by Lucy Keane
She must be mad to let herself think like this.
‘I suppose you do this for your fiancée,’ she said, when she thought she might be ready to make it sound casual, as though it didn’t matter to her. She didn’t succeed. There was a thread of tension in her voice. She did—and she desperately didn’t—want to defuse some of that intimate electricity that had begun to flow so dangerously between them from the moment he’d walked in.
‘I have a sister,’ he said, a little gruffly. ‘And a niece.’
In other words, Fiona isn’t the only woman in my life. But what was that supposed to mean? It was too risky to try to interpret, even though her body seemed to want to do that for her, a tiny charge of adrenalin firing something like hope through her veins. She felt as though she could hardly breathe at all now, and her heart seemed to be racing. She mustn’t think of what the touch of his hands could do to her. She mustn’t think about him in that way at all.
She tried to fix her mind on something else. The blue of her dress was an exotic dazzle before her eyes. What did he think of the way she looked? She met his eyes again in the mirror as his hands lingered at her waist.
She cleared her throat in a nervous manner. ‘Go on— say it!’ she challenged unevenly.
‘Say what?’ He sounded uncharacteristically wary.
‘Tell me I’m overdressed.’
She caught the quick glance down at her back, before he looked at her again. ‘Don’t you think under would have been more appropriate?’ There was a gleam in his eyes once more, but it wasn’t humour this time and his voice sounded uneven, husky almost.
For five endless seconds everything seemed to hang in a balance, and the almost agonising longing that was sweeping over her threatened to engulf her completely.
Then as his hands went round her waist and he pulled her against him she felt the taut length of his body against her back. For a dizzying moment he looked directly into her eyes in the mirror and she read the desire in them clearly. Then she saw his dark head bent as his mouth touched the side of her neck, and she shut her eyes. A fiery weakness spread through every limb and with a little moan she let herself fall back against him, as he explored the sensitive areas of skin by her ear and along the line of her jaw with a concentration that both excited and scared her.
A new urgency quickly built itself inside her, until she turned impatiently in his arms, longing for him to take her lips. But even as she moved she felt his muscles tense, and she knew in the split-second before he released her that it was a rejection. Stepping away from her abruptly, he was at the door before she could fully realise what was happening.
His sudden exit broke the tension with such shattering abruptness that she almost collapsed. It was over so quickly, she couldn’t believe for a moment he had left her—he hadn’t even kissed her properly—and she had abandoned herself so completely in those few seconds, The tension having snapped, she could have screamed—or flung something to shatter all those acres of bright mirror round her.
It just wasn’t fair! What was he trying to do to her? It was cruel to tease her deliberately—and if he didn’t really want her, why couldn’t he leave her alone?
There was more work to do in the kitchen before the guests arrived. Julius left her severely to her own devices, and she was both angry and grateful for the chance to regain whatever composure she could. That dangerous encounter in the bathroom had left her feeling very antagonistic towards him.
He came into the kitchen to find her after the Spaniards had appeared. She was already stripping off her apron, and he watched her while she whisked away the scarf she had used to tie her hair back, flicking a long swath of hair forward over one shoulder in a brisk and angry gesture. It was dark outside and she could see her reflection dimly in the kitchen window. His opening comment was ambiguous. ‘They’re never going to believe you’re just my secretary!’
Just what was that supposed to mean? Her irritation with him grew. Surely they couldn’t go on as though absolutely nothing had happened between them! Or maybe he thought they could? She looked up under her eyelashes, her slanting eyes suddenly flashing a very blue lire. ‘Oh, but they will,’ she said with acid sweetness. ‘Just give me orders the way you did earlier today.’
He gave her a quick look at that, and then waited for her to leave the kitchen before him. She was burningly conscious of the way he now kept his physical distance from her.
It was just as well the dinner was everything she had planned it to be, and there were no unfortunate gaps or hitches between courses—she wasn’t in the mood to deal with any culinary emergencies. Julius’s business’ associates were older than him, with the exception of Miguel Diaz, a good-looking young Spaniard who very quickly made it clear that he, for one, had an unequivocal appreciation of her charms. The other two weren’t indifferent to her either, but the only person she was really interested in was treating her with a cool detachment she found infuriating.
Underneath her easy social chat she was smouldering, her mind dwelling on the scene in the bathroom. Why had he initiated anything at all if he was only going to break it off like that? Did he think she’d been deliberately provoking him and he’d been intending to teach her a lesson? A strange sort of lesson if that was the case! Well, she’d teach him one now, and the message would be quite clear!
She flirted with Miguel openly at the table. She told herself it would scotch any suspicion that she was more to Julius than his employee, but her underlying motive was very different. She was choosing a method guaranteed to goad a further response from him if he genuinely did have any interest in her beyond a casual office friendship, and she also suspected she was playing with fire. But for this one night she just didn’t care!
Miguel was certainly appreciative, making his admiration of her obvious, engaging her in conversation whenever he could, even following her into the kitchen to offer help with the coffee-tray.
‘You are really Julius’s secretary?’ he asked.
She smiled, knowing very well what information he was after, and was surprised at how cool she managed to sound. ‘Julius is getting married in a few weeks’ time. It’s only because he needs a cook that he’s brought me with him. Yes, I really am his secretary—and that’s all!’
She felt mean using Miguel like this. Through the open archway to the kitchen area she could see Julius talking to the other two Spaniards, but from the way he was glancing in her direction she knew he was watching her, and aware of her animated conversation with her new admirer.
‘The coffee, Amy, please!’
The curt order was fired in her direction in the tone of an employer reminding her that she was neglecting her duty, and it riled her further.
It wasn’t difficult to lead Miguel on to the subject of tourists and sights of interest in the surrounding area, knowing very well he would ask if he could take her out. They were satisfactorily launched into the topic as he carried the coffee-tray for her into the sitting-room and put it down on a low table.
‘You have to work tomorrow?’ Miguel asked, on cue.
Julius gave her a laser look. ‘She’s coming with me to Granada.’
He hadn’t given her a chance to reply. She turned to him, a blaze of accusation in her eyes, but her voice was deliberately sweet. ‘You said I could have the morning off.’
‘Then that would be wonderful!’ the unsuspecting Miguel exclaimed instantly. ‘I have a lunch appointment I cannot break but before that—well, where would you like to go?’
And before Julius could intervene again she’d accepted the offer. She saw a flash of something very like real anger in his eyes.
It was decided that they would explore the surroundings of Puerto Banus, and maybe drive up into the hills if there was time. The discussion went on while she served the coffee and they were drinking the brandy and liqueurs that Julius had provided. All the time she was aware of Julius, deep in a conversation about property deals that couldn’t include her. His manner was pleasan
t, even outwardly good-humoured, and there was nothing to tell anyone—except her—that there was anything wrong at all. He completely ignored her.
It was after one o’clock when the Spaniards left. Although it was late, she expected Julius to take some time to clear up the room, or at least to tell her to do it, but it was as though he couldn’t wait to get out of the house. She was exhausted, but the unnecessary hurry over the departure annoyed her. She would have liked time to sort herself out.
‘I told you I’d hired someone to deal with all this tomorrow,’ he reminded her brusquely. ‘There’s no point your doing any of it. Get your stuff from upstairs and we’ll go straight back to the hotel. Turn off the lights when you come down. I’m going out to the car.’ And he was halfway through the front door before she’d had time to reply.
It didn’t take long to collect her things from upstairs. She checked the kitchen before she left, and turned off all the lights as he’d instructed. He was waiting outside the front door with the car engine running when she got outside.
‘What’s the hurry?’ she demanded as she got in beside him. ‘I hardly had time to eat anything at dinner—there was lots of food left over in the kitchen and I’m starving!’
‘Then order up something in the hotel.’ His tone was curt. ‘I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I don’t want to hang about.’
She was silent after that. The earlier mood of recklessness had left her, but she still felt resentful and she could sense that he was angry. He had been in an unaccountable frame of mind all night… Maybe she hadn’t really made him jealous at all—maybe purely as her employer he had disapproved of her behaviour with Miguel? But nobody else had seemed to mind—and they couldn’t talk business all evening. So perhaps she had made him jealous after all? If so, she was beginning to regret it.
When they finally drew up outside the hotel, she couldn’t bear the atmosphere between them any longer, and turned to him impulsively.
‘Julius—just tell me what’ve I done that you don’t like. Wasn’t the dinner what you wanted?’
He looked at her sharply, as though he was surprised she should bring up the subject. In the inadequate light from the hotel entrance, his face was all angles and hollows, with cheekbones, straight nose and chin with its distinctive cleft accentuated. His eyes glittered. It wasn’t so much his expression but his manner, and his voice, that gave away his reaction. ‘The dinner was superb. Thank you. What makes you think I’m cross with you?’
‘Because you’ve hardly said two words to me since the Spaniards left—you never even said it was all right! Is it because of the thing about my dress? After all that fuss about what I was going to wear, I suppose you thought it was unsuitable! Or was it because I’m going out with Miguel tomorrow?’
He gave an impatient sigh. ‘It’s too late for all this now. I don’t care who the hell you flirt with so long as it doesn’t put them off a deal.’
He made it sound as though she’d been tiresome and childish in her demands for reassurance, and that made her stubborn.
‘Then—?’
He turned to her suddenly, his eyes dangerous in the half-light.
‘Leave it, Amy—’
‘But—’
Then, without warning, his hands were on her shoulders, his fingers gripping into her flesh. ‘You’ve been asking for this all evening!’
There was no doubting his anger now—she gave a little gasp as she tried to pull back, but his hold on her was much too powerful. His eyes stared directly down into hers, telling her something she couldn’t read, then his mouth was on hers. There was no gentleness this time. It was as though he had set himself to plunder every inch of her, leaving her no defences. And she found herself wondering with what was left of her mind, How can he do this to me with only a kiss?
At last, he allowed her to pull away. She stared at him, her eyes wide with shock.
‘Go to bed!’ he said roughly. He suddenly seemed remote, hostile, completely apart.
Clutching her bag with all her things in it, she almost fell out of the car. She left the door open behind her, and stalked unsteadily into the hotel foyer.
She just got to her room in time. And then she started to cry. The evening had turned for no very clear reason into a complete disaster. Perhaps it was because she had played with fire—the very dangerous unpredictable fire that was Julius—and she was getting burned… Her childish attempt to provoke him now looked as though it was going to hurt no one in the end but herself.
She wished she’d never agreed to come to Spain. It was going to turn out to be the worst mistake of her life. She still had two more days to get through, and if tonight was anything to go by he was regretting his decision to bring her with him as much as she was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There were gulls tossing on the wind against the massed clouds over the Mediterranean. Waves crashed and foamed over the wet sand, and Amy amused herself by dodging the water as she walked slowly back from Puerto Banus. There were no sunbathers now, no holiday umbrellas or foreign tourists, and although the cafes along the marina had been doing business the fashionable little harbour had a dead-season air about it. Some of the smart boutiques had been closed, and a couple of the restaurants boarded up.
Miguel had driven her up into the folds of the brown hills beyond the coast so that she could see some of the villages—the pueblos blancos, they were called, descriptive of the little whitewashed houses, visible for miles in that unwooded country. He had talked to her about Andalusia and local customs, and had been amusing and anxious to entertain her. She had done her best to respond to him, grateful to him for a morning that would otherwise have been spent alone. But, even though relations between them looked like a disaster, she wished it could have been with Julius.
They had stopped for coffee in Puerto Banus, and then, despite Miguel’s eagerness to drive her back to her hotel before he left her for his lunch appointment in Marbella, she’d insisted on returning by herself along the beach. It might be her only chance to see it; she and Julius would be leaving for Granada after lunch.
It was nearly twelve o’clock when she started to make her way along the edge of the sea towards the hotel. If she walked slowly enough it might take her half an hour, and Julius could be back by one. He probably didn’t want to see her, but that didn’t stop her wanting to see him despite everything. They hadn’t met at breakfast. She’d got up later than she’d intended, and found a note at Reception telling her he’d had to leave for his business appointment—but he could just have been avoiding her.
The wind whipped her long hair across her face. She stopped to take off her shoes, and then, checking quickly that there was no one about to see her, slipped off her tights so that she could walk at the very edge of the waves. She stuffed the tights in her jacket pocket and carried her shoes in one hand. She could make herself respectable again before Julius saw her.
Julius…
She told herself she must be in a very feeble mood— either that or she hadn’t finished her crying from last night—but the tears kept pricking her eyelids as she walked, and she brushed one away impatiently. It had felt scalding-hot on her cold face. She was angry with herself for giving in to what she told herself was self-pity. So what if she loved a man she couldn’t have? It happened to lots of people. Why should it be the end of the world just because Amy Thompson thought her heart was breaking? Anyway, he didn’t love her, and she was being not only self-indulgent but stupid when she let herself think about him as anything to her but her employer.
He was angry with her about something, but she’d find out soon enough. He’d never been slow about letting her know in the past. But one thing it couldn’t have been was the dinner itself—he’d said that was excellent—so that was all that mattered really. If her professional pride as a caterer was satisfied, that should be enough for her. Anything else she should apologise for and forget about, the way she did at the office. She wouldn’t let herself think about what had hap
pened outside the hotel when he’d brought her back. He’d said she’d asked for it. It was true—she had. She stopped to pick up a pebble, and flung it into the waves. Charlie could make them skip.
Icy foam spattered across her feet, ran a little further up the sand as the bubbles burst and then disappeared when the sea water withdrew. The end of her skirt flapped wetly against her legs, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t her ‘office’ skirt but one she wore at home, which she’d packed at the last minute. After all, she hadn’t really wanted to impress Miguel despite that flirting last night. She felt rather ashamed of it now. Why don’t I just cry? she thought. There’s no one out here. Then when I’ve got it all out of my system I can be the ideal secretary for the two days we’ve got left, and I’ll probably enjoy the trip a lot more. The perfect, common-sense solution.
She wasn’t far from the hotel now. She glanced up from the water to check how much further she had to walk—and saw Julius standing on the beach just ahead of her.
Her heart suddenly turned over. Seeing him so unexpectedly like that, she knew that no common-sense reasoning in the world was going to talk her out of the way she felt about him. She loved him. Nothing was going to change that. She stood still, the cold water foaming over her feet, and looked at him.
He had his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, his feet apart, weight shifted slightly on to one leg. It didn’t even strike her as odd that he should be there on the beach dressed in a suit intended for a boardroom. It was too far to see his expression, but he had been watching her.
He didn’t move now, waiting for her.
Slowly she began to walk up towards him. He was on the firm sand, beyond the reach of the waves.