Читать книгу The Spaniard's Summer Seduction: Under the Spaniard's Lock and Key / The Secret Spanish Love-Child / Surrender to Her Spanish Husband - Ким Лоренс, Maggie Cox - Страница 12

HE confirmed her suspicion with a tiny nod of his head. ‘You can use the landline to leave that message about your change of plans.’

‘My plans haven’t changed.’ Maggie found herself protesting to his back.

She was presuming they were expected because as his feet hit the gravel people started to appear. Presumably, she thought sourly, to respond to the commands he was issuing—at command issuing he was definitely not an amateur.

Maggie began to struggle with the car door, her spirits slightly buoyed because she realised that all she had to do was ask the hotel to send a taxi out to pick her up.

She wasn’t stranded or reliant on Rafael.

‘Allow me.’

Of course the door opened smoothly for him. Maggie nodded her head in an attitude of cold courtesy. ‘Thank you.’ It was good to feel in control again—you wish.

‘Can you manage or shall I carry you again?’

Was that a joke? Maggie decided she didn’t want to know. She pushed away the memory of being held in his arms and waving a hand in a shooing gesture, snapped crankily, ‘I’ve told you I’m fine.’

Catching sight of her reflection in the wing mirror, she realised that she did not look fine.

The inner masochist in her made Maggie take a second look, she barely repressed a groan.

It wasn’t hard to see why the smouldering Spaniard had stopped smouldering, and who could blame him for going off her big time?

Her hair had returned to its natural curly state; surrounding her face in a dark tangled froth and hanging loose down her back, it made her look scary. As for her face minus all make-up and plus a lot of dirt… She closed her eyes and thought it was just as well the seduction idea was off the menu.

‘We have mirrors inside.’

His tall figure, backlit by the light streaming through the open door, stood there, his arms folded across his exposed chest radiating impatience.

Maggie gave a grimace, embarrassed at being caught out staring at her reflection. ‘I’m coming,’ she huffed, jogging to catch him up.

Rafael watched her approach with a frown. ‘Slow down. There’s no fire.’

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘Make up your mind!’ It seemed to her that it didn’t really matter what she did—as far as this man was concerned it would be the wrong thing.

The massive metal-banded oak door she followed him through opened directly into what appeared to be an old banqueting hall complete with roaring fire, suits of armour and tapestries on the stone walls.

How many centuries had his family lived here? she thought, wondering what it must be like to trace your roots this far back. Her eyes widened…my God!

She spun around. ‘I’ve forgotten your full name.’

He blinked at the confession. ‘Rafael-Luis Castenadas,’ he revealed, watching her face carefully for a reaction.

There was none. If she had come to search for her mother, he would have thought she would be more than familiar with the name.

‘Ramon will show you where you can use the phone.’

‘You…?’ She was talking to his back. She wrapped her arms around her body, fighting the vulnerable sensation—vulnerable because Rafael Castenadas’s presence did not offer her security.

Quite the contrary was true.

A tall thin man wearing a dark suit and a sombre expression, presumably the Ramon in question, escorted Maggie to a room off an inner hallway. Despite the massive dimensions it was actually quite cosy-looking, with book-lined walls, vibrant-coloured rugs on the polished wood floor and a fire burning in the open fireplace.

To complete the domestic picture a dog of indeterminate parentage lay asleep on one of the large sofas. It opened one eye when Maggie walked in, wagged its tail and went back to sleep.

The thin man nodded towards the phone, and went to leave.

‘No…don’t…’ She dropped her outstretched hand when he turned.

‘Can I help you?’

She gave a sigh of relief. ‘Great, you speak English. I was wondering, where am I exactly…the address, I mean, of here? Does here have a name?’

If he found the request odd he did not show it, and when Maggie struggled to follow his pronunciation of the castillo he produced a notepad and pen from his breast pocket and wrote it down for her.

After her concern that someone might be worried, it appeared no one had noticed her absence! Maggie explained to the person at the other end that she would need a taxi to pick her up. When she gave the address, spelling it out to avoid any mistakes, there was a loud intake of breath the other end, but the hotel agreed it would be no problem.

‘Oh, and how much would it be likely to cost?’

The reply to her afterthought took her breath away. ‘You’re joking.’

The voice the other end assured her that he was not.

Knowing that there was no way her tight holiday budget would run to that sort of money, Maggie thanked him for his trouble but explained that she’d changed her mind.

With a sigh she hung up and sat down beside the dog.

‘So what,’ she asked, burying her face in his fur, ‘do we do now?’

She was still no nearer an answer when fifteen minutes later Rafael walked in.

He made no sound. It was the prickle on the back of her neck that made Maggie turn her head.

She stopped stroking the dog’s ears.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ Nervous tension made her voice sharp.

He had changed and presumably showered, his wet hair was slicked back and he was wearing dark jeans and a white open-necked shirt with no tears. He could have stepped right out of a glossy page advertising…well, actually, advertising anything, because when they said that sex sold they were not wrong.

And every inch of his tall, lean, muscle-packed frame oozed sex, every hollow and plane of his dark face. Maggie’s eyes drifted from the full curve of his sensual upper lip to his hooded glittering gaze and her anxiety levels went off the scale.

She licked her lips nervously and drew her knees up to her chin.

‘Not long.’ He clicked his fingers and the dog lifted his head, his tail thumping loudly against Maggie’s legs.

Rafael said something in Spanish and the dog immediately jumped off the sofa and, tail still wagging, went and sat by his side.

‘He knows he is not allowed on there, but he likes to push the boundaries…and see how far he can go.’

‘Then you click your fingers and bring him to heel.’ He probably used the same method with his women, she thought sourly.

And I bet it works. Imagining the sort of women a man who looked like him and lived in a place like this normally shared his bed with did not improve her mood.

Not that she had any intention of sharing his bed, even if she was invited, which now seemed doubtful. No, her loss of sanity had only been temporary she was now fully in control.

You keep telling yourself that, Maggie.

She was no longer amazed that his initial interest had waned, but she was amazed that he had ever been interested in her in the first place. She had seen the sort of woman she was willing to bet he dated, polished and elegant, not a hair out of place, not a nail chipped and not an extra inch anywhere on her svelte silhouette to ruin the line of her designer clothes.

‘A reward helps,’ he said as the dog took a treat from his fingers before trotting over to the fire and flopping down. ‘It is sometimes hard to work out who has trained who,’ he remarked ruefully.

Maggie, who couldn’t imagine anyone calling him domesticated, shrugged and swept her hair across one shoulder, thinking if he resembled any animal it was a wolf.

‘Sorry about your plans.’ He walked across to a cabinet, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. ‘Tonight did not go as either of us anticipated.’

She laughed. ‘I think you could call that the understatement of the century.’ And she was betting things not going to plan was not something that happened to him often.

He didn’t just have the looks and the animal magnetism, Rafael was also clearly a rich, powerful man, used to getting what he wanted.

Had he really wanted her…?

She breathed through the illicit thrill that raced along her nerve endings at the startling thought. The point was he was used to seeing something and getting it, and equally quickly losing interest. A car, a painting or a woman, and things went smoothly for him because people were there to make sure they went smoothly.

She was sure he had people whose sole purpose in life was to shield him from the unsightly.

Under normal circumstances their paths would never have crossed, but they had and he had thought, Why not.? Had he calculated she was worth the effort of a drive into the country, but when the effort had involved dust, tears and messy hair he had begun to regret his eccentric choice?

She tugged at the medallion that hung between her breasts and watched as he poured some amber liquid into the bottom of both glasses. ‘I don’t want a drink.’

He shrugged and lifted a glass to his lips. ‘Well, I do.’ He took the place she had vacated and looked at her over the rim of his glass; his ludicrously long, dark, spiky lashes cast a shadow along his razor-sharp cheekbones.

‘Well we’ve both gone off the idea of a one-night stand.’ She laughed and tried to act as though this were something that happened to her every day of the week. ‘So where do I sleep? I’m assuming I can cadge a lift back tomorrow morning?’

She was about as convincing as silicone implants. ‘You’ve never had a one-night stand, have you?’

Maggie considered lying, but decided it was doubtful she could pull it off. ‘Not as such.’ she conceded reluctantly.

A muscle beside his mouth clenched. ‘But you came with me. What were you thinking of?’

Outrage with no trace of irony…talk about double standards! ‘You invited me, but let me guess—it’s not the same thing. God, I haven’t actually been missing anything, have I? Simon probably did me a favour.’ Now there was a novel thought. ‘Men are a total disappointment!’ she concluded heavily.

Rafael, struggling to follow the angry diatribe, picked up on one word. ‘Who is Simon?’

He took a swallow of the brandy that appeared to have no effect on him, but Maggie, conscious that she was being uncharacteristically indiscreet, wondered if the effect could be passed on to her like a sympathetic pregnancy.

She was a sympathetic drunk; the frivolous imagery made her smile.

‘Simon is my…was my fiancé.’

A look of utter astonishment crossed his face. ‘You were engaged?’

Maggie lifted her chin. ‘Why shouldn’t I be engaged?’ she demanded in a dangerous voice. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked, banging her chest. ‘Just what’s wrong with me?’ Her voice stalled on a quivering note of self pity.

‘Nothing is wrong with you.’

Maggie glared at his rigid blank face and snarled, ‘Once more with feeling! I actually prefer you when you’re incredibly rude. Mouthing polite platitudes you clearly don’t believe. It’s just so not you!’

‘I am not rude.’

The denial made Maggie roll her eyes. ‘No, you probably call it not caring what people think. Well, newsflash, buster, it’s the same thing!’ she informed him, tacking on seamlessly, ‘I think I will have that drink.’ Buster…? She really had to cut down on her intake of gangster movies.

‘Is that such a good idea?’ he asked, wondering about the man who had let her go. Clearly not very bright, that went without saying, but what had attracted Maggie to this loser and did he still have all his limbs intact?

She might look like Angelina, but Angelina’s daughter had definitely missed out on the statuesque calm gene; she was a real firebrand and bolshy with it, he thought, unable to repress the flicker of admiration.

Ignoring him, Maggie walked across to the bureau and picked up the glass. Surprised by the weight of the antique lead crystal, she weighed it in her hand before she lifted it in a silent toast. Rafael watched one brow raised, as fifty-year-old vintage brandy vanished down her throat on one gulp.

‘That must have hurt.’

Maggie lifted a hand to her throat, feeling the burn all the way down to her stomach. ‘It still is,’ she admitted, covering her mouth politely as she coughed.

Rafael found himself laughing. He went from being furious with her to enchanted. She really was delicious and not like any woman he had ever encountered. It was as if the less she tried to please him, the more he was fascinated.

‘Do they actually let you out without a keeper?’

‘Time off for good, possibly angelic behaviour. You know what my mistake was?’ The burn, she realised, had become a glow settling warmly in the pit of her stomach.

‘I know I will probably regret asking this, but what was your mistake, Maggie Ward?’

‘I thought I could become another person just like that.’ She snapped her fingers to illustrate her point. ‘But you can’t… I should have started with a motorbike or a tattoo…with you I was…’ She watched him shake his head in utter confusion but didn’t try to explain—he’d never understand. ‘You’ve got to keep it real and know your limits.’

Rafael, to whom real was fast becoming a dim and distant memory, took the half-full glass from her hand. The scary part was she was still well under the legal limit. ‘And I am not real?’

‘You’re a mistake,’ she admitted. ‘Jumping in the deep end. I wanted to prove to Simon… Millie, my mum…no, myself…’ She looked shocked by the admission and sat down abruptly. ‘I really don’t know what I was or am doing…a lot of things have been going on in my life just lately.’ And he really wants to know this, Maggie, she admonished herself.

‘Sometimes the past is better left undisturbed.’ He could see how delving into a background, searching for roots, might make a person question their life.

Maggie lifted her eyes, a little bemused by the intensity of his fixed regard.

Did he think she had a past? She almost wished she did have. Either way, she wasn’t about to admit she was actually a blank boring page, especially when it came to men and sex.

God, I don’t want to die a virgin.

She tried to think of a suitably enigmatic response and blurted, ‘But doesn’t the past make us what we are?’ His past had to be littered with glamorous, beautiful women.

‘I like to look forward, not back.’ And when he looked back on tonight, would it be with regret?

Regret that he had resisted the temptation that was driving him slowly out of his mind? Or regret because he had ignored the nagging voice of his conscience?

Did he want her so much because she was out of bounds? he speculated. And why was she out of bounds? What had changed between first seeing her and now? They were two consenting adults—why should they not enjoy each other?

‘What were you thinking when I came in? You looked very deep in thought.’

‘Isn’t that looking backwards?’

‘Touché!’

Her eyes slid of their own volition to the sensual curve of his sculpted lips.

Simon had never made her feel attractive.

The way Rafael had looked at her when they’d met, she had felt more aware of her femininity than Simon had made her feel in four years.

‘You have a very impressive home.’ He was a very impressive man.

‘Are you changing the subject?’

‘Yes.’

He released a laugh. Maggie tilted her head back as he got to his feet, and shuffled to the far end of the sofa as he sat down beside her.

‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Better, but a bit…’ Her voice died to a whisper when he reached across and trailed a finger down her cheek. ‘Near-death experiences will do that.’

She felt intense relief mingled with troubling regret when his hand fell away. ‘I just keep thinking what if I hadn’t met you tonight?’

Was she wondering about the confrontation with her birth mother? For the first time he considered today from Maggie’s point of view.

She might have dreaded the meeting. It might have taken her weeks to work herself up to the moment and, perhaps not fully committed, still wondering if she was doing the right thing, she had stepped back.

Was she regretting it now? Was she wishing she had not allowed herself to be diverted?

‘If you hadn’t brought me there, would those children have.?’ She shook her head.

He watched a visible shudder pass through her body and realised it was another ‘what if’ that was plaguing her.

‘They are fine, you are fine.’ A nerve in his lean jaw jerked as the slow-motion replay of the event in his head reached the moment when he had thought she would not be fine. ‘You can’t live your life thinking what if.’ he continued hoarsely.

Maggie turned her head, their eyes meshed and Maggie felt some of the tension leave her body. She sighed slowly and nodded and said, ‘But what if…?’

He loosed a husky laugh and lifted a finger to her lips. ‘Enough.’

It wasn’t the firm admonition that silenced Maggie, but the confusing combination of sensations that was coursing through her body.

His thumb stayed at the corner of her mouth, his eyes sealed to hers; the air was thick with an almost electrical charge that made it hard for her to breathe.

He leaned into her close, very close, but not touching. Her heavy lids half closed as she swayed closer as though drawn by some invisible thread that connected her to him. ‘Your skin smells.’ He exhaled and she felt his brandy-scented breath on her cheek.

He stopped and she thought, Bad…good? Say something…do something…touch me.

‘It’s late. We should go to bed.’ He had never in his life felt a need so raw, so primal to possess a woman.

She gave a fractured sigh. Her heart rate quickened but her body relaxed. It seemed right. ‘Yes.’

He met her eyes shining with promise and trust and he heard himself say, ‘Perhaps this is not a good idea.’

She felt her smile slide off her face, and flinched as if he’d just thrown cold water in her face. Not water, Maggie, just a reality check. This is what happens when you start thinking you’re irresistible.

She lifted her chin. ‘I am a bit tired.’ She gave an artistic yawn to demonstrate the point, then spoilt the pretence by adding, ‘I’m not drunk, you know.’

‘I know you’re not.’ Scruples, he decided, were very overrated and painful, and what would be achieved by depriving them both of an experience that would, he knew, be pleasurable?

She felt the mortified heat reach her cheeks. To have one man politely excuse himself from her bed was one thing; two. There had to be something seriously wrong with her.

‘This day started quite well, and this may sound dramatic but it really is turning into the worst day of my life. You’ll laugh, but actually I thought…’ She stopped, shook her head. He wasn’t laughing; he was staring at her with a fixed intensity that she was not going to mistake for blind lust. ‘I really do feel like an idiot.’

‘You’re not an idiot.’ He took hold of her elbows and looked down into her heart-shaped face, gazing deep into her liquid dark eyes. ‘But you do have a smudge on your nose…right there,’ he said, kissing the spot.

Do not read anything into it, Maggie… ‘It’s fine—you don’t fancy me…perfectly understandable…look, you’re not the first man to be able to resist me. I’m not going to take it personally. I’m not really—’

‘Shut up!’ He hooked a finger under her chin and he captured her eyes and like a primal blast the blaze of hunger in his drove the air from Maggie’s lungs in one shocked gasp.

She melted, paralysed by a combination of raw lust and desperate longing, unable to catch her breath; her fingers closed around the hard muscles of his upper arms.

‘Do you want to spend the night alone, Maggie?’

Maggie’s eyes closed as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her body twisting and arching as she tried to insinuate herself closer. ‘No,’ she whispered against his mouth. Then she opened her eyes, looked at his lean dark face so close to her own, and said, ‘No!’

He smiled at the defiant declaration, a slow, predatory smile that sent her stomach into a spasm of raw excitement. The tension in the air between them thickened; it shimmered.

‘Neither do I.’