One Night In Collection

by Various Authors

  And then a shadow crossed the veranda outside. Immediately, Isobel drew back, half-alarmed. It was a man; she was sure of it. Had he been spying on her? She glanced towards the double doors in alarm. Goodness; she hadn’t even locked them before going for her shower.

  She considered opening the door and peering out, but that seemed foolish. Besides, when one of the palm trees outside swayed towards the windows, she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t what she’d seen before. She was on edge, she thought, anxious about her daughter and anxious about the upcoming interview. Once she’d had a good night’s sleep, she’d view everything in a different light.

  Returning to the bedroom, she quickly stowed her underwear on the shelves in the armoire. The few tops and dresses she’d brought barely filled the hanging space. Tank tops and shorts were folded into the drawers of the vanity, while the little make-up she’d brought with her looked lost on the cut-glass tray.

  After several attempts, Isobel finally decided to wear a plain black slip-dress. It was formal without being too traditional, and was cooler than a sleeved top would have been. Strapless sandals, also in black, gave her height as well as confidence. But viewing the few pounds she’d gained since Emma was born was not the most reassuring thing.

  The maid arrived so quickly after she rang that she was half-inclined to believe the girl had been waiting outside the whole time. Perhaps that was who she’d seen earlier, she thought. She hadn’t been sure it was a man—or anybody, to be precise.

  As soon as she stepped outside, Isobel was glad she’d worn the silk dress but the breeze off the ocean was appealing. It was the first time she’d noticed the scent of the sea.

  Once again, they entered the main building, crossing the hall and through one of the immaculate rooms Isobel had glimpsed on her arrival. Beyond the room, a glass-walled terrace provided additional living space. And it was there that she found Anita Silveira, reclining languidly on a cushioned chaise longue.

  She got to her feet at Isobel’s entrance, however, her eyes flickering critically over the younger woman, making Isobel feel as if she was wanting somehow. Anita, for her part, was dressed in a flowing caftan of many colours, its dipping neckline and hip-high slit accentuating her voluptuous figure.

  ‘Ah, Ms Jameson,’ she said, putting down the cocktail glass she was holding and regarding her guest with guarded eyes. ‘How delightful you look. So essentially English, nao?’

  Isobel wouldn’t have said so, but she supposed, compared to Anita’s colourful outfit, she did look unexciting. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said, trying to make a joke of it. She glanced about her, noticing the waiter hovering over a chilled cabinet in the corner. ‘This is nice. Less formal than—than—’

  ‘You find my home formal, Ms Jameson?’

  Anita leapt on her words, and Isobel decided she would have to think more carefully before she spoke. ‘Um, traditional,’ she said at last. ‘It reminds me of houses I’ve seen in Portugal.’ She moistened her lips and then continued, ‘Actually, you have a very beautiful home.’

  Anita looked a little mollified, and as if deciding there was no point in pursuing the topic she said, ‘Let Ruis get you a drink, senhora. What will you have? Wine, perhaps? Or a cocktail?’

  ‘White wine, please,’ said Isobel gratefully. The last thing she needed was anything too alcoholic to confuse her already tired brain.

  ‘Muito bem.’ Anita snapped her fingers. ‘Some wine for the senhora, Ruis, por favor.’

  ‘Sim, senhora.’

  Ruis sprang into action, and a moment later Isobel had a glass of white wine in her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said as the young man resumed his position by the cabinet. ‘This is very nice.’

  Ruis bowed his head, and as he did so Isobel heard other footsteps crossing the room next door. They were slow footsteps, slightly halting, but Anita turned with evident pleasure towards the door.

  ‘Ah, here is my son-in-law,’ she said, startling Isobel, who hadn’t known her daughter was married. ‘Come and greet our guest, Alex. We have been waiting for you.’

  Isobel expelled a sigh. She had wondered if Anita intended to start the interview tonight, and now she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry this wasn’t so. Despite the hospitality she’d been offered, she couldn’t deny she’d be glad when this particular assignment was over. And meeting members of Anita’s family hadn’t been part of the deal.

  And then her legs weakened under her. The man who joined them was regarding her with a cool, sardonic gaze. Anita might know him as Alex, but Isobel was more familiar with Alejandro. It might have been three years and God knew how many miles since they’d last seen one another, but the man who stepped rather unevenly onto the terrace was undeniably her daughter’s father.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ISOBEL badly wanted to sit down, but of course she couldn’t. Not without drawing attention to her shocked expression anyway, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead, she had to stand there with a stupid smile freezing on her lips while Alejandro crossed to where Anita was waiting.

  She noticed, almost unconsciously, that he dragged one of his legs as he did so, and when he bent to bestow the expected kiss on each of Anita’s cheeks, she caught her breath at the sight of the scar that scored a path from his right eyebrow to his mouth.

  If Alejandro heard her gasp, he gave no indication of it as he greeted his mother-in-law. ‘Ola, cara,’ he said, his voice just as low and disturbing as Isobel remembered. ‘I see our guest has arrived.’

  Our guest?

  Isobel swallowed. What was she supposed to say now? Did she mention their previous acquaintance? In normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have hesitated. But these were not normal circumstances, and she knew it. There was Emma to consider. Did he know about the baby? Or was this just an awful coincidence, as unexpected to him as it was to her?

  Anita was speaking, and Isobel struggled to understand what she was saying. ‘Sim, this is Ms Jameson,’ she heard the other woman say, stretching out a hand towards her. ‘Come and meet my son-in-law, Ms Jameson—Alex Cabral. He is joining us for dinner.’

  Before Isobel could say anything, Alejandro held out his hand in greeting. ‘Bem vindo a Brazil, Ms Jameson,’ he said, which she knew from her phrasebook meant ‘welcome'. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, senhora.’

  So obviously he had no intention of acknowledging that he knew her. Isobel moistened her lips, wishing she could be as blasé about the situation as he was. Unless he didn’t remember her, of course. She could be fooling herself that their relationship had been that memorable. He’d probably slept with any number of English girls on his visits to London. Remembering his reaction after they’d made love did not encourage her to believe it mattered either way.

  And he’d evidently come back to Brazil and got married fairly quickly. Her fingers tightened on her glass. So, not memorable at all. But it was another fact to file away for the article she was going to write, she reminded herself tightly. Although she’d known Anita’s daughter had died in her early twenties, she was fairly sure her uncle had never mentioned her having been married at the time.

  Still, Alejandro had changed, she conceded. He looked much older than she remembered, but losing his wife was bound to have had some bearing on that.

  Her stomach clenched, but she ignored it, concentrating instead on his injuries. Something had caused the flecks of grey in his night-dark hair and the deeply carved lines around his eyes and mouth.

  Yet, for all that, he still possessed that soul-destroying magnetism that had first drawn her to him. Even the ugly scar had added strength to a face that had always been wholly sensual, wholly male.

  But it wasn’t just his looks that caused her pulse to race so alarmingly. It was the knowledge that, if she wasn’t careful, that subtle power he possessed might defeat her resistance once again.

  Was he aware of it? Meeting those deep-set eyes, she had no way of knowing. His face was darkly intent, darkly perc
eptive, but also darkly enigmatic. She couldn’t possibly guess what he was thinking at this moment. But the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was unnerving. She suspected he was enjoying a joke—but was it at her expense or Anita’s?

  With an effort, she said, ‘How do you do, senhor?’ managing not to flinch when hard, slightly calloused fingers closed about her hand. But she couldn’t prevent an instinctive recoil at the wave of heat that swept up her arm and into her face when his palm pressed briefly, intimately, against hers.

  Oh no, she thought, meeting his gaze again and seeing the contempt that twisted his lips at her reaction. He thought she was repulsed by his appearance. Dear heaven, how wrong could he be?

  And it seemed Anita was not indifferent to the silent battle of wills that was being waged between her son-in-law and her guest. Intervening, she said, ‘Your uncle must have told you that my daughter, Miranda, died a little over a year ago.’ Her eyes moved to her son-in-law, and she slipped an arm through his. ‘Since then, Alex and I have become very close. Is that not so, querido? We survived her loss together.’

  Isobel’s eyes widened. She hadn’t realised it was such a short time since Anita’s daughter had died. But then, events moved fast in this part of the world, she conceded, trying not to feel bitter.

  She wondered how long Miranda and Alejandro had been married, before—what? Had an accident torn them apart? Was it even possible that he’d been married when he was in London?

  ‘E claro. Of course.’ Alejandro was speaking now. If he objected to the older woman’s possessiveness, he didn’t show it. Then, addressing himself to Isobel again, his voice noticeably cooler, he added, ‘I understand you have a daughter also, Ms Jameson. It is a pity you could not have brought her with you.’

  Isobel suddenly felt as if the air-conditioned room had become airless. She couldn’t breathe, and she was sure all the colour had drained out of her face. He knew, she thought unsteadily; he knew about Emma. But what did he know? Did he realise she was his daughter? How had he found out?

  ‘I—I—’

  The words stuck in her throat as she suddenly realised he hadn’t been surprised to see her. She’d been so caught up with her own feelings, she hadn’t identified the most important aspect of this meeting. He’d known she was coming. And for some reason he hadn’t tried to stop her. Why? Why would he want to see her again? Unless Emma was the key.

  Her mouth was dry, and she resorted to a gulp of wine to try and loosen her tongue. But all she succeeded in doing was choking herself, and she had to stand there coughing helplessly while Alejandro came forward and took the glass out of her shaking hand.

  ‘I think our guest is too tired to answer your questions tonight, Alex.’ Anita came to her rescue, and Isobel was grateful—although she couldn’t help the ungracious thought that the woman had resented Alejandro’s attention being focussed on someone else and not her. Turning, she snapped her fingers at the waiter, her instructions sharp and imperative, and he hurried out of the room. Then, with a tight smile at Isobel, she said, ‘I have told Ruis to arrange with Sancha to have your meal served in your room, senhora. I am sure you would prefer it this evening, nao?’

  Isobel’s sigh was heartfelt. ‘Oh yes; thank you, senhora,’ she said, making sure to avoid Alejandro’s eyes. ‘I am rather weary. It’s been a long journey. If you’ll excuse me, I will have an early night.’

  ‘I will escort Ms Jameson back to her suite,’ said Alejandro at once, but to Isobel’s relief Anita objected.

  ‘I think Ms Jameson would prefer one of the servants to assist her,’ she said, patting his sleeve reprovingly. ‘She barely knows you, querido.’ The smile she directed towards him was intimate. ‘You can be a little intimidating at times.’

  Alejandro’s mouth thinned, and he said something to Anita in their own language that wiped the smile from her face. Then, turning to Isobel, he said coldly, ‘I apologise if I have intimidated you, senhora. That was not my intention. We will continue our conversation at another time, nao?’

  Isobel wanted to say that she had nothing to discuss with him, but this was not the time to start an argument, and she managed a polite smile in return.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it, senhor,’ she said, refusing to let him see that he had rattled her. But she was overwhelmingly relieved when the maid who’d escorted her to the terrace appeared to escort her back again.

  The food when it arrived didn’t interest her. Isobel felt sick, disorientated, totally confused as to why she was here. Was she really expected to write an article about Anita? Or was that just a ruse to get her there? But, if that were so, what did Alejandro hope to gain by it? It all came back to Emma and she was scared.

  It was still dark when Alejandro parked his SUV above the dunes that backed onto Anita’s villa. He’d driven home after a rather strained dinner with his mother-in-law, rejecting her offer to stay over. But he hadn’t gone home to bed. He didn’t sleep well these days anyway, and after last night’s little fiasco he hadn’t attempted to undress. He was determined to see Isobel, to talk to her. And if that meant treading on Anita’s toes, then so be it.

  Running a careless hand over the growth of stubble on his jawline, he thrust open his door and got haltingly out of the vehicle. Despite the hour, the air was still warm, though there was a delicious breeze blowing up off the ocean. The scent of salt was stimulating, and he thought that in other circumstances he might have been considering taking his yacht out for a sail today.

  The villa seemed all in darkness. Anita would still be sleeping; she rarely rose before eleven. Sometimes it was midday before she summoned Sancha to deliver the strong black coffee she drank so liberally. That, together with a narrow, black cheroot, was all she had for breakfast.

  Which was why Alejandro occasionally chose this time to walk on the beach. His own property was a dozen miles from here, over a precipitous route that wound up into the hills above the villa. He didn’t visit the villa every time he drove down here, but since he’d known Isobel was coming he’d begun to haunt the place.

  It was hard, incredibly hard, to remain calm when he wanted to howl his outrage at the unfairness of fate. He hadn’t realised it would be so difficult, seeing Isobel again. And, while his situation had changed so dramatically, she seemed infuriatingly the same.

  Except that she had had a baby…

  The shadows lightened, highlighting a piece of driftwood in his path. Kicking it aside, he was grateful to avoid it. It would have been easy to mistake it for a clump of seaweed thrown up by the incoming tide.

  Then, as he straightened, he saw her. It was still barely light, but there was no mistaking the slim figure etched against a sky lemon-tinged by the rising sun. His teeth clenched, and for a moment he wondered if she was just a figment of his imagination. But, no, she was there, her feet ankle-deep in the frothing water.

  She wasn’t aware that she was no longer alone. He’d allowed the SUV to coast the last few yards to where he parked, and the dunes muffled everything but the roar of the ocean. In shorts and a sleeveless vest, she was evidently not expecting to meet anyone. Perfect, he thought firmly. He’d wanted to catch her unprepared.

  ‘Hi,’ he said when he was near enough to speak without raising his voice, but she started anyway. ‘Thinking of going for a swim?’

  Isobel’s hands came together at her waist. ‘No,’ she said quickly, glancing back towards the villa. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, ‘Do you live here?’

  Alejandro’s lips twisted. ‘No.’

  ‘So did you stay the night?’

  ‘Oh, please.’ He swept back his hair with a careless hand, regarding her incredulously. ‘Anita is my mother-in-law, not my lover.’

  ‘Are you sure she feels the same way?’

  The words were out before Isobel could prevent them, and she felt a moment’s panic when his hands clenched into fists at his sides. What did she know about this man really? Despite that distant intimacy, he was
as much a stranger to her now as Anita.

  And yet…

  ‘Does it matter?’ His words arrested her troubled thoughts. Amber eyes darkened perceptibly. ‘Are you jealous, cara?’ His mouth took on a sensual curve. ‘I must admit, it is an eventuality I had not considered.’

  ‘In your dreams!’

  Isobel’s face flushed with colour and her eyes flashed in indignation. And Alejandro felt a frustrating twinge of guilt for making fun of her that way.

  With the sun clearing the horizon, he thought how absurdly innocent she looked, her face free of any make-up, her lips parted and trembling. She was wearing pink this morning, and the clinging fabric of her vest exposed her nipples in minute detail. He doubted she was wearing a bra. In fact, he was sure she wasn’t. And against his will—much against his will, he told himself grimly—he felt an unfamiliar hardening between his legs.

  She turned now, evidently intent on putting some space between them, but he couldn’t let her go like this. ‘Wait,’ he said, his fingers circling her upper arm as she would have hurried away. ‘We need to talk, Isobella. Or are you going to continue with this pretence that you and I had never met before last evening?’

  ‘I didn’t start the pretence. You did,’ Isobel countered, looking pointedly at his hand gripping her arm, and then up again into his dark face.

  Alejandro frowned. He had to concede that she was right. He had made no attempt to tell Anita about that distant affair, and, although he’d been prepared for their meeting the night before, he hadn’t taken into account how he would really feel when he saw her again.

  ‘Esta bem,’ he said shortly. ‘All right. But would you have rather brought up the subject of our daughter’s paternity with Anita looking on? I think not. I think you were—how do they say?—shocked out of your mind when you saw me. And not just because of my changed appearance.’