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joy and headed back towards the Ambrosia Estate.
    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 tothe 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