night of no-consequence pleasure with a stranger was the only reason he’d invited her back to the apartment. He never expected to see her again. Yet he could still remember the precise pitch of her laugh, the softness of her voice, the warmth of her breath on his skin, the texture of her tongue as it—
Ethan switched the mixer to cold. This wasn’t getting him anywhere but uncomfortable. No, it was best that she’d gone as she had—leaving no trace other than the lingering scent of her fragrance on his bedsheets and the indelible imprint she’d left on his mind. The bedsheets would be taken care of by housekeeping, his mind he could take care of himself. He just needed to change his focus.
Later, as he got ready to head home, back to his work at the winery, he told himself he was succeeding. They couldn’t have taken things any further than they had, even if they’d both been interested in doing so. She was completely disconnected from the things that formed the cornerstones of his world. She was a transitory creature of light and laughter—charming, but unreliable. He was stable, grounded in his work and his family. The people in his life depended on him. He needed to be able to depend on them, as well.
He’d needed distracting last night and she’d definitely been quite the distraction.
It was with a satisfied smile on his face that he let himself out of the apartment half an hour later and took the elevator to the basement-level parking. The Isobel Fyfes of this world were good for a fling, and they’d enjoyed a mutually pleasurable one at that, however, she couldn’t be further from his idea of a forever woman in his life if she’d actively been trying.
No, it was women like Shanal Peat, one of his old university friends who more closely fit that bill. She was serious and clever and, with her mixed Indian and Australian heritage, exquisitely beautiful. They were already close friends. She’d be a far better life mate for a man like Ethan than Isobel could ever be, plus, with her Ph.D. in viticulture, she’d be a brilliant asset to The Masters winery and vineyard. He could see her fitting in well with his family, with her gentle, steady demeanor. She’d understand and respect the generations of tradition that went into their family vineyard, and would slide seamlessly into their lives and work with no confusion or upheaval.
It would be a mistake to even consider someone more bold, more unexpected and spontaneous. Women like that added excitement to life, but they added chaos, as well. No, a woman like Shanal was exactly what he needed. They were a melding of minds and personalities that could only succeed.
Ethan got into his 5-series BMW and headed out the basement and into the glorious sunshine of another beautiful Adelaide autumn morning. This business with his parents was just a minor glitch. He could take care of it later. And, he wagered, as long as the payments to Ellen Masters continued unabated, he had no reason to worry about her suddenly returning and reasserting her parental rights. The secret could remain a secret a while longer. There was no need for his aunts and uncle to know he was aware of the truth—or for his sister to know anything about the matter at all.
By the time he cruised through the gates of The Masters and past the cellar door tasting room and point of sale, it was late morning. He turned down the private road that led to the main house and pulled his car to a halt outside. As he got out of the car, he took a moment to breathe in the scent of the air and fill his lungs with it.
Home. There was nothing quite like it. His eyes drifted to the top of the ridge where the shell of his family’s old home, Master’s Rise, destroyed by bush fire more than thirty years ago, still stood. The stone-wall construction of the late-nineteenth-century building had withstood the voraciously hungry flames that had systematically consumed most of the property, and proved too solid to be economically torn down. Its profile endured as a constant reminder of what could be lost, while the lands that roamed beneath it continued as proof of what could be achieved in the face of disaster.
Ethan looked around at what his family had rebuilt in his father’s lifetime. The large double-storied home that housed most of the family under its roof, the vineyards stretching across the valley and up the hill, the winery, which consumed Ethan’s time and expertise and challenged him in all ways to constantly do better. Yeah, it was good to be home and even better to have this all to come home to.
A movement on the path from one of the luxury cottages, which provided accommodation for guests, caught his attention. Tamsyn, his sister, ran that side of the business, and had probably just finished the final inspection of the cabin for a guest before walking back toward the house.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile as she drew nearer. She gave an exaggerated look at her watch. “Or should I say, afternoon?”
He smiled in return. “It’s still morning,” he confirmed.
“Did you have a good night in town?” she inquired innocently, although the sparkle in her eyes told him she was delving for more information.
“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, deliberately vague.
Tamsyn sighed. “No gossip?”
“Since when have I been the subject of gossip?”
“You know what I mean,” she said on a huff of disappointment. “You need to get a life, Ethan. Sometimes you’re just too absorbed in this place.”
He looked at her this time, really looked. There was a note in her voice that implied dissatisfaction in her world, something he’d never heard from her before.
“Is everything okay, Tam?”
She pasted on a broad smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be, right? By the way, are you going to be at dinner this evening? I have the new photographer for the catalog shoot arriving later this afternoon and I’d like you to meet—”
“Sure, I’ll be there,” he interrupted. “Same time, same place,” he said with a wink.
It was a family joke. Whichever family members were in residence usually met for predinner drinks in the main salon before dining together. It was a good way to stay in touch, although he knew that some people found it a bit old-fashioned. Personally, he liked that some traditions remained the same, and there was always the option of cooking for yourself—something he was generally loath to do. It would be tough, though, facing his aunts and his uncle. Looking them in the eye and knowing they had conspired to keep a secret from Tamsyn and him for all this time. Did they not wonder, now John Masters was dead, if the truth would come out? Well, Ethan certainly wouldn’t be throwing it into the conversational pot tonight. He still needed time to come to terms with it himself.
He continued. “How’s the wedding business going?”
“Mine, or for here?”
As part of her work in running the accommodation side at The Masters, Tamsyn also oversaw special events—business retreats and the like. Since her engagement to Trent Mayweather just over a year ago, she had happily expanded into coordinating small, but exclusive, wedding packages at the property.
“Either. Both.” Ethan shrugged.
“Fine. The latest bridezilla would seem to finally be appeased by the fact that, since harvest is well and truly under way, we will not have green vines flush with grapes for her favored photo shoot, so overall things are looking good. And since Trent and I have yet to set a date, there’s no business to worry about there,” she replied airily.
Still no date. Despite her determined attempt to sound flip about the issue, Ethan sensed there was an underlying hint of frustration in her voice. Before he could press her further, Tamsyn changed
