A Price Worth Paying(23)

It was better not to know.

It would be better if she didn’t think about it.

What was it about this man who turned her thoughts carnal when her intentions were anything but? Thank God he’d agreed that there would be no sex between them. Never again would she have sex with a man who didn’t love her one hundred per cent. Never again would she experience that sickening fear that she might be carrying the child of a man she didn’t love with all her heart.

She wouldn’t let it happen.

‘Is that for me?’ he asked, startling her, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t heard him approach. She turned to see the job done, the once fallen vines now lifted high off the ground again.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, handing him the mug, pulling her hand away quickly when their fingers brushed. He sipped the coffee, thoughtfully watching her, and nodded.

‘Bueno. How’s Felipe this morning?’

‘Mistrustful. He wonders what you’re about.’

Alesander smiled. ‘He’ll come around,’ and put the coffee to his lips again—good lips, wide and not at all thin—and she suddenly felt awkward, standing here, watching a man drink a cup of coffee. She wondered if she should go. She’d delivered the promised coffee after all. Then again, she’d only have to come back for the cup …

‘Why are the vines grown so high?’ she asked, finally falling on something to say. ‘It must make looking after them more difficult.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s the way here. The weather from the sea can be harsh. This way the vines form a canopy that protects the fruit beneath, making it more suitable for the grapes to flourish. And of course—’ he smiled ‘—up high they get a much better view of the sea.’

And she blinked as she remembered a phrase from her childhood, a sliver of a memory she’d forgotten until now, some words an old man had told her as she’d trailed behind him around the vineyard asking endless questions while he’d snipped and trimmed the vines, answering her in faltering Spanglish. He’d told her his grapes were magic grapes and she’d asked him what made them magic and he’d told her what made them magic.

‘The sparkle of the sea.’

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. ‘Sí. The grapes with the view make the best wine. They say that is why our txakoli wine sparkles when it is poured.’

‘Is it true?’

‘Of course it is true. And also it is to do with the fermentation process as well. But why wouldn’t grapes be happy with a view such as this?’

They stood together for a moment, looking out over the vista, as the vine-covered hillside fell away to the low rolling countryside to the coast. And the sea did indeed sparkle under the morning sun, just as her skin tingled where it was touched by the heat of him.

‘But I am boring you,’ he said. ‘When you care nothing for the vines. Thank you for the coffee. I should get back to work here.’

She took the cup, still warm, cradling it in her hands. She didn’t care for the vines. And yet there was something about them that tugged at her. Maybe it was just the remnants of a short time in her childhood when the vineyard had been her playground. ‘Surely you have more important things to do? I thought you had a business to run.’

‘I grew up doing this work. I like it and these days I so rarely get a chance to do it. But it is good to be closer to the grapes.’

‘How are they—can you tell?’ And she surprised herself by caring to know the answer, even as she knew she was putting off returning to the house. ‘Do you think there will be any point harvesting them?’

He nodded and looked back at the vines above his shoulder, where bunches of small grapes hung down from the vines. She tried to look at the grapes and not the Vee of skin at his neck where his white shirt lay open. She couldn’t help but notice the man made an innocent white shirt look positively sinful, the way it pulled over his shoulders and turned olive skin darker. ‘It would be a crime not to pick them. The vines should have been pruned in the winter, of course, which is why they are such a mess now, but they are good vines—old but strong—they have still produced good fruit. Has Felipe had the grapes tested at all?’

She looked blankly back at him.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I assumed not. But soon they should be tested for their sugar and acidity levels. That will tell when they are right for harvest. But it is only a matter of weeks. Two, maybe three at the most.’