Juliet reached out and took his hand. ‘From what I’ve seen so far, I’m extremely impressed.’
‘It’s a pretty picture, isn’t it?’ Martin released her hand and stood back to take in the view of the estate with the morning sun casting an orange glow over the hills in the distance.
Juliet cleared her throat. ‘Are you sure you’re happy to have me here?’ she asked quietly.
Martin turned back to her and she noticed his eyes were a warm brown. ‘One of the country’s best event organisers? You’ve got to be kidding.’
Juliet must have paled because Martin’s expression turned sober.
‘Your identity is top secret, of course. That’s part of the deal.’
Juliet nodded, attempting to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Regrets and fear had no place in this idyllic setting, but even here she could feel their sting.
‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ Martin suggested. He extended his hand a second time. ‘I’m Martin Rhodes, owner of Rhodes Family Wines. But you can call me Marty.’
Juliet stared at his outstretched arm for a long moment. Despite the doubts tugging at her, she was certain of one thing: she liked this man.
She reached out and shook his hand firmly. Looking Marty in the eye, she gave him a relieved smile. ‘Marty, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jet Appleton, your new events manager.’
Chapter Four
A week later, Dan Rhodes winced as a ray of bright morning sunshine streamed through the car windshield. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would have sworn. Instead, he concentrated on squinting and kept his eyes on the road. Driving home from the airport probably wasn’t one of his better ideas. The driving he could handle, particularly now he found himself on the left-hand side of the road after six months of driving on the opposite side. The sleep deprivation after being awake for around thirty hours, that was harder to cope with.
‘Not too much longer,’ he said to himself, mainly to stay awake.
The familiar left turn lay just up ahead. Dan wondered how it was possible to spend months away only to come back and find everything exactly as he’d left it. It was both comforting and a little depressing.
He flicked on the indicator and took the left-hand turn. Glad he could make the twists and turns of the narrow lane in his sleep, Dan allowed himself to take in the view.
His months in the French countryside had been inspiring and the scenery magnificent, but Dan found himself breathing out in relief at the familiar sight of Rhodes Family Wines Estate. The rows of vines were bright green. Nearing the end of October, they were already starting to show signs of next year’s harvest, which he hoped would be a good one.
The sight of the rolling hills in the distance and the gum trees glittering in the morning light made Dan smile. Sentimental bastard, he thought to himself.
He pulled into pebbled drive and parked the car on the far side of the property in front of his cottage. Releasing another deep breath, he turned off the engine and sat for a moment staring out the window.
God, it was good to be home. And not just because he’d been sitting cramped in a flying tin can for most of the past twenty-four hours. Rhodes Family Wines was where he was supposed to be, no matter what his ex-fiancée would have him believe. He knew now the decision to come home a couple of months early was the right one.
Stepping out of the car, he breathed in the fresh morning air, then glanced in the direction of the main house. He should probably go and say hi to his parents first. The image of his mother letting loose on all the motherly affections she’d been forced to restrain for the past six months had him heading for the boot of the car instead. He needed to freshen up before he was ready for that sort of attention, as much as he loved her.
He grabbed his bag and headed for the door of the cottage. He turned the handle and shifted his body weight to lean in and open the door, realising with a painful jolt to his shoulder that it was locked.
‘Strange,’ he muttered. His parents occasionally rented the cottage out to guests when he was away. He couldn’t see any other cars parked in the estate, though, so it was likely it had just been left locked from the last visitor.
Dropping his bag with a grunt, he rifled through his daypack for the set of keys he hadn’t used since he’d left. Finally locating them, he slipped the correct key into the lock and opened the door. He frowned as he stepped inside. The cosy lounge area was neat and tidy but lived-in. Used dishes sat on the counter of the small open-plan kitchen area. An iPad and a few magazines were on the coffee table.
‘Shit.’ The last thing he needed to do was disturb paying guests.
With a longing look at his little cottage, Dan turned to leave.
‘Excuse me? Can I help you?’
Dan resisted the urge to swear again. He turned slowly in the direction of the female tourist’s voice. A quick glance down at his ruffled outfit of jeans and days’ old T-shirt confirmed he wouldn’t be able to claim he was here on housekeeping duties.
‘Sorry,’ he began, then stopped and stared.
The woman assessed him suspiciously, but Dan couldn’t have cared less. Hot damn, she was some tourist. Dressed in fitted black leggings that finished just below the knees, the pants accentuated her exceptionally long, lithe legs. An equally fitted bright lime green singlet top moulded pert breasts and revealed toned, tanned arms.
‘Excuse me?’ she repeated.
A British accent. The perfectly clipped, upper class variety.
He cleared his throat and met her eyes. Gorgeous eyes, he noted. They were a warm honey brown to match her hair, which was tied in a high ponytail.
He finally managed to speak. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m a member of the Rhodes family and I thought the cottage was unoccupied. I’ll get out of your way.’
‘Dan?’ Recognition lit those brown eyes and they seemed to glow.
He cleared his throat again, fatigue and confusion weighing heavily on him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, for the third time. ‘Have we met?’
The woman appeared to shake herself. ‘No, of course not, but I feel like I already know you.’
While Dan continued to stare at her uncomprehendingly, she moved towards him and extended a long, graceful arm. A broad smile lit her face. ‘I’m Jet Appleton, your new events manager.’
Dan blinked, at her stunning smile or her announcement, he wasn’t sure which. ‘New events manager?’
‘It was kind of a last-minute appointment.’ A flicker of something clouded her eyes for a moment, then it was gone. ‘Let’s just say I was in the right place at the right time.’
Dan nodded slowly and reached over to shake her hand. His fingers closed over hers and he was immediately struck by how delicate her hand felt in his. She returned the handshake with deceptive strength.
‘You’ve just gotten home from France?’ she asked.
He forced himself to release her hand. ‘That’s right.’
‘And I’m betting you’d like a shower?’
He cleared his throat again. ‘That was the idea. I’ll just grab my bags and head over to my parent’s house—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m about to go out for a run. I’ll be gone an hour. You can use the shower upstairs.’ She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘This is your cottage, after all.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll go over to the house.’
He turned towards his bags but paused when he felt those delicately strong fingers grip his arm.
‘Please, Dan. This is your place. It’s no trouble.’
He turned to face her again. ‘If you’re sure …’
She released her grip and crossed her arms. ‘I’m sure. I’m also sure you’ll need some time to recover before you face your mother. She’s missed you.’
He must have frowned, because she laughed, and it was a warm sound like the rest of her.
‘You’ve convinced me,’ he relented.
‘Good. Nice to meet you, Dan.’
She gave hi
m one last show-stopping smile before jogging lightly from the room and out into the morning sunshine.
Dan resisted the urge to watch her go. He was certain she looked just as good from behind. With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. It felt oily after the journey. ‘Way to make a first impression, Dan,’ he muttered.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say he had a hangover, but it was fatigue his head was pounding from. The best cure would be a long, hot shower, a bite to eat and a much-needed glass of Rhodes Family Shiraz. After that, he’d opt for the oblivion of sleep.
Confronting his father about his decision to hire an events manager—and a gorgeously distracting one at that—would have to wait.
***
The rhythm of her feet on the roadside calmed the erratic pounding of Jet’s heart. It had been racing ever since her encounter with Dan at the cottage.
When she’d come downstairs and seen him standing there, she’d fought hard to bite down on a scream. Her first thought was that whoever had tried to crash into her car in Sydney had found her, and she’d quickly, instinctively, moved towards the block of knives on the kitchen counter. Then she’d seen his luggage and managed to calm down.
When he’d turned to face her it hadn’t taken long for her to recognise him, even though they’d never met. He was unmistakably Martin’s son, of a similar height and exuding a strong presence just like his father. She’d been unprepared for his eyes, though. A cool blue—they must have come from Cynthia—and she hadn’t been sure what to make of the intense gaze he’d directed her way.
He wasn’t a stranger, she reminded herself, and she was still safe. For now.
She was living in his cottage, though, and that was a problem, she realised. She couldn’t expect a grown man to live in his parent’s house. Particularly when, from what Cynthia had told her, Dan had broken it off with his fiancée earlier in the year, not long after leaving for Europe. Surely he’d want his space?
But nor did Juliet like the idea of taking up residence in the main house. She’d only been at Rhodes Wines for a week. Cynthia and Marty had proved warm and caring, but the thought of being forced to share their house with them was all kinds of awkward. Solitude was what she needed right now, not concern and questions, no matter how well meaning.
The cottage had two bedrooms, she reminded herself, then immediately rejected the thought. Bad idea. Until the investigation was complete, Jet needed to keep her distance. The less the Rhodes family knew about her, the better.
Jet attempted to focus on her surroundings. It was another bright spring morning and the sun filtering through the gum trees cast a series of golden patterns on the road. She hadn’t appreciated how much she missed the fresh air and the countryside until now. Her childhood growing up in a small village in England had obviously stayed with her.
And there were some more memories she’d prefer not to visit.
With a frustrated sigh, Jet increased her pace until all she was capable of thinking about was the need to push air in and out of her lungs and the satisfying burn in her legs.
Running. Now there was something she was good at.
***
When she returned to the cottage an hour later, her body was glistening with sweat. The gravel crunched under her feet loudly as she approached the blue front door. She opened it carefully, not entirely sure what she’d discover when she went inside.
Downstairs was quiet. She paused and strained to hear any noise upstairs. Nothing.
Jet exhaled the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Dan had obviously been and gone.
More relaxed, she took the stairs two at a time, her sneakers squeaking on the wooden floorboards. Then stopped when she heard a male groan.
The door to the second bedroom was wide open and Dan was sprawled, fast asleep and face down, on the bed. He hadn’t even bothered to pull back the covers. Jet swallowed when she noticed that all he was wearing was a pair of well-worn jeans. She caught an eyeful before looking away, and swallowed again. Toned arms, broad shoulders and a vast expanse of muscular back. Not quite what she’d expected from the son of a vigneron, but then she’d never known any vignerons.
Jet turned and walked quickly to her room, closing the door quietly behind her. Thank goodness she had her own ensuite bathroom. Without thinking too hard, she chose a pair of designer label jeans and a simple fitted T-shirt, and made her way to the shower.
It had been two years since she’d been with Andrew. And no one since then.
Jet stripped off her exercise gear and kicked it to one side of the bathroom. She turned the water on high, waiting for it to warm up.
She’d had no interest in anyone since, truth be told. Despite his philandering ways, she’d only ever had eyes for Andrew, as pathetic as it was to admit.
Jet stuck her hand into the shower to feel the water. Too hot. Reconsidering, she eased the temperature back, then stepped in, letting the icy water sluice the sweat from her body.
It was the first time in a long time she’d felt the need for a cold shower.
Chapter Five
Jet walked towards the sound of conversation. It felt strange letting herself into the main house like this, but Cynthia had instructed her to. Instructed being the key word. The matriarch of the Rhodes estate could be described as warm and kind, but she was also a woman who knew what she wanted. And after six months of separation from her only son, Cynthia wanted a family dinner. By virtue of the fact that Jet lived and worked on the estate, Jet was now considered family.
Jet followed the main hallway of the Rhodes residence. The walls were constructed of a rich oak that extended to the floors. Works of art interspersed with family portraits taken over the years hung on the walls. A vase filled with native flowers sat on an antique hall table. To Jet, it was as if the house was an extension of the Rhodes family. Warm, inviting and comforting.
At the end of the hall she paused.
Dan sat on a stool with his back to her. He was leaning on an island bench in the middle of the white country-style kitchen, watching his mother bustle around preparing food. Cynthia was dressed immaculately as usual. In tailored black pants and a bright pink blouse, she looked ten years younger than her real age—whatever that was. Jet was yet to find out and Cynthia wasn’t talking. Marty stood a few feet away, leaning next to the sink, a glass of wine in hand.
They hadn’t noticed her yet so Jet watched silently, feeling as though she was intruding.
‘So after I got him to sign for the dozen cases of wine, I talked him into sending his daughter over here to talk to us about her wedding.’ Cynthia’s blonde shoulder-length hair bounced as she expertly chopped a stalk of celery. ‘Jet met her yesterday and within an hour she had secured a deposit for the wedding!’ She threw the celery into a pot bubbling behind her and clapped her hands together when she spotted Jet. ‘And there she is! Come in, come in.’
Jet reddened and made her way into the kitchen. Cynthia came up beside her, placing her matching bright pink manicured fingers on Jet’s shoulders. ‘White or red, darling?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Uh, uh,’ Marty said. ‘It’s only been a week, but I thought I taught you better than that.’
Jet grimaced. She was learning quickly that wine appreciation was paramount in this household and opinions on wine extremely important. ‘White, please.’
‘Give her the French label,’ Dan instructed.
‘Come on, son, she’s barely had a week to get to know the Rhodes variety and you’re going to confuse her palate with the French labels?’ Marty’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Dan over his glass of red wine.
Dan turned to her, his blue eyes bright after his rest. ‘What’s it to be, Jet? Rhodes or the French label?’
Jet sat down on the empty stool beside him. ‘Give me the French stuff.’
‘French stuff?’ Dan’s eyes widened and he gave her a mock horrified look, before turning back to his dad. ‘Did you even i
nterview her, Dad?’
‘Daniel!’ The horrified look Cynthia shot her son was genuine.
Jet couldn’t help herself and laughed. ‘It’s alright Cynthia, Dan was joking.’ She gave him a sidelong glance, then muttered, ‘I think.’
‘I was,’ Dan reassured her, then reached for a bottle sitting in front of him. ‘Dad’s already told me you have a pretty good grasp of wines due to your event experience, but I’m sure we can build on that.’
Jet decided to ignore the note of condescension in his voice, deciding instead that it had more to do with the fact that these people took their wine seriously. She watched him pour her a glass of the white wine. He wore a casual checked shirt, rolled up to the elbows. A vision of Dan sprawled half-naked on the bed popped into her mind while she watched the way his muscular forearms flexed as he poured the wine.
She cleared her throat and gratefully accepted the wine. She paused a moment to smell the wine—for fear of being reprimanded by Marty—then took a sip. Jet frowned before she could catch herself.
‘Problem?’ Dan’s blue eyes watched her carefully. Jet barely knew him but swore she registered a hint of mischief in them.
‘Are you trying to trick me?’ she asked.
Dan smiled innocently, and for the first time Jet noticed he had a dimple. He could smile as innocently as he liked, that dimple was telling in her opinion.
She reached over and grabbed the bottle of wine. It was definitely French and a Viognier, a less common grape variety in Australia.
‘I’ve served bottles of French wine at my events,’ she stated carefully, ‘but none of them tasted quite like this.’
‘And what taste would that be?’ Dan asked.
Jet looked straight at him. ‘Bland.’
Marty chuckled quietly from the corner of the kitchen, while Cynthia watched on with interest while continuing to slice vegetables for their main meal.
Dan appeared pleased with himself. ‘You’re exactly right,’ he agreed.
‘I don’t understand,’ Jet said. ‘You spend six months in France working a vintage and this is what you come back with?’
Don't Let Me Forget Page 3
