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Authors: Yvonne Lindsay
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onto the back of his horse and gathered the reins. Without another word he wheeled the beast around and headed back in the direction he’d arrived.
Isobel couldn’t tear her eyes from the dashing figure he made on horseback. His long, powerful legs clamped to the horse’s flanks, his body moving in synchronicity with the animal’s gait. His fluidity and grace sent a wild spear of longing through her.
What would it have been like to double back with him? To feel the strength of his body supporting hers, to relinquish her safety to him and his ability to control the powerful animal beneath him? Isobel clenched her hands into tight fists and fought back the groan of frustration that built inside. Ethan had a powerful magnetism that pushed all her buttons every blasted time she came into contact with him. She needed to get a grip on herself or this contract would prove to be the most difficult and potentially dangerous one she’d ever embarked upon. Not physically, perhaps, but mentally—and she’d never, ever let anyone mess with her mind before.
She didn’t plan to now, either.
* * *
Ethan checked the first of the ferments he had in progress and was relieved to have the distraction. What on earth had possessed him to talk to Isobel Fyfe this morning? He’d woken, determined to keep as much space between them as possible and had taken Obsidian for a much-needed dose of exercise and fresh air to clear his head. But the instant he’d seen a flash of color topped by the sun-kissed glow of blond hair, he’d headed toward the ruins. Even knowing it could only have been one person, he’d still gone there. Was he a closet masochist perhaps? he wondered scathingly as he considered his earlier actions.
She’d walked and climbed a fair distance and yet she’d looked as fresh and ready to tackle the return journey as she’d probably been when she’d started. She’d virtually glowed with health and vitality and he had to admire her fitness. He could attest personally to her physical strength, stamina and agility, and that memory hovered persistently at the back of his mind.
Relief warred with frustration at her refusal to ride back to the house with him. He wasn’t used to being turned down, and for all he’d sworn he’d steer clear of her there was a part of him that still craved the warmth of her body hard against his—even if it was only on the back of a horse. He’d owed Isobel an apology; he’d given it. That was all.
Ethan shook his head and attempted to apply himself to his work. He had a meeting with Raif and Uncle Edward later today to discuss future planting programs and there was still plenty to attend to here at the winery. He was ever thankful that he had a strong team working with him. Without their hard work and support, especially through this fermentation period, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish nearly as much. And he needed to accomplish something today—needed something to occupy his mind and energy so they wouldn’t keep turning in the wrong direction.
He was particularly excited about the special reserve chardonnay they would soon be harvesting from The Masters reserve block. The oldest vines on the property, and the only ones to survive the fire that had decimated the house on the hill and virtually everything around it, they had been the backbone of the business as the family knew it today. There was a sense of pride and longevity in every vintage he’d been involved in and the harvest would be painstakingly handpicked before being crushed to extract the juice. The timing of the harvest was crucial to the outcome of the wine, as would be the fermentation process, but Ethan had full confidence in his team’s ability to bring out the very best the crop had to offer.
He loved his work. Loved the science and the technicalities, as well as the romance and sensibilities involved in the making of the fine wines The Masters prided themselves on. And this part of the property, where the
Isobel couldn’t tear her eyes from the dashing figure he made on horseback. His long, powerful legs clamped to the horse’s flanks, his body moving in synchronicity with the animal’s gait. His fluidity and grace sent a wild spear of longing through her.
What would it have been like to double back with him? To feel the strength of his body supporting hers, to relinquish her safety to him and his ability to control the powerful animal beneath him? Isobel clenched her hands into tight fists and fought back the groan of frustration that built inside. Ethan had a powerful magnetism that pushed all her buttons every blasted time she came into contact with him. She needed to get a grip on herself or this contract would prove to be the most difficult and potentially dangerous one she’d ever embarked upon. Not physically, perhaps, but mentally—and she’d never, ever let anyone mess with her mind before.
She didn’t plan to now, either.
* * *
Ethan checked the first of the ferments he had in progress and was relieved to have the distraction. What on earth had possessed him to talk to Isobel Fyfe this morning? He’d woken, determined to keep as much space between them as possible and had taken Obsidian for a much-needed dose of exercise and fresh air to clear his head. But the instant he’d seen a flash of color topped by the sun-kissed glow of blond hair, he’d headed toward the ruins. Even knowing it could only have been one person, he’d still gone there. Was he a closet masochist perhaps? he wondered scathingly as he considered his earlier actions.
She’d walked and climbed a fair distance and yet she’d looked as fresh and ready to tackle the return journey as she’d probably been when she’d started. She’d virtually glowed with health and vitality and he had to admire her fitness. He could attest personally to her physical strength, stamina and agility, and that memory hovered persistently at the back of his mind.
Relief warred with frustration at her refusal to ride back to the house with him. He wasn’t used to being turned down, and for all he’d sworn he’d steer clear of her there was a part of him that still craved the warmth of her body hard against his—even if it was only on the back of a horse. He’d owed Isobel an apology; he’d given it. That was all.
Ethan shook his head and attempted to apply himself to his work. He had a meeting with Raif and Uncle Edward later today to discuss future planting programs and there was still plenty to attend to here at the winery. He was ever thankful that he had a strong team working with him. Without their hard work and support, especially through this fermentation period, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish nearly as much. And he needed to accomplish something today—needed something to occupy his mind and energy so they wouldn’t keep turning in the wrong direction.
He was particularly excited about the special reserve chardonnay they would soon be harvesting from The Masters reserve block. The oldest vines on the property, and the only ones to survive the fire that had decimated the house on the hill and virtually everything around it, they had been the backbone of the business as the family knew it today. There was a sense of pride and longevity in every vintage he’d been involved in and the harvest would be painstakingly handpicked before being crushed to extract the juice. The timing of the harvest was crucial to the outcome of the wine, as would be the fermentation process, but Ethan had full confidence in his team’s ability to bring out the very best the crop had to offer.
He loved his work. Loved the science and the technicalities, as well as the romance and sensibilities involved in the making of the fine wines The Masters prided themselves on. And this part of the property, where the
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