Her Tycoon Lover

by Sandra Field

‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘After all,’ she added seriously, ‘it might be my only chance to join the Mile-High Club.’

  Then, finding the idea gave her no pleasure, ‘I presume you’re a fully fledged member by now?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I haven’t yet joined.’

  Though it shouldn’t have made any difference, it did, and his answer brought a swift rush of mingled relief and gladness.

  It had been cool and grey when they left Boston, but they landed at San Francisco International Airport in dazzling sunshine and, on Rebecca’s part at least, a cloud of euphoria.

  Because of the time difference it was still afternoon, and the Californian sun beat down fiercely. As soon as they left the air-conditioned terminal building, the heat struck through the thin soles of her sandals and seemed to envelope her in a sticky embrace.

  She was pleased she’d decided on a sleeveless cotton dress, and taken her ash-brown hair up into a smooth coil.

  A sleek white car, its hood down, was waiting for them, and as soon as the driver had handed over the keys they set off north for what Gray told her was a longish drive to the Napa Valley.

  Though the air was hot and sticky with humidity, the open-topped car was pleasantly cool as they joined the endless flow of traffic on the freeway.

  Rebecca’s first impression of the west coast was of continuous traffic, a straggle of unprepossessing glass and concrete skyscrapers, and towering advertisement hoardings lining the roadside.

  All the same, with so much to look back on and so much to look forward to, she felt as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

  After a while Gray raised his voice above the wind and the engine noise and the soft phut of insects hitting the windscreen, to enquire, ‘Do you want to press on, or stop for a bite to eat en route?’

  Not at all hungry, and finding the smell of gasoline and onions from the roadside pull-ins distinctly unappealing, she said, ‘Press on, if it’s all the same to you.’

  His look of relief seemed to suggest that he shared her feelings. But then, she was starting to discover, they were more often than not in tune.

  While she enjoyed the sun on her face and listened to the soothing shush of the tyres, her mind went back to earlier that afternoon.

  Recalling Gray’s skilful lovemaking, she shivered deliciously, the mere remembrance making her heart race until it was difficult to breathe.

  Saying, ‘If we’re going to join the club we might as well do it in style,’ he had made love to her time and time again, with a kind of sweet ruthlessness that had left her quivering with pleasure, and emotionally exhausted.

  She would have slept, but the hours had flown by and there had been no time for sleep…

  Glancing sideways at her, Gray saw that, though her eyes were closed, a little smile still played around her lips.

  Resisting a sudden mad urge to stop the car and kiss those smiling lips, he admitted to himself that he couldn’t get enough of this woman.

  She was like no one else he had ever met.

  He had discovered that she was vulnerable in some ways, tough in others, shy and uncertain, yet remarkably self-controlled.

  At first, in spite of her declared love for Jason, she had struck him as cool, sexually. Now he knew that coolness was only on the surface. A façade to hide behind. Underneath she was fiery and passionate, as hot-blooded as he himself.

  He was well aware that Jason, though weak in many ways, was a charming and ruthless predator with a powerful sex appeal. How in heaven’s name had a passionate woman, who was also in love with him, managed to hold out against his blandishments?

  It was a question Gray couldn’t really answer, but he found himself absurdly pleased that she had. She was too good for Jason.

  Even if he had been on the level about marrying her—and in view of his past record that was unlikely—within weeks he would have been unfaithful, and she would have found herself saddled with a husband she could neither trust nor respect.

  During the drive, while Gray was busy with his thoughts, Rebecca dozed intermittently, half waking from time to time, before drifting off again.

  When she awoke fully and opened her eyes, they were in what she guessed was the Napa Valley. Sitting up straighter, she looked around her.

  On either side the ground was rolling and fertile, its brilliant green just beginning to take on a slightly parched look that suggested a long spell of dry weather.

  Slanting her a glance, Gray said, ‘The road we’re on now is the St Helena Highway, known as the vineyard road.’

  ‘Have we far to go?’

  ‘It shouldn’t be too far. According to the directions I was given, the Santa Rosa spread is about fourteen or fifteen miles from Napa itself, and we drove through the town just a few minutes ago.’

  After a while they skirted a small outcrop of hills and the wide, flat valley began to close in. Soon there were steepish slopes on either side, and they were in the vineyards.

  ‘This should be our turning,’ Gray said, and took a narrow road to the left.

  At the bottom of the road a pair of tall iron gates were standing open. Across an archway above them, black wrought-iron letters bore the legend ‘Santa Rosa Wineries’.

  They drove through the gates and up a long drive, finally stopping in front of a white, one-storey, Spanish-style hacienda. Its tiled veranda had a series of archways and was festooned with climbing plants and bright with tubs of flowers.

  A small, battered pick-up truck was parked close by. As they climbed out of the car, a woman appeared in the nearest archway dressed in red cotton trousers and a loose yellow top. A red and yellow spotted bandanna was tied around her head, and her bare feet were pushed into a pair of ancient sneakers.

  ‘You must be Mr Gallagher.’ Coming down the steps, she thrust out a thin brown hand.

  ‘That’s right.’ Having shaken her hand, Gray drew Rebecca forward. ‘And this is Miss Ferris.’

  Again the hand shot out. ‘Hi! I’m Gloria Redford. Ben and I have been taking care of the place since Manuel’s daughter helped him move out.

  ‘Stubborn old fool,’ she added fondly. ‘Instead of trying to manage, he should have sold Santa Rosa and gone to live with his daughter five years ago when his son died.

  ‘Well, now you’re here, I’d best be getting back.’

  ‘Have you far to go?’ Rebecca asked politely.

  ‘I live in Yountville, so it’s not far, but Ben and the others will be wanting their supper.’

  Turning to Gray, she added, ‘Oh, and speaking of supper, there’s a trolley in the larder laid all ready for you, and you’ll find enough food in the fridge to last for the time being.

  ‘I’ll pop back in a day or so to see if there’s any items I’ve missed. If you need anything in the meantime, or you want me to pop in to change the beds or tidy the place, just give me a ring. My number’s on the board in the kitchen.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  With a cheery grin, she bounded off to the pick-up. The engine roared into life, and a second or two later she was driving away, a cloud of dust billowing after her.

  While Gray retrieved their luggage from the boot, Rebecca stood staring at the house that was to be their holiday home for the next two weeks, and thought that never in the whole of her life had she felt so blissfully happy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GLANCING at Rebecca, and struck by the glow on her face, Gray commented, ‘You’re looking very happy.’

  ‘I am happy,’ she said simply.

  ‘Then let’s hope we can keep it that way. Ready to take a look at the house?’

  ‘You bet!’

  She followed him up the veranda steps and through the door Gloria Redford had left open.

  Putting their cases down, Gray suggested, ‘Let’s explore, shall we?’

  The main living area ran from the front of the house through to the back. It was cool and spacious, with white walls, terrazzo flooring, lots of plants and the m
inimum of furniture.

  There was a huge open fireplace of unplastered stone, and, to either side of the flower-filled hearth, tier upon tier of built-in bookcases, all of which were empty.

  After a moment or two, Rebecca realised that it was the complete absence of any personal things that made it seem like the ideal summer layout for the cover of a glossy magazine.

  At the far end, sliding glass panels led out to a paved patio. There was a brick-built barbecue and several comfortable-looking chairs and loungers grouped around a table. Beyond the patio was a swimming pool, the late-evening sun sparkling on its blue water.

  On one side of the living area was a sizable kitchen with a cool larder, and beyond that two bedrooms and a bathroom.

  At the opposite end of the house, two large, airy, en suite bedrooms led into each other. They seemed to be guest rooms, and identical apart from the fact that in one the duvet and rugs were thundercloud-blue, and in the other mulberry.

  Both had a double bed, and were lined on one wall with white tongue-and-groove wardrobes. Light muslin curtains screened the long windows.

  ‘As you’re the guest,’ Gray said, ‘you get first choice. Which room would you like?’

  Taken aback, because she had presumed he would want them to share, she stammered, ‘I—I don’t really mind. You choose.’

  He grinned. ‘I’d prefer whichever one you’re in. But, having promised you a room of your own…’

  She took a deep breath and asked, ‘What if I said I didn’t want a room of my own?’

  ‘I was rather hoping you would say that.’ He waited expectantly, one eyebrow cocked.

  ‘I don’t want a room of my own,’ she obliged.

  He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. ‘Then let’s share this one. It has a bathroom on either side, so at least you can have a bathroom of your own.’

  With a fast-beating heart she went into the mulberry room, while Gray fetched their cases. Putting them on the bed, he queried, ‘Shall we be exemplary and unpack straight away?’

  If she were his wife, she would do it for him.

  ‘Then, as soon as I’ve freshened up, I’ll find the ingredients for a long, cold drink.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Her voice was husky.

  While she emptied her case and put away her things, Gray unpacked with a speed and efficiency that spoke of long practice in looking after himself.

  Watching him covertly, she wondered why he had never married. It seemed strange that a man of his age, a man who appeared to have everything, hadn’t been snapped up long since.

  Unless he was one of those males who hated the thought of being tied down, and wanted the freedom to love all and marry none?

  Busy with her thoughts, she unconsciously slowed down, and he easily finished first.

  His case stowed neatly in the bottom of one of the cupboards, he picked up a change of clothing and disappeared into the nearest bathroom.

  A moment or two later she heard the shower running.

  Feeling hot and sticky, she decided to follow suit. Taking fresh undies and a skimpy button-through dress—bought especially for the Caribbean—she went into the second bathroom.

  When she had showered and changed she brushed out her long hair and pulled it back into a loose knot, then, cool and refreshed, went in search of Gray.

  She found him lounging on the patio, a tray of drinks at his elbow.

  He rose to his feet at her approach and smiled at her. Wearing light trousers and an olive-green shirt open at the neck to expose the tanned column of his throat, he looked devastatingly attractive, and her heart turned over.

  ‘What’s it to be?’ he asked.

  ‘Fruit juice, please.’

  Pulling forward a cushioned chair, he settled her into it, before lifting a glass jug and pouring two tall tumblers of juice chinking with ice.

  ‘Thank you.’ Accepting the tumbler he handed her, she leaned back and sipped appreciatively.

  It was a lovely evening; the air was warm and as clear as glass, fragrant with the scent of flowering shrubs and full of the shrill sound of cicadas.

  The sun had gone and a blue dusk was stealthily creeping in. Through the screen of vegetation, she could see lights beginning to twinkle on the opposite slope and along the valley floor.

  Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and closer at hand she could hear the faint sound of music and smell burning charcoal, as if the neighbours were having a barbecue.

  When their drinks were finished, he rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Shall we stretch our legs before we eat?’

  She put her hand in his and, as always when he touched her, felt her skin tingle in response.

  Fingers entwined, they made their way past the swimming pool, and descended a short flight of stone steps into a nicely kept garden.

  As they strolled along the winding paths Rebecca watched a pale moon rise and hang low on the horizon, while the clear blue colour over the hills changed to a velvety purple and the stars above them grew bigger and brighter.

  Unconsciously, she sighed.

  ‘Why the sigh?’ he asked.

  ‘I was just thinking how beautiful it all is.’

  ‘Then you’re not sorry you decided to come?’

  ‘Surprised, but not sorry,’ she answered.

  ‘Surprised?’

  ‘It just wasn’t like me. I mean…it’s so completely out of character.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Well, I’m very glad you managed to step out of character for once.’

  ‘Tell me something. If I’d refused to come, would you have carried out your threat to tell Philip Lorne what had happened between Jason and me?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she admitted. ‘I know so little about you.’

  ‘Yet you trusted me.’

  ‘I suppose I must have done.’

  ‘Do you still?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In spite of the fact that we’re now lovers?’

  ‘It was as much my doing as yours.’

  ‘And you don’t regret it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What if I told you I have a live-in lover stashed away at home?’

  Just for an instant shock scattered her wits, then, collecting herself, she asked evenly, ‘Have you?’

  ‘No. A couple of months ago my live-in lover left me for someone else.’

  ‘How long had you been together?’

  ‘Just over a year.’

  Though his face gave no clue as to how upset he was, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need to be. Any feeling I had for her died a long time ago.

  ‘Though Cleo is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever set eyes on, I soon discovered that her nature didn’t match.

  ‘Our sleeping together gradually became just a matter of habit and convenience, and, as she was hardly ever at home when I was, companionship ceased to exist. We might have drifted on for a while longer if she hadn’t met a retired oilman with more millions than he could spend. Tex, she assured me, was prepared to give her everything she wanted, and quite happy to indulge her every whim.

  ‘I wished her luck.’

  As they rounded the corner of the house and found themselves back on the patio, Rebecca said, ‘Even so, it’s bound to be sad, breaking up with someone you once loved.’

  Seeing the glow had gone from her face, and cursing himself for a fool, he changed the subject. ‘Now, where would you like to eat? Inside or out?’

  ‘Outside, if that suits you? It’s much too nice to be indoors.’

  Nodding his approval, he suggested, ‘Then pull up a lounger while I go and fetch our supper.’

  He was back quite quickly, wheeling a trolley covered with butter muslin. A white linen napkin was draped over his arm.

  She was surprised to see that his hair was parted in the middle and slicked down smoothly with water.

  He whipped off the muslin to display a simple meal o
f ham, soft cheese, green salad and fat, rosy peaches. Then, shoulders rounded, head bobbing, he said unctuously, ‘At your service, madam. What can I help you to?’

  She could never have imagined him playing the fool, and, struggling to keep a straight face, she said, ‘Thank you, James. I’d like some cheese and salad.’ He filled a plate, then looked up to ask, ‘And will madam have a glass of wine? I understand it’s the produce of Santa Rosa.’

  His crossed eyes were her undoing, and she burst out laughing. When she could control her mirth sufficiently, she warned, ‘If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that.’

  He came to lean over her, leering. ‘If I do, will you still like me?’

  ‘Oh, certainly,’ she said and lifted her hand to ruffle his damp hair, while helpless laughter bubbled up inside her.

  ‘You’re not taking this seriously,’ he complained, and stopped her laughter with a series of kisses.

  Kisses that went on and on, growing more fervent, blowing her mind, while he dealt with the buttons of her dress.

  He was easing down her dainty briefs when, snatching at the coat tails of sanity, she gasped, ‘Don’t! Someone might come.’

  Grinning down at her, he whispered in her ear, ‘Both of us, I hope.’

  Then with a quick movement he flattened the lounger completely, and followed her down.

  It was some time before they got round to thinking about food, and when they did Gray opened the bottle of Santa Rosa Chenin Blanc.

  When they had both tried the wine, he asked, ‘What’s your opinion?’

  ‘I’m no expert,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Nor are ninety per cent of the people who drink wine. Just tell me what you think of it.’

  ‘I like it. It’s nice and fresh and fruity.’

  He switched on the patio lights, and, having held up his glass to judge the colour and clearness of the wine, he took another thoughtful sip.

  ‘Mmm…If we decide to produce ordinary table wine for a year or two while we do some replanting, this could be a reasonable proposition.’

  ‘Then the vineyard’s still in production?’

  ‘After a fashion. Though the vines have been taken care of and the grapes continually harvested, for several years now no wine has actually been produced on the premises.