Page 7 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

Ro heard the beep of an incoming message on her phone, picked it up from the cushion beside her and glanced at the screen.

I messed up, I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t throw away nearly eight years because I was an idiot.

Kelvin, again.

Ro rubbed the back of her neck and tasted betrayal in the back of her throat. He’d thrown them away, not her. She dropped back to rest against the arm of her couch and remembered their first date, first kiss and the first time they slept together. Despite her inexperience, she’d always felt completely comfortable with Kelvin.

The truth was that he’d never made her feel half as out of control as Muzi Miya-Matthews did yesterday. Muzi’s warm eyes had her quivering and his voice, a deep, sexy baritone, set off fireworks on her skin. He’d only touched her to shake her hand, but his palm had been broad, his grip strong and his effect on her instantaneous. She’d wanted to slap her mouth against his sexy lips, curl her hand around his strong neck, shove her hand under his shirt to see whether he had a six- or eight-pack.

Bite one, or both, his big biceps...

She’d never had such a primal, visceral reaction to a man and, instead of daydreaming about him, she should be concentrating on her topsy-turvy life. She had decisions to make, a life plan to make, a path to construct. She had no plans to return for Thanksgiving but she should be thinking about flying back to the States for Christmas, only six weeks away, and how to broach the subject of her birth and inheritance with her parents. They thought she was taking time to travel before she married. She needed to tell them the truth, discuss their possible divorce and tell them she was never going to marry the man they considered to be a son.

But she wasn’t ready to return to LA. Not quite yet.

Ro looked down at the picture of St. Urban and tapped her index finger on the page, still feeling rattled.

She could stay in Digby’s house for as long as she wanted—he and Bay had bought a mansion in Constantia and were settling into their spacious, exquisite house—so there was no pressure on her to move. But, with the holiday season approaching, and the country’s long summer holidays just around the corner, The Vane would be overrun with tourists.

Radd and Digby sat on the top rung of Cape Town society and constantly invited her to their A-list events, including the ballet, horse races and exclusive balls and cocktail parties. She refused all their entreaties, reminding her new family that Cape Town society would be insanely curious about their new friendship, and who she was, and where she came from. Mostly, they’d want to know why, and how, she came to be close to the famous Tempest-Vane’s so quickly.

No, it was better for her to fly under the radar.

She was, she admitted to herself, so very tired. In the last six weeks, she’d gone from being Digby’s employee to having siblings, had moved into Digby’s fantastic converted barn, had fifty million meetings with her lawyers, discussed the auction to death and had an offer to buy one of her properties from a delicious man with secrets in his eyes.

She was overwhelmed and out of her depth and she needed a break, a time-out, a lot of peace and quiet, and space to think.

She might just find all of that at St. Urban. And while she was there, maybe she could figure out why Muzi Miya-Matthews wanted to buy her vineyard.

Muzi steered his brand-new Lamborghini Urus down the road leading to St. Urban and resisted the urge to place his hand on his heart to keep it inside his chest cavity.

He wasn’t faint of heart. He routinely competed in extreme triathlons and had joined Digby on some of his more harebrained adventures—big wave surfing in Hawaii, hiking to the rim of the active Cerro Negro volcano and splashing around in Devil’s Pool at the top of Victoria Falls, where a slippery rock was the only barrier between life and a one-hundred-meter plunge. But he was still recovering from an early morning call from Ro inviting him to accompany her to St. Urban and give her a tour of the property.

Would that, she’d politely asked, be something that might interest him?

His answer had been an immediate hell yes! On ending the call with Ro, he’d instructed his PA to reschedule a conference call with an international distributor and to postpone his other meetings, and he left Clos du Cadieux’s headquarters to collect her from Digby’s old house at the back of The Vane hotel.

“Have you been to St. Urban before?” Ro asked him, half turning in her seat to look at him.

“Once, a long time ago, but only to visit the vineyard. I’ve never been inside the house,” Muzi told her. “It was part of a field trip I did in the second year of my enology and viticulture degree.”

Ro winced. “Uh...in English please?”

He smiled. “Enology is the study of wine. Viticulture is the study of grape cultivation.”

“As CEO, how much wine making do you do for your company?”

Muzi grimaced. “Not as much as I’d like to.” Actually, that wasn’t true, he hadn’t done any R & D for the past eighteen months. They employed experienced vintners and most of his time was taken up with running the business and trying to outmaneuver Susan. “Making wine is the best part of the job, to be honest.”

A faded sign with missing letters indicated the turnoff to St. Urban and Muzi drove onto the dirt road. Ro looked to the left and pointed to the rows and rows of vines. “Are those mine—I mean, the trust’s?”

“I’d imagine so,” Muzi replied, steering his limited edition, stupidly expensive SUV over a large hump in the road and trying not to think about scratches on his undercarriage.

“I think those are the Merlot vines,” Muzi told her, as they approached a large electric gate. God, he hoped it opened—he didn’t feel like climbing the gate in his five-hundred-dollar shoes and tailored, designer Italian suit to wrestle with its manual override. He’d do it, he just didn’twantto.

Muzi parked in front of the gate and rested his wrist on the steering wheel. “Please tell me that you have a remote control for that gate?”

Ro dug in her large tote, pulled out a set of keys and lifted the remote to point it at the gate. Muzi held his breath and after what felt like the longest time, the gate opened with a series of creaks and groans. Good deal, Muzi thought.

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