He changed his mind about leaving and sauntered slowly towards her. 'What's this?' he asked huskily. 'Are you celebrating?'
His blue eyes seemed to glitter as they moved over her new hairdo, taking in every bit of it with a reluctant approval. She put up a hand to touch it, self-consciously pulling at a stray tendril and biting her lower lip. Her breathing seemed to come to a full stop whenever he came near—it was still the same, despite everything.
He took a step closer but she was rooted to the spot. Why had she called out to him like that? How could she have imagined she would feel nothing this time? She deliberately steadied her breathing, but she could feel her nipples tighten in primitive excitement against the thin voile of the dress she wore. Her body was melting at his nearness and she could almost feel his touch honeying over her naked skin.
'Angel—why are you doing this to me? I think you'd better leave --' His voice rasped in her ears and when she stole a look at him his face was a pale mask from which his eyes glittered menacingly.
'Leave?' she gasped.
He shook his head. 'No, not that, I'm sorry. I gave my word. We have our agreement. But something must be worked out to get us through the next twenty-nine days.. .and nights.' He lifted a black eyebrow, cynical again, and in control, the throbbing intensity of the last few moments replaced by a familiar hardness. 'I'm not used to having a woman about the place who does this to me...' He touched himself on the chest over his heart and gave another thin smile.
As she managed to tear her glance from his he asked silkily, 'This lover of yours—why does he not write to you or even phone you? Haven't you told him you can be contacted? Maybe you would like to fax him?'
She turned back. 'You know he isn't my lover, Rod. I told you that.'
'Such a long silence—either you're speaking the truth or he's a fool.'
He regarded her without speaking, and in a flurry of confusion she beat a retreat, reaching the sanctuary of her room with a rapidly beating heart and sitting for a long time looking down at the garden before she knew it was time to go down to dinner and come face to face with him again.
Dinner on the terrace. Guests. Music. The romantic glow of fire-flares softening the contours of faces, bringing a sheen to the hair. A scene from paradise... but anguish in her soul whenever she glanced at him.
He was in black again. It emphasised his predatory sex appeal. Despite his deep tan, the strength in his face, he seemed drained, unfocused, dark smudges beneath his eyes, the accentuated hollows under the cheekbones hinting at fatigue. His restless eyes were over-bright, observing with sardonic detachment the scene in front of him.
He was moving politely from one group to another but there was something in him that remained aloof. Their eyes never met. She couldn't even tell if he knew she was there.
She saw his lips draw back in a brief smile at something someone was telling him. She wanted to run to his side, to reach out and touch the smooth gloss of his black hair. She ached for him despite the coiled and dangerous air he wore tonight. He seemed to vibrate with silent power, a giant in the crowd.
Never has he seemed more remote, she registered. And never more forbidden. Garcia Montada. El Senhor.
He has the power of a medieval monarch, she told herself, trying not to allow her glance to be continually drawn his way, but she knew now he ruled wisely and well. Her heart ached with longing for what she couldn't have.
Feeling lost in the surrounding babble, she was helping herself to some strawberries from the buffet when her body gave a thrill of recognition.
He was beside her.
There was no need to turn her head. The little hairs on the back of her neck were suddenly alive with the knowledge.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted a strawberry and bit into it. She swallowed. Waiting.
A tremor ran through her entire body as one firm hand came to rest in the small of her back. The other one held a strawberry to her lips.
'Come, angel,' he murmured huskily. 'We have played too long. Try this. This is the best. Taste and enjoy.'
With still averted glance she had no choice but to surrender her mouth to the succulence of soft flesh. Sweetness oozed over her tongue and trickled deliciously down her throat.
'Good?' he murmured. His thumb was moving at the base of her spine, making tiny movements that were nothing in themselves but turned her limbs to liquid sweetness.
'We are avoiding each other, angel. We are both trying to draw back. How sensible!' His tone was disparaging. 'But what good is it doing? Why live in hell when the gates of paradise are there to be opened?' His voice was now an urgent whisper against her ear.
She half turned.
'There is no one else for you,' he said swiftly. 'This we both know. We know it. And I would make things so beautiful for you... you would be like a princess by my side... Say yes, angel, say yes and put me out of my misery...'
When she didn't answer he went on in the same urgent whisper, 'Come... let me choose another strawberry for you. This one—this one is perfect...'
Unable to resist, she opened her mouth and felt the rough texture between her lips. When her teeth bit into its flesh it was even sweeter and sharper than the last...
'Life can be like this. I can choose the best for you in everything if you will only allow it.'
With a gulp she swallowed the strawberry and felt his hard body pressing against her own as he leaned over to pluck another fruit from the dish.
Forbidden fruit...
Her head sank back as she swayed to look into his eyes. The blue of heaven was flecked with the silver of night. 'Don't...' She struggled to find her voice. 'Don't taunt me, Senhor Montada...'
His thumb was still making its velvety motions at the base of her spine but it was as if he were touching her all over. She regretted the backless dress but had found nothing more discreet. His warm hand on her skin was like a promise of things to come if only she could surrender...
She turned suddenly, dashing his hand away. 'Please!' she hissed fiercely, but keeping her voice low so that none of the other guests would hear. 'You must stop this --'
'But why? Tell me your reasons?' he countered hoarsely. 'There is no one else. After days of hell I have discovered that much!'
'Oh, have you?' she whispered. 'Are you sure?'
'I'm as sure as anyone can be unless you have a secret lover no one in the world knows about!'
How true his words, she thought in a fever of confusion. But she mustn't weaken while he wore someone else's ring. 'And how do you know this? What do you really know about me?'
'Naturally I have been in contact with your boss, this Cavendish fellow --'
'You've been spying on me?'
'Not at all. It would have been unreasonable to fly you here and tell no one. Your Gavin is a man twice your age whom you have met once only. Am I right?'
She .didn't reply to that but lifted her chin and said, 'So?'
'So I have no need to fear your heart is his, nor your lips, nor --' his voice dropped an interval'—nor anything else I would wish to possess --'
'You're stepping beyond the bounds again and if you don't want me to cause a scene --' she began in a furious whisper.
'Let's not risk that!' His lips curled with amusement. 'I would hate to see you humiliate yourself in front of my guests.' Instead of stalking off as she hoped, he gripped her by the wrists and, clearing a way through the crowd with a convincing smile on his face, hauled her unobtrusively around a corner into the small courtyard off the main terrace. Here a fountain tinkled charmingly out of the mouth of a dolphin into a marble basin full of fish.
He trapped her against one of the walls with a hand each side of her head. It reminded her of the time he had caught her climbing down from the ascent tree and in order to prevent her kicking out at him had pinned her against it. They had almost reached some understanding after that, but now it seemed as if they were back to square one. How could he expect it to be any different when he was m
arried and insisted on trying to persuade her to do something she knew she would always regret?
She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of the lips she longed to submit to. 'Don't do that if you don't want me to kiss you to distraction,' he suggested, his tone hard now. She guessed it was only pride that was keeping him from carrying out his threat.
But she opened her eyes at once. There was a considering look in his own as if he was still trying to understand the mystery of her rejection. 'How can you prefer your empty bed to the nights of pleasure we could share?' he murmured throatily. 'Is it maybe because you have never had a lover before now, Chrissy?'
In the half-light she wondered if he could see the flame that swept her cheeks. But she mustn't let him think she was an ingénue or he would regard her as easy game. 'I don't know why you should imagine that, Senhor,' she said stiffly.
'Senhor...? That tells me as much as does your intentionally misleading reply.' He lifted one hand and stroked the top of her head. 'I should have realised. I've made every wrong move—when all I wanted was to offer you everything.'
'At a price,' she pointed out in case she found herself swayed by his apparent generosity.
'A price? But yes, and who would pay? Surely not you? How so? In pleasure received, in happiness. I could make you happy, Chrissy. I could teach you how to love. You would pay no price, believe me.'
'And if I didn't do exactly as you wanted you would retreat into your tower of silence again,' she said toughly.
'That, yes. I have tried to ignore you. I thought it was what you wanted. But it is hard, so hard. I have never put myself on the line like this before. I have had no need to. Me? Garcia Montada—yes, I've had things my way. Always. I admit that. And now you, a little angelic creature, say no and my world is in ashes.'
He leaned down and kissed her lightly, then suddenly she felt his hands come up as if he couldn't stop them and she was being pulled heavily against him, her own struggles, violent though they were, doing more to aid than hinder him as he bent over her in a passionate embrace. When he lifted his head from her lips he ground out, 'Why don't you stop me?'
'I—I can't-—' she whispered. 'I have to trust you to stop --'
'How? When I am sick with longing for you?' He held her swaying against him and she felt his fingers running over and over through her hair.
'I'm making a mess of your hairstyle,' he told her in a feverish whisper. 'Forgive me.'
'I can't help forgiving you everything but one thing, Rod. You must know that...' She felt tears of anguish glisten in the corners of her eyes. It wasn't fair to be taunted like this—he was inflaming her whole mind with dreams of what it would be like to give herself to him, but it was forbidden and she would go on resisting whatever subtle torment of touch and taste and tenderness he invented.
'What is that one thing? Tell me and I'll do away with it!'
'You must know,' she said. 'I could never be your mistress as you put it. To me that would be the lowest degradation. Can't you understand? It's only because you're so—so attractive to me that—well, put simply, I'm ashamed to say I still find you so...' She bit her lip on the brink of confessing everything, but the knowledge that once she did so the task of resisting would be all the harder made her hold back the words.
'Are you trying to tell me you find me somewhat to your liking? But I know that, angel. I know how you melt when I touch you. I've seen your eyes yearning for my look. I'm not completely inexperienced in these things. Don't you realise that if I hadn't seen all that I would not have persisted in this way? I am not a monster. I can keep my hunger under control when necessary. But when you yearn towards me, when your body seems to flame at the slightest touch, I know as well as you that you want me, desire me—and only something powerful is keeping you away from what you want.'
'You know what it is.' She closed her eyes. 'I could never be a man's mistress. It would be so wrong.'
'I see.' He pressed his face against the side of her neck as if unwilling to part from her but then he moved away, releasing her, dragging himself with reluctance from her side, saying, 'I can offer you anything in the world except that --'
'What?' she asked, breathing raggedly and longing for him to hold her if only for a moment longer.
'That...? Marriage,' he said heavily. 'That is what you are asking of me, isn't it?'
'No! I --' She jerked up her chin. 'I wasn't asking that. How could I...? I mean——'
'No, all right, as you say.' He gave a strange smile as if an element of distrust had crept into his thoughts. 'Let's leave it. If those are your terms, very well. Let me get used to the idea.'
'Even you --' she was going to say 'even you can't trouble-shoot your way out of this,' but it seemed pointless to go on discussing it. She moved heavily away, intending to join the party. She was amazed she had been able to forget that there were a hundred people or more only feet away. The last few minutes had put the world a million miles out of touch.
He let her go without protest as if he knew there was nothing further to keep them. When she turned at the corner to glance back he was propped against the wall, leaning on one arm, staring after her, his black bulk standing out starkly against the white stucco. With his face in shadow she couldn't tell what expression it wore, but his eyes were hooded and she knew he was already brooding on a way of getting round what he would no doubt see as merely some new obstacle to his desire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sunrise came as swiftly as sunset—hidden beneath the horizon, the sun suddenly lifted, above the tops of the trees, a swollen scarlet globe. Second by second its warm shafts reached into the world of night and put the shadows to flight. From where she was sitting in a small tucked-away boudoir at the front of the house where no one ever seemed to go, Chrissy couldn't help counting off the nights. Only twenty-seven remained. Was Rod counting them too? She knew if he had meant any of the things he had said, then it would be so.
Bitterness at the sacred vows that parted them had kindled and now hours later burned itself out. What was the point of howling against fate? It was her own fool-hardiness that had led her to plunge recklessly on instead of retreating to safety with a thousand miles of ocean between them. When Lars had his accident she should have gone back to the city too. Everyone would have understood. Her contract didn't provide for the closing of the unit and she would have been justified in getting out. She should have done that because anyone else would have realised Rod's decision to bring her back to the hacienda had an ulterior purpose.
At the time she had been so confused, so lost in the tangle of her own emotions, she hadn't thought to consider his. And if she had known his reasons for bringing her here, would she still have come with him? The little voice that said yes made her cringe with shame. Who knows? she asked herself defensively. I would have done what was right.
Stiff with tiredness but more aware of a deep inner chill, she rose to her feet and padded back down the long silent corridors to her rooms. Too tired to dress and yet too nervy to sleep, she lay down on the bed for an hour, tossing as she had done far into the still hours of the previous night.
At seven a maid brought her tea on a tray. When she left and Chrissy sat up she saw a single long-stemmed rose on the white lawn cloth. There was no message, but its colour told her everything—for it was as deep a crimson as heart's blood.
Wearing a yellow halter-neck sun-dress, and with her hair tied back in a sliver of black ribbon, she was at her desk before the sun was much higher. There was something sweet about this part of the morning, a cleanliness, a simplicity, that made the feverish fantasies of the night recede.
Her work was progressing beautifully and she was pleased she had that as a bulwark against the worst pangs of desire that threatened her peace of mind. Soon she would put in a report to the lab at home, send an update to Gavin, and suggest one or two ways in which she might further the scope of the survey in the time at her disposal. It was a pity she couldn't stay out here longer, but n
o doubt Gavin would be itching to get back—if further grants could be extracted from the powers that be.
The rapid tapping of the typewriter next door gave her a reassuring sense of normality. If it wasn't for the feeling that Rod had some plot up his sleeve she would have coped, if not altogether happily, with the way things were. Though if she had bothered to probe more deeply, she might have come to the conclusion that she owed her present tranquillity to the knowledge that he was close at hand. It was as well, however, to keep thoughts like that at bay.
'This is beautiful, is it from Rodrigo's special crop?' Chrissy spun round then gave a little smile.
'Anna! You gave me a shock, I was miles away and didn't hear you come in.' She blushed, aware that she had been daydreaming about Rod at that very moment.
Anna picked up the crimson rose and sniffed it appreciatively. Her eyes were thoughtful when she replaced it. Wondering what she was thinking, Chrissy felt a tide of confusion sweep over her. What did the staff think of the generosity their boss was bestowing on her? Did they imagine there were strings attached? She pursed her lips. Perhaps it was usual for him to install his mistresses at the house—whether his wife was present or not! Perhaps the staff no longer found it shocking or even interesting? Perhaps Rod and his wife even had some understanding about this sort of thing? It had been strange that Juanita had left so abruptly.
She decided to find out the reason if she could. 'I'm surprised Juanita hasn't come back,' she began. 'Is she still on holiday?'
'Deus, no, though she probably wishes she were!' exclaimed Anna, smiling fondly. 'What an imp she is! No, she is now safely back at college.'
'College? I thought she would have left in the circumstances.'
'Oh, she is not as bad as she makes out,' replied Anna, misunderstanding her. 'At seventeen it's the thing to play at being rather wild, don't you think?'
'She's only seventeen?' Chrissy gulped. She wanted to ask how long she and Rod had been married, but somehow found the question sticking in her throat. How could he treat such a young wife with such scant regard? Or was it perhaps merely a marriage of convenience? A dynastic marriage between two great landowning families? 'Are her family very wealthy?' she asked.
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