The Latin Affair

by Sophie Weston

  He will think I do this sort of thing all the time, Nicky thought with just a flicker of concern.

  But it was too late. Esteban flung himself out of the torn shirt. His other clothes followed, tossed away across the library like so many rags.

  Esteban did not notice. His concentration was wholly on Nicky. He had said he was possessive; and he was. His hands swept down her body, claiming her, branding her. And his mouth was hungry.

  Nicky was almost frightened for a second. She thought, I didn’t know. And then her body took over.

  She had never experienced such total absorption. Esteban explored without restraint and expected her to do the same. The only thing he seemed unaware of was how totally new this was to her.

  Nicky’s unpractised reflexes went into rapidly escalating response. A long way away, her mind watched and was amazed. But Nicky, shocked, scared and trusting, abandoned herself to Esteban.

  It was like a tidal wave: not gradual but sudden, huge and terrifying. Nicky gasped and hung on to his shoulders. Esteban steadied her, murmuring. She was not sure what. Her ears were ringing as she was thrown up, up, up…

  The momentum increased: his body’s, hers. She felt tears and hardly noticed them as she strove fiercely.

  Esteban flung back his head and shouted aloud. Suddenly Nicky convulsed. There was an explosion of light behind her eyes. She was there.

  Afterwards they fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. But the cold meant their sleep was brief.

  ‘I need to get you to bed,’ said Esteban.

  She hardly recognised him, his eyes were so warm. He looked down at her with such rueful complicity and kissed one cold breast possessively.

  ‘Or my next reason to keep you here will be hypothermia.’

  He gathered her up, finding the old dressing gown and tucking it round her. This time she did not demand that he put her down. He carried her through the house to her room.

  ‘What about you?’ murmured Nicky, her head on his shoulder. She ran her hand down his naked spine, loving the feel of it. ‘You must be freezing.’

  ‘The exercise is keeping me warm,’ he said drily as he mounted the stairs.

  In her room he dropped her on to the bed and turned away.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Nicky, suddenly alarmed.

  He grinned at her. ‘No chance. But I’ve got something to wear in here somewhere. You don’t want me freezing you to death.’

  He pulled a towelling robe out of the wardrobe and slid his arms into it. Nicky watched for a moment. Her eyes assessed him with that new-found confidence.

  She made up her mind. She snaked her way across the coverlet and began to pluck at the robe, teasing. Laughing, he pretended to fend her off. But she had learned her lesson well and the laughter did not last long for either of them. She stripped the robe away.

  ‘We don’t need that’ she said huskily.

  They didn’t.

  It was not until early morning, when she lay wakeful with Esteban asleep beside her, that other thoughts returned to chill her blood. What has happened to me? Nicky thought.

  She had gone wild. Felt wild. And now the wildness had burned itself out and left her on the other side of a great ravine, not quite sure how she had got there.

  All her adult life men had accused her of coldness. Andrew Bolton had gone further when he’d called her a fraud. Nicky had accepted it. She had not even felt indignant. It was true. Now—

  Suddenly she could not bear to he there a moment longer. She slid out of bed. And gasped. She had forgotten she was naked.

  Behind her Esteban turned over, murmuring in protest. Nicky froze. But then he pulled the pillow under his chin and subsided again with a sigh.

  The cold air struck at her shrinking skin. Nicky looked round for something to cover her. Then her feet tangled in his discarded robe. She remembered all too clearly how she had slid it off his shoulders. How she had twined round him, laughing, teasing, luring him… She shut her eyes at the memory.

  Tell the truth, she told herself harshly. You were seducing him. Deliberately. You made all the running. Not once but twice. You. How could you?

  Shivering, she bent and picked up the robe from where she had thrown it last night and huddled it round her. It smelled of his skin. Nicky held the lapel against her face and breathed Esteban in.

  She sank on to the window seat. Outside the pre-dawn sky shimmered. Clouds rushed dizzyingly between the sea and the stars. Nicky felt as if she was falling. She braced herself against the cold stone of the window embrasure. It seemed as if her whole life was racing away out to sea with the clouds.

  I’ll never be the same, she thought.

  Behind her, the man on the bed stirred. She sat very still. In vain. He moved again, more strongly. The bed creaked several times. Then stopped altogether.

  Nicky did not turn her head but she heard him prop himself up on one elbow. She could feel him looking at her out of the darkness.

  ‘What is it?’ he said quietly.

  Nicky did not know how to answer him. She knew she could not lie any longer. Some time during the night she has lost her ability to tell those light, necessary half truths with which she was used to defending herself from Andrew and men like him. Men who, ultimately, she had not cared about. She shuddered at the implications of that. Did she care so much for Esteban Tremain, then?

  But the truth—the whole truth—was so big and so complicated that she did not know where to start. Or whether Esteban would understand, even if she could find the words. She stared out at the turbulent sky, silenced by her own confusion.

  Esteban slid out of bed and padded across to her.

  ‘Nicky?’

  He sounded almost tentative. Surely not. Not Esteban, the master of his life, his instincts and Hallam. And, now, of her body and her heart.

  ‘Nicky, what is it?’

  He cupped her shoulder. His palm was so warm that she felt the heat even through the material of his robe. Nicky shut her eyes.

  She said, ‘I’m not used—’ And could not go on.

  He waited. Her voice was clogged. She gave her head a little shake.

  Esteban pulled at her shoulder gently, urging her to turn to him. Nicky resisted. She opened her eyes and stared out at the pre-dawn sky as if her life depended on it.

  Eventually the pressure stopped. Esteban said gently, ‘Used to what?’

  It was a good question. Nicky could not answer it. She shook her head dumbly.

  His hand began to move, almost absently, caressing her shoulder.

  ‘Then let me guess.’ His voice was warm. Amused, even. ‘You’re not used to four-poster beds? Medieval draughts? Making passionate love on top of a four-course meal?’

  Nicky could not bear the tender, teasing note in his voice. She said harshly, ‘I’m not used to sleeping with a man.’

  The caressing hand stilled on her shoulder. There was a pause. It felt like the end of the world.

  ‘Ah,’ Esteban said at last.

  She thought he would try to make her turn round again but he did not. Staring out of the window, Nicky pulled his robe tighter round her. She was shivering. How could he stand there naked and not feel the cold? she thought with a flicker of temper.

  He said as if he were no more than mildly interested, ‘Is that supposed to mean that you usually sleep with a woman?’

  Nicky gasped and swung round. ‘No. Of course not’

  In the dawn light she could see he was staring down at her gravely. His voice had misled her. He was not teasing at all. And he was a lot more than mildly interested. His eyes were passionately intent.

  ‘How can you?’ she choked.

  There was a tiny pause.

  ‘Well, at least it got you to look at me,’ he pointed out drily.

  ‘Oh, very clever.’ Nicky was bitter. ‘Are those the tactics you use in court?’

  Esteban waved that aside as if it was not worth answering.

  ‘The alternative is that you don’t sleep
with anyone,’ he observed in a neutral voice. ‘Are you trying to tell me you are a virgin?’

  ‘After last night, don’t you mean were a virgin?’ Nicky flung back, suddenly and inexplicably furious.

  This time the pause was charged. Why did I say that? Nicky thought She held her breath. A part of her was utterly bewildered by what she was doing. Another part—the new, wild part—wanted to go on and on until she goaded him into… What?

  ‘Yes,’ said Esteban at last evenly. Too evenly. ‘I’m glad you reminded me.’

  He took hold of her, not gently at all, and hauled her to her feet. Nicky’s head went back.

  ‘Let me go,’ she yelled. She was shaking with anger.

  By contrast, Esteban was so quiet she could hardly hear him. ‘Well?’

  His naked body glimmered palely in the dark. Like some marble statue of a god, Nicky thought, crazily. You would smash yourself to pieces if you fell against stone like that. She rammed her forearm against his chest and levered herself away. She was panting.

  ‘What do you mean, “Well?”’ she snarled.

  ‘If you’ve got something to tell me, tell me.’

  ‘Tell you? What would I have to tell you?’

  His jaw was like stone, too.

  He said with precision and absolutely no sign of emotion at all, ‘Is it true?’ And when she did not answer he shook her a little, ‘Was I the first?’

  He was not rough. He certainly did not hurt her. But Nicky flinched as if from a blow. She was speechless.

  Esteban said, ‘That’s it, isn’t it? I was the first.’ For a moment Nicky stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. Then, horribly, she began to laugh. He had been the first to break down all her barriers. She laughed until she was choking. Her breaths came in great gulps, straining her ribs.

  Esteban took his hands away. Nicky was laughing so hard, she barely noticed. Esteban stepped away. She was alone.

  Nicky put out a hand to the wall to steady herself. She tried to control the crazy laughter but it spiralled up and up, making her ears ring. She was light-headed with it.

  And suddenly she was drenched in ice.

  Nicky’s eyes flew open in shock. Esteban was there again, holding a nearly empty glass, and her face was wet. The terrible laughter stopped dead. She put up a hand and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘Here. You’d better drink the rest.’

  He handed her the glass. Nicky hesitated.

  ‘It’s only water,’ he said briefly.

  He must have brought the water from his own room. While he was there he had taken the opportunity to pull on a shirt. Clothed, he did not look like a marble god any more. He looked a hundred times sexier.

  Nicky took the tumbler from him and poured the water down her throat as if it were medicine. She gave the mug back.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  It was bottled mineral water and he had brought it from his room. He poured some more and gave the glass back to her. This time she just sipped.

  Esteban did not try to touch her. Instead he retreated to the end of the bed. He propped himself against one of the wooden barley sugar posts and crossed one tanned foot over the other.

  ‘OK,’ he said, as if they were working on some abstruse theorem to which there was a logical answer. ‘What is it about sleeping with someone that you’re not used to?’

  Nicky folded her lips together.

  ‘Is it because we don’t know each other very well?’

  ‘We don’t know each other at all,’ Nicky muttered.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Suddenly, shockingly, there was a note of total intimacy in his voice. ‘I know you cook like an angel. You don’t like Renaissance painting. And you pack a mean screwdriver. It’s a start.’

  A start to what? Her own pulses told her.

  ‘No,’ said Nicky hoarsely. More to herself than to him.

  Esteban folded his arms across his chest. He looked like a man who had suddenly scented an interesting debate and was willing to stick with it as long as it took.

  ‘Are you going to tell me you’re already in a steady relationship?’ He sounded disbelieving.

  Nicky winced. She had never managed a steady relationship. Never committed herself totally to anyone. How could he tell? Was it written all over her?

  ‘You think what we’ve done involves some sort of betrayal?’ he persisted.

  The puzzled impatience was all too reminiscent of Steve on that moonlit beach.

  ‘Only of myself,’ Nicky said desolately.

  Esteban snorted. ‘You’ve taken a vow of celibacy?’

  ‘You don’t understand… ’

  ‘I understand all right.’ Suddenly he was grim. ‘We’ve got something between us. For a moment back there you woke up to it. Now the reaction has stopped fizzing and you’re remembering that you don’t like me. Well, tough. I don’t like you all that much either. It doesn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Difference to what?’ demanded Nicky. Though she knew.

  Esteban looked at her across the shadowed room.

  ‘The fact that we want each other,’ he said quietly.

  The room was cold. Outside the wind was rising. But Nicky’s skin remembered the warmth of a Caribbean night and a scented breeze. She ought to tell him; she ought to tell him now. But something kept her tongue locked in a vice.

  ‘Don’t we?’ said Esteban.

  He held out a hand. Like a sleepwalker, Nicky went to him. The great bed towered over them like a ship. Nicky found she was shaking as if the world were breaking apart under her feet

  Esteban put his arms round her. The world steadied. But her heart didn’t. Just like ten years ago.

  She said, ‘I have to tell you—’

  ‘You’re not used to it.’ His voice was warm with amusement. ‘I know.’

  ‘Not that—before…’

  But her words dwindled into suffocating silence. Esteban was too close, too intent. Her heart slammed as if it would drive itself out of her body and into his. She clung to him, shaking.

  ‘Do you think I’m used to this?’ Suddenly his voice was ragged. ‘Do you think anyone could be?’

  Nicky thought He’s shaking as much as I am.

  She said harshly, ‘Touch me.’

  He got rid of the robe with agonising slowness. Bending, he moved his face across her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. He did not touch. He inhaled like a jungle animal scenting water—millimetres from her skin, but it burned like fire. He fell to one knee. Nicky grabbed his shirt to steady herself. She sobbed aloud.

  It was exquisite. It was torture. It was the road to paradise she had glimpsed all those years ago under the Caribbean stars. It was now.

  Esteban looked up. In the shadows she could not make out his expression. She did not need to. His ragged breathing, his low laugh said it all.

  Pure triumph.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FOR the remainder of that night she did not dream. She awoke slowly. She was smiling and deliciously comfortable.

  ‘Good morning,’ said a voice. It sounded as if it was smiling too.

  Nicky’s eyes drifted open.

  Four-poster. Open curtains to reveal a wide sky. The sea sparkling beyond a dark cliff. And dark eyes, warm with the knowledge of last night’s lovemaking, so close they made her head swim.

  Esteban!

  She gave a little wriggle of pure pleasure. This morning he was wearing old jeans and an open-necked shirt. He had not shaved. His hair was still damp from the shower. Sheer lust took a firm grip of her abdomen. Nicky’s smile widened. She held out her arms.

  He kissed her but shook his head as she tried to pull him down to her.

  ‘Time to get up. We have the fuzz calling on us this morning.’

  Nicky laughed and let him go reluctantly. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nine.’

  She yawned, stretching. The lifting breasts escaped the covers
proudly. Esteban watched with amused appreciation.

  ‘No use. It’s time to get up. You can seduce me all you want when Mr Plod has gone.’

  Nicky sent him a naughty look from under her lashes.

  ‘Promise?’

  He laughed. ‘Behave yourself. How can I keep my mind on last night’s intruder if you flourish those at me?’

  He drew the covers firmly up to her chin. Nicky pulled a face.

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  He kissed her lingeringly. ‘Temptress. There’s coffee downstairs when you’re ready.’

  He went clattering down the hallway, whistling. Nicky sat up and considered what to wear. Last night’s clothes were hopelessly creased. She compromised on her working trousers and a clean shirt of Esteban’s which she filched from his drawer. It was not, after all, the first time she had worn a shirt of his.

  The thought stopped her dead in her tracks. Her radiance dimmed. I’ve got to tell him, she thought. Now more than ever he had the right to know. She did not look forward to it.

  So it was a constrained Nicky who went into the kitchen ten minutes later. Esteban was not constrained at all. He was slicing bread for a toaster which now worked. He was not actually singing, Nicky allowed, but he looked as if he might break into song at any moment.

  She set her teeth.

  ‘Esteban—there’s something—’

  He waved the bread knife in greeting.

  ‘Feeling ready to face the law now you’ve got your clothes on?’

  I will not blush, Nicky thought, indignant at this lack of sensitivity. I will not.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said repressively.

  Esteban looked her up and down appreciatively. ‘You are indeed.’

  For the first time that she could remember under a look like that, Nicky found she had no desire to clamp her arms across her breasts. No urge to hide. She liked Esteban looking at her. She was glad that he seemed to like what he saw. She forgot about telling him anything that he did not already know and gave a low, delighted laugh. She was not going to feel outclassed by his stepfather’s Renaissance nymphs ever again.

  He held out an arm. She went and leaned against him. He kissed her hair absently and carried on cooking one-handed.