The Latin Affair

by Sophie Weston

  Esteban leaned forward. ‘So where is your family life centred?’

  ‘I live alone,’ she said unexpansively.

  His eyes flickered, registering the information. But he was much too subtle to pursue it

  ‘OK. So where was your family life centred when you were a child?’

  Nicky hesitated. Then realised it would not betray her if she told him the truth.

  ‘On a boat,’ she said briefly.

  Hundreds of children lived on boats, after all.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, as if he had been given the answer to a question he had not asked.

  Nicky’s eyes flew to his face in alarm. He saw it. His eyebrows went up.

  ‘So that’s how you know Martin de Vries,’ he explained slowly. ‘What did you think I meant?’

  She did not answer.

  He went on idly, ‘In fact I met him through a yacht club myself. Maybe that’s where we’ve met before.’

  ‘No!’ It was a strangled sound, frankly appalled.

  ‘Why are you so jumpy?’ Esteban leaned forward and took her chin in his hand, turning it towards him to scan her face in the firelight. ‘Are you hiding a guilty secret?’ It was lightly said but his face was serious.

  Nicky jumped to her feet.

  She said at random, ‘I didn’t know you and Martin were old friends.’

  He did not move. But Nicky could feel him watching her measuringly.

  Then he said slowly, ‘We’re not. My stepfather chose him to do the kitchen. De Vries built a catamaran for him years ago. Frankly it was a relief that Dad was taking an interest in anything. I just accepted it.’

  So for the time being he was willing to let her off the hook. She had a nasty suspicion it would not last.

  She said rapidly to deflect him, ‘I’m confused. Is it you or your stepfather who makes the decisions here?’

  He hesitated. Then shrugged.

  ‘Oh, what the hell? It’s no secret. Not round here anyway. If you go buying fuses in the village, you’ll find out soon enough. The decisions are mine.’

  Somehow Nicky was not surprised.

  ‘My stepfather is a wonderful man but he never quite caught up with modern economics.’ He sounded rueful. ‘In his day, money just flowed in without him having to do any vulgar calculations. These days I do the sums. And I pay the bills.’

  ‘That must be difficult for him,’ said Nicky with instinctive sympathy.

  Esteban looked surprised. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. Though I would have thought—No, never mind.’

  ‘Thought what?’ Nicky demanded, bristling, though she did not quite know at what.

  ‘Well, you don’t look as if you’ve ever had to count the pennies yourself.’

  ‘Then my looks belie me,’ Nicky said sharply. ‘I’ve counted the pennies. And worse.’

  Esteban was taken aback. ‘Worse?’

  ‘My father was hopeless with money too.’ Nicky was remembering too clearly. Unconsciously, her hands balled into fists. ‘We used to take tourists out scuba diving. Some of the kind ones used to leave exaggerated tips. We were so poor, people on other boats used to give us their casts-offs—sails, equipment, even clothes sometimes. My father used to swear and my mother used to cry but the truth was we couldn’t get by without them. I can understand your stepfather, believe me.’

  Esteban studied her. In the leaping firelight his eyes were deeply shadowed

  ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, I can see that you would.’

  Damn, thought Nicky. Why did I tell him that? But it was too late. The only thing she could do now was rush on before he could question her.

  ‘Having to be grateful all the time destroys you.’

  Esteban glared at that, distracted as she had somehow known he would be.

  ‘My stepfather does not have to be grateful,’ he snapped.

  ‘I bet that’s not how he sees it.’

  ‘My father rescued my mother from an impossible marriage and took me with her,’ Esteban said flatly. ‘Any gratitude goes in the other direction.’

  Then, quite suddenly, his anger evaporated. He laughed as if it was torn out of him.

  ‘I see why you don’t like dealing with clients. Do you always jump up and down on their sorest spots?’

  So she had successfully steered him away from the danger zone again. Feeling reprieved, Nicky came back to the fire and sank on to the edge of a leather chair.

  ‘The others say that I either tell the paying customers to make up their minds or yell at them to get out of my way.’ Suddenly she was full of mischief. ‘But you’re my first invasion of privacy, I promise.’

  Esteban’s expression stilled. ‘You should do that more often.’

  ‘What, dig into clients’ private lives?’

  ‘Smile.’ He leaned forward and touched one corner of her mouth. ‘It looks good on you. Like a girl coming out to play after too long.’

  Nicky felt as if the floor had given way under her. From relief she went to black panic. She thought, He knows.

  Then, No, he doesn’t know; of course he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to him who I am or where I come from, he thinks he can do whatever he likes with me—just as he did ten years ago. This is a game to him, just as I said it was. He has not changed a bit. She shut her eyes.

  He said softly, ‘You must know you’re a very sexy woman. A hundred times more so when you smile.’

  Nicky tensed until her jaw ached. She knew this scene. She had played it so often, most recently with Andrew Bolton. They spoke in that soft, intimate tone, they teased, they touched… They looked. A familiar slow dread began to build.

  She said harshly, ‘I suppose you think that’s a compliment.’

  There was a small silence. Then Esteban said slowly, ‘Well, I didn’t think it was something to be ashamed of.’

  Nicky’s eyes flew open.

  Frowning, he said, ‘What’s wrong?’

  She shook her head, unable to answer.

  Still in that tone of quiet reason, he said, ‘All I did was say you are attractive. What’s wrong with that?’

  Nicky felt like a wild animal being lured out of hiding by soft words she could not trust. Oh, no, she could not afford to trust Esteban Tremain, of all men.

  She swallowed. ‘What makes you think I want to be attractive?’ she said past the constriction in her throat.

  He stroked one finger along the line of her tense jaw. The movement was very gentle, very slow. It was hardly a touch at all. And totally intimate. Nicky thought, Not again.

  ‘Don’t you?’ he murmured.

  ‘No,’ she said, so fiercely she felt tears well up in her eyes.

  She wanted to push his hand away. But she did not trust herself to touch him. Instead she jerked her head back.

  The stroking finger paused, then moved again, rhythmically, hypnotically. She had to do something to break the spell. She had to.

  ‘What a waste.’ He sounded as if he had less than half his mind on what he was saying.

  She looked him squarely in the eye, her face a mask of irony. ‘Oh, please. Not that old line.’

  It angered him. His hand stilled against her cheek. ‘What a contrary creature you are.’

  Nicky jumped to her feet. Beyond the fire, the book-lined shelves struck chill. But anything was better than sitting in that deceptive pool of light letting him mesmerise her.

  She said pleasantly, ‘And what a patronising rat you are.’

  His dark brows twitched together sharply as if she had struck him. ‘Rat? Why on earth…?’

  But at least he sounded as if all his attention was back on what he was saying, not on some magic trap which she was not supposed to notice until it was too late. It was a relief.

  ‘Think about it,’ Nicky advised crisply from her safe haven in the shadows. ‘Think about everything you’ve said to me since you arrived this evening.’

  He stood up and came round the sofa. Not such a safe haven after all.

  ‘What do y
ou mean?’ he demanded.

  Nicky retreated a couple of steps.

  ‘I was supposed to turn into the little woman and cook for you, while you dealt with your big important business deals, wasn’t I?’ she said breathlessly. If she stoked her anger at his behaviour this evening, she could suppress the older, darker memories. ‘What did you call it? An evening as Mr Average?’

  ‘I was wrong,’ he said positively.

  She backed. He followed. Nicky went on retreating, skirting a heavy oak table, bumping into a worn tapestry chair and nearly oversetting a set of library steps. Eventually there was only the long window at her back, with its skin-tingling draughts and the surge and thud of the sea beyond. And in front of her…

  ‘Where are you going to run now?’ Esteban challenged her provocatively.

  Nicky gulped. ‘I’m not running.’

  One eyebrow rose. ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘No, of course not But I should go and clear up…’

  ‘Running,’ he taunted softly.

  Nicky’s chin came up. He did not remember what she remembered after all. ‘Why should I do that?’ she retorted, challenging in her turn.

  ‘Because you suspect I’m interested in you,’ he said calmly. ‘And you don’t know how to handle it.’

  Nicky stared at him blankly. He suddenly seemed very tall and much too close. His mouth smiled faintly. But the dark eyes were not amused.

  ‘You’re mad,’ she said, shaken.

  ‘Not at all. Though I’m surprised you’re so unsure of yourself.’

  That fired her up. ‘I am not unsure of myself,’ said Nicky between her teeth.

  He ignored it. ‘And of course you’re right.’ It was a purr. ‘I am interested.’

  Her indignation dwindled abruptly. His eyes travelled over her like a caress.

  ‘The point is, are you?’

  The silence shuddered with possibilities. Nicky’s lips parted. Then she found she had nothing to say. She could only search his face, trying to read him.

  A bit of her mind went scrabbling round on a hamster wheel that repeated frantically, Get out of this. Get out of this. Get out of this now. But another bit—a frighteningly calm bit—said, You’ve waited ten years for this. Go for it.

  Nicky swallowed loudly.

  The smooth voice roughened. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’

  He reached for her.

  It was not at all like ten years ago. For one thing he was— as he said he aimed to be—in total control. For another, Nicky was not fifteen and clumsy with the first anguish of sexual hunger.

  To her surprise, his mouth was soft, questioning. Control, yes. But he explored without pressure as if he savoured every sensation. She had the feeling he registered every tiny quiver of response as her lips parted and, with a little sigh, she abandoned herself to the moment.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed. She was floating. She heard herself give a muted sigh, half delight, half despair.

  Esteban heard it too. His arms tightened bruisingly. Nicky surrendered. In his hands she felt impossibly slight, as if her body was a flimsy thing he could mould to his will. She drew a little breath of pure pleasure.

  Suddenly urgent, his mouth ravaged hers. Oh, he was in control all right Under his mastery her muscles turned to water and her bones became as flimsy as thistledown. For heady moments Nicky revelled in it

  Out of nowhere realisation struck her this was what it was like before. It shocked her back to reason. She broke the kiss and leaned away from him, hands flat against his chest.

  Esteban looked down at her as if he hardly recognised her. They were both panting.

  ‘Nicky—’ She hardly recognised the ragged voice.

  What was more, she hardly recognised herself. Her blood was singing. For the first time since that night on the beach, she was not bracing herself to pretend that she was physically moved when she wasn’t

  I can deal with this, thought Nicky in a flash of enlightenment. She could hardly believe it. It’s all right. I’m cured. Off her guard with relief, she gave him a brilliant smile.

  Esteban’s eyes flared.

  And that was when Nicky realised the danger she was in. Another of those searing kisses and she would be surrendering to his every last whim. Maybe even giving him the key to the memory he had not yet unlocked.

  Shocked, she whipped out of his arms.

  ‘No!’

  His arms let her go. But his eyes, dark and intent, didn’t ‘No? Why not?’

  She could not tell him the truth. She searched desperately and found something that was halfway true.

  ‘I don’t want you experimenting with me.’

  His eyes assessed her. She could almost see the acute brain working.

  ‘I don’t think you know what you want,’ he said at last.

  Nicky made a great business of looking at her watch.

  ‘Well, I’m very tired.’ She managed a huge and almost convincing yawn. ‘I’ll be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.’

  His expression was shuttered. ‘You don’t have to draw me a diagram. Which room was made up for you?’

  She described it.

  ‘Ah,’ he said.

  For a moment, an unholy smile just touched the corners of his mouth. All Nicky’s suspicions awoke again.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just—’

  But before he could finish what he was going to say the telephone on the windowsill rang. In pure reflex she reached for it at the same time as Esteban. Their hands collided.

  There was an arc of energy. It shocked them both. Esteban’s arm recoiled as if it burnt. His breath rasped, loud as a drumroll. Their eyes met. Nicky vibrated.

  But she was the one with the telephone receiver in her hand. Shaken, she said, ‘Hello?’ in a voice so high and strained that she hardly recognised it

  Esteban watched, frowning.

  There was as silence on the other end. Then a brittle voice said, ‘I think I must have the wrong number. Who is that, please?’

  Nicky checked the face of the old telephone and gave the number.

  There was another pause. Then the voice queried, ‘Hallam Hall?’

  ‘Yes.’ Too late Nicky realised that the voice was female and was obviously expecting to talk to Esteban. She said, her words falling over themselves in her confusion, ‘Do you want to speak to Mr Tremain? He’s right here. I’m sorry—’

  But she was speaking to a buzzing line. The connection had been cut.

  She looked across at Esteban. ‘She’s hung up. I’m sorry. That wasn’t very bright of me.’

  He did not seem as if he could be bothered to question her about it. ‘No harm done.’

  ‘But—she hung up.’

  Esteban was impatient ‘Which means it can’t have been very important. Now—we were talking about your room. Will you be warm enough?’

  Nicky did not trust this sudden metamorphosis into a concerned host.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘In fact, I think I’ll go to bed now. I’ve had a long drive today.’ And she gave another huge yawn.

  If she thought he would argue, she was disappointed.

  ‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

  He was waiting for her to go so he could call the woman who had hung up.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Nicky said distantly.

  She went quickly through the corridors, not looking at the paintings. The dancing nymphs seemed to laugh after her as she hurried past them. It made her feel oddly bleak.

  She hurried through a scrappy wash in the chilly bathroom and jumped into the four-poster bed. There were plenty of blankets. But the creaks and the draughts did not make it easy to go to sleep.

  Nicky read as late as she could. When her eyelids were threatening to close of their own volition, she shut the book and turned off the light But she could not relax, even though she was so tired.

  She had never expected to confront Steve again, Nicky realised. He w
as a figure out of myth, haunting her yet distant. She had thought he was out of reach for ever. If she was honest, she had wanted him out of reach.

  Now she was faced with the fact that he was a man, not a mythical monster. Not a kind man, maybe, but living flesh and blood. What was worse, the old pull was still there. In fact, it was stronger than ever.

  ‘But so am I,’ said Nicky aloud.

  The problem was that Esteban was stronger too. More sophisticated, more controlled and all too acutely aware of the sexual tension between them. He might have forgotten that meeting on the beach ten years ago but he knew what had been happening tonight all right.

  Nicky stared into the darkness and recognised an unwelcome truth.

  If she was not very careful, it would all go the same way again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE dreamed of cypress groves and a wild dance in which, for some reason, she was taking part covered in flour and not much else. The other girls laughed and did not seem to notice. But she was painfully conscious of her state of undress. Especially as she knew they were all waiting for the Lord of the Wood.

  She had to get away before he looked and found her. She had to…

  Nicky jackknifed into wakefulness, the dream still running. For all it was so silly it felt as if it carried a message of danger.

  ‘Nicky?’ She knew that soft voice.

  Her sense of danger increased. For a crazy moment she lay there in the darkness, her heart thundering.

  ‘Nicky.’ Louder this time.

  What had he said in the library? ‘I am interested… The point is, are you?’

  She thought, He’s going to make me face my feelings. All my feelings. I’m not ready for this.

  Her mouth dry, she hauled herself up on to her elbow, groping for the unfamiliar bedside light. But before she could find it the light snapped on. Nicky blinked.

  Esteban was standing not in the doorway, as she had expected, but by the dressing table. The top drawer was open. And he was still fully dressed.

  She cleared her throat. ‘What are you doing?’

  He pulled out a black box of some kind and slammed the drawer shut, turning to her.

  ‘Just remembered something I wanted.’

  Nicky huddled the heavy blankets up to her chin.

  ‘What?’ she said suspiciously.