One Secret Night (3 page)

Ethan rose up and deftly moved her so she was beneath him, his hands now drawing her panties off her body, his fingers tracing the long, lean muscles of her legs. Once the lacy scrap was discarded, he slid her high-heeled sandals off her feet, massaging the instep of each foot before running his hands back up her legs again. The well-trimmed thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs glistened with the evidence of her gratification, and he nuzzled at the blond hair, inhaling the musky scent of her before exposing the swollen nub of flesh hidden inside. He traced a circle around the shining pink pearl with the tip of his tongue.

“Too soon,” she protested weakly, her body still quivering with the aftereffects of her orgasm.

“Trust me, it’s not soon enough,” he argued, closing his mouth over the tumescent bead and gently scraping his teeth over its surface.

Isobel all but leaped off the bed, her hips surging upward in response to his action. Ethan swirled his tongue around her again, soothing her, before repeating the action with his teeth. She may have been in control of her last peak, but he most definitely would be driving her to her next. He increased the pressure of his tongue and began to suckle firmly. The next time he softly closed his teeth on her he felt her break, her body at first stretched as tight as a bow before the arrow of physical delight flew free, turning her muscles slack and supple beneath him.

He brushed his tongue over her again, then again more soothingly, until he finally withdrew from her and dragged himself up and over her.

“You okay?” he murmured, his hands now stroking her belly, tracing her rib cage and moving slowly to rest against one breast. Beneath his hand he could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

“Okay? Yeah, I think I’m just a bit more than okay,” she said, smiling as she caught his face between her hands and kissed him. “But what about you?”

She flexed her pelvis against him.

“We’re going to take care of that right now,” he said. Supporting his weight on one arm, he reached with the other into the drawer of the nightstand.

He shook out the box of condoms he withdrew and grabbed one packet.

“Here, let me,” Isobel insisted, taking the condom from his hand and tearing the foil open.

She slid the sheath from its confines and positioned it over the aching head of his erection before deftly sliding it over his length. It took almost every ounce of his control not to lose it as, once he was protected, she slipped her hand between them and positioned him at her entrance. She gasped as he probed her swollen, slick flesh, the sound vibrating through him as he fought to prolong this moment for as long as humanly possible.

Then, so slowly that it made his body shudder with the effort, he sank within her inviting depths. Her body gloved him, fitting so perfectly that he knew he would not be able to maintain this level of control for more than mere seconds. Bliss flooded him in an instant—potent and undeniable.

He moved within her, her hips rising to meet his every thrust, each one more powerful than the last, the rising pleasure becoming more exquisitely intense with each stroke. And then, he was there—sensation pulsating through his body and catapulting him into a place he’d never experienced so deeply before. He held her firmly to him, his forehead resting on hers, their rapid breaths mingling in the minute space between them. When he made to pull away, Isobel’s arms closed around him.

“I’m too heavy for you,” he protested as she squeezed tight.

“I like this,” she replied as if the simplicity of the words themselves were fully sufficient.

He relaxed against her, and realized that maybe they were. He’d never felt the full acceptance of himself with another in the aftermath of lovemaking before. It had always been a release, often a deeply satisfying one, but never quite this sense of physical communion. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he took what was—for him—a very novel approach. He decided not to think at all. Not just yet. As his heart rate slowed, he rolled slightly to one side, pulling her along with him.

Isobel reached up a finger to trace the line of his lips, her touch leaving a tingle of longing in its wake. He gave in and leaned into her to kiss her—not a kiss with the flaming sensuality they’d shared before, but one of quiet intimacy. Of thanks. He finally forced himself to break away and moved to rid himself of the condom, returning to the bed as quickly as he could and scooping her against him. Isobel tangled her legs in his and rested her head on his chest. For all that he barely knew her it felt almost frighteningly right.

One night, he reminded himself. That was all this was. Just one night.

Three

I
sobel traced a circular pattern with her index finger on Ethan’s chest. She’d been stunned by the force of their lovemaking, by their connection to one another. It almost seemed a shame that she’d be moving on to her next assignment tomorrow without ever seeing Ethan again, but she would live with that. She had to. It was the way she lived her life. Always fluid, always moving. Never staying still long enough to set down roots. It suited her.

And to her surprise, so had he.

She knew deep down that tonight had not been the type of thing a man like Ethan indulged in often, if at all. It piqued her curiosity. Why had he broken with what were probably very rigid personal boundaries to bring her home and share such profound intimacy? It was tempting to believe that it was just her influence that had him throwing caution to the wind, but she sensed that there was more to it than that. Her photographer’s instinct always knew when there was more at play than what could be immediately seen. Before she knew it, the question slid from her lips.

“Why me, Ethan?”

“Huh?”

He sounded sleepy, as if she’d dragged him from that in-between place in the middle of consciousness and slumber.

“What happened to you today?” she asked.

He sucked in a deep breath and his arm tightened around her. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Try me,” she coaxed. “You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn’t usually share what troubles you. Maybe you should try it sometime, like now, with me.”

She kept drawing the circles on his chest and waited in silence for him to make up his mind. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain as he weighed up the pros and cons of sharing with her. It never failed to surprise Isobel that people could share the most personal experiences together physically, yet reveal so little on an emotional level. Somehow it mattered to her to know why Ethan had overstepped his boundaries with her.

“I got some news today that I hadn’t anticipated,” he finally disclosed.

“Bad news?”

“Yes and no.”

“It upset you,” she stated firmly.

“Yeah, I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“It must have been really bad, then.”

She felt him nod. “You could say that. My dad died recently and I’ve been going over his records. I found some payments that didn’t marry up with the data I had before me, so I checked with the family accountant who referred me to our lawyer. That’s where I went today. Basically I discovered that my father hid the truth about our mother from my sister and me. We were told she died twenty-five years ago, but she didn’t. She left us and accepted his money to stay away.”

“Oh, that’s awful. You must have been devastated,” Isobel whispered in shock.

She knew what it was like to find out a parent had been lying to you. It was the deepest kind of betrayal.

“I don’t understand why he did it and now I can’t ask him, either.”

Tension radiated from his body as the frustration he’d been feeling wound tight inside of him.

“Maybe he just wanted to protect you and your sister. If it happened twenty-five years ago then you can’t have been all that old,” she said, trying to soothe him.

“I was six, my sister only three. I would have had some understanding of his decision not to tell us then, if my father had bothered to tell me the truth later, when I was an adult. It’s not as if he didn’t have ample opportunity. Even after he died, there was no letter, nothing in his will to let me know the truth. If I hadn’t started asking questions about the payments, I never would have known.”

The bitterness in his voice hung in the air.

Isobel sighed. “It isn’t easy to understand the choices our parents make.” That much, she knew from personal experience. “Usually, I guess they think they’re protecting us.”

“Why would I need to be protected from the truth? Don’t I deserve to know why he thought my sister and I would be better off without our mother in our lives?”

“Maybe it wasn’t as clear-cut as that.”

Ethan shook his head. “It must have been. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to get the rest of our family to support him in his lie. My aunt and my uncle and his wife, they all knew the truth. They’ve all kept the secret for all these years.”

“Are they still alive?”

“Yeah, we all live on the family property. We see each other pretty much every day.”

“Then maybe you can find out from them,” she suggested. “Whatever the outcome, though, Ethan, there’s no point in holding a grudge against a dead man. Right or wrong, your father made his decisions. They can’t be undone or the past changed. The only thing you can do is move forward.”

“Is that what you do?” he asked. “Move forward and not ask questions?”

She smiled and lifted her head and met his serious dark brown gaze. “Except for right now, yeah, something like that. It saves on baggage.”

Ethan shook his head slightly. “I can’t imagine living like that.”

Isobel shrugged. “It’s not for everyone. Certainly not for someone like your father, for example. For whatever reason, he kept those payments going for years, got your whole family involved, with the idea that he was protecting you and your sister. I imagine you’re probably very much like he was. Strong.” She coasted her fingertips over his shoulders and down his arm. “Intelligent.” She ran her fingers back up his arm and lightly touched his forehead. “And protective.” Her fingertips traveled back down to his chest and she rested her full palm against it. “Those are the qualities about your father you should remember him by. And how much he must have loved you.”

Ethan remained silent for a while before speaking. “You have an interesting insight for someone who never met my father and who never met me before tonight.”

“You think I’m being presumptuous, offering you my opinion?”

“No, not that. If anything, you probably described my father to a tee. I suppose that coming to terms with everything, losing him as suddenly as we did, I had briefly lost sight of that. I still want to know why he never told me about our mother, though.”

“Is tomorrow soon enough for that?” Isobel asked, raising onto her knees and straddling him as she’d done earlier. “Because I think, for now, it might be fun to distract you with other things.”

Four

I
sobel woke as the sun was beginning to cast a corona around the edges of the heavy floor-length drapes at the window. For a moment she was disoriented, but soon remembrance flooded her mind. She lay motionless next to Ethan’s sleeping body, listening to his steady breathing, reveling in the warmth that radiated from him. Wow, she thought, that had been quite a night. Who would have thought that Mr. Buttoned-Up would be quite so skilled in the bedroom? She smiled to herself. It was true what they said. It was the quiet ones you had to watch.

Her body still tingled and she felt wonderfully alive. Last night had been special. Very special. She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Ethan in the half light. His beard had grown, dusting his jaw with an even darker haze than had been apparent at dinner. That, and his mussed-up hair, made him look more untamed and approachable than he’d been before. It was as if he was two people. A public, reserved Ethan and a private one. She liked that she’d gotten a chance to spend time with both.

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To awaken him both mentally and physically. But caution stilled her hand. If she was going to leave, best to leave now, while he was still sleeping. That way, they could avoid the awkward goodbye that would come after she told him she’d rather not keep in touch. She wasn’t prepared to invest time into any type of commitment. It wasn’t her way. And this guy, well, he had commitment written all over him. In fact, she didn’t doubt that she’d been an aberration for him.

She slid carefully from the bed and found her dress and shoes on the floor at the end of the bed. Her panties were a lost cause, she decided, after silently scanning the carpet for a minute. Besides, she had clean pairs in her pack. Giving a mental shrug, she held her things to her and carefully made her way to the door, thanking the efficiency of modern maintenance that the door opened and closed silently, allowing her to exit the bedroom without making a sound.

In the main room she located her pack behind the sofa where Ethan had left it last night and quickly got dressed. She’d give just about anything for a hot shower and a toothbrush right now, but she didn’t want the sound of running water to wake Ethan. Now that she’d made her decision to cut and run, she didn’t want anything to stand in her way. Not even the man who’d ensured she’d enjoyed what had unarguably been the best sex of her entire life.

Her inner muscles clenched on the memory of the pleasure he’d wrung from her. No hit and miss with him. She smiled. No, he was hit after hit every time. A girl could get addicted to that, could want to hang around for more of the same. She reminded herself that she wasn’t the hanging-around type. Not for any reason, and certainly not for a man. She was a wanderer through and through, with little to call her own aside from what she could carry in her pack.

Ethan had talked about a family business, relatives that he worked with and spent time with every day. She couldn’t imagine an existence more different from her own. No, there was no room for commitment in her life, and no place for some as impermanent as her in his.

Isobel threaded the straps of her shoes through the fingers of one hand while hoisting her pack over one shoulder with the other. She turned to blow a silent kiss in the direction of Ethan’s bedroom. It had certainly been fun while it lasted.

In the elevator on the way to the ground floor, Isobel slid her sandals onto her feet and smoothed her dress, thanking the good sense she’d learned years ago to only purchase non-crush fabrics. Sometimes it cost a little more, but it was worth it when you lived a transitory life out of a backpack.

The air had a definite autumnal chill to it when she exited the massive glazed doors of the apartment building and she hesitated under the portico, deciding where she should head to next.

She really needed to find somewhere inexpensive to check into so she could shower and change and get her professional head back on her shoulders. Last night had been a sinfully satisfying deviation from her usual behavior but the sooner she put it behind her, the better. Question was, how was she to do that? She waited in the cool morning air for a few minutes and then, as luck would have it, a taxi pulled to the curb to drop off a passenger. Someone returning from overseas, judging by the amount of luggage the driver hefted from the trunk of the car. As he started to get back in, Isobel stepped forward.

“Excuse me, is there any chance you could take me to a low-price hotel near here?”

“Sure, love. Hop in.”

Thanking her lucky stars, Isobel pushed her pack into the backseat and followed it onto the worn upholstery. As the car pulled away, though, she wondered what might have happened if, instead of slinking away, she’d stayed to waken Ethan. Where could they have gone from last night? That they would have made love again was in no doubt. In fact, they could have skipped the potential for morning-after awkwardness and worked their way straight through to afternoon delight.

No, she told herself sternly, forcing her head to remain resolutely facing forward. As good as their night together had been, she had to remember her motto, her very code for living.
Never look back.

Besides, she had work to do that would have drawn her out of town soon, anyway. A job that was a cakewalk when it came to it, but that would bring in a tidy paycheck. It was these safe, easy glamour jobs that gave her some much-needed rest after a more trying assignment, and paid enough to subsidize the side of her work that was really important.

She’d allowed herself a month to get the project completed to both her and her client’s satisfaction. One month to recoup funds, to rest and recharge, and then she was heading back to the African continent. Back to what she did best and what spoke to her heart. What she earned in the next few weeks would grease the palms necessary to get her exactly where she needed to be to take the pictures she needed to take.

But even as the tires on the taxi ate the kilometers putting space between her and Ethan, she still felt that tug—that desire to turn back. To explore the vulnerability that lay beneath the face Ethan presented to the world at large. To revel in the strength and capability he exuded. The guy was addictive. Dangerously addictive. It was just as well she’d never see him again because deep down she knew he had the power to make her want to stay with him longer than a night and she couldn’t do that.

No, she’d never do that.

* * *

Ethan stretched against the fine cotton of the bedsheets and reached beside him for Isobel’s sleeping form, but his hand came up empty. In fact, the room itself held an emptiness that left him in no doubt that she’d moved on.

Conflicting thoughts plagued him as he rolled out of bed and walked naked into the main living area of the apartment, just to confirm she had indeed gone. Relief that they didn’t have to face any stilted morning-after discussion, tempered with a deep regret that they couldn’t start the day the way they’d finished last night, warred within him.

Relief won out. Especially in light of the discussion they’d had after the first time they’d made love. What on earth had possessed him to open up in such detail to an absolute stranger? He hadn’t even told his sister the news. In fact, he didn’t even know if he
would
tell her.

Wasn’t it far better that Tamsyn remember their dad the way he’d have wanted to be remembered—not as a man who’d deliberately altered their family history without so much as an explanation left behind when he died? Didn’t she deserve at least that? Ethan didn’t even want to contemplate what it would do to Tamsyn to learn their mother had willingly abandoned them. How it would destabilize the world they’d grown up in.

God, it was all such a mess. No less so than it had been yesterday but, he had to admit as he walked back into the bedroom and headed for a shower, at least he himself felt a little better about it. Somehow, Isobel Fyfe had woven her magic around him from the minute he’d seen her. Just that one chance glimpse of her before she entered the pub, like a butterfly alighting on a leaf, and his day had taken a decided turn for the better. He turned on the shower and stepped in before the water could come up to temperature, yet even the multijet sprays couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of her touch from his body, or his mind. Somehow, she’d inveigled her way into his thoughts so thoroughly, and in so short a time, that he couldn’t fully dislodge her.

She wasn’t his type, he reminded himself. She was only a one-night stand, by her own choice. He hadn’t kicked her out—she was the one who had left. Their night together had satisfied both of them, and then she had moved on. It was for the best. It was what he’d wanted, too, after all. The prospect of a single 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.