Not now. Not while they were grieving. And she couldn’t bear to find out that Joshua was dishonest.
It surprised her how much she needed to believe that he was as solid and real as the hills surrounding the vineyards he loved. She badly wanted to accept his word.
But she owed a duty to the public. The consumers who were possibly being scammed. She couldn’t rely on her feelings, her desire to find the best in Joshua. Growing up, her father had drummed into her that people lied. All the time. Facts counted. She needed proof. Hard evidence.
It tore her apart to think of what she might discover….
“No,” she said finally. “Just trying to get to the bottom of a disturbing rumour that the Chardonnay Saxon’s Folly supplied for tasting in the recent competition is far superior to what’s available at the retail outlets.”
Seven
“So that’s why you gate-crashed the ball.”
Joshua had known all along Alyssa had an agenda. Bitter disappointment corroded the fondness and respect that had been developing against his will. He’d been right not to trust her.
He propped one elbow on the tasting counter and swivelled his body to face her. “And that’s why you inveigled an invitation to stay at Saxon’s Folly.”
Her eyes flickered. “I told you before, your mother invited me.”
“Right.” Disbelief and sarcasm loaded his voice.
“Honestly, I didn’t know about this until recently. I haven’t agreed to do the story.”
He should’ve known Wine Watch would be on to the story. “I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.”
Her amazing eyes widened ingenuously. But he wasn’t about to be taken in by a pair of purple pansy eyes and an act of injured innocence. She’d known, all right. And he’d almost been suckered. And Alyssa Blake would not turn down the opportunity to do such a story.
Then the thought crossed his mind that Roland might have let something slip to her. Pillow talk after a hot session between the sheets.
Anger twisted his stomach into knots.
Pushing away from the tasting counter, he straightened to his intimidating height of six foot two inches.
Alyssa didn’t flinch.
Roland had known about the dark cloud hanging over one of the premier Saxon’s Folly wines. As soon as Joshua had learned there was a potential problem with the wine judging, he’d told Roland. He cast his mind back. The conversation had taken place a few days before the ball. He’d wanted to pull the wine from the competition. Roland had assured him there was nothing to worry about, that the sample provided for tasting was uniform and no danger of adverse publicity existed.
Would he have told his lover about the debacle? Joshua didn’t want to believe that Roland had let something so confidential slip to a wine writer who’d already slated Saxon’s Folly in the past. Joshua assessed her. But the wide eyes and patient smile revealed little.
Was it possible that Alyssa had found out from another source? The competition organisers? Highly unlikely. Wine-tasting competitions were run with rigorous secrecy.
Roland must have told her. He must have been taken in by Alyssa’s inviting eyes and confiding manner. Damn! Annoyance at his brother’s gullibility shook him. Being led around by the libido was the oldest trick in the book. Joshua could hardly believe Roland had fallen for it. But Roland had never been able to resist a pretty face.
Joshua scrutinised her. Shiny, dark red hair framed her face in a smooth sheet, the wide-spaced pansy eyes promised untold sensual delights. Yup, definitely a very pretty face. His gaze moved lower. Long legs went on forever in the new denims and the stretchy top, the colour of the lavender that grew outside the homestead, moulded the generous curve of her breasts.
No doubt about it. Roland would’ve have been utterly infatuated. Okay, so maybe he could understand why Roland had blabbed. Alyssa Blake was certainly the sexiest thing he’d seen for a long time. In Mata Hari mode she would be lethal.
He ignored the whisper in his head that suggested he might be every bit as susceptible as his brother had been; that Alyssa Blake had him tied up in knots. He narrowed his eyes. This crazy wanting had never happened before. Why now? Why her?
How was he supposed to deal with the fallout when she reduced him to this damn idiotic state of constant arousal? He fought to get his thoughts in order.
While she knew there was a problem with the judging, it didn’t appear that she knew much more, otherwise she wouldn’t be here, digging for a story.
The story she insisted she wasn’t doing.
Maybe there was still time for damage control. He gave her a grim smile. “There will always be some variations between batches—it’s only the small vineyards with small outputs that can almost guarantee that every bottle will taste the same. We bottle thousands of cases of Chardonnay. There’s going to be a little variation—”
She gave a snort of disgust. “I’m not talking about a small amount. I’m talking about a huge difference—enough to make it taste like two completely different wines. Please don’t take me for a total idiot.”
Joshua held on to his temper with difficulty. “What you’re suggesting is not possible. When we have a batch that comes out so much better, we bottle it as a reserve selection. Why would we pretend it’s the same? Especially when we can command a higher price?”
“To garner awards? To deliberately entice the public to come out in droves and buy an award-winning wine when the one they get is vastly inferior to what they’re expecting? Not that they’d ever find that out.”
His brows drew together at the accusation. “We would never do that.”
“Maybe I should ask Caitlyn that question, since she makes the wines.” Alyssa started to turn away.
She was going to confront Caitlyn? After he’d told her not to question his staff? She was challenging him, walking away from him, after all but calling him a liar. He glared at her shapely back, irate that he noticed how her hips flared in the snug jeans. “It’s not necessary. I am the boss. I speak for Saxon’s Folly. We don’t indulge in questionable practices designed to mislead the consumer. You can quote me on that in your damned article.”
Looking past her he saw that a new group of tasters were heading in their direction. “We’ve got company. Better behave yourself,” he said softly, and he knew by the sudden tension between her shoulder blades that she’d heard.
Arranging his features in a pleasant, welcoming smile, he added, “You leave tomorrow. My final word is that you’re not to go to the winery … or try to interview my staff without me present.”
She threw him a searing look over her shoulder. “I’ve no reason not to behave. I’m telling you the truth, Joshua. I’ve no intention of writing this story. I’m too close to … everything.”
But instead of feeling relief at her revelation, Joshua
