‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her breath lodged in her throat as she dragged her gaze away from his, and asked in a desperate attempt to free herself from the electrifying sensations he aroused in her and be her usual assertive self, ‘I don’t know where you planned on eating, but I thought, seeing as you showed me around today, perhaps you would like to be my guest for dinner, in the hotel.’
His firm lips quirked in a crooked smile. ‘Call me old-fashioned,’ he reached out and cupped her elbow with his hand, ‘but when I ask a lady out to dine I make the arrangements, and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed,’ he said, amusement colouring his tone, and, dropping his hand from her elbow to circle her waist, he held her to his side and turned towards the exit, taking control.
He felt her slender body tremble and stiffen and glanced knowingly down at her. ‘I thought we could eat at my villa if you have no objection. Plus you will be doing me a big favour, as my housekeeper loves to cook but I very rarely have any guests to dine when I am here.’
Liza flicked him a bright if strained smile; being held close to his hard body was playing havoc with the cool sophistication she wanted to display. ‘Your place is fine,’ she agreed. ‘So long as the food is not cooked over a volcano like lunch,’ she tried to joke. ‘It could be dangerous.’
‘Good.’ Nick dropped his hand and stood back to let her through the foyer door. Nowhere near as dangerous as sharing a suite with your boss, he thought sardonically as he immediately followed her out. The very obliging receptionist had quite happily given him the information. He reached an arm around her shoulders and led her to where the car waited at the kerb, and if his grip was a little hard he had good reason.
Liza felt the touch of his fingers, and repressed a sensual shiver. Nick was a very tactile man, and it was playing hell with her hormones, she thought as a wave of heat scorched her face, but that was all it was—sexual attraction—on her part. That was all it could be, a simple feminine reaction to his raw masculine sexuality. ‘No Jeep tonight,’ she commented, striving for lightness as they crossed the pavement.
‘No,’ Nick said shortly.
Then she noticed a man get out of the car and grin at them both as he opened the rear door of the car. Liza shot Nick a startled glance. ‘A chauffeur.’
‘Yes. Tonight I want to relax and enjoy my dinner with a beautiful woman and share a few glasses of champagne in comfort.’ No need to mention he had already downed two very large whiskies because of the dilemma she had created in his usually very well-ordered life. ‘And don’t worry, I think you will love the meal. Greta is the best cook on the island.’ He smiled and lifted a hand casually to flick a strand of her hair over her shoulder and his darkening gaze trapped hers.
She swallowed hard and had trouble speaking. ‘I’m sure you are right,’ she managed, tearing her gaze away from his and stepping towards the car.
Liza slid quickly into the car with more haste than elegance, sinking into a seat that was a lot more comfortable than Nick’s Jeep. But when Nick moved in beside her she realised it was also a lot more intimate as a hard masculine thigh pressed against her own, and a long arm was casually flung around her shoulders yet again.
‘Nice car,’ she mumbled, intensely aware of his leashed strength, the subtle male scent of the man, and wondered for the umpteenth time what she was doing, playing with fire. But she had been doing that all day both physically and metaphorically, she realised with a wry smile.
The villa turned out to be a magnificent building that oozed wealth and elegance. Nick introduced her to a middle-aged couple waiting in the entrance foyer, Greta and Paul. And beyond them she could see a glass wall that opened on to a floodlit swimming pool, she glimpsed tables and chairs and wondered if they were to eat outside. It wasn’t that warm.
She lifted her puzzled gaze to Nick. ‘Are we eating outside?’
‘Dios! No.’ His ebony brows arched in surprise. ‘What you English think is warm we consider winter.’ And, taking her arm, he led her through into a massive room. ‘This is the main living area, but the dining room is more cosy,’ he said softly.
Liza gazed around the vast room as he urged her across it. Soft deep sofas, exquisite antique furniture, glorious paintings on the walls, and vibrant flowers and plants—the place screamed money, and she was rapidly beginning to feel out of her depth.
Nick pushed open another door, and Liza stopped dead one foot inside the room.
A magnificent table about twenty feet long was set for two, and Greta and Paul were now standing by the table, smiling.
‘I’d hardly call this cosy!’ she exclaimed with a chuckle. ‘You could serve the Last Supper at that table and then some.’
Nick’s mouth quirked at the corners in a grin at Liza’s stunned expression, and, slipping his arm around her waist, he led her forward. ‘I suppose it is a bit imposing; I hadn’t really noticed as I usually eat in the kitchen.’ He gave her waist a brief squeeze before setting her free, but stayed close to her side. He heard her breath catch and saw the deepening colour in her brilliant eyes, and allowed a small, satisfied smile to curve his lips before adding, ‘But I so rarely have anyone to dine here that Greta wanted to push the boat out, as you say.’
Nick leant over slightly to say something to the other couple that Liza, although she spoke Spanish, didn’t catch. She watched as they left the room then Nick straightened up to his full, impressive height, and turned to face her again, pulling out a chair.
‘Please, Liza, sit down, and don’t look so wary; I can assure you, Paul and Greta won’t poison you.’
It wasn’t the food Liza was worried about; it was much too hot in here, she told herself, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Nick. She reached for the edge of her shawl, and immediately Nick’s hand caught it and slipped it off her shoulders.
‘A little warm for you, Liza?’ he queried with the arch of a black brow.
‘Yes,’ she got out, having difficulty breathing as the backs of his knuckles brushed down over her breasts as he removed her shawl, but not by the blink of an eye did she let it show. Instead she sat down on the chair he offered and folded her hands primly in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms.
Liza wasn’t afraid to be alone with Nick—in fact, if she was honest she liked the idea. She had enjoyed his company all day, more so than that of any other man she had ever met, and she was secretly flattered that he wanted to be alone with her.
‘Now, isn’t this nice?’ Nick remarked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘So much more intimate than a restaurant, don’t you think?’ Shovelling on the charm by the bucket-load, he picked up the linen napkin in front of her and flicked it open.
‘I can do that.’ She reached for the linen.
‘But I want to,’ Nick said softly and, leaning forward, his dark eyes holding her startled blue, he spread the linen napkin over her lap, his hands deliberately smoothing the fabric over her stomach and thighs. ‘Greta is going to serve the meal in a minute.’ His glance roamed over her face and figure with obvious male approval that, had it been any other man, would have made her angry, but instead the lingering touch of his fingers on her thighs made her whole body tingle with excitement.
‘I am hungry, and I’m sure you are too,’ Nick drawled with silken emphasis.
She tensed at the impact of his compelling dark gaze. Was it just food he was hungry for? Dear heaven, her own appetite had been seriously depleted by the erotic thoughts Nick aroused in her. She felt as if a thousand butterflies were partying in her stomach, and she tore her eyes away from his and cast a slightly panicked look around the room.
What were her options? Get up and walk out? But that would be childish. Or stay and eat like a civilised woman? Suddenly she was no longer feeling quite so confident. But her mind was made up for her as Greta reappeared carrying a large silver tureen, followed by Paul carrying a bottle of champagne in a silver wine bucket. They both smiled at her.
CHAPTER THREE
THE champagne cork popped and Liza jumped, and then grinned. She was overreacting—everything was perfect. Nick was seated at the head of the table and Paul was filling crystal flutes with very expensive champagne, and Greta was serving a delicious fish soup into the finest porcelain bowls.
When they had both left Nick picked up his glass, and said, ‘Here’s to you, Liza, and a pleasant evening, for both of us.’
She managed to control the slight nervousness that assailed her when they were alone, and she lifted her glass. ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Her steady voice and hand gratified her no end as they touched glasses.
Nick grinned and swirled the liquid around in his glass, then lifted it to his lips and swallowed before returning the glass to the table.
Liza followed the movement, her gaze stopping at his perfectly sculptured mouth, and she was helpless against the flush of heat that flooded her body as he took a deep drink of the champagne. Realising she was staring, she took a hasty drink from her glass. ‘Lovely champagne,’ she enthused. And saw him nod, his dark eyes lifting to hers.
‘Lovely companion.’ He touched his glass to hers again and then added, ‘And I am glad you agreed to dining here, Liza. Restaurants can be so impersonal sometimes, and I really want to talk to you, reminisce, and perhaps discover what has shaped you into the very lovely lady you are today.’ His glance dropped from her face to the firm curves of her breasts, and she felt them tighten alarmingly against the silk fabric of her dress. ‘Get to know the real you again.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ she offered and, dropping her head, praying he would not notice her body’s instant reaction, she added, ‘You might not like the real me,’ and carefully placed her glass on the table. Quickly she picked up a spoon and began shovelling the soup into her mouth. When she dared look up again, she needed not have worried.
‘Impossible. I already adore you, as you know; I have since you were a child,’ he said smoothly, his expression wryly amused. ‘Now, let us enjoy our meal, and you can tell me what you have been doing with your life over the past few years.’ His smile was irresistible.
‘Not a lot.’ Flattered, Liza grinned back. ‘And certainly nothing exciting enough to need privacy before disclosure.’ And she proceeded to give him a potted history of her adult life. ‘Three years in university reading history, and a job I enjoy, as I told you before. I have a studio apartment in London and I visit my mother every few weeks. She got married again three years ago and lives in Brighton, running an antique shop with Jeff, my stepfather. These are hardly state secrets.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Nick responded with a devilish gleam in his dark eyes. ‘You might have become a porn star or a lap dancer; you certainly have the figure for it. And then there are your lovers. You have a high-powered job so maybe a lover or two in high places as well?’
His sexy teasing brought an embarrassing tinge of pink to her cheeks. Was he insinuating that was all she was good for, as he had years ago? Liza wondered, but refused to rise to the bait. ‘You know what I do for a living.’ She held his gaze. ‘But as for the rest, that is classified information,’ she managed to respond archly, much to her satisfaction.
Nick just bet it was. She was either very clever or very naive, and Liza looked far too sophisticated to be naive. He could not decide if she was completely in the know about her boss’s alternative career as a diamond smuggler or not, but for Carl’s sake he was taking no chances.
One eyebrow rose eloquently. ‘Of course, I expected no less, Liza.’ And the sardonic glance he cast her was oddly intent. ‘Though I have heard Henry Brown is not quite so reticent in his love life, although he is married, I believe.’
For a moment something unsettling about his comment teased at the back of her mind. But, dismissing the errant thought, she responded drily, ‘Henry is a law unto himself where women are concerned. And, though personally I deplore unfaithfulness in a marriage, I must admit, having met his wife, I’m not surprised.’ She tried for a sophisticated answer. Plus Margot Brown was a pretentious snob; the few times she visited the office or spoke to Liza or any of the staff she treated them as if they were a sub-species.
‘I believe you; after all, it must be great to have a boss who books a suite at a five-star hotel to attend a conference then quite happily takes off and gives you a holiday with all expenses paid at the drop of a hat. I must confess I am nowhere near as generous with my employees,’ Nick drawled sardonically.
Liza looked up sharply. What was he implying? And she answered her own question. She wasn’t a fool, she could tell when she was being insulted, and the old hurt resurfaced, causing a brief stabbing pain in her heart. Obviously he still thought of her as a promiscuous teenager and her blue eyes glinted with anger at the injustice of it all. ‘It is a two-bedroom suite.’ She held on to her temper with difficulty, determined not to show any emotion over the past in front of him. ‘And my boss was called away unexpectedly.’ Straightening in her seat, she added with contrived flippancy, ‘So who am I to argue? You know the saying, never look a gift-horse in the mouth.’
‘Yes.’ He did, but at the mention of ‘mouth’ Nick found his eyes fixed on the very generous curve of Liza’s, and imagined nibbling that full bottom lip… Dios! He had to stop these thoughts. He never mixed business with pleasure. But then he had never been confronted by the adult Liza before.
Dropping his gaze to the less tempting table, he continued in a softer tone, ‘I suppose you are right, Liza. But isn’t it rather odd that he does not want you to attend the meetings?’
‘I…well…’ Liza hesitated; his quite reasonable question made her think and defused her anger. She supposed it was a bit unusual.
‘I really don’t know.’ She told the truth. ‘I have only been his PA for a couple of months; his last one left to get married, and, as my boss retired about the same time, Henry sort of inherited me,’ she explained, not sure why she was bothering. ‘This is the first time I have travelled with him. And he is returning a week next Friday for the last day and the gala dinner in the evening, so maybe it will not be a complete waste.’
‘I hope not.’ Nick had the information he required and a flash of triumph glinted in his dark eyes; the man was coming back to the island in thirteen days’ time. The time span was about right for the negotiations; obviously Brown was returning to collect the money and he was as good as caught. A call to Carl, and, with the other culprits tracked down hopefully by the Spanish police and Interpol, the arrests were a foregone conclusion.
‘Yes, and we are returning to London together the next day, as scheduled,’ Liza added.
Not if he could help it, was Nick’s immediate thought. Liza had said she had only been Brown’s PA for a short time; that was easily checked and if true was in Liza’s favour. She could be innocent. His dark eyes narrowed assessingly on her apparently guileless face. A woman could look beautiful and innocent and still be a criminal. He was not foolish enough to think otherwise, and yet he knew he didn’t want Liza anywhere near Henry Brown when they picked him up.
At the very least she would end up being taken in for questioning, and that he could not allow. Surprisingly for him, he discovered he was not ready to part with Liza now he had met up with her again. At his age and with his experience of women, he knew the feeling for what it was—lust, stark and basic…
Liza had been an itch he could not scratch for years when she was younger, but not any more. He wanted to sate himself in that gorgeous body until she was out from under his skin for good.
Nick lifted the champagne flute and took a sip of the wine, then twirled the stemmed glass in his long fingers, studying the colour for several seconds, thinking quickly. Finally he shifted his dark gaze to linger appreciatively on her.
‘Your boss is a very lucky man,’ he declared huskily, his firm lips curving in a soft, sensual smile, ‘to have you as his PA.’ Little did Brown know, his luck had just about run out, Nick thought with savage satisfaction even as he mouthed the sl
ick compliment.
‘Thanks,’ she said drily. But felt the colour rise in her cheeks as her eyes met his, too conscious of his virile charm and something in his expression that made her heartbeat increase dramatically. She finished her soup to hide her confusion, and was grateful when Greta reappeared with the next course.
As Nick had promised, the food was beautiful, and as they ate Nick took charge of the conversation and Liza was happy to follow. They talked in an easy manner, discussing films, books, music, and Nick’s experiences on various projects. Liza was fascinated and asked dozens of questions. He told her how he had expanded the company worldwide. He spoke with dry humour of the different business practices in the different countries, and the amusing situations that arose from the differences.
Nick was not the wealthy, idle lotus-eater she had thought; he obviously worked hard. But his skill, his charm, was such that he made everything appear easy. He told a good story, sometimes against himself, but she formed the impression that whatever the circumstances Nick always came out the winner. He had a brilliant mind, and she doubted anyone crossed him and got away with it.
Scraping the last mouthful of the mouth-watering soufflé into her mouth, she glanced up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes. ‘In a way you and I are a bit alike—you studied art and don’t use it. I read history at university and thought I would visit all the great historical places in the world, but instead I have ended up in finance, a bit of a waste.’
‘The experience of university life is an end in itself,’ Nick argued. ‘And I do use my knowledge; I appreciate anything of beauty, be it a woman or a landscape, I know where to site a building so it is aesthetically pleasing, though, with the upsurge in tourism around here in the last few years, some are anything but.’
Liza chuckled. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘Have you ever thought of changing, Liza?’ Nick demanded seriously. ‘You’re young—you have plenty of time to start another career.’ He was satisfied he had discovered all he needed to know. Henry Brown was returning to Lanzarote. As for Liza, he was almost sure she was innocent of any crime, and, even if she was guilty, once away from financial temptation and into something more academic it was possible she could change, and he never questioned his reasoning, simply pursued the thought.
At the Spaniard's Pleasure Page 4
