Desire jolted through him. But he wanted to laugh, too. The dimness of the winery seemed to grow brighter. The unrelenting heaviness that had consumed Rafaelo ever since he’d first learned he wasn’t fathered by the man he’d always called Papa but by some not-so-perfect stranger who’d never wanted anything to do with him—or his sweet mother—started to lift.
“I am a Lopez on my mother’s side—so maybe I am part wolf. You’d better take care and treat me with mucho respect.” He gave her a lazy grin, showing his teeth, his heart lightening still further as her smile broke into peals of unrestrained laughter.
“Lopez? Oh, of course, lupis. Yes, you’d have to be a wolf.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and the fresh wave of desire that crashed through him shook Rafaelo to the core.
“My, my, what sharp teeth you have,” she mocked gently.
“Is that an invitation for the wolf to bite?” He leaned toward her, drawn by the irrepressible sparkle in her eyes. The scent of wildflowers intensified. He wanted to yank her into his arms. Kiss her until she was breathless. “To hunt?”
She flushed, a flood of scarlet across the pale skin and drew quickly away, her smile fading.
“No…no.”
The sudden panicked look she gave him made Rafaelo frown.
Before he could ask her what he’d done to bring that blind fear to her eyes, she shuffled away. “Uh, I have to go. You’ll find Phillip in his office. Go out that door, past the stainless steel vats. Turn right and head down the corridor to the office at the end.”
And then she was hurrying away without offering to show him the way into his father’s lair. Rafaelo stared after her tall, slim body with consternation. What had happened? One moment she’d been laughing, teasing him…there’d been a bubble of suppressed excitement surrounding them…and then she’d run.
What had scared her? Him? Dios, he didn’t pose any danger—at least, not to her.
Still trapped in a tizzy over the amused interest she’d glimpsed in Rafaelo’s eyes and the shameful surge of desire that had been so quickly followed by fear, Caitlyn crossed the forecourt outside the brick structure that housed two immense stainless steel vats. As she approached the tasting shed, a streak of silver flashed past her peripheral vision.
Heath.
She paused. For so long she’d been attuned to his every move. A glimpse of his silver Lamborghini usually stirred secret yearnings. Impossible yearnings. But today she merely frowned. With Rafaelo here, Heath’s presence would only lead to more tension.
Heath seldom appeared during working hours. It was no secret that he and Phillip had differences of opinion—differences that had been significant enough for Heath to walk out of his job as winemaker at Saxon’s Folly three years ago.
She lifted a hand and waved.
Heath waved back. Slowly Caitlyn made her way over to where he’d pulled the car in beside Rafaelo’s beaten-up rental. Heath was already clambering out of the low-slung car under the angled doors.
Propping her hip against the battered vehicle, she folded her arms and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Dad called. He wants me here for a meeting.”
“Phillip called you?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Phillip and his youngest son usually did little but argue—each convinced that their own opinion was the only one that could be right.
“Yep. Before you start thinking reconciliation, he called Joshua, too. So your job is safe, kitten,” Heath teased, ruffling the top of her head.
She ducked her head away and pulled off the baseball cap. “I’m not worried about you wanting my job. You put me up for it, remember?”
He tugged her ponytail. “Course I remember, rat’s tail.”
Instead of the hopeless longing that usually filled her at his joking, brotherly manner, Caitlyn felt only annoyance. And irritation with herself for wasting so much time on a man who never looked past the fact that she’d been a first-year student when he’d been studying for his doctorate. Then she’d been one of the few girls in a department dominated by guys and had chosen to become one of them—rather than the trophy that they bickered over, a path that would have put her truly on the outside.
She couldn’t help thinking of the way that Rafaelo had looked at her in the winery earlier. His scrutiny had made her wish she hadn’t been wearing scuffed sneakers and stained jeans.
That was until they’d started the talk about wolves and hunting, before she’d chickened out and hightailed it away as fast as her legs could carry her. Predatory males scared her spitless.
She shoved Rafaelo out of her thoughts and concentrated on Heath. “So Joshua is coming, too?”
“Yeah, apparently there’s someone that Dad wants us to meet.”
Rafaelo.
It had to be.
Phillip couldn’t know that Joshua and Heath had already met Rafaelo yesterday…and almost come to blows.
Or maybe he did. “Uh…Heath…did you say anything to your parents about meeting Rafaelo yesterday?”
“Rafaelo?” Heath’s cell phone started to ring and he dug into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve it.
“The Spaniard,” she clarified, as the ringing grew louder.
“I remember exactly who Rafaelo is. I can’t see why I should be bothering to discuss his spurious claim with Father.”
Caitlyn waited as Heath answered his call, resting the phone in the angle between his shoulder and jaw.
“I’m here, Dad.” He winked at Caitlyn. “What’s the hurry?” He listened for a moment and all humour left his face, he started to frown. “Be there in two minutes.”
His expression filled Caitlyn with dread. “What’s the matter?”
“Sounds like Dad’s got a bit of a problem.”
“Problem?”
“Six foot-plus of pure bastard by the sounds of it. But not for much longer.”
Heath tore across the drive, Caitlyn hard on his heels.
She thought of Rafaelo, his reluctance to call Phillip by his given name…or to acknowledge him as “my father.” She thought of the isolation he must be experiencing among the tight-knit Saxon clan. She thought of Rafaelo standing toe-to-toe with Heath yesterday. She thought of his fury about Phillip’s treatment of his mother.
Her heart sank. A fight was brewing. “Wait, I’m coming, too.”
Caitlyn rushed into Phillip’s office hard on Heath’s heels. The office—if it could be called that—had windows with old-fashioned wide wooden sills that overlooked the vineyards, an antique desk clear of everything except a blotter and a gold pen in a marble holder, and a conference table with four chairs arranged around it. Three of the chairs were currently occupied by Phillip, Joshua and Rafaelo. The tension in the room was palpable.
“So this is about him?” Heath gestured with a thumb toward Rafaelo and took the last seat.
“Yes.” Phillip did not elaborate.
Caitlyn hovered, feeling a little out of place—she was after all not family—then Rafaelo rose to his feet.
“Caitlyn…” he gave her name an exotic resonance “…take my chair.”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
“I insist.” He stepped away from the table and perched himself on the windowsill.
“Sit