In the Australian's Bed: The Passion Price / The Australian's Convenient Bride / The Australian's Marriage Demand

Under normal circumstances, he would never leave Dorothy alone in the clutches of an eager real-estate agent on the verge of making a sale. But he could see within five minutes of Dorothy walking into that darned house that she was determined to have it. On top of that, his objections to her buying a property up here in the Hunter Valley had begun to wane.

The main reason for his change of heart lived less than a mile down this road.

Angelina Mastroianni. Unmarried, and more beautiful than ever.

Like a good wine, Angelina had only improved with age. Hard to believe she was thirty-two. She looked about twenty-five. If that.

Jake smiled when he thought of the way her big brown eyes had widened at the sight of him. Shock had mingled in their velvety depths with something else, that certain something which could not be mistaken.

She was still attracted to him, as he was still attracted to her. The sparks of sexual chemistry had flown between them all during lunch.

Frankly, Jake hadn’t wanted to leave. He’d enjoyed just looking at her as she served other people, her lush Italian figure straining seductively against the crisp white blouse and hip-hugging black skirt she was wearing, especially when she bent over a bit, which was often.

As he’d sipped his mineral water, he’d imagined removing that black clip from the back of her head and watching her glossy black waves tumble in glorious disarray around her slender shoulders. Between mouthfuls of Atlantic salmon, he’d thought about slipping open the pearly buttons of her blouse and peeling it back to reveal her full breasts, those breasts which had once filled his hands. More than once he’d stared at her plum-coloured mouth and wondered if she would still be as susceptible to his kisses as she’d once been.

He’d eaten all the food she’d brought him but couldn’t remember much of what it tasted like. His mind—and his appetite—had been elsewhere. Dorothy had raved about her meal and the wine afterwards, giving them both five stars. She’d raved about Angelina too, saying what a lovely girl she was and hadn’t he let a good one get away all those years ago!

Jake had to agree. Angelina left all the girls he’d dated over the past few years for dead. Where they’d all been entrants in the plastic-beauty parade, Angelina Mastroianni was the real thing. Everything about her was real, from her hair to her breasts to the artless way she’d tried to hide her responses to him.

She’d failed brilliantly, making her even more attractive to him.

He was already planning to ask her out. And he wasn’t going to take no for answer.

The only fly in the ointment was her father.

Jake scowled his displeasure at the thought of having to tangle with that old Italian dinosaur once more. But surely, at thirty-two, Angelina could date whomever she pleased.

If she was free to date, of course. Just because she wasn’t married didn’t mean there wasn’t some man in her life.

Jake swiftly dismissed the notion of any serious competition. No woman who’d looked at him as Angelina had during lunch was madly in love with another man.

The Ferrari crested a rise and the Ambrosia Estate came into view on its left, stretching across several rolling hills, most of which were covered in vines.

There was no doubt Antonio Mastroianni had made good on his grand plans for the place. The restaurant was fabulous, positioned perfectly on the property’s highest point. The guest accommodation, Jake had noted earlier from the vantage point of the restaurant car park, was further back from the main road. A modern-looking, motel-style complex, complete with swimming pool, tennis courts and lush gardens.

Sixteen years ago, that area had been nothing but bare paddocks.

The huge, barn-like structure that housed the winery itself was still on the same spot, not far from where the restaurant stood. But there were several new sheds, Jake noted as he whizzed along the road towards the main entrance. Possibly packaging and storage sheds. There was also a large dam that hadn’t been there before, no doubt providing irrigation to stop the vines from becoming too stressed during droughts.

The summer he’d picked grapes here sixteen years ago had been very dry and hot, and old-man Mastroianni had talked endlessly about how stressed the vines were from lack of water. Jake had thought the notion that plants could be stressed was funny at the time. Of course, he’d been a complete idiot back then, in more ways than one.

Hopefully, Angelina would give him the opportunity to show her that he was no longer such an idiot.

His heart quickened as he turned into the restaurant car park for the second time that day. An odd happening for Jake. His heart rarely beat faster, except when he was working out or about to address a difficult jury. It rarely beat this fast over a woman.

Was he worried she might say no to him?

Yeah. He had to confess he was.

Now, that was a first.

Angelina knew the moment Jake arrived back in the car park. She’d been watching out of the corner of her eye, and that bright yellow was hard to miss. This time, thankfully, Vivien and Judith were no longer there in the restaurant to make any comments. They’d not long left after a very leisurely lunch, planning to have naps in their rooms before returning for dinner. Drinking and eating made up the mainstay of their holiday.

There were only two couples left in the restaurant, lingering over coffee. But they were seated inside. Angelina could sit outside with Jake and Dorothy, and be in no danger of being overheard, or interrupted.

She was taking a few steadying breaths and pretending to tidy up behind the counter when Jake walked in, alone. Momentarily rattled, she restrained herself from commenting till they were seated safely outside, having instructed a highly curious Wilomena to bring them both coffee and carrot cake.

‘Where’s Dorothy?’ she asked once they were alone.

Jake took off his sunglasses and relaxed back into his chair with a sigh whilst Angelina fought the temptation to stare at him once more.

‘I suspect putting a deposit down on a property up the road,’ he replied drily. ‘A boutique winery which has certainly seen better days. I would have stayed and tried to talk her out of it if I could. But Dorothy is one stubborn woman once she sets her sights on something. And she’s set her sights on this place. The house, anyway. I left her having a second viewing and finding out the ins and outs of everything. The real-estate agent said he’d drop her off here after they were finished. He said he had to pass by on his way back to Cessnock.’

Angelina tried not to panic at this unexpected development. ‘Is this house…um…white, with wide verandas?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Good lord, that’s Arnold’s place!’ If Dorothy bought Arnold’s place there was no hope of keeping Alex’s existence a secret. The vineyard community up here was like a small town. Everyone knew everything about everyone.

Her exclamation sent Jake’s dark brows arching. ‘You know the owner?’

‘He…um…he works for me. He’s my new wine-maker.’

‘I thought your father was the wine-maker here,’ Jake said with a puzzled frown.

Oh, dear. Impossible now to keep secret that her father was dead. Still, everything was going to come out, sooner or later. She might as well start with the lesser revelation.

‘Papa died last year,’ Angelina said, and tensed in anticipation of Jake’s reaction.

He said nothing for several seconds. Perhaps he was mulling over why she hadn’t told him about this earlier when she had the chance.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said at last. ‘Truly. I know how hard it is to lose someone you care about. A very good friend of mine died last year. Dorothy’s husband. You don’t realise how much you miss someone till they’re not there for you any longer.’

Angelina was touched—and somewhat surprised—by Jake’s sentiments. But at least she’d had one of her questions answered. In part. She now knew who Dorothy was. The wife of an old friend.

‘How did your father die?’ Jake asked. ‘Had he been ill?’

‘No. He was as healthy as a horse. It was quite tragic, really. He was bitten by a snake. A King Brown.’

‘Good lord. That is tragic. But isn’t it also unusual these days? To die of snake-bite? Don’t they have antidotes?’

She nodded whilst she struggled to get a grip on herself. She hated talking about that awful day. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago. Three months and a bit.

‘He might have lived if he’d been bitten on the hand,’ she explained. ‘Or a foot. But he must have been bending over and was bitten on the chest, not far from the heart. He…he stopped breathing before the ambulance arrived. They tried to revive him but it was too late.’

Tears flooded her eyes as all the turmoil and torment of that day rushed back. Jake’s reaching over the table to cover her hand with his catapulted her back to the present, and made her hotly aware that she’d been wrong this morning. Jake, the man, still had the same effect on her as Jake, the boy. When his long fingers started moving seductively against hers, a charge of electric sensations shot up her arm.

‘Don’t,’ she snapped, and snatched her hand away from under his, clutching it firmly in her lap with her other hand.