Rafael's Contract Bride. Nina Milne

most cutting edge technology and most importantly he loves the grapes, the soil, the very essence of the wine.’ Rafael set off towards the truck. ‘He is, however, the embodiment of the word taciturn, and doesn’t speak much English, so don’t be offended by him and try and remember he is a valued Martinez employee.’

      Cora frowned. ‘What do you think I’ll do?’

      Fair question. He bit back the answer that sprang to his lips. In truth he had been worried that she would look down her haughty, aristocratic nose at the hired help. Only Cora’s nose was more retroussé style and...and maybe he was at risk of being a touch stereotypical. Aristocratic did not have to equal Don Carlos.

      ‘Hey, boss.’ Tomás’s grizzled face relaxed into a fraction of a smile as they reached the car.

      ‘Tomás. This is Cora. Cora—Tomás.’

      Cora stepped forward and touched the bonnet of the truck, then bestowed a friendly smile on Tomás. Rafael’s eyes snagged right on her lips and a funny little awareness fluttered—he’d like Cora to smile at him like that.

      ‘This is wonderful,’ she said, and turned to Rafael. ‘Could you tell him that I’m truly impressed? It’s better than a limo—this is a classic. I didn’t know there were any pick-ups this age on the road any more. And it’s immaculate.’

      Rafael translated, and blinked as the old man’s weather-beaten face cracked a genuine smile. One forty-five-minute journey later and, despite the language barrier, it was clear that Tomás and Cora had struck up a definite rapport. Tomás even went so far as to smile again in farewell as he entered the white villa he and María shared on the outskirts of the vineyard he loved.

      ‘So.’ Rafael gestured around, filled with a familiar sense of pride. ‘How about a tour?’

      As she stood there in the shapeless blue suit, her face tipped up to the sun, Rafael could almost see its rays and the sultry Spanish air spin its magic.

      ‘Sounds great.’ Cora inhaled deeply. ‘It’s incredible. It smells like...sun-kissed melons mingled with a slice of fresh green apple and—’ She broke off and gave a delicious gurgle of laughter. ‘Listen to me! The vines have gone to my head. Honestly, I could almost get tipsy on the smell alone. But they don’t smell like grapes.’

      Rafael glanced down at her face and a strange little jab of emotion kicked at his ribcage. Cora looked genuinely entranced—the most relaxed he’d ever seen her. Almost as if she’d decided to lay aside her burdens and the prickle of suspicion for a few moments. The sun glinted off the colour of her hair. It was a hue he’d never seen anywhere, as if woven by fairies.

      He blinked. What? As if what by what? There clearly was a spell in the air.

      Focus on the vines, Rafael.

      ‘I think of it as the scent of anticipation and wonder...the whole vineyard is on the brink of what will eventually lead to this year’s harvest.’

      ‘So how does it work? I always imagine a vineyard looking as it does just before harvest.’

      ‘Most people do, but this is a special time too. Bloom time.’ Rafael halted. ‘It’s when the developing grape clusters actually flower, get fertilised. Look.’

      He pushed aside a saucer-sized vine leaf and beckoned Cora closer to see the thumb’s-length yellow-green nub, wreathed with a crown of cream-coloured threadlike petals. A step brought her right next to him and she leant forward to smell the cluster.

      His throat tightened and his lungs squeezed at her nearness, at her scent—a heady mix of vanilla with a blueberry overtone. Her bowed head was so close he felt an insane urge to stroke the sure-to-be-silky strands of hair. The drone of a bumblebee, the heat of the sun on the back of his neck seemed intensified—and then she stepped back and the spell broke. Reality interceded. There was no room for attraction here.

      The whole moment had been an illusion, a strange misfiring of his synapses—no more. Maybe brought on by the importance of his mission.

      Her face flushed as she looked up at him. ‘The smell is...intoxicating. You should work out a way to sell it. So tell me—what happens next?’

      He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

      The unexpected thought made him step away. Fast. ‘You really want to know?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Fifteen minutes later Rafael broke off—at this rate he’d bore her comatose. Which would not further his plan at all. Yet Cora’s interest seemed genuine—the questions she asked were pertinent and proof of that.

      ‘Sorry. I get a bit carried away.’

      She shook her head, the crease in her forehead in contrast to the small smile on her lips. ‘It’s fascinating. I didn’t realise that you were so passionate about the whole process.’

      ‘How can I not be? The whole process is magical. Though I’ve made sure we have the best technology too. I truly believe that the mix of the traditional and the new works. It took me a while to convince Tomás, but I’ve even brought him round. So it’s a combination of his eye and modern technology that picks the grapes.’

      ‘So you’re involved the whole time?’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘To be honest, I assumed it was a hobby for you. You know...kind of like most people buy a bottle of wine you bought a vineyard. But it sounds like you care.’

      ‘Of course I do. These vineyards are people’s livelihoods, and they have been here for years—in some cases for centuries. But it’s more than that—this is a job I love.’

      ‘More than you loved being a global CEO? More than you love your lifestyle?’

      ‘Yes. The whole CEO gig wasn’t me. Too much time spent in boardrooms. It was restrictive. I mean, I loved it that I invented an app that took the world by storm, but after a while it was all about marketing and shares and advertising and I knew it was time to sell.’

      ‘So why do you think the wine business will be any different?’

      ‘Maybe it won’t be.’

      ‘So if times get tough or you get bored you’ll just move on?’

      Cora’s lips were pursed in what looked to be yet more disapproval, yet he’d swear there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice. He shrugged. ‘Why not? Life is too short.’

      ‘But surely some things are worth sticking around for?’

      If so he hadn’t found them yet, and he’d make no apology for the way he lived his life.

      His mother’s life had been wasted—years of apathy and might-have-beens because she had never got over his father’s betrayal. At his father’s behest Ramon de Guzman of the house of Aiza had deceived and then abandoned Rafael’s mother, and Emma Martinez had never recovered—hadn’t been able to live her life as it should have been lived. Until it had been too late—when the diagnosis of terminal illness had jolted her into a fervent desire to pack years of life into her last remaining months.

      The thought darkened his mood, and it was only lightened by the idea of winning restitution in his mother’s name.

      Once Don Carlos sold him the vineyard, Rafael would tell him the truth. That he had sold his precious Aiza land to his own illegitimate grandson, whom he had once named the tainted son of a whore. Don Carlos and his son Ramon would seethe with humiliation and Rafael would watch with pleasure.

      ‘Come on. Lunch should be ready.’

      Time to get this show on the road.

       CHAPTER THREE

      AS CORA WALKED through the beauty of the flowering vines curiosity swirled with anticipation.