His Forbidden Passion

by Anne Mather

  She wondered what time her grandfather got up. Whether he’d expect her to join him for breakfast. Her nerves jangled a little at the prospect, though from what she’d seen the night before, he didn’t seem a very intimidating figure.

  Unlike Dominic…

  Her pulse quickening, she wondered if Dominic had stayed the night at Magnolia Hill. Had he ever lived here at all? He’d told her his parents had had their own house when he’d explained about Celeste—her mother. Goose pimples feathered her skin at the memory.

  But still, she couldn’t stop thinking about where he might be at this moment. Perhaps he lived with his girlfriend, though that thought was less easy to engage. Whatever, it was really no concern of hers, so she should just get over it. Before she saw him again and let him guess how she felt…

  A shadow moved at the far side of the pool.

  For the first time, she noticed that there were cabanas there; small cabins where a person using the pool could change their clothes.

  A man had emerged from one of the cabanas. A tall man, bare-chested, with a towel draped around his neck. He was wearing swimming shorts that barely skimmed his hip bones. Wet shorts that clung to every corded sinew.

  As she watched, he used the towel to dry his hair, and she saw the growth of dark hair beneath his arms and arrowing down his chest. His skin was brown and sleek with muscle, his stomach flat above long, powerful legs.

  Cleo’s palms were suddenly damp. She didn’t have to wonder any longer about Dominic. He’d obviously been swimming. But how long had he been there? And was he able to see her?

  Her throat drying, Cleo eased herself back into her bedroom. Then, allowing the blinds to fall back into place, she took a moment to calm her racing heart. Wherever he lived he’d evidently spent the night at Magnolia Hill, she thought breathlessly. Would he be joining his grandfather for breakfast, too?

  She was spending far too much time speculating about Dominic Montoya. Impatient with herself, Cleo smoothed her palms down her thighs and knelt beside her suitcase.

  What to wear? That was the problem. Well, not a bikini, she assured herself, with another glance in the mirror. The tank suit Norah had persuaded her to buy was probably going to remain unworn in her case.

  Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom in narrow-legged lemon shorts and a white cotton T-shirt. Smart, but casual, she thought, remembering something else Norah had told her. It wasn’t cool to look overdressed.

  Besides, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get the impression that she was looking for admiration. Or sex, she added grimly, abruptly recalling the last months of her mother’s life.

  She decided she could hardly blame Lily Montoya for being hostile. After all, her husband had had an affair with Celeste. But as for her being attracted to her adopted brother…Cleo sucked in a breath. There was no way history was going to repeat itself.

  Her hair was still a little wet, so she found an elasticated band in her bag and looped it up in a ponytail. Then, stepping into thonged sandals, she checked her appearance once more before opening her door.

  The place seemed very quiet. Without the knowledge that there were at least half a dozen servants working in the house, she might have thought she and Dominic were its only occupants.

  She blew out a breath, inwardly chiding herself. She had to stop punctuating every thought with Dominic. He meant nothing to her. How could he? She hardly knew him. And it went without saying that she meant nothing to him.

  A long hallway with a window at the end led to the staircase. However, before reaching the downward curve of a scrolled iron banister, the landing opened out into a pleasant sitting area. From here, it was possible to overlook the lower foyer, circular leaded windows allowing sunlight to stream into the stairwell.

  As Cleo started down, she saw the huge potted fern that filled the turn of the staircase. Tendrils of greenery clung to the iron and brushed her fingers as she passed. There was something almost sensual about its twining fronds, she mused ruefully. Or perhaps she was just extra-sensitive this morning.

  Certainly, she had climbed this staircase the night before. But then, exhaustion, and a certain amount of tension, had clouded her view. Not that she was any less tense this morning, she thought, pausing to admire the view from an arching window. Even the sight of the alluring shoreline couldn’t quite rid her of the feeling that she shouldn’t be here.

  A West Indian maid appeared below her. She looked up at her with expectant eyes, and Cleo wondered what she was thinking. ‘Can I help you, Ms Novak?’ she asked, and Cleo was relieved to find she hadn’t been introduced to the staff as Cleo Montoya.

  ‘Um—you could tell me if Mr Montoya is up yet,’ she said, deciding she might as well be proactive. If her grandfather wanted to see her, there was no point in her dragging her heels.

  The maid gestured across the delicately patterned tiles of the foyer. ‘Mr Dominic is having breakfast on the terrace,’ she said politely. ‘You like I should show you the way?’

  ‘Oh—no.’ Cleo had no desire to spend any more time with Dominic than she had to. ‘I meant—Mr Montoya Senior. What time does he usually get up?’

  ‘Your grandfather has breakfast in his room at about seven a.m.,’ remarked a disturbingly familiar voice from behind her. Cleo turned to find Dominic standing in the arched entry to the adjoining room. ‘He’ll be down later.’

  Thankfully, he was dressed now. Albeit in khaki cargo shorts and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that exposed taut muscles and a wedge of brown flesh at his waist.

  Which seemed far too casual to her way of thinking. It was easier to keep him at arm’s length in a formal suit and tie.

  He had evidently heard their voices and come to investigate. The acoustics in the foyer must have allowed the sound to circulate around the ground-floor rooms. Cleo realised belatedly that she should have thought of that.

  However, the maid turned towards him with evident enthusiasm. ‘Ms Novak was just lookin’ for Mr Jacob, sir,’ she said, sashaying towards him, hips swinging, arms akimbo. ‘You want more coffee, Mr Dominic? You do, just say the word and Susie’ll get it for you.’

  Dominic’s lips tightened as he saw Cleo’s reaction to the implied intimacy of the girl’s words, and there was an edge to his voice when he said, ‘You can get Ms Novak some breakfast instead. Fruit, cereal, rolls, coffee.’ He arched his brows at Cleo. ‘Does that about cover it?’

  ‘I…’ Cleo had hardly heard what he’d said and now she struggled to answer him. ‘I—I guess so,’ she muttered. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ Dominic turned once more to the maid. ‘On the terrace, Susie. As quick as you can, right?’

  Susie pursed sulky lips, but she knew better than to argue that it wasn’t her job to serve meals when she’d already offered to get him fresh coffee.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said tersely, her hands dropping to her sides as she marched away, and Cleo hoped she hadn’t made another enemy.

  Meanwhile, Dominic was trying to master his own frustration. Dammit, Cleo probably thought he exercised some medieval droit de seigneur over the female members of the household staff and it irritated the hell out of him.

  Not that it mattered what Cleo thought, he reminded himself.

  Only it did.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Dominic gestured for her to come and join him and, although she would have preferred to make her own way, Cleo had little choice but to obey him.

  ‘Very well,’ she responded, making sure she didn’t brush against him as she preceded him into the room behind him. ‘I’m sorry if your grandfather expected me to join him yesterday evening, but I’m afraid I just flaked out.’

  ‘I know.’

  Dominic was far too sure of himself, and Cleo gave him a wary look.

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Serena had one of the maids check up on you.’ He grimaced. ‘You could have fallen asleep in the bath. We wouldn’t want
you to drown yourself before you had a chance to get to know us.’

  Cleo pressed her lips together. ‘I wasn’t likely to do that,’ she said, but Dominic only gave her a wry smile.

  ‘All the same…’ he murmured lightly. ‘The old man would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to you.’

  ‘Just the old man?’ Cleo found herself saying provocatively, and saw the way Dominic’s expression darkened.

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Cleo,’ he said warningly. ‘You’re not equipped to deal with the fallout.’

  Cleo’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything more. Her face flaming, she turned away, grateful to transfer her attention to less disquieting subjects.

  But he was right, she thought. She wasn’t used to provoking anyone, least of all a man who always seemed to bring out the worst—or was it the bitch?—in her.

  It was quite a relief to study her surroundings.

  Darkly upholstered sofas and chairs stood out in elegant contrast to the backdrop of pale walls and even paler wooden floors.

  Long windows, some of them open to admit the delicious breeze off the ocean, boasted filmy drapes that moved seductively in the morning air.

  ‘We’ll go outside,’ said Dominic after a moment, and Cleo realised he had crossed the room and was now standing by French doors that opened onto a stone terrace.

  She followed, as slowly as she dared, taking in the exquisite appointments of the room. Low tables; cut-glass vases filled with flowers; thick candles in chunky silver holders.

  There was even a grand piano, its lid lifted, hidden away in one corner of the enormous apartment. And dramatic oil paintings in vivid colours that added their own particular beauty to the walls.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ she said a little stiffly, wanting to restore some semblance of normality, but Dominic’s lips only twisted rather mockingly at her words.

  ‘It’s not my home,’ he reminded her carelessly, stepping aside to let her pass him. ‘But I’m sure your grandfather is hoping you’ll make it yours.’

  Cleo’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘What about?’ Dominic ignored her startled expression. ‘I assure you, I do have my own house a couple of miles from here on Pelican Bay.’

  ‘No—’ Cleo was almost sure he was deliberately misunderstanding her ‘—that’s not what I meant.’

  They’d emerged onto the terrace now and Cleo could see where a tumble of pink and white bougainvillea hid the low wall that separated the paved patio from the pool.

  She was briefly silenced by the view. By the pool, shimmering invitingly; by the rampant vegetation and flowering trees that surrounded it; by the ever-constant movement of the ocean beyond the rolling dunes.

  Aware of Dominic’s silence, she turned to him and said, ‘About my grandfather—he doesn’t really expect me to stay here, does he?’

  Dominic shrugged, his compassion reluctantly stirred by her obvious confusion. ‘It’s what he wants,’ he said simply. ‘I think he’s hoping to make up for all those years when he didn’t know you.’

  Cleo chewed on her lower lip. ‘But why now?’

  Dominic sauntered towards a circular table set in the shade of a brown and cream striped canopy. Then, picking up his coffee, he glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Why do you think?’

  Cleo groped for a convincing answer. ‘Because he’s ill?’

  ‘Because he’s dying,’ Dominic amended flatly. ‘Because he’s been forced to face the fact of his own mortality.’ He paused. ‘According to his lawyer, he’s been looking for you for some time.’

  Cleo frowned. ‘And did—did my mother and father know this?’

  ‘The Novaks?’ Dominic shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  He raised his cup to his lips and swallowed the remainder of his coffee, his dark head tilted back, the brown column of his throat moving rhythmically.

  Cleo was unwillingly fascinated, but she managed to drag her eyes away and say, ‘So—he waited until they were dead?’

  Dominic lowered his cup to its saucer and regarded her resignedly. ‘What are you saying? You think the old man had something to do with their deaths?’

  ‘Heavens, no.’ Cleo was horrified. ‘They died in a train crash, you know that.’ She hesitated, and then went on a little emotionally, ‘They’d been to visit some friends who’d relocated to North Wales and were on their way back. Apparently the train became derailed at a crossing. It was an accident. A terrible accident.’ Her voice broke then. ‘I miss them so much.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’

  The sympathy in Dominic’s voice was almost her undoing, but she managed to hold herself together.

  Dominic, meanwhile, was having a hard time controlling the urge he had to comfort her. But he hadn’t forgotten what happened when he touched her. How uncontrollable his own reaction could be.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, unaware of his agitation, ‘your aunt said that was when—when he decided to contact me.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Dominic sucked in a breath. ‘He’d known the Novaks wouldn’t take kindly to any intervention from him. But after—well, after the funeral, he had a firm of investigators find out all about you.’

  ‘But how did he know about the train crash?’

  ‘Again, according to his lawyer, he’d already traced the Novaks to Islington. It wasn’t until after the funeral he discovered that you weren’t living with them.’

  Cleo frowned. ‘I moved out a couple of years ago, when Mom and Dad went to live with Mrs Chapman. I was just finishing college and I’d got the job at St Augustine’s, so I didn’t want to move away.’

  ‘So you decided to share an apartment with a friend?’

  ‘More or less.’

  Dominic realised she was unaware of it, but this was the first time she’d been totally relaxed with him.

  And he was enjoying her company far too much.

  Nevertheless, it was impossible to ignore the fact that he was possibly her only ally here. His grandfather had his own agenda, no doubt, but both Serena and his mother resented her. That went without saying.

  And her vulnerability stirred him in a way he’d never felt before. In her simple T-shirt and shorts, her dark hair caught up in a ponytail, she looked so young and—dammit, innocent.

  He scowled. He had to stop feeling responsible for her, he told himself. The old man wouldn’t like it; wouldn’t like the idea that she depended on Dominic and not himself.

  But it was that sense of responsibility that had made Dominic accept his grandfather’s invitation to stay the night at Magnolia Hill. Despite the fact that Sarah Cordy, his current girlfriend, had made him promise to go and see her as soon as he got back…

  ‘Norah—that’s the girl I live with,’ Cleo was saying now, completely unaware of his frustration, ‘she was finding the rent of the apartment too much for just one person, so she offered me the chance to share.’ She smiled disarmingly. ‘I jumped at it.’

  ‘And Eric? Where does he fit in?’

  Dominic heard the words leave his lips with a feeling of incredulity. Dammit, whoever Eric was, it was nothing to do with him. But it was too late to take them back now.

  ‘Eric?’ Cleo’s lips rounded. ‘Oh, yes, you met Eric, didn’t you?’ A teasing smile tilted her mouth. ‘Did he scare you?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  Dominic had answered without thinking, but now he realised she’d just been baiting him.

  ‘Oh, yeah, very clever,’ he grunted. ‘The guy really had me quaking at the knees.’

  ‘And they’re such nice knees, aren’t they?’ Cleo giggled, stepping back to get a better look. ‘Mmm, you definitely wouldn’t win any knobbly-knees contest.’

  ‘Any what?’ he was demanding, advancing on her half threateningly, when they both became aware that they were no longer alone.

  His mother was standing at the far side of the terrace, amazingly holding the tray that contained Cleo’s br
eakfast in her hands.

  Her blue eyes were glacial as they rested on Cleo’s flushed face. Then warmed slightly when they moved to her son.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’ she asked, indicating the tray. ‘I intercepted Susie in the foyer and she said you’d asked for this, Dominic.’ Her smile was thin. ‘I thought you’d already had breakfast.’

  ‘I have.’

  Dominic was fairly sure the tray wasn’t all his mother had got from Susie, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  ‘It’s Cleo’s breakfast,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Here.’ He went towards her. ‘Let me take it from you.’

  ‘I can manage,’ she said.

  But somehow—Dominic didn’t want to think it was deliberate—the tray slipped from her hands.

  Cleo jumped back as cups and saucers shattered on the stone paving, Fruit juice and hot coffee splashed in all directions, the latter burning as it touched her bare feet.

  She bent automatically to pick up a rolling peach, its skin as soft as her own, thought Dominic savagely. But bruised now, as she was, by his mother’s careless hands.

  Then her eyes moved anxiously to his and he turned to give his mother an enigmatic look.

  ‘Oh, dear me!’ Lily Montoya pressed her clasped hands to her breast. ‘I’m so clumsy.’

  And if Cleo hadn’t seen the look the woman had cast her earlier, she might have believed she meant it.

  Chapter Six

  ‘IT DOESN’T matter.’ Dominic was dismissive, almost as if destroying an expensive porcelain coffee service was of no matter. ‘I’ll get Susie to bring another tray.’

  ‘Oh, please, don’t!’

  Cleo’s cry arrested him. She didn’t think she could bear to be alone with Lily Montoya at this moment.

  She hadn’t asked to come here, she told herself as the other woman’s expression hardened. And, although she had sympathy for Lily’s feelings, Dominic’s mother shouldn’t blame her because her husband hadn’t been able to keep his trousers zipped.

  ‘Cleo—’ Dominic began, when the clatter of a stick against stone made them all turn.

  ‘Dom! Dom!’ Jacob Montoya stumped heavily across the terrace, sharp eyes taking in the scene and finding it wanting. ‘What’s going on here, boy? Has your mother been throwing china around again?’