Читать книгу The Spaniard's Pleasure: The Spaniard's Pregnancy Proposal / At the Spaniard's Convenience / Taken: the Spaniard's Virgin - Ким Лоренс, Маргарет Майо - Страница 10

THERE was a raging fire where his lungs were meant to be. Antonio almost welcomed the pain that reminded him he was alive. For a moment there he had really thought that he was going to black out before he reached the surface.

It had only been the knowledge that if he didn’t make it neither did Tamara that had enabled him to hold the blackness back.

He gasped greedily for air to replenish his oxygen-deprived lungs while simultaneously treading water and blinking the water from his eyes. His hand shook as he touched Tamara’s cold face. Her eyelashes lay like dark curtains against the waxy grey pallor of her smooth young cheeks.

Praying harder than he had ever done in his life, he tilted her head back and breathed into her mouth…once, twice, and then again, pausing each time to feel for a pulse. His efforts were rewarded with a soft flutter under his fingers.

Rolling onto his back and supporting Tamara’s body with his own, he cupped her chin, drawing her face clear of the water and, digging deep into his reserves, he kicked for shore. He had gone maybe twenty feet when he became aware of someone beside him. It was the young woman minus her dog.

‘Is she breathing?’

He nodded. With her mane of hair floating in the water around her face she reminded him of an anxious mermaid. Didn’t mermaids lure a man to his doom? This one seemed to be trying to help.

She swam up beside him. ‘Let me…?’

Not wasting his breath on a reply, Antonio allowed her to support part of Tamara’s weight. Together they swam towards the shallows towing the girl between them.

As they reached the muddy bank Antonio hefted Tamara’s limp body into his arms. His eyes left his daughter’s face for a second in order to say, breathlessly but imperatively, ‘An ambulance.’

Following him, Fleur panted. ‘I already called before…’

‘Before you jumped in the lake.’

She was conscious of a tiny glow of pleasure as he flashed her a look of warm approval. Later on she was going to have to remind herself that she shouldn’t want his approval, but right now there were more important things to think about.

Choosing a clear patch of grass Antonio laid down his burden.

‘Tamara, can you hear me?’

In response the girl rolled onto her side and retched over and over until her stomach was empty. Antonio watched, feeling totally helpless as she then began to cry.

‘I expect that was a good thing,’ Fleur, her teeth chattering, observed as she retrieved the cardigan she’d pulled off before she’d gone into the water.

She dropped down onto her knees beside Antonio and, easing the shaking girl’s head onto her lap, tucked the dry cardigan tight around her trembling body. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.

‘You’ll be fine,’ she said, hoping it was the truth. Actually the girl looked pretty awful, but the scary blue tinge around her lips had lessened.

‘Tamara,’ the tall Spaniard supplied huskily. ‘My daughter.’

‘That’s a nice name,’ Fleur said, rubbing the girl’s cold hands in between her own. Either he was a lot older than he looked or he had started a family when he was very young. She had never heard a wife mentioned so she assumed that this girl was a child from a previous relationship.

He shook his head, sending silver water droplets spraying everywhere. ‘And I am Antonio Rochas…’ He ran a hand over his wet face and managed to look more vital than any man who had just had a near-death experience had a right to.

Did he really think she didn’t know who he was?

‘Fleur Stewart.’

She looked at him through the mesh of her wet lashes. Like hers his body was shaken by intermittent tremors, which became more obvious as he shrugged his way out of his drenched jacket.

His shirt and jeans clung like a second skin to his chest and belly, delineating his superb physique. If he had been carrying even an ounce of surplus flesh on his long, lean frame it would have shown, but it didn’t and he wasn’t. He was grey-hound-lean six feet five of hard male muscle. A flash of heat washed over the surface of her chilled body.

Dragging her eyes clear of the spectacle of male beauty, Fleur turned back to the distressed girl, appalled and deeply ashamed that she could notice something like lean, muscle-packed contours at a moment like this, let alone react to it. The dog beside her whined and as she absently patted him. Fleur experienced a flash of inspiration.

‘Come here, Sandy,’ she encouraged, holding out her hand.

‘What are you doing?’

‘That’s it, good boy,’ she crooned approvingly to the dog as he curled up beside the girl. ‘Sandy’s warm and she’s cold. I’d offer her my body heat but I don’t think I have any.’

‘Good dog,’ he said.

‘Be careful!’ Fleur stopped as to her amazement her man-hating pet licked the male fingers that tickled his ears. ‘Fickle animal.’

The complaint made his lips twitch, but a moment later his forehead was creased with worry as he looked down at Tamara. ‘Perhaps I should take her back to the house. When you rang you told the emergency services our location…?’

‘Yes, of course.’

His eyes narrowed as he visualised the route they would take. ‘They’ll come along the track from the house,’ he predicted, looking with a frown around the tree-fringed clearing. ‘We should get out of here and meet them there.’

Fleur nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ she admitted. The change in his manner now that he had a purpose was noticeable.

It was obvious to Fleur that Antonio Rochas was not the type of person who enjoyed sitting back waiting for things to happen. He was the sort of man who made things happen and relished being in charge of a situation…definitely not a relaxing person to be around.

But then maybe not relaxing worked. She had never read a financial page in her life and even Fleur knew that people who knew about such things spoke his name with awe and envy.

The Rochas family name had already been synonymous with the international hotel group of the same name, but after this man had taken over the firm after his father’s death it had broadened its scope, acquiring amongst other things an airline and a newspaper.

All were now incredibly successful.

‘I don’t want…’ the girl began fretfully as her father scooped her up into his arms.

‘Right now I don’t much care what you want, Tamara. Madre mía, what were you doing going out in that boat anyway when you can’t swim?’

‘I c…can swim. I lost the oar and I was trying to reach it when I fell in. There were reeds and stuff in the bottom—my leg got stuck.’

‘She’s upset; there’s no need to be so brutal,’ Fleur admonished. ‘After an experience like that—’

‘After an experience like that,’ he cut in grimly. ‘it’s to be hoped she has learnt her lesson. But based on past experience I don’t think I’ll hold my breath.’

‘You poor thing…it’s all right now,’ Fleur soothed as the girl started weeping. Noticing for the first time the lines of strain bracketing her father’s overtly sensual mouth, Fleur realised that the girl wasn’t the only one who had had a bad experience.

It didn’t take long for them to exit the wooded area. The only problem with being in the open was that it was more exposed to the elements. The wind was light but it cut through Fleur’s wet clothes with the viciousness of a sharp blade.

The minutes ticked by and Antonio began to pace up and down pausing intermittently in order to stare impatiently up the track. He reminded Fleur irresistibly of a sleek caged jungle cat, so graceful to watch that it almost hurt.

‘Where are they…?’ He angled an accusing glare at Fleur.

‘Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,’ she soothed, tolerant of being spoken to as if it were her fault only because she recognised his aggression for what it was. He was worried sick about his daughter.

‘Don’t worry!’ he echoed. ‘This is my daughter lying here! Do you have any idea—’ He broke off and, jamming both hands into his saturated hair, let his head fall forward.

Fleur listened to the harsh sound of his laboured breathing and her throat ached with sympathy.

Frowning, Antonio lifted his head and scanned her face. The indentation above his masterful nose deepened. ‘Do you have a child?’

The unexpected question made Fleur stiffen. She made a mental note that his perception was uncomfortably acute and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

Before Antonio had an opportunity to wonder about the stricken expression he had glimpsed in her wide-spaced eyes he heard the sound of an engine. Relief swept over him. A moment later the ambulance came into view.

‘I’m c-cold.’

Fleur, who could readily identify with the girl’s complaint, watched as her father dropped gracefully down on his knees beside her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he soothed, taking her hands between his. ‘The ambulance is here. You’ll be fine now.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch.

The ambulance team were smooth and efficient. Fleur stood back to let them get on with their job. Antonio joined her, his expression grave as he watched the men strap his daughter to a stretcher.

After they had loaded their patient the paramedic stood to one side to let Antonio enter the ambulance.

‘No! I don’t want him in here.’ The youthful voice rose as she added in obvious agitation, ‘Make him go away! I won’t have him near me. He’s not my father.’

‘I am her father.’

Nobody argued with him.

‘No, he’s kidnapped me! I want to go home, I want my real dad!’

A tense silence followed this startling and vitriolic outburst.

Fleur watched the medic direct a cautious look at Antonio, who stood there looking as flexible as a rock face. The man then exchanged a look with his partner. A look that seemed to say, If he wants to get in, there’s not a lot we can do to stop him.

He cleared his throat and offered a tactful smile. ‘It might be better not to…she’s—’ he began.

‘I understand,’ Antonio cut in. ‘I will follow.’ His expression was blank as he stepped away from the door.

The other man looked relieved.

Antonio’s expression remained inscrutable as they closed the doors and drew away, lights flashing, but Fleur was assuming that he’d had better days.

Drawing the blanket the ambulance driver had given her when she had promised him she didn’t need medical attention around her shoulders, Fleur shivered.

Her tall companion, who continued to stared fixedly into the distance, remained oblivious to the fact she was one step away from hypothermia. She had a strong suspicion he had forgotten she was there. Which, given what had just passed, was hardly surprising.

She told herself it was none of her business. But of course she was curious—who wouldn’t be…?

Finally she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. She was losing feeling in her fingers. She cleared her throat. ‘That was quite a rescue.’

At the sound of her voice he spun around.

For a brief moment his expression was unveiled. The awful bleakness she glimpsed in his eyes was so shocking that Fleur actually found herself feeling sorry for him, which, considering the fact just looking at him made her skin crawl with antipathy—and other things, but she didn’t want to go there—was nothing short of amazing.

‘If you lose all your money you’d make a very good life-guard.’

His incredible electric-blue eyes narrowed. ‘You’re still here,’ he said flatly.

It was always good, she thought wryly, to make an impression.

‘Where did you think I’d gone?’ The spasmodic clenching of the muscles along his strong jaw line was the only clue that he wasn’t quite as together as he looked. He really did have an incredible face, she thought with an inward sigh of appreciation as she admired bone structure that was simply sublime.

‘I suppose it’s difficult being a part-time father.’

‘I am not a part-time father.’

No but you are a total pain. Still, he was having a bad day. ‘When I was a kid, and I was mad with my parents, I used to fantasise that I was adopted.’

He turned his head; his blue eyes were flat and unfriendly as they fixed on her. ‘Is that meant to offer me comfort?’ The sardonic contempt in his cold smile made her feel totally stupid for caring.

She was totally stupid for caring.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,’ she promised grimly. ‘It’s none of my business that your daughter hates you.’

Perhaps he should smile at the girl more, Fleur thought, recalling that fleeting moment when she had been on the receiving end of his approval. A smile like that was a definite unfair advantage, a weapon. Which begged the question: why didn’t he use it instead of resorting to caustic comments and dark scowls?

‘I do not like people who interfere in my affairs.’

‘Then I’ll just have to learn to live without your love…a blow,’ she admitted, determined to establish herself as hard and uncaring. ‘But those, as they say, are the breaks.’

He ignored her sarcasm and studied her face for a moment. Then to her surprise some of the hauteur died from his expression. ‘Just keep out of my head, little girl.’

‘Believe me, it’s one of the last places I would want to go.’

One side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile. ‘You look cold.’

And you look almost human. ‘I thought you’d never notice.’ Fleur clenched her chattering teeth and wished she shared his indifference to the cold. ‘The blue tinge is the clue.’ Just how cold did you have to get before hypothermia set in?

‘I must get to the hospital to be with Tamara.’ He slid her an assessing look. ‘If you can keep up with me someone will get you dry things and give you a ride home. Or if you prefer I will have the Range Rover sent back for you.’

‘I can keep up. And so can he,’ she said, nodding to the dog who sat curled up at his feet.

Antonio looked openly sceptical of her claim. ‘Well, if you can’t don’t expect me to wait for you,’ he warned.

Fleur smiled as though a hike in wet clothes was just the sort of challenge she enjoyed on her birthday. ‘And I won’t wait for you,’ she promised.

She soon discovered that he had really meant it when he had said he wasn’t making any concessions. Fleur had to quite literally jog to keep up with him. Five minutes later when the lights of the Grange came into view she was panting.

As the house was hidden from the public road down a mile-long private drive this was the first time she had seen it. It was not what she had expected.

‘I thought it would be older.’ The sprawling building she was looking at was large and impressive, but it didn’t seem especially ancient.

‘The original house dated back to the fifteenth century; it burnt down at the turn of the century. All that’s left of the old house are the cellars. The present house was commissioned by my mother’s grandfather,’ Antonio explained as he waited with obvious impatience for her to negotiate a rocky outcrop.

Fleur fell behind as he covered the last hundred metres and by the time she walked through the impressive front door Antonio was already running up the curved staircase that dominated the entrance hall.

It was all a bit of a blur. There were lights everywhere, he was yelling in two languages and people were scurrying.

A middle-aged woman urged Fleur towards the sweeping staircase and said with a smile, ‘I’ll be right with you.’

A very short time later Fleur was still standing there in the echoey yet thankfully warm hallway when Antonio reappeared, rubbing his wet sable hair with a towel. He had obviously dressed in a hurry—the leather belt of his jeans was unfastened and his shirt hung open.

She swallowed, her eyes drawn irresistibly to the exposed golden flesh. Averting her eyes quickly—but not quickly enough to prevent her stomach muscles from going crazy—she cleared her throat.

He noticed her, frowned, and then looked annoyed. ‘Why has no one attended to you?’

‘I expect they were busy.’ Busy responding to the steady stream of instructions he had issued as he had athletically bounded up the stairs.

‘Busy…?’ he repeated with a displeased frown. ‘This is totally unacceptable…’ He looked around the deserted hallway and raised his voice.

‘Mrs Saunders!’

Great projection. Great voice too, if you like husky velvet with that sexy foreign inflection and, let’s face it, who wouldn’t? Her restless gaze returned of its own volition to his taut belly ridged by muscle and textured with a light sprinkling of dark hair. She swallowed as a lustful lick of heat warmed the centre of her chilled body—actually great everything!

‘Mrs Saunders!’

‘My God, I’m glad I don’t work for you.’ Especially if he made a habit of walking around semi-clothed, she thought, studying the painting above his head.

He turned his head and gave a sardonic smile. ‘On this subject we are in total agreement.’

‘Look, you go,’ she encouraged. Or at least put on some more clothes. ‘There’s absolutely no point hanging around. All I need is a dry set of clothes and my dog back, if that is possible,’ she added, directing a wry glance towards the animal at his feet. ‘Traitor,’ she inserted reproachfully as she shook her head.

She was going to have to have a quiet word with that faithless hound and explain the facts of life to him. Antonio Rochas wouldn’t look twice at a dog without a pedigree any more than he would look twice at a woman who lacked catwalk good looks. For people like him appearances were everything. The sudden realisation that she was displaying the exact characteristics she was condemning him for drew a husky laugh from her throat.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she looked up and found he was watching her.

‘It’s nothing,’ she provided. ‘I was just thinking…’

‘Happy thoughts, it would seem.’

‘Not exactly. Look, why don’t you just get along to the hospital? I’ll be fine. I hope your daughter makes a full recovery.’ Hopefully her nervous system would do the same once he was safely out of the way.

Antonio inclined his head in response and was actually turning away when he froze. Inexplicably he appeared to be studying the floor.

Under his tan he had gone pale.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, looking at her incredulously. ‘You’re standing in a pool of blood.’