In The
Argentine’s Bed
By
Dear Reader,
The seed for this book was planted while I was out walking with my friend and neighbour, Ana, and she mentioned that her family came from Argentina’s wine country. Once I learned that the Mendoza wine-growing region is nestled at the foot of the majestic Andes mountains and irrigated by melt water from the snowy peaks, I became fascinated.
In recent years the area has experienced a boom in productivity and popularity, since local altitudes and sun exposure combine to create a terroir that produces unique and intense flavours. I learned a lot about the passionate wine makers of the area and their beautiful estates from www.vinesofmendoza.com and naturally I also enjoyed some delicious liquid research.
This land of colourful history, breathtaking scenery and rich flavours seemed the perfect setting for a tale of intrigue and passion. I hope you enjoy Susannah and Amado’s story.
Jennifer Lewis
Jennifer Lewis has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. Happily settled in New York with her family, she would love to hear from readers at [email protected]. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.
To Ana, my ally in many adventures.
Acknowledgement:
Thanks once again to the generous people who read
this book while I was writing it, including Amanda,
Anne, Betty, Carol, Cynthia and Leeanne, and my agent
Andrea. Special thanks to Liliana and Marina, creators
of www.universeofromance.com.ar/harlequineras
for their enthusiasm and assistance.
Chapter One
How do you make a complete stranger hand over his DNA?
Susannah Clarke’s rental car was almost totally out of gas. She’d known the Tierra de Oro estancia was well outside Mendoza, Argentina, and had planned accordingly. But the car and its fuel tank were tiny, and everything else here was on a much grander scale than she’d imagined.
Including her own trepidation.
To her right, the sun glittered amongst the high, snow-dusted peaks of the Andes. Around her lay the fertile plain that supported some of the finest vineyards in the world.
As she turned off the highway, the needle on the fuel meter hovered below zero. Come on, just a little farther. She didn’t want to run out of gas and have to walk the rest of the way to the house with her news. “Hey, I think you’re my boss’s illegitimate son—got a gallon of gas to spare?”
She swallowed hard as a building came into view.
Deep breath.
She eased off the accelerator, anxious to stretch the last few drops of gas as far as they’d go. Rows of cypress trees now lined the drive, shading it from the bright sun. An elegant painted sign pointed to the right, where she could see a large brick structure against the backdrop of mountains. The Tierra de Oro Bodega, or winery.
She pressed on toward the house. For once she wasn’t coming to talk to the chief viticulturist about which kinds of grapes thrived in the local soils or how many cases Hardcastle Enterprises wanted for its flagship restaurant.
The avenue of cypress widened into a lush garden, surrounding a lovely old house with a red-tiled roof and wide, arched windows.
This is it.
She pulled the stick-shift car to a jerky stop in front of the paneled wood doorway. She opened the car door and stepped out, her heart thudding.
Then she heard the barking. Loud, guttural and getting closer with every second. Two huge white dogs bounded around the side of the house and careened toward her across the gravel.
Holy—
Susannah staggered back and struggled with the car door handle, her brain crowded with visions of being eaten alive on Amado Alvarez’s doorstep.
It wouldn’t open.
The worn door handle had apparently done enough work today.
“Help!” she finally cried, in Spanish, as the first giant animal leaped toward her, jaws wide.
It jumped on her, knocking her against the car as the other dog barked and growled from a few feet away. Pain shot through her elbow when it collided with the half-open window. “Help!”
The front door flew open and she heard a gruff male command. The dogs immediately backed away and sat, panting innocently. Susannah struggled to catch her breath, still flattened against the side of her tiny rental car.
A tall man came down the steps in a loping stride. “I apologize for my dogs’ overenthusiastic greeting.”
He spoke in Spanish. And why wouldn’t he? He had no idea who she was.
His dark brown hair dipped seductively to almond-shaped eyes. The soft drape of his khakis and creamcolored shirt revealed broad shoulders, slim hips and long, powerful legs.
He was handsome.
And about thirty. The age of Tarrant Hardcastle’s missing son.
Her heart, already pumping hard from the near-death encounter, beat faster.
She shoved out her hand. “At least you don’t have to worry about burglars.”
He smiled. A slightly lopsided grin. White teeth against suntanned skin. Susannah found her heart fluttering for reasons that had nothing to do with fear as he grasped her palm in a warm handshake.
Did she imagine it, or did he give her hand a suggestive squeeze? Mischief shimmered in those wicked brown eyes.
Susannah was good at reading people and she could tell this man was used to getting his way.
His features were aristocratic, elegant. His long, slightly aquiline nose tapering to tear-shaped nostrils. Everything about him telegraphed ease and comfort in his surroundings.
He snapped his fingers and the two giant hounds scampered to his feet and crouched there, tongues hanging, as they gazed adoringly up at him. “Apologize to the lady.” He raised his hand in a gesture, and the dogs immediately turned. Then he snapped his fingers and they sprawled at her feet.
“I’m