Yvonne Lindsay
To E.M.
—In the immortal words of Casper, “Can I keep you?”
She hadn’t seen anything quite this beautiful in forever. The exquisitely colored autumnal landscape aside, the figure of the man chopping wood in the distance, shirt off, muscles rippling in the still-warm Adelaide Hills sunshine, was quite enough to remind Anna of every hormonal response her body was capable of. And then some.
Never averse to indulging in appreciation of the male form—even if her busy work-filled schedule meant she rarely did anything about it—she walked a little closer. A tingle of awareness skimmed across her skin, raising goose bumps on the surface, which had nothing to do with the hint of evening breeze that rolled through the hills. It was only when she was about twenty meters from him that recognition hit her with all the subtlety of a bucket of ice water.
Judd Wilson.
Her entire reason for being in Australia.
Although they’d never met, there was no mistaking Charles Wilson’s son. Obviously tall, Judd had dark hair and warmly tanned skin stretched over a physique that was the epitome of every woman’s fantasy. His sharply sculpted features hinted at a resemblance to his father. She’d hazard a guess his eyes were the same piercing blue, as well.
Anna was surprised when her inner muscles clenched on a purely instinctive female reaction and her heart stuttered a little in her chest. She hadn’t responded this strongly to anyone in a while, and she sure as hell never expected to feel so drawn to the son of the man who was not only her employer, but practically a father to her. She drew in a deep breath and forced back the flood of attraction that threatened to swamp her anew—reminding herself that she was here on business. She’d made a promise to Charles—a promise she fully intended to keep.
His instructions had been painfully clear. Somehow she had to persuade Judd Wilson to come home to New Zealand, before the father he hadn’t seen in more than two decades died.
Anna took a few more tentative steps through the pathway designated amongst the rows and rows of grapevines that striated the land. Her eyes were fixed on the male figure working ahead of her—the man completely oblivious to the bombshell she was about to drop on his world. She paused for a moment, sudden nerves weakening her resolve.
Judd had been only six years old when his parents’ divorce resulted in his and his mother’s leaving New Zealand—not to mention leaving Charles, and Judd’s baby sister, Nicole—behind for good. Did he even remember his father? Would he be pleased at the chance to reconcile, or would he be bitter over all the lost years?
Anxiety over Judd’s potential reaction was swiftly followed by a swirl of familiar anger and defensiveness on Charles’s behalf. If it hadn’t been for Cynthia Masters-Wilson’s deceptions, Charles would never have been separated from his son in the first place. Anna hadn’t yet met the woman who had torn apart Charles’s very reasons for existence, and she certainly wasn’t looking forward to it. No doubt it would prove to be a necessary evil at some stage, but for now her focus was on meeting Charles’s son and on gauging what his response to his father’s contact would be. Her intense physical reaction to him now promised to make that a little more complicated than Anna had anticipated.
She was here with a job to do, she reminded herself sternly, even as her eyes flicked back toward Judd’s sun-kissed torso one more time. She couldn’t afford to let herself get distracted. Perhaps right now was not the best time to meet him and try
