One Secret Night

by Yvonne Lindsay

  In fact, the lure of her warm and accepting body had been strong. Too strong. He’d known it would have been all too easy to stay in her bed, in her arms, all night long. He already felt too vulnerable—too exposed in his endless desire for her. Sleeping beside her would only let her further behind his defenses. She read him far too well as it was. And she’d already proven she could manipulate him with ease.

  Oh, sure, their pleasure had been mutual, but in hindsight, Ethan could see that she’d been the one in charge all along, no matter what he’d thought at the time. The realization was an eye opener. He was used to taking charge, to being the boss, and she’d turned the tables on him without him even noticing.

  And here she was, still stuck firmly in his mind. He’d even had lunch today with Shanal. That had been far less promising than he’d hoped. They’d walked the botanical gardens at Mt. Lofty before heading out to a nearby café, and despite his best efforts, there’d been no zing when he’d taken her hand, no excitement when he’d embraced her after returning her to her home. He knew she’d felt the same way. She’d presented her cheek for a kiss to avoid kissing him on the lips.

  It left him feeling out of sorts. Not irritated, exactly, but something close to that. He just couldn’t understand it. He and Shanal were perfect for each other. Always had been. And they knew each other so well—were comfortable together. So why was there no spark?

  And, more important, why had he spent half the time with Shanal wondering what Isobel was up to today? He’d seen her drive off with Cade earlier on and had felt a surge of jealousy so strong it had left a very nasty taste in his mouth. He didn’t do jealousy and he had no right to, either. After all, hadn’t he been out with Shanal at the very same time?

  He and Isobel had slept together. Twice. That was all. He had no claim over her. If she wanted to she could sleep with all the men in his family and he had no rights to stop her.

  His head began to pound and an irrational sense of possessiveness clawed at his gut. He shook his head. This was ridiculous. Even here, in his sanctuary—the winery, the one place where he could always find solace in his work—she still invaded his thoughts.

  The sound of a car driving slowly along the drive toward the main house caught his attention. He looked outside his window and saw Cade’s car turn up the small driveway that led to Isobel’s cottage. It seemed to Ethan that it lingered there an inordinately long time before swinging around and heading back to the main house.

  Ethan tried desperately to ignore the not so subtle urging in the back of his mind. The one that told him to go to Isobel. To find out for himself what she’d been up to with his cousin all day. Before he was even aware of it he was turning off the lights at the winery and locking the door behind him, his feet treading the pathway to her cottage as they had only two nights ago.

  Through the cottage window he could see her seated at the dining table, her laptop in front of her and a slideshow of photos up on the screen. He hesitated in the darkness, feeling like some creepy voyeur as he took in the delicate line of her neck as she bent over a notebook and scribbled something into its pages.

  Damn, he’d thought not seeing her for the past couple of days would have taken some of the sharpness of the ragged edges that had remained after he’d left her bed.

  He must have made a sound because she dropped her pen and whipped her head around, her eyes searching the darkness where he stood. Her actions served as the catalyst to make him move forward, to knock gently at her door. Isobel swung the door open and eyed him carefully.

  “You’re starting to make this a habit, aren’t you?”

  “May I come in?”

  He didn’t even fully understand why he was here. All he knew was that he’d felt compelled to come. Now that she was in front of him, he barely knew what to say. His body, on the other hand, had its own agenda. Already he could feel the slow, steady drumbeat of desire through his blood.

  She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. “Can I offer you a drink? A glass of wine or something?”

  “Sure,” he said, looking at the table where she had a glass of red wine sitting next to her laptop. “Whatever you’re having will be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Her eyes lit with that habitual spark of waywardness that seemed to linger around her like an aura. “It’s not one of yours.”

  “Tastes like vinegar, does it?” he answered mockingly in return.

  “It’s actually very good, in my opinion. Mind you, I’m no connoisseur.”

  Ethan walked over and picked up the bottle, recognizing the New Zealand wine label instantly. “You’re right. Vinegar should never even be mentioned in the same room as this.”

  Isobel brought him a glass and he poured the ruby liquid into the wide bowl.

  “I guess you didn’t come here to discuss wine,” Isobel said, picking up her own glass and taking a sip.

  For a second, Ethan was mesmerized by the tip of her tongue as she ran it along her bottom lip, but then he brought his attention very firmly back to her eyes. There was a challenge in them. One he recognized and to which he instantly felt an answering call.

  “No, I didn’t. How was your day?”

  His question clearly startled her and for a second or two she didn’t answer. Eventually, she took a breath and let it out slowly before speaking.

  “It was good. And yours? How was your lunch with Shanal?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Was it supposed to be a secret? Cade and I saw you two walking at the botanical gardens. We didn’t stop to say hi because he was taking me into Adelaide for the rest of the day.”

  Ethan felt the obscure urge to apologize for taking Shanal out, but that was ridiculous. He barely knew Isobel. They’d only been acquainted for a handful of days—and their paths would only continue to cross for a few weeks longer before she left The Masters—and him—behind. If he chose to devote his afternoon to a woman who actually intended to stick around, then what right would she have to complain?

  “We had a nice afternoon,” he settled on saying. “How about you?”

  A smile poked at the corners of Isobel’s lips. “Cade took me to the apartment.”

  “He what?”

  A gurgle of laughter bubbled from Isobel’s mouth. “I thought you’d react like that.”

  “I’m not reacting,” Ethan denied emphatically, tamping down the raw urge to hunt down his younger cousin right here and right now and warn him off Isobel for good.

  “He offered me lunch, that’s all. He’s very good in the kitchen, you know.”

  Ethan nodded, feeling relief ease through his veins to chase away the irrational urges that had flared so suddenly.

  “We’re lucky his loyalty to The Masters keeps him here. He’s been headhunted by several hotel chains so far, as well as some of the more high-profile restaurants in Sydney and Melbourne.”

  “It’s not stifling him to stay here?” Isobel asked, rolling the rim of her glass across her full lower lip.

  Ethan tore his gaze from her mouth. “Stifling him? What makes you say that?”

  “You know, keeping him here, working at the café and tasting room instead of letting him stretch his wings elsewhere.”

  “No one is forcing him to stay, Isobel. We’re not quite that feudal.”

  “Not quite,” she agreed. “But you can’t deny that he’d do well if he did leave.”

  “Of course not, but why should he? He’s in charge of his own world here. He works with people he knows and trusts—people who care about him and not just about the product he churns out. He’s never expressed any desire to be anywhere else.”

  “Or maybe, because of the expectation to remain here, he’s never felt he could.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes and looked at her sharply. “Did he ask you to say
something to me?”

  “No, not at all.” Isobel waved a hand in denial. “But he’s so talented and still so young. It seems a shame for him to molder away here when the world is, quite literally, his oyster.”

  “Is that what you think we do here? Molder?”

  “Perhaps that wasn’t the right word to use,” she said quickly. “But you have to admit, it’s unusual for one family to stay together like this.”

  “Unusual, maybe. But not stifling—supportive. We all have a vested interest in how well things go here.”

  “You more than most.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Isobel smiled again, the expression making her features lighten from the seriousness of just a moment ago.

  “You, of all people, have to ask me that?”

  She leaned against the back of the sofa where he’d taken her so urgently two days ago. For the life of him he couldn’t get the picture of her out of his mind. His groin ached at the memory. He fisted his empty hand and shoved it in his trouser pocket. It didn’t help. Even taking a scouring pad to his memory wouldn’t help, he admitted to himself.

  Isobel continued when he didn’t respond. “It’s very clear that the mantle of responsibility here begins and ends with you.”

  “We all have our part to play,” Ethan hedged, oddly unwilling to admit to her that his was the primary role here.

  “I’m not used to that. To a setup like you have where all of you are linked by family and work. I suppose I’ve been on my own for so long that I find it hard to imagine how it could work all together the way you do.”

  “I guess we’re lucky. The business has grown with our strengths. With Cade and Cathleen, for example, they’ve developed an entirely new side of The Masters, one that complements all the other aspects of our family business, but also one we’d never have considered if they hadn’t chosen cuisine and hospitality as part of their studies.”

  Isobel didn’t seem quite ready to agree with him, but at least she didn’t seem to wish to argue the point. Instead, she reached for the wine bottle on the table and refilled their glasses.

  “Why don’t we sit down,” she said, putting the bottle on the small coffee table between the sofa and the lazy chair that formed the lounge area of the cottage.

  Ethan chose the chair while Isobel curled up on the sofa.

  “How are the photos coming along?” Ethan asked, gesturing with his wineglass to the laptop on the dining table.

  “Eager to get rid of me?”

  “That’s not what I said,” he answered smoothly, but her response forced him to consider it.

  Was he keen for her to leave? Most definitely yes...and then again, no. He didn’t like how out of control she made him feel. But then, he didn’t like the thought of saying a final goodbye to the passion she stirred in him, either.

  “You’re still worried about me spilling the beans to Tamsyn about your mother, aren’t you?” she asked, cutting straight to the original source of his unease. He did still worry about that. He believed that Isobel liked Tamsyn, that she wouldn’t reveal the secret deliberately out of spite. But on the other hand, she seemed uncomfortable with the entrenched structure of their family. As independent as she was herself, Isobel might not believe that he had the right to make the decision to keep the information from his sister, just to protect her.

  “It’s not your information to share.”

  “She deserves to know, Ethan.” Isobel’s voice dropped to a lower pitch, all humor gone.

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “I would, but—”

  Ethan cut her off. “It’s none of your business, Isobel. Leave it alone, okay?”

  “It might not have anything to do with me, but it is Tamsyn’s business. Even you have to accept that.”

  “Not knowing it hasn’t done her any harm for the past twenty-five years. She’s managed just fine with my dad and me and our extended family around her. She’s not some wounded dove that needs you to campaign on her behalf. She’s a strong, beautiful and intelligent woman. Her life doesn’t need to be cluttered with questions about a woman who apparently walked away from us both without a backward glance or a second thought. What on earth could knowing she’s still alive bring to enrich Tam’s life now?”

  Isobel took a sip of her wine before answering. “The truth, maybe? Answers as to why she left, why she didn’t come back, why she never tried to stay in touch? Have you ever considered that maybe there’s more to the story than you know, even now?”

  “No.” His response was emphatic. “I haven’t. Nor do I care to consider it. And as far as Tamsyn is concerned, our mother no longer exists. For now, I’m happy to keep it that way.”

  “You’re wrong, Ethan. You owe it to Tamsyn to let her make up her own mind, make her own choices regarding your mother.”

  She just wouldn’t let it go, would she? Ethan cursed silently. This isn’t what he came here for. Hell, he didn’t even know himself why he’d sought Isobel’s company again but it sure hadn’t been for an argument.

  “Why are you so hell-bent on making me change my mind?” he asked abruptly.

  “Families shouldn’t keep secrets,” she replied emphatically. “At least not from one another.”

  A hint of pain showed on her face and his protective instincts flared to the forefront of his mind. What, or more important, who had put that sorrow in her soft blue eyes? A parent? A sibling? He had to ask.

  “Who kept a secret from you?”

  She took her time before answering, and the sudden gleam of moisture in her eyes took him completely by surprise.

  “My mother. My father. They conspired to keep mum’s illness from me. She suffered from a rare and fatal lung disease, but they never told me once they found out she was sick. She was always just tired or having a bad day. They sheltered me so thoroughly that by the time she was seriously ill, I still barely knew it. Worse, they never gave me a chance to understand why she was always unwell.”

  “How old were you when she died?” he asked softly.

  Isobel swiped impatiently at her eyes with one hand and frowned slightly, as if she couldn’t bear to show him this weakness. When she continued, her voice was hard, harder than he’d ever heard it and his heart ached a little for the pain she was shielding behind her obvious anger.

  “Sixteen. I’d only learned the truth a few months prior. I felt so stupid, as if I’d been deliberately oblivious to her illness. But they never let me understand it. Mum developed complications right at the end. I was only allowed to visit her once in hospital but even then they withheld the truth from me, leading me to believe she’d get well again and come home.”

  “They were trying to protect you,” Ethan said, trying to allay some of her anger and frustration.

  “They were keeping a secret from me. Do you honestly think it was fair of them to keep me in the dark like that? I wasn’t an idiot, nor was I an infant. I should have had time to understand what her illness could do to her, been given a chance to truly cherish the time we had together. I never even got to say goodbye to her. Dad arranged for her to be buried without a funeral, without a celebration of her life or the woman she was, or anything.”

  Tears ran unchecked down Isobel’s cheeks now and her voice shook as she continued. “The morning after she passed away, he woke me up and told me she was gone. Then he instructed me to pack a bag with no more than what I could comfortably carry. We went to the airport and that’s the last time I saw home. We traveled together until Dad died about four years later. He never really got over Mum’s death and I always felt as if he was running away from facing a life without her right up until he passed away.”

  “Isobel, I’m so sorry you went through that. But Tamsyn’s and my situation is different. We’re adults now. We’ve grown up believing on
e thing all this time. I don’t even know what to do with the information about our mother. How can I expect Tamsyn to shoulder that, too?”

  “You have to at least give her a chance,” Isobel insisted, getting up and finding a paper towel in the kitchenette to dry her tears with. “Like you said, she’s an adult. She’s quite capable of reaching her own decisions about what to do with the knowledge that your father lied to you both all this time. Is that why you don’t want her to know? You don’t want her to remember your father any differently than she does now?”

  “Maybe,” he admitted carefully, surprised at her perceptiveness.

  “It won’t make her love him any less, you know.” Isobel sat back down on the sofa and pulled her knees up under her chin. “For all that my parents kept such an important secret from me, I still love them deep in my heart—I always will. I just wish they’d trusted me with the truth. I was a young adult, but they never respected me enough to share their fears with them. Sheltering me from it all wasn’t the best thing for me and it’s not the best thing for Tamsyn, either. This is something the two of you should be sharing. You need each other now more than ever.”

  “I don’t agree, but—” he held up a hand when Isobel made to protest once more “—I will give it some more thought. Either way, I need to know I can rely on you to keep the information to yourself. I should never have told you in the first place....”

  “But you never expected to see me again. Nor I, you.” Isobel sighed. “You know, my mother always loved the poetry of Charles Péguy. Her favorite opening line was ‘The faith that I love best, says God, is hope.’ It’s what keeps me going—hope. Hope that something better, brighter, happier—anything—is just around the next corner. I am still angry with my parents for so many reasons for what they did, what I feel as if they stole from me—the chance to make the most of every second with my mother rather than being a bratty teenager. The chance to prepare for a life without her rather than have it thrust upon me. The chance to say goodbye to her and tell her how much I loved her—but I still have hope. Not for a chance to make things right with my parents, obviously. That ship has long since sailed. But I can make a difference for other people. Give them hope, y’know? And you and Tamsyn have that, too. You have a fresh chance with your mother, if you’ll only allow yourselves.”