I kick his ankle. “You should at least let me call my mom so she’ll know I’m safe.”
He peels his arm from the seatback and pats my hand, which I quickly tuck under my armpit.
“I’ve already told your uncle you’ve arrived,” he says. “But what was I going to tell him? That Zach almost killed you in a car accident?”
I kick him harder, and he grabs my knee. “We’re almost there.”
“Where is there?” I watch the greenery whiz by me.
“This is Maroondah Highway, the scenic route through the mountains straight into the wine country.” Cliff says in a tour-bus operator voice.
I roll my eyes. He’d be really annoying if he weren’t so easy on the eyes.
He taps my arm. “Aren’t you at all curious about Zach and his family?”
“Sure, if I can believe your lies. What’s in it for you?”
His olive-toned face widens into a grin. “Besides the obvious? Adventure, fun, and you.”
“That last one will never happen. So, where are we going?”
“Ping Crest Winery.” He tosses his dark brown mane. “Formerly called Spencer Colony Estates. Ring a bell?”
“Spencer? Zach’s family name?”
Dex turns and smirks. “Yep, betcha Zach forgot to tell you they’re poor as red dirt.”
“Not that it matters to me,” I quickly reply. “I just assumed they own the winery he talked about.”
“No more. It’s owned by Chinese.” Dex’s eyes squint with glee as he drags out Chii-neese.
“So where do they live now?” I ask as casually as I can.
“They still owe Mr. Ping millions of dollars,” Cliff explains. “When they couldn’t pay, they went bankrupt and auctioned off their properties, one by one. Think all they have left is the bed and breakfast, a stupid fruit stand and maybe a few dwindling offshore accounts.”
I remember this is Cliff’s version of the story. Zach didn’t exactly say we were going to visit his family winery. He only mentioned Aunt Addy’s bed and breakfast. If I can get my hands on a smartphone, I should be able to find the bed and breakfast and get in touch with him.
We’re descending the mountain, and the trees are becoming shrubbier, not as tall and majestic as the forest. There are electrical poles and wires along the road, so we must be arriving somewhere. Farms and ranches come into view. And then I see them. Rows and rows of grapevines just like along the highways in California.
“Bet you didn’t know this is premier wine country,” Cliff says. “There are hundreds of vineyards, some tucked in the foothills, the river valleys, even surrounding Port Phillip Bay. I’ll take you sailing some time after you meet your father.”
I sit ramrod straight. “He’s alive? And here?”
Ben slows and turns his head. “She hasn’t been positively ID’ed yet. Boss ain’t gonna like it if she squeals.”
My heart is flipping out. My father. Is it possible?
“I won’t say anything.” I tap the seatback. “Do you have any recent pictures of him? I’m sure I’d recognize him.”
“You don’t get it,” Dex says. “He saw you on YouTube and thinks you’re his daughter, but we’re not letting you near him until we run a paternity test.”
***
Mr. Ping’s estate looks straight out of the American soap operas my mom used to watch, thinking it would help her understand Papa’s job at the winery. Rolling acres of vines cover the sides of the road leading to a long gravel drive lined with stately green columns of Italian cypresses. A large sign next to an ornate wrought iron gate announces visiting hours and points to the tasting room.
A tan building marked “Cellar” stands next to a chartreuse stucco restaurant with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a clear blue lake and the valley below. Large, white birds with black beaks and bright orange crests flock on a spindly tree almost devoid of leaves. They scream loudly as we approach.
“Crap!” Dex says. “I ought to take my shotgun and spray them.”
“But, they’re so pretty,” I say. “One of the doctors I work with has a cockatoo, so hilariously cute.”
“They’re pests here,” Cliff explains. “Wasteful feeders. They can strip a vine bare and pick all the fruit, throwing them on the ground for fun.”
“Vandals,” Dex says between his teeth. “Cockies don’t even eat what they pluck.”
Ben presses a button on the Rover and the gates open to a large circular driveway leading to a Mediterranean-styled three-story mansion. Palm trees and a large water fountain stand in front of the terraced entryway.
Cliff taps my arm. “Like what you see?”
“Impressive.” All I’m thinking is that Zach used to live here, play with his dog, and run in the fields. What a comedown to lose this place.
“You’re looking at the future of Australian wines. Mr. Ping’s facilities are high-tech, computer controlled. Nothing like the old guys who lick a finger and stick it in the wind.”
“It’s huge. How many acres?”
“Over two hundred,” Dex cuts in. “We’ve been gobbling up the smaller farms in the vicinity and upgrading all the growing and harvesting methods, building new facilities.”
“Old man Spencer left this place a ruin,” Cliff says with relish. “Mr. Ping tore down their ratty farmhouse.”
A valet opens the door and helps me out of the Range Rover. I’m amazed at the row of servants who quickly gather and stand attentively, bowing as we walk by. Cliff takes my arm as if he were my escort and leads me up a wide set of steps into a marbled entry hallway. A prominent sculpture of a leaping dolphin with beads of water streaming down its body graces the foyer.
“I’ll show you to your quarters,” Cliff says. “You’ll join me and the Ping brothers for dinner.”
“Ping brothers?” I gape at Ben and Dex while they smile smugly and strike matching kung fu poses.
“And where do you fit in?” I ask Cliff.
“I’m Mr. Ping’s right hand man, unfortunately not family. At least, not yet.” He wiggles his eyebrows as if there’s a secret message.
“I thought you were the receptionist at Happy Bear Forest Retirement Communities,” I say with as much snark as I can muster.
He jiggles my arm. “I moonlight. I’m like the Energizer bunny, I keep going, and going, and going.”
“Whatever.” I turn away from his crude hip thrusts. “And my father, does he work here too?”
It’s like I said something wrong. All three guys avoid my gaze, their shoes clicking on the marble floor. Cliff steers me up the curved stairway with a weeping water wall on one side and a pineapple tree fountain in the center. “We’ll take your DNA, and then you can rest.”
Nervous sweat prickles my palms. I should be scared, but I’m more curious.
Ben texts someone on his cell phone, and they stop in front of a set of white double doors inlaid with gemstone tiles. My heartbeat revs, wondering what lies beyond the doorway, whether my father is on the other side, or if this is all a big hoax.
Cliff opens the door and exposes a sitting room complete with colorful rattan furniture and bright white ceiling fans. The walls are salmon-colored with white moldings and the floor is dark teak. Crystal water sculptures are positioned on pedestals beside the end tables.
A man in a white coat pulls on a pair of gloves and tears open a pack containing long swabs. He gestures for me to sit on the armchair and open my mouth. Cliff and the Ping brothers stand watch, as if making sure I cooperate. I feel stupid but I open my mouth and allow the man to briskly rub the inside of my cheeks four times with different swabs. He carefully tucks them back into the sleeve and exits without a word.
“Well, that’s that,” says Dex. “If you don’t match, we’ll prepare concrete boots for you and take you water skiing in Port Phillip Bay.”
“Ha, ha.” I put my feet on the ottoman as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “I’m so scared.”
Predictably, all three men flex their muscles
and try to look mean. I must be stuck in some grade B action movie. I half expect Jackie Chan to pop through the wall and break furniture or serenade me with his goofy singing. Maybe I’m too tired. I’m definitely sweaty and jetlagged.
I put my hands behind my head and relax under the ceiling fan. “What now?”
“Why don’t you freshen up and meet us for dinner?” Cliff helpfully suggests as he fluffs a pillow on the couch.
I roll my eyes. “How can I do that when I have no luggage, no makeup, nothing.”
“Then take a nap, I don’t know.” He shrugs and walks to a bay window, looking out. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”
I push myself from the armchair and follow him to the window seat. It’s a cozy nook furnished with pillows and soft throws.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” He’s gruff and opens another door on the far side of the sitting room. “Take a nap in the bedroom.”
“I’m good, thanks.” I pick through the books on the shelves. Curious George, The Complete Winnie the Pooh, Treasure Island, The Hobbit. “Does Mr. Ping have young children?”
“No.” All three men scowl and mercifully they exit the room, leaving me alone with nothing but the clothes on my back.
I glance out the window. It overlooks the valley, lush with rows and rows of grapevines as far as the eye can see. The bright blue of the sky is a nice change from the muted haze at home.
A gardener wearing a wide-brimmed hat is trimming the bushes. His skin is dark brown, and he walks with a slight limp. I press my nose to the window to get a closer look. Could he be my father? Did he survive the jump and find his way to Australia?
I tap the window, hoping to get his attention, but he doesn’t look up. He lowers his clipping shears and glances at his cell phone.
A minute later, Cliff appears from behind the hedge and whispers something to the gardener, no doubt reporting my arrival. My pulse prances like an excited puppy. Is the man he’s talking to my father?
In three steps I’m at the double door, but when I turn the knob, I find it locked.
“Someone, let me out.” I pound on the door, knowing how useless it is. Not only am I locked in, but Cliff also has my cell phone, purse and passport.
What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?
Chapter 15
I’m so angry I could rip my hair out. No one comes to the door despite my shouts. I stalk from the door to the window and back, and then kick the cushions on the rattan furniture before throwing myself onto the armchair. That’s when I notice an electronic tablet on the end table where the man in the white coat had laid his things.
Even though no one’s in the room, I scan for hidden cameras and furtively scoop the seven-inch tablet under my dress. Casually, I walk into the bathroom and step into the shower. With my luck, this is exactly where the perverts would have cameras. Nope, better try the walk-in closet.
I can’t help but notice the makeup, shampoos, lotion and toiletries lined up in baskets on the bathroom counter. But when I open the closet door, my mouth drops to the floor. Rows and rows of dresses, jeans, blouses, and shoes, their price-tags still dangling, hang inside. I slip off my heels and try one of theirs. Exactly my size. Strange. How did they know?
Well, I better let Zach know I’m okay, so I shut the closet door and wake up the tablet. Dang. It has a passcode. I know nothing about the man who took my DNA except he’s a lighter-skinned Asian, possibly Chinese or Tsinoy. Let’s go for the obvious. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Doesn’t work. One. Two. Three. Four. No dice. Then I remember the Chinese realtors in the Bay Area always have phone numbers ending in multiple eight’s. Eight. Eight. Eight. Eight. That’s it.
I go into the settings and look for wifi access. It’s protected but his tablet connects. I can’t use the man’s email app, so I open a browser window and log into my email account.
--
To: Zach
From: Vera
Subject: Where are you?
I’m holed up at Ping Crest Winery. Cliff took my phone, purse and passport and locked me in a room on the third floor. Can you believe he actually works for Mr. Ping? He’s orchestrating the search and claims my father’s in the vicinity, but won’t let me know until the DNA is verified.
I don’t know when I can get away, but I’ll look up your aunt’s B&B and meet you there. I hope you’re okay.
Vera
--
I wait a few minutes for a reply and decide he must not have his phone on, so I tuck the tablet under a pile of towels and head for the shower. It’s ultimate luxury with a marble surround, three showerheads, a hand-held sprayer. Loofah mitts and assorted body washes are lined up on a wide ledge large enough to lie down on. My father must hold a high position here with Mr. Ping, even if he’s only the head gardener. I’m trying to remember what he did before, but I was too little and all I did was play in the greenhouse while he worked.
A loud pounding on the bathroom door alerts me. I turn off the water and say, “Who is it?”
“Cliff here. Dr. Sung left his tablet. Where is it?”
Oh no! I left the browser open to my email page. Let me be calm and lie. “Tablet? You mean his medicine? I don’t see anything here but shampoo, lotion, oh, and aspirin in the cabinet.”
“Electronic tablet.”
“Nope, sorry, haven’t seen it.” I turn the water back on and rub the conditioner through my long hair. Let him search the room. He’s probably too stupid to figure out the passcode. And do I care if he thinks I’m a liar? Not at all.
A click alerts me. Cliff opens the shower door and steps in. I cover my breasts and back into the corner. He’s naked. Erect. Huge. It takes a couple of seconds for my voice to short-circuit my brain.
“Get out! Or, I’ll scream.”
He’s blocking the shower entrance, chuckling. “How original. Actually, I intend to make you scream. It makes me hotter.”
I climb onto the ledge, my knees up to my chest and my arms around my knees, my feet hiding my woman parts. “Sorry, all screamed out. Guess I’ll take a rain check.”
He advances into the spray and leans over me, kissing the top of my head. “It’s a rainforest in here. You’re already wet, hot, steamy, and very, very moist.”
“Am not.” I hug my knees tighter, and stare at his feet. Long, smooth feet, ten toes, high arches, blades he could waterski on. My heart is on overdrive, and I’m quite aware there’s a deliciously hot, perfectly sculpted male closing in on me.
“I’m not that kind of woman.”
His lips are soft against my ear. “No, you’re not. You’re a healthy, sexy, beautiful, and respectable woman, and I’ll do anything to fulfill all your desires.”
He runs one hand down the back of my hair, still slippery with conditioner, and the other hand cups my face, attempting to turn me toward his lips. It’s getting hard to keep my breath steady, because my body wants to let loose, relax, and let him pleasure me. It’s not like I’m a virgin or headed to the nunnery, and I’ve had plenty of sex without love. In fact, it’s the only kind I allow. But I tuck my chin deeper into my arms.
Would Zach mind? But then, we’re not in love or anything. Free agents, right?
Cliff is on his knees in front of me, muscles rippling. Beads of water trickle over his smoothly waxed chest. I dare not look further down, so I focus on the jagged Maori tattoo covering his entire left shoulder and chest. He takes my left hand and rubs it across his clean-shaven jaw. “Vera, I’ve wanted you for a long time. Look into my eyes.”
His usual bluish eyes are dark green with desire, and his expression is serious, intensely hot, as if he’s looking into the deepest well of my lust. He traces my cheekbone lightly and circles my mouth. I’m barely breathing and need to back away, but his movie-star looks, bedroom eyes and the fact that he’s not joking for once keep my gaze drawn to his.
His eyelids lower half way, and then his lips are on mine and I’m drin
king in his strong, hot tongue, and hating myself. The water is still running. The shower stall is steamy and humid. Every nerve in my body is pulsing in a slow burn, and even as I cast for a reason to stop, my mind comes up blank, and the pleasure synapses fire in ever increasing frequency.
Cliff groans my name and opens my knees, his hand slipping between my legs. Lowering his head to my breast, his fingers rub circles around my opening. I gasp and clutch his neck as he latches onto one of my nipples. A strong finger probes me, and I’m almost unconscious as shooting sensations spiral through my belly and chest. My eyes squeeze shut. If only …
“Oh, Zach! I want you, Zach.”
Everything stops. Cliff pushes me into the cold tile wall and shuts off the shower. The door swings open, and he turns out of the stall. My hair’s still wet and hanging over my face, my head lowered in shame.
What. Have. I. Almost. Done?
***
After a few minutes, I ascertain that no one is in the suite. I wrap myself in a towel and find underwear in the dresser. It’s filled with lacey, sexy thongs, panties and see through bras. One is less sheer and fits perfectly. It’s like they prepared everything for me. I think of what just happened with Cliff in the shower and shudder.
Did they bring me here to be a sex slave?
I pull open the other drawers, relieved there are no whips, chains and handcuffs. Instead, I find baby doll lace pajamas, fluffy pink bunny slippers, and a velour robe.
I pick the most modest dress in the closet, a stretchy black textured drop-shouldered one with three quarter sleeves, embellished with super-fine silver sequins. No surprise, the dress fits like a glove and hugs my figure, showcasing every curve. The inside lining is soft and silky and it goes halfway down my thigh. I accentuate it with a chunky bracelet of silver square pyramids, and another one made of interlocking black onyx waves, finishing with long black twisted metal earrings.
The tablet is still under the towels. I wake it and check my email. There’s a message from Zach.
Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love) Page 10