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Maddie finally wrenched her gaze away from his and stalked off—but not before she almost stumbled in the too-big shoes. Gritting her teeth, she prayed silently all the way to the door that she would at least retain the dignity of not losing a shoe in front of the insufferably arrogant de Rojas and the gobsmacked crowd.
Maddie held her head high, and it was only when she finally reached her father’s battered Jeep in the car park and locked herself inside that shock hit her and she shook uncontrollably for long minutes.
The awful reality was that he was right—she was on a hiding to nothing, trying to make their estate work again. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to try. Her father had made long-overdue amends with Maddie, and even though it had come so late, Maddie had always clung to the hope that she would hear from her father. She would have returned here years ago if he’d welcomed her back. For as long as she could remember she’d wanted nothing more than to work on the estate.
When she’d received the heartfelt letter from her ill father, with his outpouring of regret for his actions, Maddie hadn’t been able to help but respond to his plea to come home to try to save their estate from oblivion.
Maddie’s relationship with her father had never been close. He’d always made it clear he wanted sons, not a daughter, and had firmly believed that a woman’s place was in the home and not in the business of winemaking. But he’d made up for a lifetime of dismissiveness while on his deathbed, when he’d realised he might lose everything.
Maddie had been hoping and praying she’d make it home in time to see him, but he’d passed away while she was in the air on her initial flight to Buenos Aires. His solicitor had met her with the news, and she’d gone straight from the airport in Mendoza to his private and lonely funeral in the small family graveyard in the grounds of their estate.
She hadn’t even been able to get in touch with her mother, who was on a cruise somewhere with her fourth husband, who was some ten years her junior. She felt very alone now, when faced with the tangible animosity of Nicolás de Rojas and the seemingly insurmountable task of taking on the Vasquez estate.
Legend had it that Maddie’s and Nicolás de Rojas’s ancestors had been two Spanish friends, immigrants who’d made the long journey to Argentina to make new lives for themselves. They’d committed to setting up a vineyard together but something had happened—a woman had been involved: a love affair gone wrong and a bitter betrayal. As revenge Maddie’s forefather had vowed to ruin the de Rojas name. So he’d founded Vasquez wines in direct competition and built it up right next door.
Vasquez wines had become ridiculously successful, decimating the de Rojas name, thus ensuring that the feud thrived and deepened as each generation fought for dominance and revenge. Violence between the families had been habitual, and once a member of the de Rojas family had even been murdered—although it had never been proved that the culprit had been a Vasquez.
Reversals in fortune had happened through the years, but by the time Maddie had been born the two estates had been almost neck and neck in terms of success. The generations-old dark cloud of hostility between the families seemed to have settled into an uneasy truce. In spite of the relative peace, though, Maddie had grown up knowing that she would be punished if she was caught even looking in the direction of the de Rojas vineyard.
Her cheeks stung with colour now when she recalled Nicolás’s jeering ‘princess’. He’d only ever really seen her on the few social occasions when their families had been forced to mix, when hosts had nervously ensured that they didn’t actually mingle.
Her mother had used those opportunities to parade Maddie in the latest fashions, forcing her naturally tom-boyish and bookish daughter into the mould of the fashionable daughter she’d really wanted. Maddie’s beautiful mother had wanted a confidante, not a child.
Maddie had been so mortified and uncomfortable in those situations that she’d done her best to fade into the background, while at the same time being aware of the very taboo fascination she felt for Nicolás Cristobal de Rojas, six years her senior, who even as a teenager had exuded unmistakable arrogance and virility. The tension and distance between their families had only made him more fascinating and alluring.
Then, as soon as she’d turned twelve, she’d been sent to boarding school in England and had only returned home for the holidays. She’d lived for those few months, and had endured her mother’s determination to parade her as if she was a doll just because it meant she could catch illicit glimpses of Nicolás de Rojas at the annual polo matches or the few social occasions their families shared. She’d look out of her bedroom window and sometimes would see him far in the distance on his horse as he inspected the neighbouring vineyard. To her, he’d looked like a golden-haired god. Strong and proud.
Whenever she’d seen him socially he’d always been surrounded by girls. Her mouth twisted when she thought of the beautiful blonde he’d so casually dismissed just now. Evidently nothing had changed there …
Eight years ago the uneasy truce between their families had exploded into bitterly fresh enmity and had shown Maddie the real depth of hatred between them. The fact that she’d actually challenged Nicolás’s perception of her for a few days in time was something she had to forget. Because it had been undone as quickly as it had been done. What would someone like him be more likely to believe? A lifetime of propaganda and erroneous impressions? Or the briefest of moments fuelled by lust which had quickly been soured for ever?
Maddie shook her head and forced her trembling hand to start up the engine. She had just enough diesel to take her back to the small town of Villarosa, about thirty minutes outside Mendoza. No doubt someone of Nicolás’s standing had a suite in the palatial hotel tonight, where he would be accompanied by his long-legged golden companion, but Maddie had nowhere to go except a crumbling homestead where the electricity had been cut off months ago and where she and a loyal skeleton staff depended on an ancient generator for power.
Maddie swung out of the hotel car park and reflected miserably that there must be plenty of de Rojas ancestors laughing down at her predicament right now.
CHAPTER TWO
NIC was stuck in a trance. All he could see in his mind’s eye was the bared expanse of pale, slim back and the tumble of jet-black hair against her skin as Madalena Vasquez walked away. She’d stumbled slightly in her shoes, and it had made her look achingly vulnerable for a moment—before she’d recovered and swept out of the ballroom with all the hauteur of a queen. She’d had no right to look affronted at his taunting ‘princesss’, for that was what she had always been.
When she’d been much younger she’d reminded him of a fragile porcelain doll, and he hated to admit it now but she’d always fascinated him with her unusually pale colouring and green eyes. There had been moments—the memory of which burned him now for his naivety—when he’d believed she’d been uncomfortable in their social milieu, when she’d looked almost sick as her mother pushed her to the fore. He’d sensed that beneath the delicate exterior lurked something much more solid.
Nic’s mouth firmed. Well, he had first-hand experience of exactly how solid she was beneath that ethereal beauty. As if he needed to be reminded of the kind of person she was. Once she’d challenged his preconceptions of her, but it had all been an act.
She’d shared her mother’s temptress nature—an earthy sensuality that could ensnare the strongest of men. His heart thumped hard. It had ensnared his father before him, and then, a generation later, him. She’d only been seventeen. Humiliation burned Nic at recalling it, and he couldn’t halt the flood of memories—not so soon after seeing her close up and in the flesh for the first time in years.
One evening he’d been inspecting the vines which were closest to the Vasquez estate; they always had to be ever vigilant in case of sabotage. That particular evening Nic had been weary and frustrated … weary of his mother’s constant melancholy—never properly diagnosed as the depression it had been—and his father’s caustic cruelty and habitual violence. At the dinner table his father had been drunkenly ranting about how the Vasquez run of success was threatening their sales. Nic had always firmly believed you made your own success, but, constrained by his authoritarian father, he hadn’t been able to implement his own ideas.
Something had made Nic look up to the small hill which acted as a natural boundary between the two estates, and he’d seen a feminine figure with long black hair astride a huge stallion. Madalena Vasquez. Looking right at him.
His weariness had morphed instantly into burning irrational anger—at her for making him think about her, wonder about her, when she was forbidden. She also represented the dark and tangled feud which he had never really understood.
The supercilious image she presented on her horse had only galvanised him further and, giving in to an urge stronger than he’d been able to resist, Nic had spurred his horse to a canter and headed straight for her—only to see her whirl around and disappear.
He could still taste the urgency thrumming in his blood eight years later—to catch her and see her up close. Never once in their lives had they been allowed to speak to one another. Although he’d seen the way she would look at him from a distance and then glance away with artful shyness.
Finally he’d caught another glimpse of her, low down over her horse, hair streaming in the wind. She’d been cutting through the landscape like a bullet. With increasing urgency he’d thundered after her. It had been on the very edge of both their estates that he’d eventually seen her riderless horse, tied to a tree. She’d come to a remote part of their land where orchards had been planted. And then he’d seen her standing in a clearing of trees, as if she’d known he’d follow her.
More mesmerised by her flushed cheeks and that glossy fall of hair than he’d cared to admit, Nic had swung off his horse and come to stand in front of her. His anger had dissolved like snow on a hot stone. The very forbidden nature of what they were doing had infused the air around them.
‘Why did you follow me?’ she’d asked suddenly, her voice low and husky.
Nic had spoken on an unthinking reflex. ‘Perhaps I just wanted to see the Vasquez princess up close.’
In that instant she went white as a ghost, her eyes like two huge wounded emeralds.
She backed away and Nic put out his hands, instantly contrite. ‘Wait. Stop. I don’t know why I said that … I’m sorry.’ He took a breath. ‘I followed you because I wanted to … and because I think you wanted me to.’
She’d flushed pink then, the colour rushing into her cheeks dramatically. Without even being aware of it Nic reached out a hand and touched her cheek, fascinated by the way her emotions showed so clearly, feeling its satiny texture beneath his callused palm. A shudder of pure longing went through him—so strong he nearly shook.
She stepped back, biting her lip, looking tortured. ‘We shouldn’t be here … If anyone sees us …’
Nic saw a tremor go through her slender frame, the way her young breasts pushed against the material of her shirt. Jodhpurs encased long, slim thighs.
He struggled with his control, waves of heat building inside him. She’d speared him with a defiant look then, which confirmed his suspicions that she wasn’t as delicate as she had always appeared—as if her little gallop through the wilderness of their lands hadn’t already told him that.
‘I’m not a princess. I’m not like that. I hate being paraded in public like some kind of mannequin. It’s my mother … she wishes I was more like her. They won’t even let me go out riding unsupervised. I have to sneak out when they’re busy …’
Nic saw her gaze fall to his mouth and her cheeks pinken again. Power and testosterone flooded his body, and he smiled wryly. ‘I spend practically every waking hour on a horse … working in the vineyard.’
She looked back up at him, but not before torturing him with an innocently hungry look at his mouth.
‘That’s all I ever wanted. But when my brother died my father found me helping to pick the grapes one day and sent me inside. He told me that if he ever caught me in the vineyard again he’d take his belt to me.’
Nic winced and his stomach clenched. He knew only too well what the wrath of a father felt like. Gruffly he said, ‘Your brother died a few years ago, didn’t he?’
Madalena looked away, swallowing visibly before saying, ‘He died in an accident when they were crushing the grapes. He was only thirteen.’
‘I’m sorry.’ And then he asked, a little wistfully, ‘You were close?’
She looked back, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘I adored him. Our father was … is … prone to rages. One day I angered him, and he would have hit me but Alvaro stepped in and took it. My father wouldn’t stop hitting him, enraged at being shown up by his own son. He was only eight at the time …’
Her eyes were swimming with tears. Nic had been the recipient of many a beating in his own time. Acting on an instinct too powerful to resist, he reached out and pulled her to him, enfolding her slim body in his, wrapping his arms around her. The need to comfort her was overwhelming, and completely alien for someone like him who generally held people at arm’s length.
She was a complete stranger to him in so many ways, but in that moment he felt a deep kinship. After long moments she pulled back, and with the utmost reluctance Nic let her go.
She said shakily, ‘I should go … they’ll be looking for me …’
She turned and Nic reached out, gripping her arm with a desperate feeling in his belly. She looked back and he said, ‘Wait … meet me here again tomorrow?’
The world seemed to stop turning for an infinitesimal moment, and Nic braced himself for a mocking laugh—some indication that he’d completely misread those few moments.
But Madalena’s cheeks flushed red and she said huskily, ‘I’d like that.’
They met every day for a week—stolen moments in that secret place where time seemed to be suspended in a bubble and where inhibitions fell away. Nic spoke to her of things he’d never told another soul as easily as if he hadn’t experienced years of emotional isolation. Each day he became more and more consumed by Madalena Vasquez. More and more entranced with her delicate beauty, which he’d discovered hid an earthy sensuality, driving him senseless with growing desire. Yet he managed not to touch her after that first day, when he’d pulled her into his arms to comfort her.
The depth of his need scared him, and the sensual and sexual tension building between them tipped over on that last day. When Nic arrived to find Maddie waiting, he didn’t speak and nor did she. The air quivered and vibrated with awareness around them, and then she was in his arms before he’d stretched them out to pull her into them.
His mouth was on hers, and she was clutching him as if she were drowning. He sank a hand into her hair. It felt like liquid silk. He felt her legs shaking against his and slowly they lay down on the downy grass under the shade of the trees, oblivious to their idyllic surroundings. Heat consumed Nic so much that his hand trembled as he fumbled with the buttons on her blouse.
He was no callow, inexperienced youth, but he felt like one as she lay back and looked at him from under long, dark lashes, her cheeks stained red. When he’d opened her shirt and undid her bra to uncover pale breasts tipped with tight pink nipples, he nearly lost it completely.
He was drunk on her by then—drunk on the taste of those sweet breasts, and her soft mewling sounds of response and rolling hips—so he didn’t hear anything until she tensed in his arms.
They both looked up at the same moment to see grim figures on horseback, staring down at them. It all became a blur as Nic scrambled to cover Maddie and she stood up behind him. Then they were both hauled unceremoniously out of the clearing by their respective estate employees and brought home …
‘Hello? Earth to Nicolás?’
Nic flinched now, as if stung, and looked down to see Estella staring up at him.
She was holding two glasses of champagne. She handed one to him and said, ‘Here. Looks like you could do with this.’
He was feeling incredibly raw and exposed, but he schooled his features and took the drink, restraining himself from downing it in one go.
‘So, was that woman really one of the Vasquez family? I thought I might have to get a hose to cool things down between you.’
‘She’s the last Vasquez. She’s come back to take over the family business,’ Nic bit out tautly, wanting to rid himself of the potent images.
‘That’s interesting …’ Estella mused in a far too innocent voice. ‘You’re the last in your line too …’
Nic glowered at Estella. ‘The only thing interesting about it is that she’ll be forced to sell that estate to me and we’ll finally be rid of the Vasquez family for good.’
With tension radiating from his tall form he strode away from her and the speculative look on her face. The last thing Nic needed was someone analysing his encounter with Madalena Vasquez. And the last thing the de Rojas estate needed was for its name to be dragged back down into the mire of rumour and innuendo and a resumption of ancient hostilities. The sooner Madalena Vasquez realised the futility of her position and how unwelcome she was, the better for everyone.
‘What the hell is he up to?’ Maddie muttered to herself, and turned the silver embossed invitation over and back again, as if it might contain a booby trap.
The message was written on one side and simple.
You are cordially invited to a private tasting of this year’s finest wines from the world-renowned de Rojas Estate.
Saturday, 7p.m., Casa de Rojas, Villarosa, Mendoza.
Black Tie.
The invitation had arrived with that day’s post, interrupting Maddie as she waded through her father’s papers.
She heard a noise and looked up from where she was sitting at her father’s study desk to see Hernan come in. He was their oldest and most loyal employee, her father’s viticulturist, and his own father had been the viticulturist before him. He and his wife, Maria, who was the housekeeper, were both working for board alone, even though Maddie had told them she couldn’t be sure when they might get paid again.
Her father’s head winemaker had long since gone, and Maddie knew that she might have to take over that role until she could afford to hire someone new. Fresh from a degree in Oenology and Viticulture, she was lacking in practical experience but had a burning love for the industry and craved the opportunity. Even if it was a poisoned chalice.
She swallowed the emotion she felt at the evidence of Hernan’s loyalty now and handed the card to him. He read it silently and handed it back with an inscrutable look on his face.
Maddie just arched a questioning brow.
After a long moment the old man said, ‘You do know that if you accept the invitation you will be the first Vasquez to be invited onto de Rojas land since as far back as I can remember?’
Maddie nodded slowly. This was huge. And she had no idea what he was playing at, but she had to admit she was intrigued to see the famed estate.
To her shock and surprise Hernan shrugged lightly. ‘Perhaps you should go. Times have changed, and things can’t go on as they always have. He’s up to something. Of that I have no doubt. Nic de Rojas is infinitely more intelligent than his father, or even his father before him, so he is a dangerous enemy to have … but perhaps an enemy you know …?’ He trailed off.
Maddie looked at the card thoughtfully. It had been two weeks exactly since her tumultuous meeting with Nicolás de Rojas, and she still felt shaky when she thought of it. Going through her father’s papers since then had shown her the true ugly extent of how far Nicolás de Rojas was willing to go to to get his hands on their estate.
Her father had been bombarded with letter after letter advising him to sell up. Some had been cajoling, almost friendly in tone, and others had been downright threatening. They’d all been issued by the de Rojas solicitor but signed off with the arrogant Nicolás de Rojas scrawl. There’d even been a threatening letter dated the day her father had died.
As much as Maddie wanted to rip up the invitation and send it back in pieces to Nicolás, she knew she couldn’t afford to isolate herself now. She needed to see what she was up against.
The party was the next evening.
She put the invitation in a drawer and stood up resolutely, clamping the gaucho hat she’d been wearing back on her head. ‘I’ll think about it. In the meantime we need to check the eastern vineyard again. It looks like our best prospect of a harvest this year.’
‘You mean our only prospect,’ Hernan said darkly as they walked out to the battered vineyard Jeep.
Maddie tried not to let the sensation of sheer panic overwhelm her. It was far too frequent for her liking, and not helped one bit by the realisation that the monumental task of harvesting their one chance of a wine that year was going to fall to her and Hernan and whatever friends and relations he could persuade to help with picking the grapes.
Her father had been a staunch old-school-style winemaker, eschewing wholesale modern methods. That was all very well when you were producing top-of-the-line expensive wines in tandem with more affordable table wines, but in later years her father had all but stopped producing for the more accessible market.
Their one tiny glimmer of hope was in the grapes which had somehow survived the neglect of her father to flourish and ripen on the eastern slopes of the vineyard. These were the Sauvignon grapes which made the distinctive white wine which had put the Vasquez name on the map—particularly because red wines were more common in Argentina.
If they could harvest them, and assure investors of the quality and quantity, then perhaps someone would give them the money they needed to get back on track—or at the very least to be able to pay the basic bills again.
Nic was tense as he stood in the open-air courtyard in the middle of his hacienda. His focus was on the imposing entrance doorway, which was still admitting a long line of glittering guests who had travelled from all over the world for this tasting. Hundreds of candles flickered in huge lanterns, and waiters dressed immaculately in black and white moved among the guests offering wine and canapés. But all Nic could think was … would she come? And why had he asked her, really?
Nic told himself it was because he wanted her gone. His belly clenched. It went much deeper than that, and he knew it. Really, what he’d wanted since eight years ago, and since he’d had that electric glimpse of her in that club in London, was to see her broken and contrite. To see that pale perfection undone. To see her as humiliated as he’d felt. To see her as exposed. She’d lured him to expose himself and he’d stupidly believed the act she’d put on.
Her words resounded in his head. ‘I was bored. OK? I wanted to seduce you because you were forbidden to me. It was exciting …’
A smug voice came from his left. ‘It’ll only be a matter of time now before you can buy out the Vasquez estate.’
Nic took his eye off the door for a moment and looked at his solicitor, who had been a good friend of his parents. His mother’s friend more than his father’s. He was a small, overweight man, with mean, calculating eyes. Nic had never especially liked him, but it had been easier to retain him than to let him go after his father’s death. He made a mental note to instruct his assistant to seek out new legal representation. He’d do his duty and give Señor Fiero a generous retirement package.
A movement at the door caught the corner of Nic’s eye, and he looked back to see Madalena Vasquez entering. The instantaneous effect was almost laughable. His whole body tautened, and an urgent need to see her up close again rushed through him, shocking him with its force. He’d never felt that for another woman. Not even a lover.
From here she looked even more stunning than she had two weeks ago. Her hair was up and she was wearing a long midnight-blue sheath. Strapless, it showed off the delicate lines of her collarbone and shoulders. The gently muscled strength of her arms. There was something slightly odd about the dress, though, that he couldn’t put his finger on. Much like the dress she’d worn the other night in Mendoza, it was as if it didn’t fit perfectly. As if it wasn’t hers.
He was so used to seeing women immaculately turned out that he could spot the slight anomaly a mile away, and it didn’t fit with what he would have expected of Madalena Vasquez.
‘Who is that? She looks familiar.’
‘That,’ Nic said tightly, irrationally not liking the fact that his solicitor was looking at her too, ‘is Madalena Vasquez. She’s home and taking over the family estate.’
