And, through it all, there’d been Miranda: always there, always remorseful, blaming herself and eager to prove her loyalty in the way their families had always hoped for.
He scowled now, getting out of the car and closing the door as silently as possible. He winced as his weight bore down on his damaged leg. His efforts to avoid thinking about Isobel by riding out with the vaqueiros and roping steers had proved a more physical punishment than a mental one. She hadn’t been out of his thoughts, not once, and he’d known he’d have to deal with the situation once and for all.
That was why he’d saved his visit until the evening when he could be sure of darkness to aid his objective. According to the manservant he’d bribed on Isobel’s arrival, her rooms opened onto the veranda at the back of the villa, which was very convenient for his needs. Painful it might be, but he could get round to the back of the house without encountering any of the household staff.
It was after ten o’clock already, and he hoped Isobel wasn’t in bed. He’d delayed his visit until this time just in case she had had dinner with Anita. Though, knowing his mother-in-law as he did, he doubted she would encourage such familiarity between them.
Anita hadn’t phoned since the morning after Isobel’s visit to the estancia, when she’d been trying to find out what had happened. He guessed she was still suspicious about their relationship, and he wondered how long it would be before she put two and two together and realised Isobel’s child must be his.
Perhaps she’d already realised it, he conceded, stifling a groan as a particularly awkward bamboo-shoot dug into his hip as he squeezed past. But what of it? He had nothing to be ashamed of.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the veranda and saw the lights still burning in Isobel’s apartments. Dragging his leg, he made his way towards her door, and then stopped for a moment to regain his composure before raising his hand to knock.
There was complete silence for what seemed like a very long minute, and he was beginning to wonder if she was there after all when he heard footsteps.
‘Who’s there?’ Isobel’s voice sounded strained and anxious, and Alejandro leaned wearily against the wall beside the door.
‘Me,’ he said flatly. ‘Alejandro.’ He paused. ‘Open the door.’
Once again, there was a short silence, and he was speculating on his ability to force the door open without causing too much noise or damage when the handle turned.
Isobel stood there, clad only in the cream cotton-vest and shorts he suspected she used to sleep in. Her face was flushed and defensive, but her expression changed when the light from inside the room fell on his face.
‘My God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you ill?’ She stepped forward without hesitation and took hold of his arm. ‘Here, let me help you.’
Alejandro tried to throw off her hand. ‘Obrigado—thanks. I can manage,’ he said harshly, but Isobel refused to give up.
‘Don’t be such a fool!’ she exclaimed, assisting him over the threshold and into the lamplit room. ‘How on earth did you get here? Did you walk?’
‘Well, not from Montevista,’ said Alejandro drily, feeling the sweat breaking out on his face. Gripping the back of a chair, he managed to straddle it, and sank down with some relief. ‘I am okay,’ he added as Isobel still hovered beside him. ‘Close the door, hmm? I would prefer it if we did not have an audience.’
‘Oh! Oh, yes.’
As if just realising the door was still standing wide, Isobel hurried to close it, turning the deadbolt almost automatically. Hopefully Anita was still working, she thought, but as far as the Brazilian woman was concerned she couldn’t be sure of anything.
Alejandro folded his arms along the back of the chair and rested his chin on his wrists. Then, realising Isobel was still watching him with troubled eyes, he managed a faint smile.
‘I will survive,’ he assured her. ‘I twisted my hip, that is all.’ He blew out a breath. ‘It feels better already.’
Isobel twisted her hands together at her waist. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, and with her hair loose about her shoulders she looked absurdly young, he thought.
And far too desirable for his peace of mind.
Then, carefully, she said, ‘How did you damage your leg?’
‘I have just explained.’
‘No. You know what I mean.’ Isobel sighed. ‘Was—was Miranda injured too?’
‘Ah.’ Alejandro lifted his head, relieved to feel the pain subsiding at last. ‘You mean in the car crash. Do you think perhaps that was why she killed herself? Because, unlike me, she could not stand to look in a mirror, nao?’
‘No!’
Isobel shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other. But that thought had entered her head and he knew it.
‘For your information, Miranda was in the car when it crashed,’ he told her briefly. ‘But you will be happy to hear she walked away unscathed.’
‘Oh.’
Alejandro regarded her through narrowed lids. ‘Is that all you can say—oh?’ His lips twisted. ‘Miranda’s death had nothing to do with the accident.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Is it?’ He sucked in a rueful breath. ‘Yes, I suppose it is. At least no one blamed me.’
‘Because you were driving when the accident occurred?’
Alejandro sighed. ‘Escuta aqui—look, can we talk about something else other than the accident? That is not why I came here. I understand only too well your feelings about my injuries.’
Isobel gasped. ‘You don’t know anything!’ she exclaimed fiercely. She glanced towards the table where Alejandro now saw she had been working on her computer. There was a pot of coffee standing on a tray beside it, and she gestured towards it, saying, ‘Why don’t you have some coffee? I think it’s still hot.’
‘I think not, cara.’ Alejandro’s mouth turned down. ‘And, if this is another attempt to distract me, forget it. You are wasting your time.’
‘I’m not trying to distract you,’ protested Isobel indignantly. ‘But, well, in the circumstances it seemed the polite thing to do. I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything stronger.’
‘You think?’
Alejandro’s tone was dry, but already his imagination was working overtime. She was obviously not aware that, without a bra, her tight little nipples were pressing against the thin cotton of her vest. His senses swam at the idea that she was also naked under those skimpy shorts.
He felt his instant arousal and forced himself to address the reason why he was really here. He knew that if he touched her he would not be able to stop.
‘Why do you not sit down?’ he suggested, knowing he’d feel happier if she wasn’t standing over him.
‘All right.’ With a little gesture of indifference, Isobel perched on the edge of a squashy brocade-sofa, crossing her legs so that he was treated to a glimpse of her upper thigh. Then, as if it had just occurred to her, ‘Does Senhora Silveira know you’re here?’
‘Nao.’ Alejandro spoke abruptly. ‘I did not come here to see Anita.’
‘I see.’ Isobel smoothed a moist palm over her bare knee. ‘So…?’
‘So.’ Alejandro regarded her from between narrowed lids. ‘Tell me about Emma.’
Isobel hesitated. ‘What do you want to know?’
Alejandro stifled a groan. ‘Do not try my patience, Isobella. I want to know everything. Have you brought any pictures of her with you?’
Isobel’s breathing became a little difficult. ‘Some,’ she conceded reluctantly.
‘Then may I see them?’
‘Well, most of what I have are at home, of course.’
‘I realise that.’ Alejandro controlled his temper with an effort. ‘Naturally I did not expect anything else. But, if I could see…?’
‘All right.’
Isobel got to her feet and crossed to the table, where her phone was lying beside her coffee cup. Returning to her seat, she switched it on and quickly turned to the gallery of pictures she carr
ied everywhere with her. Then, passing the phone to Alejandro, she said, ‘There you are.’
Alejandro flicked slowly through the selection of photographs that were stored in the phone’s memory, his reaction impossible for Isobel to read.
‘And she is two years old, sim?’
‘Two and a half,’ Isobel corrected him tersely.
‘She is very beautiful.’
Isobel’s lips twitched with an unwilling smile. ‘She’s adorable,’ she admitted. ‘But don’t be taken in by her appearance. She’s a real tomboy.’
‘A tomboy?’ Alejandro frowned and he looked up. ‘What is that?’
‘Oh, she likes doing the things boys do,’ said Isobel, unable to think of any other way to describe it. ‘Getting dirty, for example. She’s never happier than when she’s down at the stables with Aunt Olivia.’
‘E claro. Of course.’ Alejandro nodded. ‘Your aunt breeds horses too, does she not?’
‘Not thoroughbreds,’ said Isobel, remembering the almost pure-blooded horseflesh Carlos had shown her at Montevista.
‘She rears Shetland ponies and hunters, mostly for riding schools or private use.’
Alejandro nodded. ‘I look forward to meeting her.’
Isobel’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re coming to England?’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘I—’ Isobel was speechless. Then, gathering her wits, ‘It doesn’t bother me, but—’
‘Well, I shall have to if I want to meet my daughter,’ he continued, returning his attention to the pictures of Emma. Then, with a cynical smile, ‘But not yet, eh, pequena? We do not want to frighten you, do we?’
Isobel stared at him. It would have been so easy to let his comment pass unnoticed, but she found she had far too much respect for him to do that.
‘You wouldn’t frighten her!’ she exclaimed, though she could see he didn’t believe her. ‘Emma’s not some delicate hothouse flower. She’s bright and she’s resilient. Besides, children don’t look at things the way adults do.’
‘The way you do?’ suggested Alejandro bitterly, handing the phone back to her. Then, without waiting for her answer, he got heavily to his feet. ‘We will talk again, Isobella. Be assured of it.’
Moving necessitated swinging his uninjured leg across the seat of the chair again. Alejandro tried to show the same restraint he’d exhibited on his arrival, but all the physical activity he’d put himself through during the day had left him stiff, and he staggered. Grabbing the back of the chair, he tried to right himself, but it was no good. The chair overturned and he found himself pitching forward, struggling to regain his balance.
Isobel saw what was happening, of course, and jumped automatically to her feet to try and save him. But she wasn’t strong enough, and although Alejandro ordered her to get out of the way she didn’t listen to him.
In consequence, the force of his body carried her backward. She found herself spreadeagled on the sofa where she’d been sitting, with Alejandro’s not-inconsiderable weight on top of her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ALEJANDRO SWORE, forcing himself up immediately, his hands at either side of her head as he tried not to crush all the air out of her lungs.
‘Meu Deus! Perdao! I’m sorry.’ He pushed himself back, straddling her body, his knees hard against the bones of her hips. ‘Que idiota! What an idiot!’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Isobel spoke a little breathlessly, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘Honestly, Alejandro, it was an accident, that’s all. I shouldn’t have interfered.’
‘You were trying to help,’ Alejandro contradicted her grimly, struggling to get his own breath back. Faint colour stained his cheeks at the ignominy of his position. ‘Deus, what must you think of me? Not only disfigured, but—what do you say?—decrepit as well.’
‘You’re not decrepit!’
Isobel gazed up at him impatiently. She wanted to reassure him, to tell him that she didn’t think any the worse of him for proving he was human after all. And as for being disfigured…
Her hand moved almost of its own volition. Without hesitation, it reached up and stroked the ridge of scar tissue that crossed his cheek. He jerked back at once, but she persisted in her exploration, the skin at either side of the scar feeling as smooth as it ever had.
‘Nao,’ he said harshly, capturing her hand within his much larger one. ‘Do not do that.’
‘Why not?’
She spoke defiantly, and although she expected him to let her go now he brought her hand to his mouth. His lips sought her palm, his tongue savouring the salty moisture he found there. Then his eyes focussed on hers and she was suddenly breathless again.
‘Isobella.’ He said her name huskily, the sound both a protest and a caress. ‘This was not meant to happen.’
‘I know that.’ Isobel shivered. And then, in an attempt to lighten the situation, ‘I doubt if you intended to tackle me onto the sofa.’
Alejandro sighed. ‘That is not what I meant and you know it,’ he told her roughly.
His eyes drifted down over her supine body, lingering sensually on the wedge of pale skin exposed below the hem of her vest. When tumbling her onto the sofa, he must have inadvertently dragged the waistband of her shorts lower, because now he could see the hollow of her navel.
He caught his breath. He knew that if he touched her he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. He was already aroused, and ironically the pain in his leg was eased when he looked at her. Right now, he was fighting the need to spread his hands on her soft skin, to feel her warmth relieving the tension between them.
The curve of her midriff was such a temptation. If he kissed her there, where the indentation of her waist provided a perfect hollow for his lips, would she taste as sweet as he remembered?
He recalled everything about her, that afternoon and evening in her bed at her apartment, before the phone call from his father had destroyed their relationship: her responsiveness, her passion, her fire. How he’d buried his face against her sex and inhaled the musky fragrance that their love-making had created…
Deus!
He tried to sever his thoughts as completely as his father’s phone-call had done, but it was useless. With the proof of her arousal there in the button-hard peaks of her breasts, in the scent of her body rising unmistakeably to his nostrils, she was impossible to resist.
His fists clenched around her forearms as he tried to hold back, but the softness of her skin bruised so easily. Softening his touch, he allowed his fingers to slide from her wrists to the top of her arms. He felt the nerves in her shoulders jump as he caressed her. With every quiver in her muscles, she responded to his touch.
‘Tao doce,’ he muttered. And then, through his teeth in a final burst of conscience, ‘This should not happen.’
‘Nothing has happened,’ protested Isobel unevenly, but he could tell she didn’t believe it.
‘It will,’ he responded, his voice thickening with emotion. ‘Or do you expect me to ignore the evidence your body cannot hide?’
‘I—Alejandro…’
But it was too late. He’d already bent his head towards her, capturing one provocative nipple through the thin cotton of her vest.
He sucked on it urgently and Isobel’s limbs went weak. Then, between her legs, she felt the unfamiliar gush of wetness. She was on the verge of an orgasm, and he’d hardly touched her!
‘Querida,’ he said huskily, transferring his attention to her other nipple. ‘You are wearing too many clothes.’
Once again, he sucked on her, his tongue seeking a satisfaction only she could give him. Then, with an oath, he forced the offending vest up above her breasts.
‘Melhor,’ he whispered. ‘Better. Muito melhor. Much better.’ He lowered his mouth again, and this time she felt as if his hungry tongue was draining all the strength from her body.
His mouth sought hers now, his teeth capturing the flesh on the inner side of her lower lip. He bit her, not painful
ly but intimately, before allowing his tongue to make an erotic exploration of its own.
Isobel moaned. She couldn’t help it. She was drowning in a sea of sexuality, and when his hands slid beneath her hips to cup her buttocks she arched eagerly towards him.
At first his fingers slid beneath her shorts, tightening the cuffs around her. But then, impatient with the constriction, he pushed the shorts down her legs. He was pleased to discover she was as naked underneath as he’d anticipated, and, after he tugged the vest over her head, she was soon totally exposed.
‘Bela,’he said hoarsely. ‘Beautiful.’ He stroked a searching finger from her navel down over the slight swell of her belly and into the moist heart of her womanhood. ‘Muita bela.’
Isobel jerked against his invasion, and in a strangled voice she said, ‘Please—please don’t.’
‘Nao?’
‘No.’ Isobel trembled. ‘Not—not yet.’
Alejandro bent to allow his tongue to follow his fingers, and she convulsed violently. ‘You do not mean that,’ he said confidently, and Isobel’s hands sought the buckle of his jeans.
‘You—’ she said unsteadily. ‘You’re wearing too many clothes.’
Alejandro stilled. ‘Believe me, you do not mean that,’ he said tightly. ‘But if you turn off the lights…’
‘No.’ Isobel levered herself up onto one hand and gripped his wrist with the other. ‘Do you think I care what you look like?’
‘I care,’ he said flatly, but she scrambled out from under him. On her knees in front of him, she began unbuttoning his shirt with studied determination.
‘Nao!’
His hands stopped her, but she met his dark gaze without flinching.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly, freeing her fingers and cupping his face between them. Then, setting her mouth against the dry ridge of his scar, she breathed, ‘Trust me, Alejandro. I won’t let you down.’
One Night In Collection Page 65