“So where did you grow up that pets weren’t considered a necessary part of family life?” he asked, forcing a smile to try to soften his words.
“It’s a property similar to where we lunched yesterday, although possibly a bit bigger. We have a vineyard and winery, restaurant and wedding venue, plus luxury cottage accommodation. Of course, when I was little it was just the vineyard and winery and on a much smaller scale. Dad’s family were still working really hard to reestablish what they’d lost after a devastating bushfire when he was in his early twenties. The whole family had to start from scratch.”
“Sounds like hard work.”
“I guess it was. We didn’t know any different, though, growing up. And all of us, my brother and my cousins, we all knew we’d be a part of it one day. Each of us has had their place in the family business basically grow around them and their interests.”
What she said didn’t quite gel with the image he’d always had of her. He’d imagined her living off the luxury, not working hard to be a part of bringing it about. It roused his curiosity even further.
“And you? What about your place and your interests?”
Tamsyn picked up her spoon and began absently stirring her coffee.
“That doesn’t matter now,” she said, her voice empty of emotion.
Clearly she didn’t want to talk about it, which only served to make Finn all the more determined to find out why. Even he knew when not to push, though. Softly, softly would be the best approach, he decided, taking a sip of the instant brew Tamsyn had poured for him.
He pulled a face. “Remind me to show you how to use the espresso machine,” he said.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she admitted with an uncharacteristic giggle. “I’m not even sure it’s coffee.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to tip this out,” Finn said, brushing past her on the way to the kitchen sink.
She’d moved toward the sink at the same time and his arm grazed the side of her breast. Not a deliberate move on his part but he wasn’t sorry, especially not when he saw her nipples pebble behind the lacy bra she was wearing and thrust against her shirt. This close to her, he heard her breath catch in her throat. Knowing she was just as affected by his touch as he was by hers was gratifying.
Her eyes were dark pools of confusion, her mouth still slightly parted on that gasp. It would only take a second to lean forward and capture those lips with his. To test their softness, to tease a response from her. The air thickened between them. Outside, he was aware of the rasp of cicadas in the garden, the lazy buzz of bees around the flower beds. Inside, he could hear nothing but his rapid heartbeat whooshing in his ears.
Too soon. It was far too soon. She was a timid thing. Tentative, almost wounded. She needed to be drawn in slowly, to be tempted to take him as bait. He took one step back, then another, his body instantly mourning the nearness of hers.
“I’ll be off then,” he said with as much control as he could muster. “I’d say thanks for the coffee, but…”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I know. Thank you for coming over and checking the hot water for me.”
“No problem. If you like, I can call in tomorrow and show you how to use the espresso machine.”
“I’d like that,” she replied, following him as he went out the front door.
She stayed there on the front veranda, her hands shoved into the pockets at the front of her jeans, watching while he executed a neat turn and headed down the driveway. A sense of anticipation stole over him. Getting to know Tamsyn Masters better was proving to be more challenging than he’d anticipated. And more appealing. Far, far more appealing.
Seven
Tamsyn waited until Finn’s car was out of view before turning and going back into the cottage. The place felt still and empty without his presence. She chided herself for being fanciful as she went around the house opening windows to let in fresh air. Lucy had disappeared again, clearly off on an agenda of her own, which pretty much left Tamsyn to her own devices.
Speaking of devices, she retrieved her mobile from her handbag and, after pouring herself a glass of water, she settled down on the front porch in a sagging wicker arm chair to see if her mother’s name came up in any local searches.
An hour later she was feeling intensely frustrated. The only search information she’d turned up to date all related back to when her mother still lived in Adelaide, the most recent being her wedding announcement way back over thirty years ago, together with a grainy photo of her parents standing in the entrance to the church, followed by brief birth announcements in the newspaper when Ethan and Tamsyn were born. After that, nothing. Tamsyn stared at the wedding photo on her cell phone screen. The quality of the photo was poor, blurring their features into near obscurity. A bit like the dearth of information about Ellen Masters since. It was truly bizarre. Almost as if, in marrying John Masters, Ellen had dropped out of society and circulation and ceased to exist.