by Penny Jordan
'Jorge?' Jessica looked bewildered. 'What does he have to do with this?'
'Everything,' he told her succinctly. 'Did you honestly think I would allow you to remain in Seville to further harass my poor brother upon his return, spreading the lord only knows what rumours about his relationship with you— rumours which could well reach the ears of his novia? Seville is a very enclosed society and a very rigid, one. Barbara's father would never consider Jorge as a husband for his daughter if he were to learn of his relationship with you.'
'I should have thought it was Barbara's opinion that mattered, not her father's,' Jessica remarked sardonically, watching him look down the aquiline length of his nose at her, 'and besides, I had no intention of staying in Spain.'
'You tell me that now, but you cannot deny you came here initially with the express purpose of seeing my brother, when he had already written to you telling you that your association was at an end? No, even if you swore to me that you would never try to contact Jorge again I would not believe you. There is only one way to end your interference in our lives.'
'And what may that be?' Jessica asked tartly. 'Or does the mere fact that I'm in your employ mean that no one would ever believe a Calvadores guilty of demeaning himself by becoming involved with a mere wage-slave?'
Her sarcasm brought a dark tinge of angry colour seeping beneath his tan, his eyes as cold as granite as he stared at her aloofly.
'By no means,' he said at last, 'but what they will think is that Jorge would never stoop to become involved with my mistress.'
'Your… You mean you'd let people think I
was your mistress?' Jessica gasped. 'Oh, this is infamous! You wouldn't dare!'
A muscle clenched in his jaw, beating angrily against the taut skin, and her eyes were drawn betrayingly to it, as it echoed the uneven pounding of her own heart.
'I thought you might have learned by now not to challenge me,' he told her softly, and she knew that he did dare—anything—if he deemed it necessary.
Heavens, it was like a Restoration comedy! First of all he accused her of being his brother's mistress and now he was saying everyone would think she was his!
'You're exaggerating,' she said positively. 'No one would believe, because I was working for you, that I was your mistress.'
'Of course not,' he agreed smoothly, 'if we were working at the factory. But we shall be working at my home, and I shall take good care to make sure that our relationship is not merely that of employer and employee.'
'But this is all so unnecessary!' Jessica cried heatedly.
'To you perhaps, but not to me. The Calvadores name means a great deal to me, and I will not have it dragged in the mud because some greedy woman tries to blackmail my brother into marrying her.'
His last unforgivable words infuriated her. By what right did he presume to stand in judgment on her?
'Well, if you expect to stop me by dragging me off to your hacienda, you're in for a big disappointment,' she told him coldly, 'because I'm not coming with you, and there's no way short of using physical force that you can make me.'
'You've already agreed to work for me,' he pointed out icily, '—of your own free will. If you don't…'
'I know,' Jessica agreed wearily. 'Colin will lose the contract.'
'No doubt he will understand—when you explain to him your reasons for refusing,' he told her smoothly, and a sick dismay filled her. Of course she could not explain to Colin why she had refused, it was all far too complicated now, and he would probably simply tell her to tell the truth. How could she do that now? How could she expose Isabel to his wrath? For one thing, she would not put it past him to go to England and terrorise Isabel into doing something foolish. And what about John? How would he react to the news that his fiancee had been having a brief fling in Spain when she was supposed to be thinking over his proposal, and moreover that she had actually thought that she might be pregnant by her lover? No, she could not tell the truth, and the only alternatives were to either accept the proposition and everything that went with it, or refuse it and risk jeopardising Colin's business. Some alternative!
She knew she really had no choice, but it infuriated her to have to give in to such outrageously buccaneering tactics.
'I will come with you,' she said coolly at last, 'but if you attempt to give anyone the impression that we're anything other than business colleagues, I shall be forced to contradict you.'
'Who said anything about "telling" anyone?' he mocked her softly. 'There are other, more subtle ways—like this, for instance.'
Before she could stop him, he had jerked her against his body, his hands locking behind her, holding her against him. She could feel the steady thud of his heart, so much at variance with her own which was racing unsteadily, the breath constricted in her throat, her eyes on a level with the plain severity of his tie. Her heightened senses relayed to her the sharp, clean fragrance of his cologne, the pristine freshness of his shirt, and the smooth brown column of his throat. She lifted her eyes. There was a dark shadow along his jaw suggesting that he might find it necessary to shave night and morning, and she shivered at the thoughts the knowledge conjured up in her mind.
'Let me go!' Her voice was husky, edged with anger and pain. She saw the curling mockery of his smile, the darkness of the cold grey eyes, and knew there was about as much chance of her plea being answered as there was of a hawk dropping its prey.
'You are trembling.'
It was a statement that held an edge of surprise, accompanied by a quick frown. The hand that wasn't securing her body against the hard length of his moved to her shoulder, flicking aside the collar of her robe to reveal the silky paleness of her skin.
'You didn't do much sunbathing when you were on holiday, or is it simply that Jorge told you how much we Latin races admire a palely beautiful skin? Yours has the translucency of a pearl.'
His fingers stroked lightly across her exposed collarbone, tiny tendrils of fear curling insidiously through her lower stomach. Dear God, she thought achingly, what was he trying to do to her? What was he doing to her? She had been touched before, for heaven's sake—but never with such explicit sensuality; never as though the male fingers drifting against her skin were touching the softest silk.
'Dios,' she heard him murmur smokily, 'one would think you had never been touched by a man before. But we both know that is not true, don't we, senorita?'
And then, shockingly, his mouth was where his fingers had been, the eroticism of his touch sending tiny shivers of pleasure coursing through her body. Mindlessly Jessica allowed him to mould her body to his, her head falling back helplessly against his arm, his eyes darkening to obsidian as the neckline of her robe dipped, revealing the pale curves of her breasts.
'Like marble,' he murmured huskily, trailing his fingers seductively along the hollow between her breasts, ignoring her stifled gasp of shock, 'but unlike marble, your skin feels warm to my touch.' His fingers tightened ruthlessly on her hair, his voice hardening as he demanded savagely, 'Tell me now that someone walking in here would not immediately think that we were lovers!'
She shivered bitterly with reaction, hating herself for the way she had yielded so completely to his superior strength, hating her body's purely female response to his masculinity.
His sardonic, 'Perhaps you need further convincing,' made her stomach muscles coil tensely, her body stiffening as he grasped her chin, tilting it so that there was no way she could avoid the hard punishment of his lips, and yet even knowing that he was punishing her, something elemental and fierce sprang to life inside her the moment his mouth touched hers. Her robe was pushed aside, tanned fingers cupping the soft swell of one breast. Jessica shuddered uncontrollably and pushed frantically away, and by some miracle Sebastian released her, surveying her flushed cheeks and furious eyes with cynical amusement.
'What is wrong?' he drawled. 'Surely I took no liberties that have not been permitted to countless others?'
The truth of the matter was
that he had; but Jessica wasn't going to admit as much.
'As you've pointed out,' she responded icily, 'they were permitted them, you weren't.' Not even for Colin's sake could she agree to work with him now; she would never know a moment's peace, never be able to relax…
'I'm not going to work for you,' she told him quickly, huddling into the protection of her robe, and avoiding his eyes. 'I…'
'You are trying to tell me you won't work for me because of that?' He was openly incredulous and disbelieving. 'You are behaving like an affronted virgin; quite unnecessary, you cannot imagine you stand in any danger of receiving unwanted advances from me? If I haven't already made it clear, perhaps it's time I did,' he told her with deadly silky venom. 'I am not interested in other men's leavings—whether it is one man or a hundred. You are as safe with me as you would be locked up in a convent. Don't mistake a timely warning for any desire for you, and that was all that was—a warning. You will come with me,' he added softly, 'I promise you that. Be ready—I shall pick you up tomorrow morning at nine.'
If she had any pride, she would be on a plane back home right now, not sitting staring at her suitcases and wondering if she was doing the right thing, Jessica decided as she glanced round the impersonal hotel bedroom. A glance at her watch showed that it was half past eight. Colin had already left for the airport, full of praise and gratitude—they had talked all evening, and she had tried on several occasions to tell him that there was simply no way she could work for Sebastian de Calvadores, but every time her nerve failed her.
A knock on her door startled her. The porter entered and picked up her cases. Nervous dread fluttering through her stomach, Jessica followed him to the lift.
To try and calm herself a little she ordered herself a cup of coffee, but when it came she felt totally unable to drink it. She hadn't had any breakfast either. Why, oh, why hadn't she left Spain with Colin? He would have understood if she had explained. But she hadn't been able to disappoint him, to know that she was destroying everything he had come to Spain to achieve. She was a coward, she berated herself. She should have told him, and if she had, she wouldn't be here now, waiting… her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the familiar tall figure striding towards her.
'Come!'
It was the first time she had seen him wearing anything other than a formal suit; the dark, narrow-fitting pants clinging to the taut muscles of his thighs, the thin silk shirt hinting at the shadow of hair across his chest. Her stomach muscles tensed protestingly, and she was vividly reminded of how she had felt when he touched her. A fine linen jacket emphasised the breadth of his shoulders, and Jessica suddenly felt acutely nervous. What did she know of this man, apart from the fact that he had an almost obsessive pride in the good name of his family? Nothing!
'You may cease looking at me as though I had suddenly grown two heads. I assure you, you are quite safe,' he told her urbanely. 'Just as long as you behave yourself.'
'And if I don't, you'll do what?' Jessica demanded huskily. 'Punish me as you did yesterday, by forcing yourself on me?'
'Be careful, Senorita James,' he warned her softly. 'You challenge me so recklessly that I wonder if you find the "punishment" as unpalatable as you claim. You have a saying, do you not, "Any port in a storm", but I will not be the port for your frustrated desires, no matter how much you goad me.'
Jessica stared at him fulminatingly. Did he dare to suggest that she actually wanted him to touch her? To…
'You're quite wrong,' she told him bitterly. 'I would rather endure the worst tempest that can rage than seek a haven in your arms!'
Just for a moment she thought she had disconcerted him. There was a brief flash of surprise in his eyes, but then it was gone, and he was ushering her through the foyer to the main entrance of the hotel. Outside, he guided her towards a gleaming Mercedes, while a porter brought out her luggage.
Jessica glanced at the car and shivered slightly. Once she was inside it there would be no going back, no chance to change her mind. She hesitated, torn between a longing to escape no matter what the cost, and a feeling that she owed it to Colin to stay.
'Do not do it,' a dulcet voice murmured in her ear. 'Where would you run to? Come,' Sebastian added, 'get in the car, and stop regarding me as though I were a convicted felon. I assure you I am quite harmless when I am treated with respect.'
Blindly Jessica groped for the rear door handle, but to her surprise, he opened the front passenger door.
'What's the matter?' she asked him bitterly as she climbed in. 'Surely you aren't afraid I'll try and escape?'
'We are supposed to be lovers,' he told her succinctly. 'That being the case, you would not sit alone in the rear of the car.'
'Certainly not,' Jessica agreed sarcastically. 'That, from what I recall of Spanish life, is a privilege accorded only to wives!'
They drove for several kilometres in silence, Jessica's nerves tensing every time Sebastian glanced at her. He was a fast but careful driver. She looked surreptitiously at him, flushing when she discovered that he was watching her.
'I have already told you,' he said harshly, 'you have nothing of a sexual nature to fear from me.'
'I don't,' Jessica told him, surprised by the anger in his eyes and the rigid line of his mouth.
'No? You are clutching the edge of your seat as though you expect an imminent assault on your virtue. Or are you simply trying for an effect? If so, it won't work,' he told her laconically. 'Even if I did not know all about you from Jorge, I could never believe that a Northern European woman in her twenties had retained the virginal innocence you are trying to portray.'
'Why not?' Jessica snapped at him. 'That comment has about as much basis for truth as saying that all Spanish girls are virgins when they marry—it simply doesn't hold water.'
'I shall not argue about it,' she was told evenly, 'but if I were you I would not tax my patience too greatly by trying to assimilate a personality we both know you do not possess!'
Jessica didn't know how long it would take them to reach the hacienda, but when eleven o'clock came and went and they were in the depths of the country she started to realise how difficult it might be for her to leave the hacienda if she wished.
'Not much farther now,' Sebastian told her. 'Another hour, perhaps.'
'How on earth can you work so far away from the factory?' Jessica asked him.
'There are such things as telephones,' he told her dryly. 'The hacienda has been in my family for many generations. We still grow the grapes that go to make one of our fine local sherries, although now this is not produced exclusively from Calvadores vines.'
Jessica had already noticed the vines growing in the fields, but pride had prevented her from asking too many questions—that and a growing nausea exacerbated by the fact that she had had no breakfast. In fact she was beginning to feel distinctly lightheaded, but she forced herself to appear alert and interested as Sebastian told her about the local wines, and the art of making sherry.
It was almost exactly twelve o'clock when they turned off the main road, throwing up clouds of dust as they bumped down an unmade-up track. Vines covered the ground as far as the eye could see, and it was only when they crested a small incline that Jessica got her first glimpse of the hacienda.
For some reason she had expected a simple farmhouse-type building, and she caught her breath in awe as she stared down at the collection of Moorish-style buildings, shimmering whitely in the strong sunlight, the cupolas gilded by the sun, for all the world as though the entire complex had been wafted from ancient Baghdad on a magic carpet.
'The original building was constructed many centuries ago by an ancestor of mine,' Sebastian told her. 'He was given this land as part of his wife's dowry and on it he built the first house. Since then many generations have added to it, but always retaining the Moorish flavour—of course there have been times, for instance during the Inquisition, when it was not always wise for people to admit to their Moorish blood, when it has even perhaps
been expedient to deny it.'
Looking at him, Jessica couldn't imagine that he would ever deny his heritage; indeed, she could far more easily see him condemning himself to the flames of the auto de Fe than recanting his Moorish blood and his proud ancestors.
They drove under a white archway and into an outer courtyard, paved and cool. As Sebastian opened her door for her, Jessica was aware of movements, of a door opening and people hurrying towards them. A wave of dizziness struck her, and she clung hard to the nearest solid object, distracted to realise it was Sebastian's arm, and then, catching her completely off guard, Sebastian bent his head, coolly capturing her lips and plundering the unguarded sweetness of her mouth.
Just for a moment time seemed to stand still, crazily improbable emotions racing through her heart. What was happening to her that she should want to cling to those broad shoulders and go on clinging? And then her lips were released and Sebastian was saying lazily, in English, 'Ah, Tia Sofia, allow me to introduce Jessica.'
And Jessica was being scrutinised thoughtfully by a pair of snapping dark eyes, very much like Sebastian's, although in a feminine and less arrogant face.
'You are on time, Sebastian,' was all his aunt said. 'The little one is so excited I have had to tell her to go and lie down for a little while. It is always the same when she knows you are coming.'
'My aunt refers to my… ward,' Sebastian explained to Jessica. 'She lives here at the hacienda with my aunt and will do so until she is old enough to go to school.' His fingers rested lightly on her arm, and although she was looking discreetly away, Jessica knew that his aunt was aware of their intimacy.
'I have had Rosalinda's rooms prepared for your guest,' she was saying to Sebastian, glancing uncertainly at him.
'Rosalinda was the first Calvadores bride to occupy the hacienda,' Sebastian told Jessica. 'Her rooms are in one of the towers, quite secluded from the rest of the house with their own courtyard and stairs leading from it.'
