Mediterranean Men Bundle

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  There were about twenty people seated around each of the long tables set at the edges of the courtyard. The tables were laden with food, as well as countless bottles of beer, still water, and jugs of wine. She had used red and white gingham tablecloths to add a splash of colour, and placed lofty arrangements of brilliantly coloured exotic flowers on every one. Strings of lights swung gently in the night breeze overhead, twinkling like tiny stars, and waves of conversation and laughter were flowing all around her.

  Resting her chin on her hand, she saw Maria’s guitarist place his stool in a corner of the performance area. Sitting down, he began to strum some popular tunes. It was all perfect. She had asked to sit at the end of the table so that she could get up easily to supervise the food when necessary. Her plan had worked well—brilliantly, in fact. Though she might as well have stayed in the kitchen. Why hadn’t Rico chosen the ebony-haired beauty as his trophy in the first place?

  Zoë was distracted from her thoughts by Maria’s entrance, and sat up. Straight away it was incredible. The air was charged with energy the moment she appeared. Framed in the doorway of the castle, Maria stood with one hand pointing towards the stars, calling up whatever mysterious energy fuelled her performance. Even Rico had turned to watch, forgetting, at least for a moment, the young beauty at his side.

  The guitarist picked out an arpeggio, filling each note with incredible weight and passion. Maria stood unmoving until the last vibration from the strings of the guitar had faded away, and then she stepped proudly into the full glare of the television lights. Hovering like an eagle for an instant, she suddenly moved forward with all the grace of a much younger woman, crossing the courtyard with swift, precise steps.

  She came into the centre of the performance area, raised her chin, and stared at some far distant point only she could see. The expression on her face was one of defiance, great pride, and anger, but there was pain and compassion too. Sweeping her crimson skirt off the floor in one hand, she made a powerful gesture with the other, and at the same time struck the floor one sharp blow with her foot.

  Philip was by Zoë’s side minutes after Maria had finished her performance. ‘This programme will go down in history. That woman is superb—they’re saying she’s even better than Beba—though she’s old enough to be Beba’s mother.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Zoë frowned, tuning out for a moment. She had never heard of this Beba before in her life, and now she was haunted by the woman.

  Philip dashed away before she could ask him anything, and then Maria had another surprise for them. She came back into the centre of the courtyard and invited everyone to join her in a dance.

  Strictly speaking, this was country dancing, the tio said when he came over to explain what was happening to Zoë. All Zoë knew was that Rico’s seat, as well as the one next to him, was empty, and what he and his young partner were doing on the dance floor was more dirty dancing than country dancing.

  ‘Rico is good, eh?’ the tio said, following her interest keenly. ‘But the girl is too obvious. No subtlety.’

  No subtlety at all, Zoë agreed silently. The young woman was like a clinging vine, all suckers and creeping fingers.

  ‘Why don’t you dance?’

  Zoë turned to smile at the tio. ‘With you?’ She started to get to her feet.

  ‘No, not with me!’ The tio pressed her down in the seat again. ‘I mean you should dance with Rico.’

  ‘Rico is already dancing with someone,’ Zoë pointed out, trying her best to sound faintly amused and casually dismissive.

  ‘Here, in this part of Spain,’ the tio told her slyly, ‘women do not wait to be asked.’

  Zoë turned to stare at him, wondering if she’d heard correctly, but instead of explaining himself the mischievous old man drew his shoulders in a wry shrug.

  There were a million reasons why she could not—should not—do as the tio suggested, Zoë thought as she stood up. This was insane, she told herself as she walked towards the dance floor. Rico Cortes would simply stare at her and turn away. As for his young partner—Zoë could just imagine the look of triumph on her face when Rico told her to get lost. She was about to make a fool of herself in front of the whole village—the whole world, if you took the television cameras into account. But she just went on threading her way through the crowds on the dance floor.

  ‘Brava, Zoë! Eso es!’

  ‘Maria!’

  ‘You should have worn your performance dress,’ the older woman whispered in her ear before melting back into the crowd.

  Too late for that now—jeans and a tailored shirt would have to do. She couldn’t stop to think about it, Zoë realised as she reached her goal. She tapped the young Spanish beauty lightly on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me. I’m cutting in.’

  ‘Qué?’

  The girl couldn’t have looked more shocked. Zoë almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She didn’t have a chance to see the expression on Rico’s face; the next thing she knew she was in his arms.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise.’

  She could feel his breath warm against her hair. ‘A pleasant one, I hope?’

  ‘Unexpected, certainly.’

  He had changed into casual clothes for the party: blue jeans, shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open at the neck. He smelt divine, and he felt…

  Zoë shivered as the music slowed to a sensuous rumba rhythm, as if responding to her mood. She saw that the young girl had quickly moved away to dance with some people of her own age, and didn’t seem too upset—though right at this moment Zoë had decided to be selfish. She only cared how she felt. And she felt wonderful.

  Having so many people around them gave Zoë the confidence to relax in Rico’s arms. As they brushed past people smiled with approval. Whether that was to show their appreciation of the party or because she was in Rico’s arms, Zoë didn’t know, and right now it didn’t matter. Even with the difference in their size they fitted together perfectly. They were dancing as one, as if they had always danced like this, and the planes and curves of his body invited her to mould against him.

  Rico had an innate sense of rhythm, and Zoë could only be grateful that Maria had given her the courage to dance in a way that made her feel seductive and desirable. Nothing existed in her universe outside of Rico as they danced on to the haunting music, and Zoë barely noticed when one of his powerful thighs slipped between her legs, bringing her closer still. She only knew that it felt right, essential to the dance, and now they were one—moving as one, breathing as one, and dancing as one…

  He let her go when the melody turned to something lively. Zoë realised that they had been the centre of attention, and that now couples were turning to their own pleasures again. It was true, she had been so deeply and sensually aware of Rico she had forgotten for the space of their dance that they were not alone.

  She trembled as Rico stared down at her. The tempo of the music had increased, but they were both oblivious to it. Nothing existed outside the ambit of his gaze, and as she watched his lips tug up in a smile Zoë realised she was hoping for something more.

  ‘Shall we?’ He tipped his chin in the direction of their empty places at the table.

  She dropped back into the real world. Of course Rico didn’t want to dance with her all night. People were staring. The music had stopped again, and she was still standing on the dance floor like a fool.

  ‘I’ll…go and see if there’s any pudding left. Someone might be hungry.’

  Rico didn’t try to stop her as she struggled to make her way through the whirling couples, but then she realised he was beside her, shielding her with his arm. When he stopped to talk to an old acquaintance she slipped away, making for the door to the kitchen. But she hadn’t even had a chance to close it when Rico came in behind her.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Zoë? Why are you running away from me?’ He leaned back against the door, and she got the impression he wasn’t going anywhere until she explained.

 
‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ His voice was flat, disbelieving. ‘I think it’s time you told me what all this is about, don’t you? You were fine when we were out riding together, and then tonight you turn on the ice.’

  ‘You haven’t spoken to me all night!’

  ‘Do you blame me?’

  Truthfully, she didn’t.

  ‘Then you come up to me and want to dance. And then you run away again.’ Rico made a sound of exasperation as he spread his arms wide. ‘Are you going to tell me what all this is about?’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘You can’t?’ He shook his head. ‘Why not, Zoë? You’ve never been short of opinions in the past.’

  ‘I can’t explain because you’ll just think I’m being ridiculous.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She met his gaze, and this time neither of them looked away.

  ‘Violence frightens me.’ Her voice was just a whisper.

  ‘Violence?’ Rico frowned and straightened up.

  ‘Of any kind. I know how that must sound to you—and I do know wrestling’s just a sport—’

  ‘Are you saying I’m a violent man?’ His eyes narrowed, and she could see she had offended him deeply.

  ‘No—not you…’ Zoë’s voice dried. She looked away.

  ‘Are you saying I remind you of someone who was violent in your past?’ He looked stricken. ‘That’s it—isn’t it, Zoë?’

  ‘I can’t help it.’ She made a weak gesture with her hands.

  ‘Do you have any idea how insulting that is?’

  She saw his hand tighten on the door handle until his knuckles turned white, and took a step towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Rico. I haven’t even congratulated you—’

  He made an angry gesture, cutting her off. ‘I don’t know what shocks me the most—the fact that you can mention violence in your past as if it were nothing, or the thought that you could possibly confuse me with some snivelling bully who preys on women and others who are weaker than himself.’

  ‘I just don’t want tonight to be all about me. This is your night too, Rico.’

  ‘What you’ve just said overrides anything else.’

  ‘We can’t talk about it now. I can’t just abandon my guests.’

  ‘Forget the damned party!’

  ‘How can I?’ Zoë said, moving towards the door. ‘It’s wrong of me to keep you so long like this, Rico. Your young companion—’

  ‘Will do perfectly well without me.’ He caught hold of her arm as she tried to move past him. ‘You can’t leave it like this, Zoë. If you are protecting someone—someone who’s hurt you—’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said steadily, meeting his eyes. ‘I promise you, Rico, it’s all over now.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, holding his gaze. ‘Yes, it is.’

  He shook his head, and his eyes were full of concern. ‘Know this, Zoë: I am not and never have been a violent man. I have never raised my hand in anger to anyone. When you have great strength the very first thing you must learn is control. Strength has not been given to me to use against a weaker person, or some helpless creature. It has been given to me to help other people when I can, and for me to enjoy. Nothing more.’

  And before she could say another word, he added in a fierce undertone, ‘And don’t you ever confuse me with some other man again.’

  Rico opened the door for her and stood aside to let her pass, and the happy noise and bustle of the courtyard claimed her.

  ‘Señorita?’

  Zoë looked round to see that he had followed her out. It took her a moment of recovery after their highly charged exchange for her to realise what he meant to do.

  Sweeping her a formal half-bow, he offered her his arm. ‘May I escort you back to the party, Señorita Chapman?’

  The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter and dancing for Zoë. By the time people started drifting away her feet were aching. She had joined in every traditional dance of the region—men, women and children, all on their feet, colourful skirts flying and proud hands clapping the irresistible syncopated rhythms.

  Now she was exhausted, and more grateful than ever to Rico’s efficient staff, who had cleared away absolutely everything from the hall, leaving her with nothing to do there.

  ‘Why are you back in the kitchen?’

  ‘Rico—you caught me.’ Zoë turned, embarrassed that he had seen her stealing her own figuritas. Now it was her turn to get her hand slapped—the only difference was, Rico’s slap was more of a caress, and then he raised her hand to his lips. ‘You have earned a break, Zoë.’ He looked around. ‘My people are only too happy to clear up—I told them they could take anything that was left home with them.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m sure they can spare you one marzipan mouse.’

  ‘Why are you frowning?’

  ‘I just don’t have the knack of dismissing the things you told me—as you seem to have.’

  ‘Have I spoiled the party for you?’

  ‘Don’t trivialise what you said, Zoë. You can’t keep everything locked inside you for ever.’

  Why not? She’d been doing a pretty good job up to now. ‘Let’s not talk about it tonight,’ she said, forcing a bright note into her voice. ‘We’re both tired—’

  ‘Are we?’

  Heat flared up from Zoë’s toes to scorch her cheeks. ‘Is it a deal? Can we just leave all the other stuff for another time?’

  Pressing his lips together, he frowned. He didn’t look keen. ‘If that’s what you want. I don’t want to spoil the night for you.’

  ‘You could never do that.’

  The suggestion of a smile tugged at his lips.

  They broke eye contact at a knock on the door. She couldn’t have given a better cue herself, Zoë realised as Rico’s helpers trooped in. It was impossible to talk about the past now. ‘Shall we go back to the party?’

  ‘Not for too long.’

  There was something in the way he said it that made Zoë blush. ‘Why?’ She looked up at him, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Dipping his head close as he opened the door for her, he whispered in her ear: ‘I’m tired of playing games, Zoë. Can’t you see how much I want you?’

  It was so unexpected. She couldn’t imagine anyone other than Rico even saying the words. No man had ever admitted to wanting her—he was the first. She didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know what was expected of her. ‘I don’t want to talk about—’

  ‘Who said anything about talking? And you have my word I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.’

  Rico drew her out of the bustling kitchen through a door that led into the silent hall. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured, pulling her close to drop a kiss on her brow. ‘I like to see you smile. I don’t want to see you tense and unhappy ever again.’ Nudging her hair aside, he planted a second tender kiss on the very sensitive place below her ear.

  When he rasped the stubble on his chin against her neck Zoë gasped, and allowed him to draw her closer still. It was so easy to slip beneath Rico’s seductive spell. She could have broken away at any time; but his hold on her was so light there was no reason to try.

  She parted her lips, welcoming the invasion of his tongue, but he teased her gently, pulling away until she locked her hands behind his neck and brought him back again. And then their mouths collided hungrily, and it was Rico’s turn to groan as she moulded into him.

  She was in a dream state as Rico led her swiftly by the hand through the castle. Every part of her was aching for his touch. His hand was firm and warm, and she went with him willingly through the archway that led to the luxury spa.

  ‘I haven’t been down here before,’ Zoë admitted as Rico let go of her for a moment to close the door. She couldn’t bear the loss, and reached for him.

  ‘Not yet,’ he warned, his fingertips caressing her cheek.

  ‘Why not?’

&
nbsp; ‘Because it’s better this way.’

  She followed him down a short flight of marble steps.

  ‘Are you sure you have never been down here before?’ Rico stopped at the bottom and turned to look at her.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Then you’re about to get a very pleasant surprise.’

  Zoë watched Rico punch a series of numbers onto a panel on the wall. A door slid behind them. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve changed the code so we won’t be disturbed. Zoë?’ Rico touched her face with one fingertip when he saw the expression on her face. ‘The code is twenty-one, twelve—my birthday. Don’t look so worried. You can leave any time you want.’

  ‘I just thought if there was an emergency—and I needed to get out in a hurry—’

  ‘An emergency?’ Rico smiled. ‘What? You mean something like this?’

  And then somehow she was in his arms again, and he was kissing her so tenderly, so thoroughly, Zoë wondered how she remained standing. Heat flooded through her veins, and when his tongue tangled with her own a soft moan came from somewhere deep in her chest, showing him how much she wanted him to kiss her.

  When he pulled back, she reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck to mesh her fingers through his hair and draw him close again. When Rico kissed her she felt no fear. She wanted him to know how she felt, that she was ready for him: moist, swollen, hot. But then she remembered…

  ‘First ice, and now fire?’ Rico murmured, looking down at her.

  He was so tender, so caring—but how could she be sure he wouldn’t be shocked or disappointed when she experienced the painful spasm that had always made fully penetrative sex impossible for her? She had to be sure she wouldn’t stop, Zoë thought as her hand strayed to his belt buckle…

  Rico moved her hand away, bringing her fingers to his lips to kiss each tip in turn. Zoë’s eyes filled with hot tears of failure.

  ‘You need to slow down, Zoë.’

  Glancing up uncertainly, she saw his lips were curving in a smile. She started to try and say something, to explain herself, but, putting one firm finger over her lips, Rico stopped her.