‘I’m all right—you sit down. You’ve had quite a night.’
She searched his face for irony; there was none. ‘You can’t have us both, Rico.’ Standing stiffly, facing him, Zoë raked her hair until it stood around her head like a wild golden-red nimbus.
Rico’s gaze never wavered. ‘I don’t want anyone but you, Zoë.’
How she wanted to believe him. How she wanted to close the small gap between them, throw her arms around his neck and tell him she would stay with him for ever, and under any circumstances. But that would only lead to bitterness and resentment in the end.
‘Is there an understanding between the two of you?’
‘There was.’
Spain was a traditional country; this was a very traditional part of Spain. Zoë couldn’t imagine such ‘understandings’ were embarked upon lightly.
‘I can see you must need an appropriate wife…’
Yes, he had thought that at one time, Rico remembered. When he was younger. When he’d made his first fortune he had been brim-full of arrogance—partly because he hadn’t been sure what was expected of a young aristocrat with a huge amount of money in the bank. Now he realised it didn’t matter how much money you had, or what your title was. The only thing that mattered was that you made your corner of the world a little better. His mother Maria had done that, without a fortune or a title, and she was his only benchmark for success.
‘I don’t need a wife at all. Do you want me to tell you what Beba’s doing at the castle?’
Suddenly she wasn’t sure that she did, Zoë realised. If she was going to leave Spain in one piece emotionally, she didn’t want to hear another word. In fact, this was the moment she should tell Rico to get lost.
He didn’t give her that option. In a couple of strides he had her arms in his grasp. ‘I listened to you, Zoë, and now it’s your turn to listen to me.’
Zoë tensed. Rico’s gaze was frightening in its intensity.
‘Or are you just too scared to risk your heart again?’
Scared? She was scared of nothing. She stopped fighting him and clenched her jaw.
‘You’ve built walls so high around you, Zoë, you can’t see what’s happening outside your own stockade.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Isn’t it? Oh, you’re safe enough in there, but you’re not going to have much of a life.’
‘Just tell me this—are you engaged to Beba?’
‘Beba was my fiancée.’
‘Was?’ Zoë made a short humourless sound. ‘She certainly didn’t give me the impression she was in the past tense. Oh, I’m glad you can smile about it!’
‘I can smile where Beba’s concerned—that’s just the point. She doesn’t change. That’s why we’re not together now—whatever she might think, or might have told you.’
‘So what is the position between you? Did she just turn up in Cazulas out of the blue—to help me make a television programme, perhaps?’
He ignored her sarcasm. ‘Beba? Helping others? That’s more in your line, Zoë. Beba was the star in my mother’s dance class. We became lovers around the same time I heard I was going to inherit my father’s title.’
‘Do you think that was a coincidence?’
‘I don’t think anything is a coincidence where Beba is concerned. I was young, and I thought we were in love. I thought we loved each other. Then Beba discovered that my inheritance was just a title and nothing more—no money, no castle. She hadn’t expected that. I explained that it was only a matter of time before I rebuilt the family fortune, but she couldn’t wait. I can’t blame her. She had talent. She could earn her own money. I was all fired up. It never occurred to me that Beba might not share my enthusiasm for the long years of poverty that lay ahead. She broke off our engagement and went to Madrid to seek her fortune.’
‘Which she found,’ Zoë murmured.
‘I never wanted to hold her back, and I’m delighted that she has been so successful. I was equally determined that I would earn the right to be called El Señor Alarico Cortes de Aragon.’
‘Which you did.’
‘Yes.’
‘And now Beba has returned to Cazulas for the one thing she doesn’t have yet, and that’s you.’
‘Another trophy to add to the others.’ Rico smiled wryly at her. ‘I would have explained all this to you if I’d known what Beba planned to do in advance, and if my business meeting hadn’t gone on for so long. When I arrived at the castle and found she was here it was already too late.’
‘But you met with her?’
‘I had to talk to her. I had to tell her how I feel about you.’
‘About me?’
There was no such thing as dipping your toe in the water with Rico. It was total immersion or nothing. It was the sort of commitment Zoë feared above anything else. Staying safe inside her stockade, as Rico put it, had kept her sane since her divorce. The closest she had ever come to letting go was with him, and she didn’t know if she had what it took to let go completely.
‘It was only right to escort Beba onto the stage when she asked me to,’ Rico went on. ‘I knew that playing the tragic heroine suited her purpose. That sort of thing always puts her in the right mood for the dance. But I have no ambition to become an emotional punch-bag. She’s just not my type of woman.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Didn’t you notice all that anger and aggression? It has to come from somewhere, Zoë. Beba uses people. She sucks them dry and spits them out—they’re just the fuel for her dance.’
‘You make her sound so callous.’
‘So lonely. That’s why she came here to find me—to see if there was any chance of us getting together again.’
‘And you refused her?’
‘Of course I refused her. Beba and I don’t love each other—we never did. I asked her to marry me because I thought I should, and she agreed to marry me—well, you know why. Circumstances pushed us together when we were too young to know any better, but we each had our own very different road to travel.’
‘And now those roads have crossed again?’
‘I want a wife who will travel the same road as me, Zoë. I don’t want a woman who is trawling the world in search of the next thrill.’
‘But if Beba had been different?’
Shaking his head, Rico gave a wry smile. ‘Beba couldn’t be different. Beba couldn’t be you.’
‘And Cazulas was too small to hold her?’
‘The world is too small to contain Beba. She’s only here now because she is in between tours. She feeds on drama. The stage, a new lover—it’s all the same to her. There is no doubt in my mind at all, Zoë. It’s you I want.’
Foreboding coloured everything Zoë was hearing—everything Rico was saying to her. El Señor Alarico Cortes would one day want a suitable wife—not one who travelled the world to pursue her own career. When that day arrived would she be expected to stand aside and spend the rest of her life in the shadows? Rico’s father had been a Spanish grandee too. He’d given Maria the flamenco dancer a son, but hadn’t married her. Was that par for the course? Was his proud, complex son now offering her his love along with the promise of future pain? Was that what she wanted? Passion with all the heat of flamenco that would burn itself out until it only existed in her memory like a few fast-fading chords?
‘Won’t you come downstairs to join the party?’ Rico pressed, relaxing now he believed he had set everything straight. ‘Maria and the tio are waiting to see you—to congratulate you on your success.’
It was the end of an intensive stretch of work for the crew. It was churlish of her to stay in her room. Rico didn’t need to know that her mind was made up: she was leaving Cazulas for good.
Zoë actually flinched as the thought hovering in her mind became reality. Just outing it gave it clarity, gave it purpose, set it in stone. It was easier than she had imagined. She was leaving Cazulas for good. And not because she didn’t b
elieve Rico about Beba, but because she did. He really loved her, he really wanted her; she could see that now. But she had nothing to offer him in return. She didn’t have anything left inside her. She didn’t have the courage it took to risk her heart again, to risk the pain he could cause her. She had been safe feeling nothing…
‘Zoë, look at me—don’t shut me out.’
The look in Rico’s eyes was so intense she felt dizzy, bewildered, disorientated. And then he took her hand and she felt the power he wielded, the force of his will, his strength, his passion flooding into her.
Escape for one more night. Physical pleasure so intense she could shut off the part of her that knew there must be consequences—Rico could offer her that. They could have one last night together, and then she would retreat inside that stockade he’d talked about—her stockade, where not even the memory of their affair would be able to reach her.
‘If I put on the lilac dress again, would you take that photograph for Maria?’
‘You know I will. Shall I wait outside while you change your clothes?’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all.’
Zoë watched Rico until he left the room. After all the intimacy they’d shared it seemed bizarre to have such reserve spring up between them now. He respected her, and if she had been content to be his mistress without having to give her love she had no doubt he would have protected her. But it wasn’t nearly enough.
When she was ready, Rico escorted Zoë downstairs again.
‘I’m wearing the dress so Rico can take that photograph you wanted,’ she said when they found Maria.
‘You make it sound as if you’re leaving us, Zoë.’
There was an expression in Maria’s eyes that made Zoë look away. She could lie to herself—she had perfected the art. But she could never lie to Maria.
‘Rico.’ Beba came over the moment she spotted him. ‘We were all wondering where you had got to.’
Her cold dark gaze lingered on Zoë’s face, and Zoë was glad when Rico drew her arm through his own.
‘I had some important business to attend to,’ he said.
‘So I see. Well, if you will excuse me…’ She turned away, then swung back again. Seizing Zoë’s hand, she clasped it in her own. ‘I wish you luck.’ She slanted a hostile glance at Rico. ‘You’re going to need it.’
Sour grapes? Zoë wondered. Or sound advice?
She could see the crew already starting to clear up some of the equipment. The hall was emptying fast. Once the series was in the can no one hung around; they had all been away from home too long as it was. She knew they would work through the night if necessary, just to be able to catch the first flight back. She would leave the castle shortly after them, though Rico didn’t need to know that.
The arrival of Beba had shaken her. Rico had reassured her where Beba was concerned, but what happened when he wanted a wife? She couldn’t give up the independence she had won at so high a price to become a rich man’s mistress… But she could have one more night.
‘Rico?’
Something in her voice told him what she wanted, and his eyes darkened with desire. ‘Are you ready to go to bed now?’
‘If you still want me.’
They said their goodnights quickly. And as their fingers intertwined Zoë could think of nothing but the next few hours as Rico led her towards the stairs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ZOË’S lips slipped open beneath the gentle pressure of Rico’s mouth. Deepening the kiss, he stripped off the lilac dress while his tongue sought out the dark, secret places in her mouth.
It was as if they had never made love before, her hunger for him was so great. He was inside her before they reached the bed with her legs locked around his waist and her arms secured round his neck, her fingers meshed through his hair. He supported her easily, with his strong hands beneath her buttocks, and the reassurance of feeling him hard and deep inside her was almost unbearably good.
She had to remember this moment for a lifetime, Zoë thought, as Rico lowered her onto the edge of the mattress.
They made love there, with no preliminaries and with no thought of seeking the luxury of the well-sprung bed. Zoë cried out her encouragement as Rico tipped her at an angle, resting her legs over his shoulders to increase satisfaction for them both. And all the time he moved inside her he murmured her name, and told her how much he loved her, and how he wanted to be with her for ever…
This was for ever, Zoë thought. For her, at least.
Zoë stopped waving as the last van disappeared out of sight. She could feel her colleagues’ hugs still imprinted on her skin, and hear their words of encouragement and good wishes ringing in her ears. None of them knew how she felt inside. They would never know.
Rico had left her at dawn. It really couldn’t have worked out any better. He had some business to attend to back at the beach house, and so she had been spared a painful parting.
She had slept fitfully in his arms all night, dreading the morning, dreading the moment when she would tell him she couldn’t stay in Cazulas. Her idea of sleeping with him one last time, making love with him half the night in the hope of keeping the memory alive, had been a terrible mistake. Instead of leaving her with tender memories to carry forward when she left Spain for good, it had left her with guilt and unbearable loss.
She had learned nothing from the past. She was betraying Rico just as she had been betrayed. Her ex-husband had won the final battle now she had completed the circle of violence. There was no physical violence, of course, but she was violating Rico’s trust. She had taken his love and was letting it slip through her fingers because she didn’t have the guts to hang on to it. She was still scared of commitment, still scared to risk her heart. She was brave enough to take the pleasure now—just not brave enough to take the consequences.
The best thing for Rico, the best thing all round, would be if she left without a fuss. Her suitcases were already packed, and she intended to drive to the station around noon.
It was strange being alone in the castle. Even Beba had packed up and gone, and it was a quiet, lonely place now. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her friends in the village, but she didn’t belong in Cazulas any more than Beba. Her life revolved around a television programme, and it was time to return to reality.
Back in the kitchen, Zoë could hardly bring herself to look at the collection of local pottery on the table. She was taking all of it back to England. She was quite sure Rico wouldn’t want any reminders of her visit. The crew had left some empty packing cases for her, and a removal van was due to arrive before she left for the station. All the heavy equipment for the show that wouldn’t fit into the vans had to be shipped back to the UK, and the pottery would be delivered to her London home at the same time.
She had been packing and wrapping for some time when she heard the music. Leaving the kitchen, she hurried into the hall.
‘Good morning, Zoë.’
‘Rico!’
He was sitting cross-legged on a stool in the centre of the floor, one hand caressing the neck of his guitar, the other hovering over the strings. She had thought it would be possible to get used to the idea of living without him, but in that instant Zoë knew she was wrong.
Turning back to his guitar, he started to play again, as if she wasn’t there. The music held her transfixed. He stopped playing quite suddenly. His slap on the side of the guitar echoed around the empty hall. Laying the guitar down carefully on the floor, he stood, reminding her how tall he was, how commanding.
‘When were you going to tell me you were leaving?’
Zoë stared at him. There was nothing she could say to justify her actions.
‘Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘You’re sorry?’ he said incredulously.
‘I need my work—’
‘And?’
Zoë’s voice was barely above a whisper. It was as if s
he was talking to herself, trying to convince herself and not him. ‘I can’t let anyone take over my life again.’
‘Take over your life? What the hell are you talking about, Zoë?’ He made no attempt to close the distance between them.
‘It’s all I’ve got. It’s what I do.’
‘It’s all you had,’ he said fiercely.
‘You don’t understand, Rico. I just can’t be there for you.’
He turned away, but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes. ‘That’s different.’
His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t look at her when he spoke. They might have been standing on separate ice floes, drifting steadily apart. But this was what she wanted, wasn’t it—this final break between them? She just hadn’t imagined doing it face to face. In her usual cowardly way she had been going to bury her head in the sand somewhere far away from Spain.
‘You can’t be there for me?’ he repeated bitterly. ‘So what was I, Zoë? Some type of experiment? Just a random male you could use to exorcise your ghosts?’
‘Don’t say that, Rico.’
‘Why not? Because it’s true?’ He laughed, and it was a hard, ugly sound. ‘You should be happy.’
‘Happy?’ Zoë could hear incredulity approaching hysteria in her voice.
‘At least you know you’re not frigid now.’
‘Stop it!’ She covered her ears.
‘No, you stop it!’ Rico said with an angry gesture. ‘You come here to Cazulas. You seek help for your show, which I give to you freely. We make love—at least I did. Yes, I love you, Zoë,’ he confirmed fiercely. ‘But you just used me. You’re no better than Beba!’
‘Rico!’ Through her shock, Zoë knew what he was saying was true. She reached out to him. ‘Rico—don’t go yet. Can’t we talk?’
‘Why shouldn’t I go? The only reason I can think of for you wanting me to stay is that you need some more reassurance in bed. And frankly, Zoë, I’m not in the mood.’
The stool was kicked over as he snatched up his guitar, and then he went to the door. Halting with his hand on the heavy iron handle, he turned to her. ‘You might as well have this.’
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