remained silent for a moment. From the corner of his eye he could see her press her lips together, as if she was holding back her instinctive answer and taking the time to formulate another.
“It was suggested to me,” she said, averting her gaze out the side window.
Oh, he’d put money on the fact it was suggested to her, and by whom. Even without the insight his mother had offered, it was Anna’s evasiveness that gave her away. He’d known that she had something to hide, and now that he suspected it involved his father, he was absolutely determined to find out what it was before the day was out. In the meantime, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, stopping him from having a good time along the way.
As they turned out the driveway that led from the vineyard and out onto the main road heading toward the hills, he saw her gaze pulled up onto the ridge and to the silhouette of the devastated building that stood there. He waited for her to say something, to ask about what had happened. Everyone did, eventually. But she remained silent. The expression on her face was pensive. Some devil of mischief prompted him to comment.
“It was magnificent in its day, you know.”
“I beg your pardon?” She turned to face him.
“Masters’ Rise, the house up there.” He let go of the steering wheel with one hand and gestured up toward the hills.
“It was your family home?”
Did she really not realize, or was she just bluffing? “Not that one, although I lived briefly in a replica of it back in New Zealand when I was young.” When she didn’t comment on that, he pointed back up the hill. “Masters’ Rise was destroyed before my time. My mother and uncles lived there as youngsters, though. I don’t think the family pride ever quite recovered from its loss. I know for a fact that my mother’s didn’t. And it wasn’t just losing the house—a good bit of the vineyard was destroyed, as well.”
“It wasn’t as if they could have done anything to stop it, though, was there?”
“Done anything?”
“Well, it was a bushfire, wasn’t it?”
He shot her a piercing glance.
“At least that’s what I think I read somewhere,” she added hastily.
Oh, good cover, he thought before slowly nodding.
“They were lucky to escape with their lives,” he said. “Unfortunately, they didn’t have much else—well, not much else but the Masters’ tenacity. Rebuilding the house wasn’t an option—not when they had to recreate their entire livelihood, as well. It would have taken everything they had left and they were forced to choose between rebuilding their home or reestablishing the vineyards and winery.”
“Tough choices. It’s a shame they couldn’t do both.”
“Yeah.”
Judd lapsed into silence. Wondering, not for the first time, how different life might have been if the Masters family hadn’t been forced into that decision. It couldn’t have been easy for his mother and her brothers, starting over from scratch, seeing the life of ease and plenty they’d enjoyed vanishing in a flash. Was that why it had been so easy for Charles Wilson to sweep Cynthia off her feet? Was the life of wealth and luxury he offered truly impossible for a girl, who’d spent so long struggling, to resist?
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Anna asked, her voice artificially bright. “Last night you mentioned Hahndorf, right? Where and what is it?”
Judd flashed her a smile before transferring his attention back to the road in front of them.
“It was originally a German settlement, established in the early eighteen hundreds. Much of the original architecture still survives and is used today. It’s not far from here, but I thought I’d take you a couple of other places first and then we’ll head back into Hahndorf for lunch.”
“Sounds lovely, thanks. Really, I appreciate you taking time out of your schedule for me.”
Judd reached out and caught her hand in his, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“I want to get to know you better, Anna. Can’t do that stuck in my office, now, can I?”
To his surprise, a flush of color spread across her cheeks. She blushed? The ingenuousness of the act was totally at odds with the wanton he’d held in his arms last night. Yeah, there was no doubt about it. Anna Garrick intrigued him, and he liked being intrigued—even if it was by someone with a hidden agenda.
Her fingers tingled beneath his touch and Anna felt heat surge through her body, staining her cheeks. God, this effect he had on her would be her undoing. She gently withdrew her hand, distracting herself by poking about in her handbag for a tissue. Her fingertips brushed against the envelope holding the letter from Charles and she pulled her hand out of the bag so rapidly she elicited another one of those piercing looks from Judd.
“So,” she said, forcing her heartbeat to resume a more normal rate with a few calming breaths, “where are you taking me first?”
He gestured to the highest peak ahead of them.
“Mount Lofty. From there you’ll see the whole of Adelaide spread out before you.”
Judd proved himself to be a very efficient tour guide. That he knew the area like the back of his hand was obvious, as was his love and appreciation of his surroundings. By the time they’d taken in the panoramic views of the city and beyond from the peak of Mount Lofty and then strolled through the exquisitely beautiful botanic gardens below, Anna was having a hard time reminding herself that this was no pleasure jaunt.
Judd’s fingers were loosely linked in hers as they walked, and every nerve in her body went on high alert, focusing intently on the scant physical connection they shared. Wishing against everything that the connection could be deepened and intensified.
She fought to regain control of her senses. She’d be crazy to embark on anything physical with Judd Wilson. Totally and utterly crazy. But no matter what her head told her, her body demanded something else entirely.
In her bag, she felt her cell phone discreetly vibrate. The only person who would be calling her would be Charles. Her stomach lurched. Was he okay? He hadn’t looked well when she’d left Auckland yesterday. Extracting her fingers from Judd’s light clasp, she reached into her bag.
“Excuse me, I need to take this,” she said, putting the phone to her ear and turning to walk a few steps away from him.
“Have you met him yet?” Charles’s voice sounded strong and healthy.
“Yes, I have,” she said guardedly, wishing she’d let the call go to her message service and then phoned Charles back when she had a little more privacy.
“Well, what’s he like? Have you given him the letter yet? What did he say?”
Charles’s questions fired at her with the less-than-subtle force of a battering ram and she created a little more distance between herself and the subject of those questions.
“It’s hard to say at the moment. No, and nothing yet,” she answered each question in turn.
