‘I see we have run out of time, though we could carry on this fascinating discussion for many hours, I’m sure.’
Luna was left frustrated. Her arguments, martialled now and at the ready, were never aired. She was determined not to look at the gypsy-scholar, as she now thought of him. She did not want to see what expression he had on his face. Was he laughing at her? Did he sense her humiliation at feeling so exposed, so foolish? All she wanted now was to get away as quickly as possible and so without a further glance, Luna hurried out of the conference hall with a few frayed shreds of her self-possession still attached, unaware that his intense blue gaze followed her.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Luna sat in her room cogitating, furious with herself.
She was a normal, reasonable person; she had never been shy or introverted. On the contrary, she had always prided herself on being sociable and outgoing, with a fair amount of self-confidence and guts that had carried her through the various tragedies in her life. So why had she behaved earlier this afternoon like a lovesick teenager, nervous, tongue-tied and coy? It was so out of character.
She had spent hours pining after her gypsy singer but, as soon as she had been given a second chance to meet him, she had blown the opportunity by first letting her intellectual pride get the better of her, and then losing her nerve into the bargain. Her gypsy singer had turned out to be a gypsy-scholar. It should have been a perfect scenario. She could have used their debate as an excuse to go and speak to him afterwards.
Luna stared at the blue file that was taunting her on the table, witness to the amount of time she had devoted to reading up on this subject. No, she told herself, indulging her naïve fantasies was exactly what she should not have done. What had she been thinking? Her mind should never have been clouded by such whimsical emotions when she needed to focus on a professional situation. She had collected controversial articles on hypnotism and could have confronted him far more competently with her knowledge than she had just now. If she’d managed to destroy his point of view it would have been a confidence-building warm-up for the assignment she had been given. How could she have let herself down so completely?
Outside the light was fading to the soft pastels of early evening when Luna finally got up. Distant evening traffic noises and the strange smells of the night wafted in through the open window, bringing with them nostalgic memories. Yesterday she was still light-hearted. The cool breeze touched her cheek. She shivered and closed the window. She felt numb and lonely, a new feeling to her. She thought of the reception in honour of the publication of Professor Goldsmith’s book. No doubt he would be there.
She would see him again.
An alarming sense of expectancy swirled through her veins, an altogether frightening and enthralling feeling that made her edgy.
A hot bath eased some of the tension, sheer heaven to sink into the scented water and play with the bubbles. It brought back memories of childhood bath-time in California. She recalled how intrigued she was by the various bottles of scent, creams, shower gels and cosmetics on her grandmother’s bathroom washstand. Grandma Ward, whom she adored, used to allow her to choose her own fragrance of the week and, with bath-time becoming instantly more exciting that way, Luna had been less reluctant to come up from the beach at the end of those sunsoaked days.
The alarm of her mobile phone made Luna jump, reminding her that there was a reception to attend and she must get dressed. At lunchtime, she had asked room service to refresh the dress she had chosen for the occasion. It was now hanging on the cupboard door. A couple of months back she had bought it at a sale in one of the boutiques on Sixth Avenue. The simplicity of the pale-peach, brushed-silk garment displayed in the window had caught her eye. She loved its knife-pleated, tiered and scalloped skirt and its square neckline. Spaghetti straps had always suited her.
Though still angry about her foolishness that afternoon, the hot bath had been soothing and had restored her calm composure. With a fresh wave of enthusiasm she began to dress.
She was going to put her hair up but then decided to let it fall loosely around her shoulders, so she brushed it until it was silky and shining. Though quite pale in colour, the chamomile shampoo she had used brought out her hair’s summer-wheat highlights. As usual, she kept her make-up to a minimum but gave her eyes a smoky look.
She stepped into the dress. The dropped waist with its gathered detail at the front gave it a 1920s twist. To accentuate the look, she took out a long string of pearls that once belonged to her mother and had been left to her in Adalia’s will. They were beautiful. She paired the necklace with a matching set of cluster-pearl earrings and slipped on some pale-gold stiletto sandals.
Luna glanced at herself in the mirror; she liked the image it reflected. If she was going to see her gypsy-scholar again, above all else she needed to feel confident and now she was more than ready to meet him again. She glanced at her watch: 7.30pm. The reception was already under way.
After turning off the lights, with a swell of anticipation she went downstairs.
Chapter 2
He was sitting in a comfortable alcove in the hotel lounge, waiting for her. At least it felt like he was waiting. What he was meant to be doing was concentrating on the discussion going on around him.
He and a handful of colleagues were assembled for an informal meeting in the spacious lounge that opened out from the lobby, with papers strewn over the low table they encircled. The pale marble pillars punctuating the sumptuous room rose to meet a shimmering orange rib-vaulted ceiling, forming discreet areas that afforded a degree of privacy and creating the sense of being in a colourful, Romanesque temple. Previously, it had seemed convenient to schedule a string of appointments in the hotel following Professor Goldsmith’s lecture.
Now it was frustratingly ill-timed in every way.
He moved a hand restlessly through his hair. Leaning back in his plush velvet armchair, he followed the conversation with one ear but his eyes kept straying to the stairs on the right, which led to the upper floors, and then over to the left, where the gated, art-deco lifts opened out on to the lobby.
He had been too caught up with people demanding his attention after the lecture, and had kicked himself for not seizing the moment to approach her before she was gone. He could only hope that she would be attending the book signing. Perhaps she was staying in the hotel. In any case, when he’d finally joined his colleagues in the lounge, it was a profound relief to see they had chosen a place with such a good vantage point.
He was hoping that any minute she would appear.
After years of casual dalliances, of noticing beautiful women, pursuing and then conquering them, he had reached the point in his life where this had become a game of hollow rewards, giving him only a fleeting sense of excitement. These days, it took a lot to rouse him beyond an aimless interest. But this woman – this exquisite creature with her bewitching gaze and haunting beauty – had captured his attention.
After she had left El Cabo de Oro, he had been awake most of the night trying to get her out of his head. He had never been so distracted by a woman.
It was her eyes that had entranced him even more than the wildly feminine shape he had discerned beneath them. The previous night, her watchful, honey-brown irises had shimmered with so many expressions, they had hypnotized him. Intelligent, wary and questioning, they also held a surprising innocence. He wasn’t used to being attracted by such a lack of guile in a woman’s face. It was normally the knowing, voluptuous sort who found their way into his bed.
In that hazy bar, the room had contracted to just the two of them. Their mutual attraction was sensual, demanding and real. When the music had taken hold of him, he’d felt compelled to play only for her and she had listened to every note he sang as though she knew the song intimately. Something new then came alive in the intriguing depths of her eyes. Suddenly they had brimmed with hidden fire and temptation, with invitation and promise, and so many things he sensed she was tryin
g to conceal. The way she had stared at him sent electric pulses through his blood. The memory of it still did.
There was a world of mystery behind that gaze that he was aching to explore and, judging by his body’s emphatic response at the mere thought of her, his exploration didn’t want to stop there. Those shimmering caramel eyes made him want things that would send a blush to that smooth, porcelain skin if only she could see inside his head.
It was a good thing she could not.
And now he knew there was a sharp intelligence behind her delicate beauty, and that enticed him even further.
At Goldsmith’s lecture, the moment of realization that they were just a few feet away from each other had detonated the air around them like a small explosion. The shock in her expression had given way to a dignified coolness he couldn’t fathom but it was a tantalizing invitation to his curiosity. Knowing she then watched him from time to time made his blood heat and his thoughts stray to places to which they should not be venturing in the middle of a lecture room.
He’d nearly lost his concentration.
Yet, once she’d challenged him, his mind had never been so focused. Before that, he had almost been willing her to speak so he could glean any clues about her, even just to hear her voice. When she had, he had neither expected her confrontation nor her tenacity. Given the obvious electricity they had shared the previous night, he wondered what had triggered such a combative response. Still, her unpredictability only served to fascinate him more. He had to admit, he had enjoyed trying to ruffle her feathers during their verbal duelling, watching her eyes flash with spirited intensity.
He smiled to himself. Oh yes, she was a challenge indeed. Something primal and urgent in him responded to the memory of it with unprecedented force.
Who was she? A foreigner, of that much he was sure: she spoke good Spanish but he had detected an accent: Scandinavian or American maybe. Why was she at the conference? Was she a doctor, a journalist, a researcher? He had noticed she wore no ring. He could not believe such a beautiful woman was single; yet there was something of the unattainable about her. So many questions swirled around in his head.
He looked up quickly again and she was there. Emerging from the gated lift with two men and a woman, with whom she was deep in conversation.
He drew in a breath, once more struck by her fresh beauty. Now he had the chance to take in all of her at his leisure. She had a slim and energetic frame. The silky dress she wore delineated her feminine curves, its thin straps showing off the pure lines of her slender neck, the delicate wings of her collarbone and her beautiful, elegant shoulders. He imagined peeling that dress off her slowly and letting his hands claim every exquisite inch of her. Blood rushed to his groin and he struggled to master his reaction but, captivated, he was unable to look away.
She glanced up and her perfectly shaped caramel eyes met his gaze and locked with it for an instant, bringing a pink rose to her cheeks before she turned away. He was surprised to find that her aloofness did not discourage him but, on the contrary, spurred on his fascination and stirred his blood uncontrollably.
His thoughts turbulent, he tried to participate in his colleagues’ discussion, a fixed smile frozen on his features. He did not want to be caught openly staring at this alluring creature who had suddenly walked into his life, filling his head like lightning across an unsuspecting sky.
Every time he looked up, his eyes were drawn to the young woman like a magnet, feasting on her loveliness as, still talking to her companions, she slowly crossed the lobby, graceful and lithe as a nymph. A long, elegant string of pearls hung down between the soft swell of her breasts that, though they were small, he guessed were full, taut and feminine. Her legs were long – dancer’s legs.
She was perfect. Everything about her resonated through his being, like the sweetest arpeggio of a viola or the whisper of the sea at dawn.
Perfect.
He watched her straight back as she moved towards a glassfronted side room to the right of the lounge. Waiters were giving out champagne at the door as guests began to arrive for Goldsmith’s book-signing reception. A consummate mujer de mundo, she was self-confident and at ease, talking and laughing with those around her as they joined the lazy flow of bodies into the room. For once he wished that he wasn’t working, and regretted he had scheduled these meetings to overlap with the start of the reception. He would have to wrap things up fast in case he missed his opportunity again to speak to her.
‘Would anyone like some more coffee?’ The sound of his colleague’s voice disrupted his absorption.
‘What a good idea,’ he smiled. ‘Let me take care of it.’
* * *
Luna had spotted him in the hotel lounge as soon as she walked out of the lift. His gaze had shot up when she had appeared and she had sensed his eyes on her, as though turning her inside out and laying her bare … in every respect. It had stirred a sudden and obscure yearning, totally foreign to her body. Hot colour rushed to her cheeks, and she had quickly turned away, her nerves taut with the awareness of him.
From what she had seen, he was engaged with a group of people who didn’t look like they were in a hurry to leave their table. They appeared to be in a meeting.
Perhaps he was too busy to get away, and wouldn’t be coming to the reception after all. Now that he was staring at her with those sea-swept eyes, glinting with dangerous appeal even from this distance, she wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or relieved at the prospect of his not being there. It was a struggle not to look back to where he was sitting, though she knew his gaze was following her and the thought sent a tingle down her spine.
People were milling around the lobby, drawn to the tables of appetizing canapés on either side of the glass-panelled, arched doorway that led into the reception. Even though some guests were beginning to move inside, many were still chatting and mingling here, enjoying the food and drink.
Luna was caught between staying where she was and following the other guests. She didn’t want to seem intimidated by the gypsy-scholar’s presence, though it would have been far more comfortable to escape his view. In truth, part of her thrilled to the idea that he was watching her, only a short distance away.
She allowed herself the most furtive of glances towards him. He was resting his elbow nonchalantly on the arm of his chair, thumb and forefinger on his chin. Then, at one point when she was compelled to look over again, at the same time so did he, sending an electric wave through the room as their gazes collided. Warmth bloomed between her thighs and for a moment she was mesmerized by the intensity of his stare. Wild, mutinous passions stirred deep inside her, before she dragged her gaze away and regained her composure.
Soft music wafted from the room, just audible a notch above the many voices and sounds, the combination of which reminded her of the continuous buzzing of starlings in the early evening. A waiter carrying a tray of drinks stood before her and she helped herself to a glass of champagne in the hope it would settle her nerves. She sipped it gratefully, letting the chilled bubbles refresh her dry throat.
Guests drifted into circles and other people engaged her in conversation. Luna was too on edge to really enjoy talking to anyone, but she had learned how to circulate. There was no need to enter into a long conversation: a few strategic questions and all she had to do was listen. It always amazed her how people loved to talk about themselves. She listened and smiled and laughed, always aware of his intent gaze following her around and, though she tried to avert thoughts of him, her mind’s eye was filled with the stranger. There was that same tension between them that had been there from the moment they had set eyes on each other. It made her dizzy, hollowing out her stomach, and sent her pulse racing at a terrifying pace.
She knew that if he approached her now, they would talk and their connection would be exciting. Exhilarating. Dangerous. She would surrender to this mounting passion that could destroy her and therefore reason dictated she must not stick around. She must run now, she told
herself in sudden panic, and set down her glass.
He looked up abruptly and trapped Luna’s gaze as she threaded her way through the ebbing crowd, which was now moving more concertedly into the reception room. She noticed he had already summoned a waiter and was scribbling something on a scrap of paper. He gave it to the young man, speaking urgently. She could see that he was impatient and annoyed.
The waiter caught up with her at the lift. There was no escaping now. He grinned broadly. ‘The señor over there has asked me to give you this note.’
Luna took it and turned to look at the gypsy-scholar, the note unopened in her hand. His eyes searched her face for answers and he saluted her with his glass. She smiled and nodded a polite acknowledgement, and was going to move on when the waiter prompted: ‘The note, señorita. He would like a reply to his message, por favor.’
She unfolded the small piece of paper, on which was written: Will you do me the honour of having dinner with me tonight? It seems we have much to talk about. It was signed: A humble gypsy.
Her eyes lit up as the thought of being with him brought an uncontrollable surge of excitement. She turned again and met his bold gaze slipping over her in silent appreciation, and her face fell.
Rationality reasserted itself and doused her like a shot of cold water.
It was the same old story with her and men. An easy seduction, she thought. So that’s what you’re really after? I don’t think so! She was not about to leave herself open to the attentions of a hot-blooded Spaniard, who was only waiting for a chance to get her into bed. What a blind fool she’d been, thinking there was anything other than physical urges at play here.
Luna put up a hand to express her thanks and smiled, a pale smile, nothing broad and warm: he might mistake that for encouragement. She turned to the messenger. ‘Please thank the señor for his kind invitation, but tell him that unfortunately I am otherwise engaged tonight.’ Then on impulse she added: ‘Maybe some other time.’ Thereupon she hurried into the lift, closing the gates on the bemused waiter, who shrugged and walked off.
Legacy Page 5