His words had been addressed to her body, not her face, and her brief moment of euphoria was deflated like a burst balloon. He was studying her naked figure like an artist might study a statue. But then why wouldn’t he? she reminded herself. He was an expert and his women were legendary, and he was certainly no saint…
She felt the colour surge in her cheeks, and her lashes fluttered down to conceal the pain in her eyes.
‘Liza.’ She opened her eyes; his face was close and shadowed with stubble, and she had an overwhelming urge to reach up and touch him. ‘You OK?’ His hand moved from her stomach to twine his fingers in a few long strands of hair. ‘You’re sure?’ He tugged on the lock of hair, his dark eyes narrowing intently on her face.
Amazingly Nick saw she was blushing. Yet she had been everything he imagined and more, wild and willing, he’d never known a woman so responsive. Thinking back, he recalled her shock when he first touched her intimately, her brief flinch, and her slight tensing at times. Perhaps she was not such a promiscuous lady as he had thought. Unless he was very much mistaken it was some time since she’d had a lover and even then not a very expert one if her surprise was anything to go by.
Embarrassed by his analytical scrutiny Liza sat up. ‘Never better,’ she said brightly, and she gave in to the temptation and lifted her hand and stroked the roughened skin of his jaw. Realising what she was doing, she jerked her hand away and, pulling on the mantle of a sophisticated lady, she added, ‘But isn’t it time we got dressed?’
She was suddenly very conscious of her nudity, and his, and she was terribly afraid if she didn’t put some space between them quickly she might reveal that what for Nick was simply sex between two consenting adults had meant a whole lot more to her. She had never dreamt that she could feel such an intensity of emotion, such passion. In fact after her only other sexual encounter with a man, her ex-fiancé, she had convinced herself great passion was a myth for a woman. Liza felt the prick of tears at the backs of her eyes. How wrong could one get? she thought sadly.
Nick glanced at his wrist-watch, the only thing he was wearing, and groaned. ‘You’re right, Liza,’ he agreed, slanting her a grin. The flush had gone from her face, and her eyes were a little too bright, her smile a little too brittle—not the usual response he got from his women in the afterglow of sex. But he was sure she had enjoyed it as much as he had.
But it was the middle of the night, he rationalised, and, swiftly bending his head, he captured her mouth in a brief, gentle kiss. ‘You look tired. I’ll take the shower first. I would suggest you join me, but that delight we will have to save for later, or we will never get off the damn plane, and by my reckoning we’ll land in twenty minutes.’
Liza watched wide-eyed, she couldn’t help herself, as he flung his long legs over the side of the bed and, gloriously unconscious of his nudity, in a few lithe strides he crossed to the far side of the room and disappeared through another door. Moments later she heard the sound of running water, and in her mind’s eye she saw his magnificent tanned body, the washboard belly, the hard, lean buttocks, and with a shake of her head she jumped off the bed, and began gathering up her clothes.
So she had had sex with Nick; she must remember sex was all it was…she muttered over and over in her head. A short holiday to attend the party of her mother’s friend. Any involvement with Nick had to be light-hearted fun… She could handle it…
CHAPTER FIVE
THE headlights of the car swept over the stable block, and Liza suppressed a tiny shiver of revulsion. Old memories she could do without… Instead she recalled the wonder of feeling the length of Nick’s naked body against the heated eagerness of her own, and longed to repeat the experience with a hunger that made her stomach clench. If she closed her eyes she could see the image of their bodies entwined, see the burning desire in his eyes as he captured her mouth in a deeply passionate kiss.
Stifling a groan, she shook her head to chase away the erotic thoughts. The car was moving through a large stone arch and into the rear courtyard of the Menendez Hacienda and Nick brought it to a silent stop outside a large oak door.
Liza scrambled out of the car and, standing up straight, she stretched her shoulders back; she was stiff, tired and suddenly incredibly nervous. Her last visit to this house had been a disaster. What on earth had possessed her to come back? A glance at Nick walking around the front of the car towards her, and she had her answer…
‘Are you sure we are expected so late?’ she asked with her gaze raking along the long building before them. There appeared to be only a chink of light from beneath what she knew was the rear lobby leading into the large kitchen in the west wing of the hacienda.
‘And why the kitchen entrance? Trying to smuggle me in like a thief in the night?’ she teased, turning to look at Nick as with one long, easy stride he stood in front of her. She paused, feeling the tension coming from him in a slight hardening of his jawline, a flicker of something she didn’t recognise in the depths of his enigmatic eyes. As she saw him outlined in the moon’s silver light, the power of his superbly masculine frame and the inescapable pressure of the fingertip he lifted to her chin made her shiver in instinctive response.
Damn her! She wasn’t far wrong, Nick thought grimly. He did have an ulterior motive, and even with the unexpected help of his mother he knew it would not take much to arouse Liza’s suspicions. But it also reminded him he had been so caught up in the witch’s spell he had forgotten to pass on the information to Carl about Brown’s return, and, appalled at his own lapse in concentration on the crime he was investigating, he lashed out at her.
‘And are you a thief?’ he demanded curtly, and immediately wished the words unsaid as he saw the humour flicker and fade from her expressive eyes to be replaced with a wary puzzlement. ‘No, of course not.’ He answered his own question, his mouth curved, as if her comment had amused him. He did not want her getting suspicious of his motive, not now… ‘Except perhaps of hearts,’ he quipped in a damage-limitation exercise, and, tipping her chin a little higher, he pressed a swift kiss to her softly parted lips, before reaching for her hand and leading her towards the door.
‘Mamma arranged for Manuel to wait up for us, hence the back door; you remember him and how he loves to sit and watch the television in the kitchen.’
Liza did remember, and she accepted his explanation, but she couldn’t dismiss the unsettling notion from her mind that he had not been joking when he asked her if she was a thief. She was being ridiculous…it was the middle of the night…she was having spooky thoughts…
A stream of light suddenly bathed the yard as Manuel appeared, and when he smiled and said her name with obvious pleasure Liza was touched that he had remembered her. But in the next minute she was horribly embarrassed as she heard Nick quite casually tell Manuel to take her luggage to his room.
Grabbing Nick’s sleeve, Liza pulled him back as he would have stridden along the corridor after Manuel. ‘Wait a minute,’ she spat.
Nick stopped. ‘No need to whisper, Liza. There is no one in this wing of the house to hear you, only Manuel, and his wife Marta, who has long since gone to bed,’ he drawled, his dark eyes lit with amusement at the furtive look on her lovely face.
‘It’s not that,’ Liza muttered, feeling embarrassed and angry. ‘Surely you realise I can’t share a room with you in your mother’s house.’
His ebony brows rose as he bit out an expletive in Spanish followed by, ‘Damn it to hell!’ How had he overlooked what he now realised was glaringly obvious? He had leapt at the chance to use his mother’s telephone call to get Liza off the island and, being brutally honest, into his bed as well. But Liza was right; if his mother thought for a second he was fooling around with her friend’s daughter she would have him married to Liza in a flash.
He dragged in a deep, calming breath. Marriage was not on his agenda, and if he ever succumbed it would only be for the production of a child to inherit the Menendez fortune. But not for years yet—he en
joyed his freedom too much, and certainly not to a girl like Liza, who he still was not sure he could trust as far as he could throw her.
His dark eyes narrowed angrily, and something darker, devious hardened in their depths. He had wanted Liza Summers from the very first moment he saw her again at the café. His thick black lashes flicked down towards the sharp line of his high cheekbones, veiling his expression, and he allowed his gaze to linger on her perfectly formed body, the slightly creased black dress she was wearing a testament to their earlier passionate encounter, and then back to her face.
Exquisite: the pale skin, the long blonde hair, the lush mouth and the brilliant blue eyes that were shooting sparks at the moment. Sparks that told him she was absolutely determined not to share his bed beneath his mother’s roof.
He gritted his teeth and had to use all his famed self-control to prevent himself from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to his bed. He had not had enough of her, not nearly enough, but he knew instinctively talking would not change her mind. He would have to be more subtle. But the irony of it was he knew they could have what was left of the night together, because his mother was spending the night with his uncle and aunt in Granada, attending their own golden-wedding dinner and a blessing in the cathedral on Sunday morning, and that they were all coming back here for lunch and the final huge party in the evening.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Liza, but then again he remembered she had been a very volatile teenager, and if her wildness in bed was anything to go by she hadn’t changed much. She would probably blow her top and land one on him for his treachery, and any hope of resuming what they had started on the plane would be distinctly remote.
Denying the temptation to reach out to her and take up where they had left off, explore her gorgeous body once more, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and turned his head to bark out a quick order to Manuel’s retreating back.
The blue room. Liza had never heard of it, but then she had not been here for years, and she did not know if she was relieved or reluctant to part from Nick. Glancing down the long length of him, she almost changed her mind; with his hands in his pockets and the fabric of his trousers pulled taut across muscular thighs, his potent masculinity was unmistakable…
Get your head up, girl—she jerked her head back and a tide of red flooded her cheekbones. When had she become such a voyeur of men? She sighed inwardly; not men—one man. ‘The blue room; I don’t think I have seen it before,’ she mumbled.
‘Maybe not; there have been some extensive renovations since you were last here.’ Nick slanted her a dark-eyed glance. ‘But it is not mine, I can assure you, so I hope your honour is satisfied,’ he drawled sardonically.
‘Yes,’ she snapped, ‘thank you,’ and gave him what she hoped was a cool look. He might have well as added if you have any, she thought as his dark eyes studied her with cynical, all masculine appraisal. And, straightening her shoulders, she stalked off after Manuel, but in one step Nick was beside her.
‘In a hurry to get to bed?’ he teased softly, bending his dark head to brush the words against her ear, and his husky chuckle did nothing for her attempt to remain cool.
She didn’t bother to answer and a grandfather clock chimed one, disturbing the silence as Liza walked along the corridor with Nick keeping step beside her. Manuel stopped and opened a door, and, placing Liza’s case inside, gave her a toothy smile and went back the way they had come.
Liza almost fell into the room, such was her haste to get away from Nick’s overwhelming presence. Making love with him—no, having sex, she corrected—had done nothing to quell the heated response of her body. In fact it seemed to have sharpened every one of her senses. Now she knew what she had been missing all these years. She was so intensely aware of him she ached.
‘Goodnight,’ she muttered, and would have shut the door in his face, but she was too slow. Nick reached for her and pulled her into his powerful arms, his mouth came crashing down on hers, and a shocked protest was stopped in her throat as excitement spiralled inside her like a typhoon, throwing all her sense out of sight.
His hands dropped to splay against her hips and haul her into connection with the hard strength of his arousal; she felt the sudden rush of warmth between her thighs as he moved suggestively against her. She lifted her hands but Nick suddenly lifted his head, and stepped back.
‘Now, that is a goodnight kiss,’ he drawled mockingly, studying her with dancing devilment in his black eyes. ‘The bathroom is on the left. See you later.’ And then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
Liza stared at the closed door, and only after the long moment it took her to get her breathing somewhere near normal did she turn and glance around the room. A massive four-poster bed, draped in yards of the finest blue silk, and with a delicately embroidered coverlet in a deeper blue, was the central feature. Long arched windows with the same drapes hedged each side of the bed. She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, kicking off her shoes. She glanced at the wall opposite, which housed a delicate dressing table with a fragile-looking gilt chair; her case was on the top of what looked like an antique trunk in one corner. She noted the bathroom door, again blue but edged in gold. The whole décor was blue and gold, a bit over-the-top for her taste but exquisite none the less.
With a weary sigh she stood up and, crossing to her case, she opened it and quickly unpacked her few clothes into the ornate wardrobe, and then headed for the bathroom.
The bathroom was equally as luxurious, all marble and mirrors with a large bath and shower stall. Stripping off her clothes, she took a quick shower, and, stepping out of the shower stall, she crossed to where a pile of towels were neatly stacked. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and stopped, blushing scarlet. The tell-tale signs of Nick’s lovemaking were obvious. A slight bruise in the hollow of her throat, lower down a redness on her pale skin where the rough stubble of his chin had made a mark as he suckled her breasts. She felt her nipples tighten just at the memory.
Hastily she grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the pile and tugged it sarong-style around her slender body, refusing to look at her reflection again. The reminder was too poignant. She darted out of the bathroom, switched off the main light and dived under the sumptuous coverlet into bed by the light of a small night lamp on a table at the other side.
The traitorous thought that she could have been sharing the bed with Nick filled her mind. She lived again in her head every kiss and caress they had shared on the plane, and she wondered if she would ever experience again that passion or depth of emotion. She stirred restlessly in the bed, her body hot and wanting, she ran the tip of her tongue over her slightly swollen lips and lived again the touch of his mouth on hers. Swallowing hard, she tried to squash her wayward thoughts.
Their recent intimacy meant nothing, and she must never forget that, her common sense told her that she was only a temporary distraction for Nick Menendez. But her heart told her she was in dire danger of falling hopelessly and irretrievably in love with him. The love she had thought she felt for him as a teenager was as nothing to the power of her emotions now.
She had never known that desire could cut so deep, and she had the horrible conviction if she gave in to her feelings for him completely she would end up cut to shreds. Because the one thing she knew for certain was Nick Menendez would never see her as anything other than a brief distraction from his real life. He was a ruthlessly successful businessman of worldwide renown, and a Spanish grandee to boot, held in high esteem by all his countrymen.
She was here because his mother had invited her, albeit at Nick’s instigation, of that she had no doubt. He obviously cared for his mother, and he was not averse to taking advantage of the sex Liza had quite consciously shown him was on offer. He had made it equally as plain a brief affair was all he wanted. She could hardly change her mind now. If she was honest she didn’t want to…and with a bittersweet sigh she turned over and reached to
extinguish the night-light.
Her heavy-lidded eyes registered another door set in the opposite wall, a dressing room maybe. She was too tired to think and, burrowing under the coverlet, in moments she was asleep.
But not peacefully, she tossed restlessly in the wide bed. In her dream she was running naked through a deep, dense forest, chasing after a huge dark, shadowy figure. Every so often the figure stopped and waited and she had a glimpse of a welcoming smile, and just when she thought she was in touching distance the figure vanished to appear well ahead of her, beckoning her on again. But the faster she ran the more naked, the more exposed she felt and the wood became thicker, darker, utterly silent, and somehow menacing.
She frowned in her sleep, fighting to escape the nightmare, her long lashes fluttering against her smooth cheek prior to opening, then inexplicably she felt a fleeting kiss as soft as a butterfly’s wing across her brow. A deep, contented sigh escaped from between her softly parted lips and she closed her eyes once more in sleep, totally unaware of the man watching over her.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Nick tightened the belt of his short robe, a wry smile curving his hard mouth, his dark eyes lingering on Liza’s sleeping form.
He had called Carl and passed on the information that Brown was returning to Lanzarote to finalise the deal and when. But he avoided mentioning that Liza was supposed to meet up with Brown. He had lied by omission to his friend, something he had never done before. When Carl asked him about Liza he had assured him he had her under very close surveillance with him in Spain. But he was pretty sure Liza was not knowingly involved, and he would take personal responsibility for her. Carl was not happy; at the very least, he had pointed out, Liza would be a vital witness when they brought the case to court. It had taken some very persuasive argument on Nick’s part to get Carl to do nothing about Liza for the moment.
Then he had paced his bedroom for over an hour, determined not to give in to the temptation of the connecting door that joined his room to hers. Even if by some miracle Liza was innocent, he knew an affair with her was bound to cause trouble, given their mothers were great friends. Never foul your own nest, he reminded himself.
At the Spaniard's Pleasure Page 7
