One Secret Night. Yvonne Lindsay

back to the African continent. Back to what she did best and what spoke to her heart. What she earned in the next few weeks would grease the palms necessary to get her exactly where she needed to be to take the pictures she needed to take.

      But even as the tires on the taxi ate the kilometers putting space between her and Ethan, she still felt that tug—that desire to turn back. To explore the vulnerability that lay beneath the face Ethan presented to the world at large. To revel in the strength and capability he exuded. The guy was addictive. Dangerously addictive. It was just as well she’d never see him again because deep down she knew he had the power to make her want to stay with him longer than a night and she couldn’t do that.

      No, she’d never do that.

      Ethan stretched against the fine cotton of the bedsheets and reached beside him for Isobel’s sleeping form, but his hand came up empty. In fact, the room itself held an emptiness that left him in no doubt that she’d moved on.

      Conflicting thoughts plagued him as he rolled out of bed and walked naked into the main living area of the apartment, just to confirm she had indeed gone. Relief that they didn’t have to face any stilted morning-after discussion, tempered with a deep regret that they couldn’t start the day the way they’d finished last night, warred within him.

      Relief won out. Especially in light of the discussion they’d had after the first time they’d made love. What on earth had possessed him to open up in such detail to an absolute stranger? He hadn’t even told his sister the news. In fact, he didn’t even know if he would tell her.

      Wasn’t it far better that Tamsyn remember their dad the way he’d have wanted to be remembered—not as a man who’d deliberately altered their family history without so much as an explanation left behind when he died? Didn’t she deserve at least that? Ethan didn’t even want to contemplate what it would do to Tamsyn to learn their mother had willingly abandoned them. How it would destabilize the world they’d grown up in.

      God, it was all such a mess. No less so than it had been yesterday but, he had to admit as he walked back into the bedroom and headed for a shower, at least he himself felt a little better about it. Somehow, Isobel Fyfe had woven her magic around him from the minute he’d seen her. Just that one chance glimpse of her before she entered the pub, like a butterfly alighting on a leaf, and his day had taken a decided turn for the better. He turned on the shower and stepped in before the water could come up to temperature, yet even the multijet sprays couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of her touch from his body, or his mind. Somehow, she’d inveigled her way into his thoughts so thoroughly, and in so short a time, that he couldn’t fully dislodge her.

      She wasn’t his type, he reminded himself. She was only a one-night stand, by her own choice. He hadn’t kicked her out—she was the one who had left. Their night together had satisfied both of them, and then she had moved on. It was for the best. It was what he’d wanted, too, after all. The prospect of a single night of no-consequence pleasure with a stranger was the only reason he’d invited her back to the apartment. He never expected to see her again. Yet he could still remember the precise pitch of her laugh, the softness of her voice, the warmth of her breath on his skin, the texture of her tongue as it—

      Ethan switched the mixer to cold. This wasn’t getting him anywhere but uncomfortable. No, it was best that she’d gone as she had—leaving no trace other than the lingering scent of her fragrance on his bedsheets and the indelible imprint she’d left on his mind. The bedsheets would be taken care of by housekeeping, his mind he could take care of himself. He just needed to change his focus.

      Later, as he got ready to head home, back to his work at the winery, he told himself he was succeeding. They couldn’t have taken things any further than they had, even if they’d both been interested in doing so. She was completely disconnected from the things that formed the cornerstones of his world. She was a transitory creature of light and laughter—charming, but unreliable. He was stable, grounded in his work and his family. The people in his life depended on him. He needed to be able to depend on them, as well.

      He’d needed distracting last night and she’d definitely been quite the distraction.

      It was with a satisfied smile on his face that he let himself out of the apartment half an hour later and took the elevator to the basement-level parking. The Isobel Fyfes of this world were good for a fling, and they’d enjoyed a mutually pleasurable one at that, however, she couldn’t be further from his idea of a forever woman in his life if she’d actively been trying.

      No, it was women like Shanal Peat, one of his old university friends who more closely fit that bill. She was serious and clever and, with her mixed Indian and Australian heritage, exquisitely beautiful. They were already close friends. She’d be a far better life mate for a man like Ethan than Isobel could ever be, plus, with her Ph.D. in viticulture, she’d be a brilliant asset to The Masters winery and vineyard. He could see her fitting in well with his family, with her gentle, steady demeanor. She’d understand and respect the generations of tradition that went into their family vineyard, and would slide seamlessly into their lives and work with no confusion or upheaval.

      It would be a mistake to even consider someone more bold, more unexpected and spontaneous. Women like that added excitement to life, but they added chaos, as well. No, a woman like Shanal was exactly what he needed. They were a melding of minds and personalities that could only succeed.

      Ethan got into his 5-series BMW and headed out the basement and into the glorious sunshine of another beautiful Adelaide autumn morning. This business with his parents was just a minor glitch. He could take care of it later. And, he wagered, as long as the payments to Ellen Masters continued unabated, he had no reason to worry about her suddenly returning and reasserting her parental rights. The secret could remain a secret a while longer. There was no need for his aunts and uncle to know he was aware of the truth—or for his sister to know anything about the matter at all.

      By the time he cruised through the gates of The Masters and past the cellar door tasting room and point of sale, it was late morning. He turned down the private road that led to the main house and pulled his car to a halt outside. As he got out of the car, he took a moment to breathe in the scent of the air and fill his lungs with it.

      Home. There was nothing quite like it. His eyes drifted to the top of the ridge where the shell of his family’s old home, Master’s Rise, destroyed by bush fire more than thirty years ago, still stood. The stone-wall construction of the late-nineteenth-century building had withstood the voraciously hungry flames that had systematically consumed most of the property, and proved too solid to be economically torn down. Its profile endured as a constant reminder of what could be lost, while the lands that roamed beneath it continued as proof of what could be achieved in the face of disaster.

      Ethan looked around at what his family had rebuilt in his father’s lifetime. The large double-storied home that housed most of the family under its roof, the vineyards stretching across the valley and up the hill, the winery, which consumed Ethan’s time and expertise and challenged him in all ways to constantly do better. Yeah, it was good to be home and even better to have this all to come home to.

      A movement on the path from one of the luxury cottages, which provided accommodation for guests, caught his attention. Tamsyn, his sister, ran that side of the business, and had probably just finished the final inspection of the cabin for a guest before walking back toward the house.

      “Good morning,” she said with a smile as she drew nearer. She gave an exaggerated look at her watch. “Or should I say, afternoon?”

      He smiled in return. “It’s still morning,” he confirmed.

      “Did you have a good night in town?” she inquired innocently, although the sparkle in her eyes told him she was delving for more information.

      “Yeah, thanks,” he replied, deliberately vague.

      Tamsyn sighed. “No gossip?”

      “Since when have I been the subject of gossip?”

      “You know what I mean,” she said on a huff of disappointment. “You need to get a life, Ethan.