick glance around revealed that the boutique businesswear was out of place among the designer black and sedate pearls.

She hadn’t brought much with her—she’d only expected to be in Hawkes Bay for the weekend. She didn’t even have pins to put her hair up. The dark silky mass lay around her bowed face in a sleek wave. But shopping for mourning clothes and hairpins had been the last thing on her mind yesterday. Roland’s death on Sunday had left her reeling.

She opened the order of service booklet and found herself staring at a photo of Roland … a piece about his achievements, a short eulogy where he was described as “the much loved son of Kay and Phillip, brother of Joshua, Heath and Megan.”

Of course, there was no mention of his real parents, or the sibling who had been robbed of the chance to know and love him.

The hymns reverberated around Alyssa, moving her until her heart ached so much she thought it might burst. Then Joshua stood and started to talk about Roland, and her heart shattered.

By the time she arrived at the cemetery on the farm where Saxons had been buried for nearly a century, Alyssa was so wrung out by emotion that her legs felt a little shaky.

She’d debated about the wisdom of coming to the burial. She’d known it would be upsetting. The last funeral she’d attended had been her adoptive mother’s—and that had been simply awful. But in the end, the need to see her brother—her flesh and blood—laid finally to rest had won out. Perhaps now she might get some peace, too.

The first person she recognised as she made her way through the white-painted picket gate was Joshua.

She hesitated. He hadn’t seen her yet.

Alyssa halted a distance off from where the Saxons crowded around the grave and sneaked another look at Joshua.

His arm was around his white-faced mother and on his other side stood his sister, Megan, sobbing into a hanky. Behind them stood Heath and Phillip Saxon, looking solemn. Amy hovered dry-eyed at the edge of the raw grave, her expression bleak.

From her vantage point, Alyssa could see the rows upon rows of vines planted on the hills that lay below the cemetery. They would only just be starting to bud for the coming summer. It struck her that, unlike the vines, Roland would never see another summer.

Blinking back a fresh prick of tears, she barely noticed the breeze that swept her hair off her face as she listened to the priest delivering the prayer.

“Amen,” she murmured with the rest of the crowd as it ended.

“Don’t plan on staying,” Joshua said very softly from behind her.

She didn’t turn her head to look at him. She hadn’t heard him approach. But every hair on her nape stood up. “I won’t.”

“Good.” He moved to stand beside her as the final hymn started. “I don’t want Amy suffering any more than she already is.”

Alyssa stared at the words on the sheet of paper in her hand and stifled an impatient sigh. Amy. His parents. That’s all he could think about. What about her? “Please believe me, I’m not going to do anything to harm Amy.”

He gave her a hard look. “I wouldn’t let you.” His eyes scanned her face. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, as he examined every inch of her face.

“Well?”

“You’re beautiful.” His tone was dispassionate. Unmoved. He might have been studying an inanimate block of marble.

“Thanks,” she said tersely, her gaze dropping away from his. The knowledge that he considered her beautiful didn’t bring satisfaction. Joshua didn’t even like her—the real Alyssa Blake beneath the veneer—he’d made that clear enough.

A disturbing thought struck her. Perhaps he fancied Amy? And, now with Roland out of the way, did that mean Joshua expected a chance with his brother’s grief-stricken fiancée?

She gave him a covert glance from behind her lashes. “Amy’s beautiful, too.”

He stilled, the skin over his slanted cheekbones suddenly taut. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her lashes swept up. Her eyes clashed with his frigid ones. “Just that you seem to admire her immensely.”

“You think I have the hots for my brother’s fiancée?” Darkness moved in his eyes.

“It would be understandable.”

Amy would be the perfect wife for Joshua Saxon. She was even Kay’s goddaughter. It was a no-brainer. “Amy is vulnerable right now. You’ll need to take care that she doesn’t view you as a rebound relationship.”

“I don’t need your pop-psychology advice. I don’t poach my brothers’ women.” His gaze was bleak. “Or at least, I never did. Not until the night I met you.”

What was that cryptic statement supposed to mean? A burst of adrenaline shot through Alyssa, quickly followed by a flare of desire.

What would happen if he learned Roland wasn’t his real brother. And that she, Alyssa, was Roland’s younger sister.

And what was the point of agonizing over it all. It was moot. Because Joshua would never learn the truth.

Despite the pale golden light of the sun, a cold shiver started at the base of her neck and inched down her spine, leaving Alyssa feeling like an emotional wasteland.

He moved away and Alyssa shut her eyes, and let the singing voices swirl around her. After what seemed an interminable time she heard car doors slam, the roar of engines starting.

Her shoulders sagged with relief. Conscious of the careless caress of the wind on her skin, of a tui whistling in a nearby phutukawa tree, Alyssa stood still as the cemetery rapidly emptied.

Finally, she opened her eyes. Only a few people remained. Joshua was gone. But the memory of his intensity as he’d told her that he didn’t want Amy suffering any more than she already was, remained vivid. What would it be like to be the focus of all that masculine protection?

She wished….

What was the point of wishing? The connection she’d sensed with Joshua had ended the minute he learned who she was. She was accustomed to being alone. As the indulged, only child of two older parents she’d grown up curiously isolated. She’d been thirteen when she’d discovered that she was adopted, that she’d been born Alice McKay—not Alyssa Blake.

She’d been so excited at the prospect of finding siblings … more family. But her mother had cried at the idea of Alyssa searching for her birth parents. For years Alyssa had put it off, fearful of upsetting Margaret. But finally she’d been compelled to make a start, secretly. Only after her mother’s death three years ago had she been able to focus single-mindedly on her quest.

She’d never tracked down her birth father. But she’d found her vacant-eyed birth mother in an institute for stroke victims and she’d become a regular visitor. But from the moment Alyssa discovered that she had a brother, she hadn’t rested.

She’d wanted to find him … Roland.

And now Roland was gone forever.

A cloud drifted across the sky and passed over the face of the sun, blocking out the sunlight and casting a shadow over the mound where Roland lay. Alyssa shivered.

Why? Why had she not forced the issue with Roland sooner, made him see her. They could’ve had a few weeks … months. She sighed. But would extra time have made any difference?

Alyssa supposed it wasn’t a big deal to him. Roland hadn’t needed a sister; he’d already had a sister—and two brothers. A whole proud, supportive family.

While, to her, finding her brother had become everything.

“Alice….” Kay spoke hesitantly from beside her.

She gave a start of surprise. “Call me Alyssa.” Alice was gone. Buried in the ground as surely as Roland was. Alice had existed only as evidence that she had once been someone else … someone with a brother.

Coming to a decision, Alyssa said flatly, “Joshua thinks that I’m Roland’s lover.” Alyssa still felt sullied by the accusation in his eyes. “I don’t like it—especially not since Roland was already engaged. I’d like you tell Joshua the truth, please.”

Kay shook her head, and gestured to the raw, new grave. “Roland is dead. Phillip and I don’t want the trauma of explaining to the children that he was never their blood brother.”

Children? Alyssa goggled at the older woman. Joshua Saxon was no child. “They’re adults, not children anymore. Surely they’ll understand?”

Kay looked uncomfortable. “It would mean their whole upbringing was based on a lie.”

“They deserve the truth.”

“It’s too late for that.” Kay shook her head and started to move away toward the white gate where Phillip stood, his back to them, talking with a group of mourners.

Frustration and despair pooled deep inside Alyssa’s chest, setting a heavy lump.

“Why didn’t you tell them sooner?” Then Roland might even have come looking for her. He’d have had time to come to terms with having a sister, of not being a Saxon by birth.

Kay stopped. “At first we intended to tell them, but the years passed, and then it was too late. Neither Phillip nor I want them to know now. It’s not necessary.” Kay faced Alyssa, her eyes a cool, implacable gray. “I’d like you to respect that.”

Alyssa had known how Kay would react, but she’d hoped …

It wasn’t to be. Roland was gone. Yet there was so much Kay could share about her brother. Maybe.

Alyssa’s heart started to beat anxiously in her chest at the audacity of what she was contemplating. “Kay, I won’t tell anyone. But only if you share your memories of Roland with me. Every day for a week. I want to see the photos of him, hear the stories of what he did, share the places he knew growing up.”

“That’s not poss—”

Alyssa read the other woman’s refusal in her eyes. Thrusting her apprehension away, she firmed her lips into a deter mined line and stalked past the older woman. “Then I have no reason to give you my promise to keep my relationship with Roland a secret.”

“Wait.”

She turned her head.

“You can’t do that.” Kay looked horrified. “And if I do as you want? How can I trust you not to say anything later?”

“I’ll give you my word.” Alyssa sagged under the weight of the tension. “And I’ll never break it, no matter what pressure I’m put under. This is important to me … It’s all I’ll ever have of the brother I’ve been searching for since I turned eighteen.”

“Okay.” Kay wore a peculiar expression. “Come to Saxon’s Folly in the morning. You’d better bring your bags. You may as well stay for the week.”

Alyssa felt a surge of victory … until she remembered Joshua’s hard, judgmental gaze.