from ruin.
He wanted a woman, wanton and willing. One he could lose himself in for a time and walk away from unscathed.
Not Simone, sensual and fearless, who would call forth desires too deeply held.
Not Simone.
Cursing beneath his breath, he loaded up the ute and headed for the cellars. With any luck she’d be running late and he’d have time to wash down and cool off before she arrived. With a bit more luck she might have changed her mind about touring the vineyard with him altogether.
A silver-grey Audi sat in the car park beside the cellar door.
A dark-haired ingénue wearing a vivid pink strapless sundress leaned against it and watched his approach.
Guess not.
‘A tree?’ she said once he stood before her.
‘And a fence.’ He’d warned her that he would be filthy. He looked down at his T-shirt where tree sap and splinters vied for supremacy. Possibly not this filthy, but there was a tap and a sink inside and he had a spare T-shirt in the ute. He found the shirt and headed for the door. ‘Come on through.’
Simone followed him into the building, a gable-roofed corrugated-iron shed of muted greens and greys. It didn’t have the ancient appeal of the champagne storage caves of Caverness, but it suited the landscape well enough, and the scarred and mismatched wooden furnishings of the tasting room held a certain rustic charm.
‘Let me get rid of some of this dirt before I take you through to the vats,’ he said as he headed for the washbasin behind the bar.
‘Of course.’ So far, Rafael more than lived up to his promise of general dishevelment. He had the body for it though, long and leanly muscled, and a perfection of face guaranteed to cut through any amount of dirt. As far as Simone was concerned, the intensity of his brilliant blue gaze served only to clinch the deal. Dirt or no dirt, Rafael Alexander was a breathtakingly beautiful man.
He knew it. How could he not?
But his looks did not define him. There was more to him than that. A kindness of soul that warred with the fierceness of his emotions. A protective streak, honed razor-sharp by the circumstances of his childhood. A will to succeed that bordered on obsessive, and when he focused his attentions on something or someone…well, a woman didn’t easily forget such a time.
She’d never managed to.
Simone took a seat on the customer side of the bar, fully intending to study the wine-tasting list. She might have even managed to pay attention to the vintages on offer if Rafael hadn’t chosen that particular moment to peel his T-shirt from his body.
She tried to draw breath, tried to look away, but the latter was impossible and the former took determined effort. She found her breath, and then her voice. ‘Your back—’
He had his back towards her. He stilled, but he didn’t turn around.
‘Something against tattoos?’ he asked quietly.
‘No.’ Dear heaven, no. ‘It’s exquisite. But the words…’
Never look back.
He sluiced his face and arms; he took his sweet time before finally reaching for a nearby hand towel and turning to face her. ‘What about them?’
‘They just seem so…’ How could she explain the impact of those harsh, hard words carved into his skin, no matter how beautiful the pattern they made? ‘…Desolate. Surely some things are worth remembering?’ A young girl and a handsome older boy coaxing a tiny frog out of her boot and into the home she’d made for it. A first kiss sweeter than sunshine. A first love’s gentle caress. She sought his gaze and held it. ‘Aren’t they?’
He didn’t answer. Just looked away, picked up his clean T-shirt and pulled it on.
‘When did you get it?’ she asked next. She couldn’t seem to let go of the notion that he’d paid somebody to cut those words into his skin.
She didn’t think he was going to answer that question either, but then a parody of a smile stole across his lips, and his gaze met hers, mocking and bitter. ‘When I first came to Australia. Right after I left you.’
‘Hmm,’ she said finally, while deep down inside resentment began to build in response to the implication that his hurt, and the tattoo that went with it, were all her fault. ‘I just wept for six months, cursed you for six more, and kept my happy memories of you close. I still keep them close. It must be a gender thing.’
‘Maybe it’s a strength of feeling thing.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ she said tightly. How dared he turn his memory of her love for him into something weak and fleeting? How dared he paint her the villain? ‘You want to forget the past, Rafael? Fine. Go ahead. It’s your loss.’ Anger fuelled her feet as she stalked towards him. ‘You want to live for the present and look to the future? Fine. Here we are. Show me your bloody vineyard!’
‘Careful, Simone.’ His eyes had narrowed. A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Swearing doesn’t become a lady.’
‘If you had any kind of memory left you’d remember that I often take exquisite pleasure in not behaving like a lady. Would you like a demonstration?’
‘What are you going to do, princess?’ They were toe to toe. Tension radiated from him in waves. ‘Hit me?’
‘Oh, no.’ Tempting as it was. ‘You got enough of that throughout your childhood, remember? Then again, you probably don’t. No, I was thinking of something a whole lot more subtle, by way of a demonstration.’ She put her hand to his chest, to his heart, before finally curving it round the back of his neck and pressing her lips to the strong curve of his jaw. Gently.
‘You think I didn’t love you,’ she murmured. Another kiss for that stubborn jaw, followed by the slow slide of her lips across to the edge of his mouth. ‘You think your feelings were the stronger and that you were the only one who was left desolate and grieving.’
She gave him time to move away, she did give him that.
His chest heaved and he drew a ragged breath. But he stayed right where he was.
‘You’re wrong,’ she whispered, and set her lips to his. Lord have mercy on her soul.
His lips were warm and firm. And closed. She touched the tip of her tongue to the crease in them and tasted salt. She felt the shudder that ripped through him, but his mouth stayed stubbornly closed to her. She started to pull away. Experiment over. Experiment failed.
And then his hand came up to cup her face, his lips opened beneath hers, a dam broke somewhere, and the world around her simply disappeared.
Reckless. She was so damned reckless. She always had been, especially when it came to making love. Rafe deepened the kiss, revelling in her abandoned response. The way her fingers curled into his hair, the way that greedy, generous mouth felt against his. Memories crashed down on him. He remembered that mouth, remembered marking her body with his mouth. He’d never forgotten.
Desire ate at him and
