The song ended suddenly, and Susannah found herself fidgeting and glancing every which way, to avoid the sight of the flushed and excited dancers returning to the table.
Dominic gave his wife a sensual kiss. Amado eased Fiona back into her chair.
Then he walked over to her.
“Your turn.”
“I don’t know how to tango.”
“No matter.” He held out his hand.
“Seriously, I’ll look like a fool.”
“If you dance, you might look like a fool. If you sit there in your chair and miss all the fun, everyone will know you’re a fool.” His eyes glittered a challenge.
She rose to her feet, damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Amado hooked his arm around her waist, and practically carried her onto the small dance floor. Already at least fifteen other couples swirled to the music.
“But I…”
Amado silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Don’t think. Just listen to the music.” He leaned in close, his breath hot on her ear. “Listen to your body. Dance with me.”
Her belly tightened in response to the sensual rasp of his voice. She drew in a shaky breath.
Her black wrap dress had a long slit down the back of the bodice, and he slid his fingers inside it. Her eyes widened. Surely he didn’t want the others to know they were intimate?
He pulled her close until her body was almost crushed against his.
Almost.
A scant half-inch of superheated space separated their hips. He inclined his head until his cheek was almost touching hers and she could anticipate the slight roughness of his skin.
He took her other hand and held it lightly in his, then he stepped forward, into her.
Instinctively she stepped back, and he turned, whirling them half around. Then he stepped back. His hand on her waist pulled her with him, and she placed her toes between his. Forward and back, around, his hands and the movements of his feet guided her through the throng of dancers.
The music, taut and rhythmic, strung the air with tension. It thrummed in her body as time and again she stepped into Amado’s embrace, anticipating his body heat. Then he pulled away, leaving a tiny ache.
He drew her with him, leading her on a sensual journey that never quite reached its end.
Occasionally, he did one wicked move where he stepped between her legs, parting them, overtly sexual.
Then he would step back and draw her into an elegant turn, as if nothing had happened.
Energy snapped between them, stinging her skin with adrenaline and tightening her nipples inside her thin dress.
I’m dancing. Astonishment rippled through her as they moved across the floor, weaving through the elegant tangueros like they did this every night.
It felt as complicated, as astonishing, as natural as…
Sex.
The song ended. Susannah’s heart pounded as Amado lifted her hand and kissed it.
The perfect gentleman.
He led her back to the table without a word, giving her nothing but the sight of his arrogant profile.
Susannah sank into her chair, aching with freshly inflamed desire. Amado sipped his drink and gracefully accepted Fiona’s gushing compliments. He laughed and said that no, he’d never taken lessons. His first girlfriend—older than he—had taught him everything he needed to know.
Susannah was jealous of her, too.
She laughed off Fiona’s tight-lipped compliments, giving full credit to Amado.
Apparently he could make her do anything. In his hands, she turned into someone else. Someone wilder, more natural, more alive.
If she hadn’t met him, she’d probably never have found out that she was capable of heights of embarrassing ecstasy in the bedroom. Of an exquisite, lust-laden tango in a crowded room.
And she still wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that she did know.
She survived two more breath-stealing, blood-heating dances with him. Then he kissed her good-night, a chaste lip on her cheek, and said goodbye.
She went home alone, her body throbbing and aching with unspent desire.
No problem. He’d kept their secret. She’d keep her job.
Get back to her normal life. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
Seven
He’d been gone three days. No goodbye, no warning, just gone.
Susannah was curled up in the armchair in her apartment. On the sofa, her best friend Suki sat with her arms wrapped around her long legs. “Sweetheart, you look…haunted.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Susannah leaped to her feet and swept into her tiny kitchen to put on the kettle.
“It’s that wine grower, isn’t it?”
“They’re called vintners.”
“Hah. See? You’re not even denying it.”
“Chamomile or lemon ginger?”
“What rakish choices. I see you’ve sworn off caffeine. Aren’t you worried the ginger will be too stimulating?” She winked.
Susannah crossed her hands over her chest and glared at Suki. “What kind of friend are you?”
“The annoying kind who won’t let you tell me everything’s fine when it obviously isn’t. Ever since you went to Argentina, you’ve been acting strange. Your cheeks are hollow and your eyes have a strange gleam to them.”
“Maybe I picked up a fever on my travels.”
“There’s no doubt about that. I’m just trying to learn a little more about the man who gave it to you. Is he devastatingly handsome?”
Susannah walked across the room and collapsed on the sofa next to her friend with a sigh. “Yes. I’m afraid he is.”
“Oh, no. They’re the worst.” Suki winced.
Tall, blond, blue-eyed, with perfectly chiseled features and a rosy complexion, Suki had the kind of beauty that made heads swivel when she entered a room. Her stunning looks also attracted the worst cads and users known to mankind. Her romantic advice to the far-less-experienced Susannah usually consisted of heartfelt cautions.
“Did you sleep with him already, or did he turn you into a zombie with just a kiss?”
“I slept with him.” Susannah stared at the wood floor. “It seemed like an okay idea. A fun vacation fling. You know, the kind everyone has.” She glanced up.
“You’re not everyone.” Suki clucked her tongue. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You warned me Argentine men think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“Apparently you’ve had the misfortune to find one who actually is. At least, if that feverish glitter in your eye is anything to go by.”
Susannah bit her lip. “He’s an amazing lover.”
“That’s not everything, you know. He probably can’t string two thoughts together if they’re not about wine.”
Susannah sighed. “I wish. I shared an overnight flight with him and he has interesting opinions about all sorts of things. He’s a real thinker.”
“Just like you.” Suki narrowed her eyes.
“He’s not like me. As I said, he’s gorgeous. He probably has women falling all over him every week. He certainly knows how to drive a woman wild. He gave me a foot massage that made me putty in his hands.”
Suki’s eyes widened. “People into feet are kinky.”
Susannah frowned. “It didn’t feel kinky at all. It felt…generous. He seemed to genuinely enjoy taking care of me. Making me feel at home. He used that phrase a lot.”
“Oh, boy. He does sound dangerous.” Suki looked fascinated. “And he’s your boss’s son?”
“Biological son, yes.” She blew out a breath. “I really didn’t think he would be, or I would never have—you know.”
“That is a bit unfortunate, isn’t it? Still, it’ll mean he’s loaded.”
“Like I care about that? Besides, he’s made a success of his own vineyard. He doesn’t need Tarrant Hardcastle’s money.”
“Sweetheart, everyone needs Tarrant Hardcastle’s money.”
“I don’t.”
“Ouch.” The kettle started to whistle and Susannah jumped up to get it, glad of the distraction. “I took the job because I like to travel.”
“You like to keep moving so you don’t have to deal with anyone for more than a few days.”
“Nonsense.”
“Is it? Why do you like to travel so much? You’ve spent your whole life moving from place to place. I’d think you’d be dying to settle down for a change.”
“Perhaps I just haven’t found the right place to settle yet.” She poured the hot water over two chamomile tea bags. Nice and soothing.
An image of mountains crept into her consciousness. Snowcapped and silent, standing sentry over rows and rows of lush, tenderly cared for vines.
It’s a special place.
Her own words came back to haunt her.
No wonder she looked haunted.
If Amado was a ghost, she could get him exorcised from her imagination. She wouldn’t be tormented by the memory of his fingers on her skin, his lips at her throat. By the sensation of him moving deep inside her, slow and powerful…
“Helloooooo, did you hear a word I just said?”
“What?”
“Oh, dear. So when are you going back to visit him?”
“Never, as far as I know. He went back three days ago and didn’t even call to say goodbye. The last time I saw him was when we tangoed together.”
She stirred the tea, banging the spoon against the china. Tears threatened and she swallowed hard to shove them back down.
“A fun vacation fling with the boss’s son.” Suki shook her head. “I guess it might be better if you didn’t see him again. Jobs like yours don’t grow on trees. Or grape vines.”
“I know,” she managed. “I need to get a grip. I have a trip to South Africa to reschedule.” She put the spoon on the counter. “And Tarrant wants to see me in his office tomorrow.”
Suki raised a brow. “Uh-oh.”
“Your mission is to draw Amado into the fold.” Tarrant leaned forward and picked up a gold-plated pen from his neat mahogany desk.
Susannah felt a painful throb start somewhere at the base of her skull.
“I want concrete ties with his estate. I want him excited to do business with us. There will be a handsome bonus in it for you.”
He scribbled something on a piece of paper, then handed it to her.
A check. For ten thousand dollars.
Her mouth fell open.
“I’m very pleased with the work you’ve done so far.” Tarrant leaned back into his chair. “Delighted, in fact. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty.”
Susannah froze. Had Amado told him she’d slept with him to get the DNA? He was angry with her and Tarrant and…everyone. Who knew how he might lash out?
“I know you’ve had to reschedule trips and reorganize your calendar to fly to Argentina twice at a moment’s notice. Don’t think I take that for granted.”
Susannah realized that the hand holding the check had started to shake. She snatched it into her lap.
Tarrant looked much healthier than he had the previous week and his face beamed with uncomplicated cheer. She suspected he didn’t know about the affair. If he did, he wouldn’t order her to go back down there. Would he?
Her stomach churned. Did Amado even want to see her again?
He’d invited her to his Manhattan hotel room and driven her wild with pleasure, his passion almost angry in its intensity. On the tango expedition, he’d tormented her into a state of tortured arousal—only to peck her good-night on the cheek.
And that was that. She found out third-hand he’d returned to Argentina.
Without saying goodbye.
She shrank into her chair, the enormous check clutched in her sweating hand. Blood money, in a literal sense. She was paid for retrieving Amado’s genetic material. For cornering him and bringing him back here.
And now she had to shove herself down his throat again?
Hey, guess what, I’m back!
She could always quit her job right now. Hand the check back and retain the last pathetic shreds of her dignity.
But then she would certainly never see Amado again.
Those final tatters fell silently to the carpet as she nodded. “I’ll arrange a return trip for next week. Which wines were you hoping to secure for our cellars?”
“All of them.”
Astride his horse, Amado watched from the hillside. The small white car approaching the house could be carrying only one person.
He knew because his skin prickled with awareness.
Susannah.
His horse pranced sideways and he lost sight of her as she entered the avenue of cypress.
No need to rush back. She’d be waiting for him when he arrived.
He’d instructed Rosa to put her in Marisa’s old room. The whole house was suddenly haunted by the ghosts of the past. Surely it was only right that Susannah get more intimately acquainted with them?
Ignacio hadn’t spoken to him since his trip to New York. Or was it he who hadn’t spoken to Ignacio? Now that Ignacio’s deception was revealed, Amado found himself questioning the man’s authority over any aspect of his life.
Old wounds had broken open and festered in the sour air of mistrust.
And Susannah was to blame.
She’d reawakened feelings he hadn’t experienced since Ignacio drove away the woman he loved more than ten years ago. Valentina taught him to dance and taught him to love. But she hadn’t been a suitable wife for a son of Ignacio Alvarez.
Amado issued a curse that rang in the air. What a joke.
When she left, he tried to follow her but she’d turned him away. She’d implied that she didn’t want him without the estate.
Proud and angry, he’d returned home, thrown himself into his work and moved on.
Now he wondered how much Ignacio’s little misguided attempt to save the family honor had cost Valentina, as well as himself.
He hadn’t lived as a monk in the years since. He enjoyed the company of women. Loved to cherish and pleasure them, savor a delicious tango between the sheets, then leave them with a smile on their face.
Until now. Something about Susannah scratched beneath the surface and left him aching.
She could dance and make love with him, then glance coolly at him as if he meant nothing to her.
Irritation coiled in his gut, interlaced with longing. He hated the power she had over him. That he lay awake at night hungering for the touch of her skin.
He’d like nothing better than to see that icy demeanor melt in the heat of desire. He enjoyed a flicker of satisfaction at the prospect of seducing her. Just because he could.
By the time he climbed the steps to the house, the setting sun bathed the land in a fiery glow that matched his mood. Inside, he pulled off his gloves. Found himself smelling the air, testing it for her presence.
She was here.
A subtle floral scent. Jasmine and a hint of citrus.
He ignored the heat and tension rising in his limbs.
No sign of her in the living room. He heard Rosa moving in the kitchen, but no sound of conversation.
He finally spotted Susannah standing on the terrace. He hesitated a moment, watching her through the closed glass doors. The red ball of the sun hung at the ridgeline of the mountains. Almost a silhouette, she stared out into the distance, slim and fragile against the harsh backdrop. A breeze pressed the skirt of her dress against her long legs.
Why did she always wear a skirt? To torment him with what he couldn’t see?
He flung open the doors. “Susannah.”
She spun around. Her face lit up, and a smile started to spread across it. Then she hesitated and he watched her get control of her features. “Hello, Amado.”
Her big brown eyes looked up at him. Wary.
And so she should be.
He lifted her hand and kissed it,
cavalier style. “The pleasure, once again, is all mine.”
She flushed. Sweet. And so predictable.
She had no control over her attraction to him.
The thought gave him a vicious ripple of satisfaction. She might wish to put him behind her—a job well done—but he wouldn’t let her.
Not until he was done with her. Which was the reason he’d left her hungry and aroused in New York. They had unfinished business.
She tucked a long lock of dark hair behind her ear. “How are your parents? I haven’t seen them yet.”
“My parents? You’re forgetting that my mother is dead and you’ve just left my father in New York.”
She swallowed. “I mean, Ignacio and Clara.”
“They are still living.” Why should he make it easy for her?
Today she wore a blue-and-white patterned dress. She favored styles from the 1930s and 1940s. Tailored jackets. Dresses fitted enough to show her slenderness, but not tight or suggestive. Necklines that revealed her delicate collarbones but nothing else.
As always, she was perfect. Irresistible. Desire swept through him like a sickness.
He took a step toward her, invading her space. “Ignacio no longer calls me ‘my son’ as he used to.” He let his gaze linger on the curve of her cheekbone, painted pink by the setting sun.
“It must be hard.”
“Yes.”
Let her pure heart fill with pity for him. A sympathetic woman could be very…giving. And he looked forward to taking everything she had to give.
“And Clara? How is she taking it?”
“Like a mother who has lost her child.”
Now, he did look away. The pained expression on Susannah’s face cut to his heart. Poor Clara hadn’t been herself since his true parentage came to light. Pale and harried, she kept her distance from him, ashamed by her decades-long collusion in a lie that shaped all their lives. She hadn’t been to the house in a week.
“Do you think that perhaps she’d come to believe the lie? That she’d almost forgotten she didn’t give birth to you?”
He frowned. “Possibly.” It had never crossed his mind that Clara wasn’t his true mother. She’d never betrayed a single clue.
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