‘And does the lucky guy in your life know that?’
‘What lucky guy in my life?’ She was momentarily bewildered. ‘Oh. Oliver.’ She shrugged. ‘Absolutely.’
‘You seem very young to have made such a momentous decision...or perhaps your fiancé is behind it? Is he divorced? Maybe with a family of his own already? Sometimes middle-aged men with grown children don’t want to add to the tally when they decide to marry someone much younger than them...’
Emily recognised fishing when she heard it, and although she should have terminated the meandering conversation the wine had dulled her senses. She wasn’t accustomed to alcohol. She could feel herself wavering on the brink of saying more than she would ever have dreamt of saying had she been her usual careful, alert self.
It was so strange, being here with him. In the warm, shadowy night he was no longer her boss, no longer the man she privately scorned, no longer someone in whom she should never confide. The boundaries between them were blurred, and his deep, lazy voice was oddly enticing.
‘I didn’t think we were here to talk about me,’ she said, in a voice that lacked its usual firm conviction.
Leandro sipped his wine and allowed the conversation to drop as they consulted their menus. He chatted briefly about the offerings for dinner. Her soft hair fell in waves around her face and he was mesmerised as she tucked a few strands behind her ear and chewed her lip thoughtfully at the menu.
Perhaps there should be more fish, she thought aloud. After all, they were in the Caribbean, and wouldn’t guests expect more than just a couple of fishy options?
‘I take it you like fish...?’
‘Love it. Especially as I don’t often cook it at home.’
Leandro wondered what her home was like. A reflection of her complex personality? Sharp modern designs? Abstract reproductions hanging on the walls?
‘I don’t often cook,’ he said by way of an amused rejoinder, and Emily tilted her head to one side and looked at him.
‘You know what? That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘No? And why is that?’
‘Because men like you don’t.’
Leandro stilled. He looked at her narrowly and she met his eyes without blinking.
‘Men like me?’ he said coolly. ‘Are we going to revisit the tired topic of the way you think I use women?’
He sat back as their starters were set in front of them and plates neatly adjusted to the perfect position. Their glasses were refilled but then they were left alone, which was good. Her attention had drifted down to her starter, but Leandro thought that if she figured she could now change the conversation and start talking about the table service, or some such other bland topic, then she would have to think again.
‘You have lots of money,’ she mumbled, picking at her starter and then digging in with more enthusiasm because it was delicious—a cool salad of leaves and fresh mango with spicy prawns piled on top. ‘Why would you cook for yourself when you can pay someone else to do it for you?’
‘Because I may actually like cooking but lack the time to put into it.’
‘Do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Really like cooking but just don’t have the time to do it...?’
‘Not exactly...’ Leandro shot her a sexy grin that made her breath catch in her throat and brought a reluctant smile to her lips. ‘I have produced the occasional successful omelette, but I’m no expert in the kitchen. Well...’ He shrugged his broad shoulders in a gesture that was typically his. ‘Growing up with a horde of sisters does have its advantages...’
‘Aside from plying you with make-up when you were young, they spoiled you? Is that what you’re saying?’
She thought wistfully of when she was a kid, always wishing for a sibling... Now, more than ever, it would have been nice to have someone with whom she could share all her worries. Her destiny would still not have been the big happy family scenario, but at least she wouldn’t have been on her own coping with all her problems.
‘An only boy...’ He tilted his head and looked at her with a half-smile. ‘What can you expect?’
He was momentarily distracted by the removal of plates and kept his curiosity at bay as she chatted about the food, made all the right noises about its quality. He refilled her glass and called for another bottle of wine to be brought to them. Only when their main courses were set in front of them did he return to the subject that had been on his mind.
‘So,’ he drawled, ‘you were telling me about the fiancé with the family...’
Emily blinked. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘You don’t want kids because he already has a few of his own...?’
‘Of course he doesn’t have any kids!’ She wondered how it was that her wineglass seemed to be permanently full. When she tried to marshal her thoughts they swirled away, just out of reach. She tried to grasp hold of an image of Oliver. ‘He’s the same age as me!’
‘So neither of you is interested in prolonging the family line...’
‘Do you intend to have kids? Get married? Settle down?’
She couldn’t picture it. No, he was the sort of guy who would never settle down, and if he ever did then he would carry on leading the bachelor life. There were men like that. Handsome, charming, wealthy men, who just took what they wanted and didn’t care about the people they hurt in the process.
Maudlin tears of self-pity tried to push their way to her eyes and she looked down hurriedly at her plate. Mysteriously, she had managed to finish most of the food that had been put in front of her, although she couldn’t remember taking a single mouthful.
‘Of course.’
Leandro pushed his plate to one side and sat forward. It was dark in the restaurant, with only the light from hanging lanterns and from the moon illuminating the tables. But he thought her voice sounded suspiciously unsteady, and the way she was staring down at her plate...
‘Are you...’
‘I’m fine,’ she said abruptly. ‘I don’t usually have this much to drink. You were telling me about your plans to have a wife and children... I apologise. It’s none of my business.’
Her head felt thick and cloudy. The sounds of the insects were clearer at night, and along with the warm, slight breeze and the magical, lazy lapping of the sea on the sandy beach they acted as a soporific drug, lulling her into puzzling territory. Part of her knew that they should not be talking like this, shouldn’t be breaking down the barriers between them, but it just felt inevitable at that moment.
‘I should tell you that I think the meal was wonderful...’ She fought to drag the conversation back into familiar terrain. ‘How did you manage to get hold of Antoine? He’s a real find...’
‘You’re changing the subject.’
‘Because this is about work, Leandro. This isn’t a...a holiday... This isn’t about two people getting to know one another. I’m here because I had no choice and...and...’ She felt woozy. ‘I think I’d like some coffee...’
‘Of course.’
He ordered them both coffee before seamlessly continuing the conversation.
‘And why shouldn’t we make an attempt to get to know one another? Believe me, I’m the last person in the world to ever condone working relationships straying beyond sensible, acceptable boundaries, but making harmless small talk over a meal doesn’t constitute that. So you have a fiancé. Why the secrecy? Do you think that by talking about him you’re somehow going to cross enemy lines? You can’t say that you’ll be jeopardising your job or your references because you’ve handed in your resignation...’
He raked his fingers through his hair and wished she would stop looking at him with those huge, blue, dreamy eyes. She’d had a little too much to drink and the effect of the alcohol had been to soften her expression. She was l
eaning towards him, elbow on the table, chin propped in the cup of her hand. The blue dress—some sort of complicated wraparound affair—looked as though it was hanging onto its shape by the skin of its teeth. A couple of tugs and it would unwrap itself and drop to the ground in a pool of slippery fabric. His fingers itched to do just that—tug her free of it.
Her damned fiancé would have had a heart attack—several heart attacks—if he had been able to decipher the thoughts Leandro was having about his beloved girlfriend.
‘And, to answer your question about my intention to have a family of my own one day...’
He was irritated to find himself spurred into speech. It definitely wasn’t his usual style. And certainly not on a subject he had always been at great pains to avoid discussing with the opposite sex. Experience had taught him that leading questions about his long-term plans when it came to commitment usually ended badly.
But her attention was rapt, short-circuiting his common sense.
‘Yes?’
Leandro shook his head and stared out for a few seconds at the open water. The beach was semi-lit and the black surface of the sea was streaked silver from the light. In accordance with his strict instructions, staff were keeping themselves at a distance.
‘When the time is right and I meet the right woman,’ he said gruffly, ‘I won’t hesitate to tie the knot.’
‘Meet the right woman...?’ Emily emitted a low, mirthless laugh. ‘I never took you for the romantic sort...’
‘No, I know exactly the sort you took me for. You made that crystal-clear.’
‘Are you angry with me for telling you what I thought?’
‘Surprised. Too surprised to be angry. And yet you never stopped to consider that I might have been one hundred per cent transparent in my dealings with women...’
‘What do you mean?’ Emily shot him a perplexed frown.
This dangerous conversation was thrilling. Every muscle and tendon in her body felt stretched to breaking point. She didn’t want to carry on talking about this, delving into areas that should have been kept separate, and yet she just couldn’t seem to resist. She was literally holding her breath and hanging on to his every word.
‘I never led any of them on.’
He fixed his dark eyes on her face and thought he might have liked to let them linger there—but staring had its limits, and since when was he the kind of guy who stared?
‘I never made promises I didn’t feel I could keep. They knew what they were getting into from day one and I treated them like queens.’
‘And yet none of them was your special soulmate...’
‘You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs... Is that what you did, Emily? Before you chanced upon Mr Right?’
‘I haven’t been on a worldwide search for a soulmate.’
Leandro looked at her, head inclined. Someone hovered, waiting to ask them how their meals had been, and he waved them aside without taking his eyes off her face. ‘Does that mean that your fiancé has fitted the bill before you’ve even had a chance to explore all possible options?’ he asked softly.
‘I suppose you could say so,’ Emily muttered.
She wiped her mouth and sat back, shakily aware of how close she had come to baring her soul to him.
‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’m a little tired.’ She backed that up with a delicate forced yawn. ‘So I think I’ll retire to bed. Perhaps you could tell me what our plans are for tomorrow? Meetings? I know the TV crew are coming, so I expect you’ll want to do...er...stuff in preparation...’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘I don’t know!’ Emily snapped. ‘Stuff. Make sure the photos are taken from the right angles! I don’t know anything about how the media circus works in a case like this!’
‘Hardly a media circus. Some poor sod has landed the job of reporting on a fairly frivolous development on a tropical island. It’s not going to make headlines across the world. And, in answer to your question, I’ll let my PR team handle it. It’ll be their first big tourist push and it’ll be interesting to see how they cope. So tomorrow...why don’t you take a little time out? We can have a look around the island.’
‘Time—time out?’ Emily stammered.
‘It’s the weekend. Even I am not such a slave-driver that I would insist you work weekends...’
He summoned Antoine and whilst he chatted with him, complimenting him on the meal and asking detailed questions about various culinary options for picky tourists, Emily took time out to digest what he had said. A day of sightseeing. Just the two of them? He certainly hadn’t hinted at a convenient entourage of any kind.
Her mind was in a mild state of panic as she rose to her feet, to find that the effects of a little too much wine were far more pronounced now that she wasn’t sitting down.
With difficulty, she took small, concentrated steps alongside him as they made their way out of the restaurant to their respective cabins, and as luck would have it a sudden attack of dizziness in combination with a lack of familiarity with her surroundings worked in perfect unison to send her flying over a dip in the ground.
She had a few panicked seconds during which she attempted to steady herself, and then she was on the soft ground, blood gushing from her foot where it had scraped against a protruding stone.
She didn’t know which was worse. The stinging of her foot or the humiliation of being helped to her feet by Leandro and then, even more embarrassingly, finding herself swept up into his arms and carried to her cabana like a sack of potatoes.
‘Don’t struggle.’ He anticipated the protest she was about to make. ‘How the hell did that happen? No, don’t bother. You’ve had too much to drink.’
She might be tall but she was light. Her slender arms looped around his neck, and the soft feel of her body pressed against his made him grit his teeth together, because his body was again responding in ways that disregarded the constraints imposed by his head.
‘I’m fine to walk,’ Emily muttered half-heartedly.
‘Your foot is pouring blood.’
‘That’s an exaggeration.’
‘I’ll sort it out.’
‘Surely there must be a first aid...um...person on site?’
‘Not in place yet...’
Was that strictly true? Leandro was pretty sure that he could get all the medical help required at the snap of a finger—but, hell...what was the point for a little cut on a foot? Nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d never been queasy when it came to blood. In fact, he had once debated whether to go down the medical route but had decided against it. He positively liked a bit of blood!
‘Many staff will fall into place once the hotel is fully operational. At the moment only essential members of the team are here...’
They had reached her cabana, which was unlocked, and he nudged the door open. For a few seconds the space was disorientating in its darkness, then he found the light switch and somehow managed to turn on the overhead light without putting her down.
The cabana was split into a large bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, an outer room which functioned as a sitting room, with comfortable chairs, a table, a television and a bamboo desk on which, he noted, she had placed her computer, and a compact kitchen area with basic facilities for making tea and coffee. There was also a fridge, which was restocked daily with water and soft drinks, and above the fridge a range of small, exquisitely hand-carved cupboards.
In one of the cupboards was a comprehensive first aid kit and Leandro deposited her gently on a sofa in the sitting area, with orders to stay seated, while he fetched it. He also got a bowl of water from the kitchen and a face towel from the bathroom. En route, he noticed the bed—the indentation of her head on the pillow, the shoes casually kicked off and lying on the ground, the clothes over the back of the chair. She might give the impression of
being Miss Prim and Proper, but the air of charming disorder in the room told a different story. He spotted, in passing, a bra hooked over the cupboard handle and half smiled—because that, if anything, was the sort of undergarment he associated with her. Plain, white, simple...
‘Okay...’
‘Honestly, Leandro, this is totally unnecessary. I can handle a little cut.’
‘You’re lucky you didn’t twist your ankle. I’ll have to make sure that the routes back to the cabanas are more adequately lit.’
‘You mean for those foolhardy guests who have too much to drink?’
Her voice sounded unnaturally high, but then how could it not when he was kneeling like a supplicant at her feet, gently removing her sandal so that he could soak her injured foot in the warm water in the small basin he had managed to find in the kitchen? The feel of his hands on her skin made her tremble. Who would have imagined that such big hands could be so soft and caressing? What would it be like to have them caress her everywhere? To have them trace the contours of her naked body...every indentation?
She had to suppress a shameless urge to groan aloud just at the thought of it.
How had she ended up in this place? Engaged to a man for reasons no one should be, and stupidly drawn to another when she knew the attraction was not only futile but also sliced through every notion she had ever had about men who played around? Men who didn’t know the meaning of the word commitment? Men who ruined other people’s lives...?
But he never led them on...he never made promises he couldn’t deliver...
His words came back to her in a contradictory rush and she blocked her mind off to them.
‘Haven’t you ever been...foolhardy?’ he asked softly. ‘Had a little too much to drink? Said a few things...done a few things...that you semi-regretted in the morning?’
He looked straight at her before she had time to avert her eyes and she reddened.
‘Not that I can recall,’ she muttered uncomfortably.
Leandro sat back on his haunches with her foot still in his hand. ‘Really?’
Emily tugged her leg and he returned his attention to sorting out the cut on her foot. It was a simple matter of cleaning the wound and applying a bandage. In fact, it barely needed a bandage at all, but he was taking his time. She had, he noticed, remarkably slim ankles and beautifully shaped feet, her toenails neat and short.
The Argentinian's Demand Page 7
