“The stone fruit flavours are very specific to this region, if you travel down to Marlborough, you’ll discover that the flavour’s grassy, reminiscent of gooseberries.” Joshua’s voice washed over her talking about fruit and flavours and she listened to the mesmerising cadence of his voice, words like peach and smooth and creamy creating a sensuous flow that surrounded her.
“Can you taste the differences between the same wines?”
“You mean, from different producers?”
The tall man nodded.
“That’s called horizontal tasting. So Saxon’s Folly makes Sauvignon Blanc, and over the hill at his winery my brother makes Sauvignon Blanc, too. They’re different. He’s a fine winemaker … but so is Caitlyn Ross our winemaker—”
“A woman makes wine here?” One of the men sounded shocked.
“Good wines, too.” Alyssa found herself bristling a little.
“Of course you’d say that, you work here.”
“Actually I’m a journalist—”
“Ooh, you’re doing a story? How exciting. Which newspaper?”
Alyssa told her the name of the magazine.
“I know you,” said the tall man. “You’re Alyssa Blake—you have a column in the Sunday papers, too. And I’ve seen you on television. So what do you think of the wines here?”
Alyssa gave him a smile, aware that Joshua was growing tense beside her, his hand tightening around the bottom of the wine bottle. Did he really believe that she would say something that might be detrimental to Saxon’s Folly?
“You taste and tell me what you think,” she responded, passing a glass to the man who had spoken. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Joshua’s grip had relaxed a little, his knuckles were no longer white.
“Make sure you get some photos of him—” the flirt pointed at Joshua “—I might even buy a copy of the magazine.” The woman batted her eyelashes in that way that Alyssa found intensely irritating. But she swallowed her annoyance and said nothing.
In the end the group walked away with a purchase of three cases of wine and Alyssa let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Hard work?” Joshua asked, a glimmer of laughter in his eyes.
“Let’s just say it’s not quite the easy sell I thought it would be.” She looked up at him. “So you can tell the difference between the wines you brew and those that Heath makes, hmm?”
He nodded.
“And I suppose you can tell the difference between different Saxon’s Folly vintages?”
“Piece of cake.”
“And then you try and tell me that the samples you supplied for judging in the Golden Harvest Wine Awards taste the same as the same label available for sale in the supermarkets?”
Joshua froze. “Trying to ambush me?” he asked very softly.
Alyssa refused to be intimidated. Joshua made a big deal about his reputation, about how honourable he was. She was entitled to know if that was the truth. What she wasn’t sure about yet was what she would do if she discovered it was all lies. She didn’t want to hurt Kay and Phillip Saxon—or their children. 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