Image of Love

by Rebecca Stratton

  'It was embarrassing because Catalina turned on me when she heard,' Jaime told her, his quietness making the unlikely statement sound deceptively matter-of- fact, and Rosanne stared at him for a moment, completely at a loss.

  'On you? But—why?'

  Once more that wide and stunningly sensual mouth showed a half-smile and he lifted broad shoulders in a shrug that was not meant to be half so careless as it appeared. 'It is foolish women's talk and I will not repeat it,' he said. Turning on the seat, he faced her more fully, taking a moment before he spoke. 'Are you waiting here for Senora Segovia to come to take you home, Rosanne?'

  With an inkling of what was in his mind, Rosanne's heart was beating hard and fast and she took a moment to form a reply. 'No—not really. I was just sitting here, enjoying the cool and being lazy. When I'm ready I'll give Marta a ring and she'll come and fetch me, or I'll take the taxi.'

  Jaime's dark eyes were scanning her face with a boldness that took her breath away, and he was much too close for her to think as lucidly as she wanted to. 'Could you be just as lazy while you were driving to Ciudad Roca with me? I have to drive there to make some arrangements for the betrothal. Can I not persuade you to come with me, Rosanne?'

  The unexpectedness of such an invitation made no allowance for a ready answer, though Rosanne had no doubt at all what she would say when she had breath enough. She could think of nothing she would rather do than drive into Ciudad Roca with Jaime, or anywhere else he chose to take her, and it showed in her eyes so that he already knew what she was going to say before she found the words to say it.

  'I'd like to, Jaime, I'd like to very much.'

  'Bueno!'

  One arm lay along the back of, the park bench behind her, and briefly a long forefinger reached out and lightly touched her neck while he leaned slightly forward so that for a second Rosanne thought he was going to kiss her, and a deep soundless sigh ran through her. But instead he got to his feet, and offered her a hand which she took, the long brown fingers closing tightly- over her own for the time it took for her to stand up.

  'Then first you must telephone Senora Segovia!'

  'Oh, but Ciudad Roca isn't very——

  'Oh, but surely you will have lunch with me, will you not?'

  They were already making their way back to the square where Rosanne expected his car was parked, and he looked down at her, one black brow arched upward enquiringly. His dark eyes glittered wickedly and his smile had a suggestion of wolfishness with those strong white teeth, Rosanne thought dazedly. She had never seen him smile as often as he was now and the effect was stunning.

  'If Senora Ribera sees you with me she will perhaps make much of your reputation, hah?'

  'And you wouldn't care!'

  He must have known that the accusation was made impulsively and without the rancour the words suggested, and he once again flicked that dark brow in comment. 'You misjudge me, Rosanne; I would care very much if that foolish woman should see us and gossip about you, but the coincidence is too much to expect, I think.'

  The idea of being the subject of gossip, her name coupled with Jaime Delguiro's, had certain intriguing aspects about it, but Rosanne wondered whether Jaime himself would be quite so bland if it actually happened. 'What would you do if we were seen and gossiped about, Jaime?' she asked as they made their way to the public telephone, and dark eyes turned on her once more, shadowed and yet quite clearly smiling despite the serious line of his mouth.

  'Why, then I should be obliged to do something to protect your good name, hah?' But he didn't enlighten her as to just what he had in mind and Rosanne hadn't the nerve to ask him.

  The arrangements that Jaime had to make took very little time, and while he was busy with the excitable little man in charge of the catering company's office, Rosanne was shown to an armchair in a kind of annexe. The door was left open so that she could hear and see what was going on without understanding a word of the rapid Spanish.

  From where she sat she could see both Jaime, who had his back to her, and the man on the other side of the desk, and it took her only a moment to realise she was attracting a great deal of the man's attention. While Jaime was bent over sample menus, the man's eyes flicked often, in her direction and she guessed he was speculating on who she might be.

  It amused her briefly to think of the wrong conclusions he might be coming to, but when he deliberately caught her eye and inclined his head, showing a hint of smile, she hastily looked away. She felt sure that Jaime had no idea what was going on while he was preoccupied, and she was equally sure he would frown on any suggestion of encouragement, so she kept her eyes averted.

  Their business concluded, both men got to their feet, the caterer smiling effusively and shaking hands, talking volubly as he followed Jaime from the office, and coming to a halt when he did, in front of the chair Rosanne occupied. It was automatic to take the hand that Jaime offered when she got up from the chair, and she noticed the man bobbing his head as he observed the gesture, and rubbing his hands together appreciatively.

  They were on the point of leaving when the man said something in Spanish to Jaime, and he turned his head quickly, his eyes briefly narrowed between their thick lashes. Whatever reply he made was short and abrupt, and the caterer's man at first looked surprised. Then, hastily recovering, he seemingly apologised, a gesture that Jaime acknowledged with an autocratic inclination of his head before he took her arm firmly and took her to the door.

  He did not turn again, although the little man's voice murmured after them, and they were out in the street before Jaime said anything. The hand under her arm tightened its fingers slightly when he asked the question, and she wondered at his vague air of uncertainty.

  'Do you speak any Spanish at all, Rosanne?'

  Puzzled for the moment, she shook her head, looking up at him curiously. 'Virtually none at all,' she confessed. Then she considered that brief exchange in Spanish a moment ago and thought she had an inkling. 'What was our friend at the caterer's saying, Jaime? Was he asking who I was?'

  For a moment it seemed he wasn't going to answer her, but after a moment or two he shoot his head and Rosanne caught a glimmer of a smile in his eyes when he looked down at her. 'He was rather—guessing who you were,' he told her, and from the way he spoke she got the impression that he was choosing his words.

  'He guessed I was English?'

  Jaime's laughter was deep and soft, but there was a small shiver of response from her senses at the sound of it. 'He thought that you were Oh no, chica, I do not wish to offend you again! The man was a fool arid he should be ignored!'

  'But I want to know!' Rosanne's grey eyes gleamed with determination, and she thought Jaime took careful note of it before he shook his head. 'Did he say something you think will make me angry?' she insisted. 'Is that why you sounded so sharp when you answered him?'

  He shrugged and as they made their way along the busy sidewalk she felt strong fingers close over hers and squeeze hard. 'How. do I know what makes you angry, Rosanne? It could be that you would find his mistake amusing or '

  'As you do!'

  She felt sure she had not been mistaken in that gleam of amusement in his eyes, and another glance confirmed it. They glittered darkly at her and his mouth twitched with the need to smile. 'I should not laugh, Rosanne, but I have such a sense of humour that sees amusement in the impossible and the ridiculous.'

  'You surprise me!' It did surprise her, and Rosanne looked up at him curiously. She had not seen him with a sense of humour at all, much less a sense of the ridiculous, which was a .part of her own make-up. 'I never suspected that you had a sense of humour, Jaime.'

  A swiftly arched black brow that questioned her doubt was much more familiar, and he regarded her curiously for a moment bef6re he replied. 'You think me such a formidable man, Rosanne, that I lack humour as well as being autocratic and inhospitable to foreigners? You have already brought those shortcomings to my notice,' he reminded her, and Rosanne shook her head.


  'Then maybe it's my turn to apologise,' she said, and looked up into his face with a fluttering sense of excitement in her breast. 'You're not inhospitable, not without good reason.'

  'But I am still autocratic?' he pressed, noticing the omission.

  It was curious how bold she felt suddenly, how undeterred by the prospect of his anger. It was as if she was much closer to the real man suddenly, and it gave her a warm sense of well-being; a new confidence she had never felt with him before. 'Aren't you, Jaime?' she challenged, and once more those strong fingers squeezed hers bruisingly hard.

  'Perhaps.'

  Rosanne could scarcely believe he had admitted it, almost as if he apologised for it too, and she smiled as she looked up. 'Only in the nicest possible way,' she said very softly, and laughed to ease the breathtaking urgency of her heartbeat. 'But you still haven't told me what that funny little man at the caterer's office said about me.'

  'Ah!'

  It occurred to her then that by seeking her opinion of his shortcomings he had adroitly changed the subject, and she shook her head slowly. 'You didn't think I'd forget, did you, Jaime?'

  He smiled, steering her in the direction of a restaurant, and ushering her through the doors before him, smiling down at her as he did so. 'No, chica, I did not think you would forget!'

  They were found a table and for several minutes, while a waiter brought a menu and took their orders, conversation was suspended, but if he hoped Rosanne had forgotten the matter, he was to be unlucky. The minute the waiter had departed, he found himself faced once more with those enquiring grey eyes.

  'I promise not to be indignant whatever that little man said, Jaime, but you're keeping me in suspense!'

  He rested his elbows on the table and his long hands were clasped one on top of the other; then he rested his chin on his hands and regarded her steadily for a moment, until she frowned at him enquiringly. 'He congratulated me on my beautiful novia and hoped that he would have the pleasure of serving at our marriage feast too.'

  Rosanne could feel the colour flooding into her face, and she thanked heaven that the restaurant was so full, for in some curious way it made her feel more isolated. She stared at Jaime for a second before hastily lowering her eyes, and wished with all her heart that she had not insisted on his translating the man's words, or that she had awaited some more opportune moment.

  She glanced up at him after a second or two and found that laughter still lingered in his eyes, but there was a hint of gentleness too, that regretted her embarrassment. 'You would insist that I told you, Rosanne; I would have spared you the embarrassment.'

  'I'm sorry I asked you.' She made a grimace and laughed as she looked up at him again, finding it harder than ever to meet his eyes. 'No wonder you were so short with him! I might have known he'd said something—provocative after the way he'd been looking at me!'

  Surprisingly he seemed to find the man's admiration of her a fact only to be expected, and he was smiling. 'Like most of my countrymen, Rosanne, he was open in his admiration. The Andaluz is not reticent where women are concerned—you have noticed it?'

  Rosanne could do no other than admit it, but she did so cautiously. 'I've noticed it,' she agreed, and flicked an upward glance at his smiling face, remembering her first real sight of him as he came back to see that she was not hurt by contact with his car. His features had been stern and arrogant, but his appreciation of her as a woman had been quite plain in his eyes, and she laughed softly and shook her head. 'Yes, I have noticed it!'

  The waiter brought their first course, and the subject was not raised again, not even while they drove home, but Rosanne could not seem to get it out of her mind. Only a week ago she would have expected Jaime to be furiously indignant at the idea of that little man making such an assumption; instead he had found it amusing and assumed that she would be the one annoyed by it.

  She sighed as they sped homewards along the twisting road, glancing at the face of the man beside her with a sense of contentment. She would never have believed that she could feel like that with Jaime Delguiro, and yet it had happened without her really knowing how, or even being aware of it happening. A thick fringe of black lashes shadowed the lean cheeks and the mouth was relaxed, half smiling as if he was completely at ease too. It gave her a thrill of satisfaction to realise it, as she Jeaned back in her seat and watched the arid countryside give way to green trees and the lushness of irrigated land.

  It seemed that the gates of Marta's home came into view all too soon and Rosanne found herself wishing the journey could have been longer. Jaime came round and opened her door, handing her out on to the shaded patch beneath the acacia tree, and retaining his hold on her hand for a moment before he released it.

  They had said very little on the way home, she realised, and yet there had been no suggestion of distance in their silence. It was as if there was a rapport between them that she had never imagined could exist until now. Putting a hand to open the gate, she found Jaime's already there and her heart gave a great leap in her breast when her fingertips encountered the strength of his fingers. In a moment he had turned them and enfolded hers, holding on tightly for a second before he raised them to his lips and pressed the warmth of his mouth to her palm.

  Rosanne shivered when she looked up and met those near-black'eyes, stunned by the glittering heat of passion that showed in their depths, and the promise in the sensual curve of his mouth. The Andaluz, she remembered dazedly, were open in their admiration of women, and she was sufficiently self-aware to know that most men found her attractive.

  'Jaime '

  He must have thought she was going to protest, for he was shaking his head and there was a hint of smile on that disturbing mouth. 'Si, si, you hardly know this man also—I know, Rosanne!' It took her a moment to recognise her own words, the reason she had given him for not being in any way serious about Federico. But somehow she could not apply the same reasoning to Jaime. 'But you will forgive me, chica?'

  'Jaime, there's nothing to forgive!'

  He took both her hands between his, the strong dark fingers enclosing hers completely, while he looked down at her flushed face. 'But there may well be, if I am too impulsive, mi pichona,' he told her with unbelievable gentleness, and raised her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers lightly before he let them go.

  Rosanne reached out blindly for the support of the iron gate, her legs almost too weak to sustain her. She tried to think clearly, sensibly, but could think only of the fierce ardour, of his kiss when he had stood with her like this once before, and she wanted him to kiss her like that again. She wanted it with a burning need that made her tremble, and when she looked up at him again, it showed in her eyes.

  With shivering slowness he reached out for her, drawing her close to the dangerous excitement of him, and Rosanne put her hands to touch the vee of dusky gold skin where his shirt opened. Binding her tight in the steely strength of his arms, he sought her mouth; gentle and fierce, demanding and appealing, the sensations flooded over her like an irresistible tide and for a moment she was all his, with neither will nor desire to resist. Her whole body responded to him with an abandon that knew no bounds and she lifted her arms to put them around his neck.

  When he released her mouth it was to press his lips to the throbbing softness of her throat, and the scented skin of her neck and shoulders, his face buried in her light hair. It seemed like no more than a second until he raised his head and looked down into her face, and Rosanne saw that he was smiling.

  He said something in Spanish, then repeated it in English, his hands brushing back the hair from her face while he gazed down at her. 'That special look,' he whispered. 'I have seen it in your face before, Rosanne !' She must have looked puzzled, for he was shaking his head at her. 'The portrait that Pablo did of you, mi pichona, have you forgotten?'

  This was not the moment to be reminded of the portrait he had of her, and Rosanne shook her head, remembering how sure Dona Elena had been that she had been in lov
e with her son, was still so much wrapped up in his memory that she could not think of another man.

  'But I told you, Jaime, that—that look that Pablo gave me was his imagination. Please believe me.'

  It seemed so important to convince him, but Jaime was smiling and looking down into the small anxious face he held cupped in his hands. 'Then perhaps I too imagine that look, eh, Rosanne?' He gave her no time to reply but bent his head swiftly and kissed her mouth.

  She realised the reason for his haste a moment later when a car came up the hill from Almaro and flashed past, both its passengers turning their heads briefly as they passed. Long fingers stroked across her cheeks as he released her, and he once more brushed his mouth against hers.

  'It is wrong of me to behave so on a public road,

  Rosanne, but ' He shrugged his broad shoulders and arched one black brow. 'I will not be ungallant enough to blame you, mi pequena, but I will leave you before more cars come along.'

  Rosanne, her mind in chaos, nodded automatically, but she was still thinking about Pablo's portrait of her. She would like to have asked him why he had not destroyed it as his aunt told him to, but that was something that would have to wait until she was a lot more sure of herself than she was at the moment.

  'I will see you again, Rosanne?' The dark eyes looked down at her steadily, questioningly, and she nodded. He kissed her fingertips and lightly squeezed the hand he held. 'Hasta la vista, rni pichona; adios!'