His mouth twisted.
Or maybe she was playing the long game? Using her body to mess with his head.
How was he supposed to know?
He’d thought he understood Cristina but he didn’t know the woman who had pushed him away, and her sudden physical and emotional retreat was not just baffling, it had got under his skin.
It was all deeply unsatisfactory. And confusing. And he hated it. He disliked and distrusted anything he couldn’t classify and contain. But it was proving impossible to do either with Cristina, or any decision involving her.
Even his presence on the island now seemed rash and irrational; he was there because he’d thought she had set him up and he didn’t trust her to be near his parents. Now, though, that image of an unscrupulous, manipulative Cristina just didn’t match up with the panicked woman he had watched retreat into herself. He no longer knew what was real and what was just him being paranoid.
What he did know was that being around her all the time was no longer necessary on his parents’ account. If she was a threat to anything it was to his sanity and—he glanced down at the outline of his erection—to his self-control.
He couldn’t function with Cristina constantly in his thoughts. And she was in his thoughts all the time—at breakfast, during every single lap he swam in the pool, and as he was lying wide-eyed in his bed every night.
He needed distance and discipline. Not easy when he was stuck here with a woman who could so easily bypass his defences. The only woman, in fact, ever to do so.
His lip curled. The less time he spent with her the better—and not just because his physical response to her was instant, extreme, and quite frankly painful. She threatened his equilibrium in other ways. Feeling her withdraw from him, watching that flicker of vulnerability in those beautiful brown eyes, had moved him more than he was willing to acknowledge.
He blew out a breath. Cristina had got inside his head and she was proving impossible to dislodge. But there was a solution—an obvious one. Work had never let him down, and in having decided to stay in Spain he had created an ample backlog for himself. He would speak to his PA and soon he would be too busy to think about Cristina Shephard.
For now though, a cold shower should help dull the ache in his groin and, turning, he walked determinedly towards the bathroom.
*
On legs that still shook Cristina walked across the room and closed her window. She knew logically that it wasn’t cold. She could see the sun and feel the warm air on her skin. But that didn’t seem to matter. She felt cold to the bone and brutally tired—as though she’d run a race.
Her mouth trembled. A race she’d clearly lost.
Maybe it would always be like this. Maybe it wouldn’t matter how fast or how far she ran she would never escape her past. Somehow it would always pull her back.
Reaching down, she picked up the photographs from where they’d fallen. She carefully pushed them back into the portfolio and sat down on the bed.
It was her own fault. She should have told him to leave sooner. Or better still left herself.
She shivered, a pulse of fear and longing beating beneath her skin. But how could she have done either?
Being so close to him had rendered her not just incapable of speech—it had deprived her of any sense of self-preservation. Why else had she acted so recklessly? Letting him kiss her like that and then kissing him back…
Remembering the feel of Luis’s mouth and hands on her body, she breathed in sharply, a ball of heat rolling over inside her. Despite suggesting that she had only wanted him because he was there, the truth was that she had been prepared to risk everything—including her future—in order to satisfy her desperate need for him.
And if she hadn’t caught sight of that photograph—
Her breathing stalled in her throat.
It she hadn’t come to her senses, then what?
Would she have gone all the way?
Her mouth slanted upwards in a not-quite smile. All the way. She sounded like a teenager. Her smile faded. Except that your average teenager was actually pretty savvy and switched on, whereas she had been like a leaf tossed in the wind, with desire driving her actions, not just disregarding the consequences but failing even to acknowledge them.
How could she have been so stupid? So short-sighted?
She steadied her breathing.
But she wasn’t completely to blame. If Luis hadn’t come to her room—
Her throat started to prickle. She knew she was overly sensitive, and she despised herself for caring about other people’s opinions—particularly his—but it had hurt hearing him dismiss her portfolio like that. Only then he’d come to find her, and apologised, and then—
Her thoughts were running away from her like meltwater in the spring. With an effort, she slowed her breathing again.
It was his gentleness that had messed with her head. Coming so soon after he’d been so cold and cutting, it had caught her off balance and broken down the walls she’d built around herself. He had made her feel as though he cared, that she could trust him.
Trust.
Her mind snagged on the word.
Luis couldn’t be trusted. She knew that. The cool-eyed biker she had met in that club was the antithesis of the sober, suit-wearing heir to the Osorio fortune—and who knew how many other versions of him there were?
She’d learned from her father that living more than one life was an addiction that overrode everything—family, finances, even the laws of physics—for how else had he managed to be in two places at once?
Her mouth twisted. All of which meant that she could never trust Luis. Oh, she’d thought he was different once. In Segovia she’d believed that he was gritty and real, but she knew now that he was just like her father—all stubble and no soul.
Yes, he wanted her—but only in the way that she’d claimed to have wanted him, because she was there. No doubt he would distance himself as soon as he found something more interesting.
Slowly Cristina stood up and pulled her suitcase across the bed. There was nothing to be gained from picking over everything again and again. If she was going to stay—and she was—then she needed to focus, not waste time or energy wanting something from him that in reality couldn’t ever exist.
The next day she was relieved to discover that Luis was not at breakfast. She would have faced him, of course, but even thinking about seeing him again made her skin feel hot and tight. Thankfully, the photo shoot was finally going well, and the glow of everything coming together absorbed her all morning.
There were many reminders of Baltasar around the house, but in the end Agusto had chosen a yachting medal and Sofia her son’s favourite book. Their choices were not just proof of his life, they were charged with a deep, unwavering love, and perfectly captured both Bas’s unalterable absence and his continued presence in his family’s life.
Of course the living were harder to forget, and as the morning lengthened Luis was still absent. From feeling grateful that he was no longer watching her every move, some of her elation started to ooze away. In fact by lunchtime his absence was making her feel on edge in the same way that his presence once had.
Glancing at the table, she felt almost lightheaded as she saw that it was set for three. ‘Is Luis not joining us?’
The question was out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to censor it.
She steeled herself as Sofia looked up at her, praying that her expression showed no trace of any intimacy between herself and the older woman’s son.
‘No, querida. He’s popped over to the mainland. Something to do with business. He’ll be away for a couple of days.’ Looking across to where her husband was talking to Pilar, Sofia lowered her voice. ‘He works so hard. Too hard, we think. But…’
She shrugged—a wordless gesture that somehow managed to imply both regret and confusion.
Cristina swallowed. She had grown fond of the older woman, and hated seeing her look so sad. Forcing br
ightness into her voice, she said quickly, ‘It’s not that surprising, is it? Your husband is still working now. Probably he worked even harder when he was younger.’
Sofia gave her a small, tight smile. ‘He did. But it was different. Agusto was different.’ She sighed. ‘He worked for his family and to remind himself of his heritage.’ Her smile stiffened. ‘Luis works to forget that heritage.’
But why?
The question formed on Cristina’s lips, but just as she opened her mouth to ask it Agusto turned towards them and the conversation moved on to the options for dessert.
The next day followed the same pattern—work interspersed with periods of trying not to think about Luis. Mealtimes were the worst, and despite enjoying spending time with Agusto and Sofia, she missed him so much that it hurt like a bruise just above her heart. Not that her heart was actually involved in their particular dynamic. Probably the ache was just a phantom memory—a reminder of how she had felt when her father had left.
As usual, thinking about her father made the breath rattle in her throat, and with a pure effort of will she forced herself to blank all thoughts other than work from her mind.
At first it worked.
She spent the afternoon playing around with the photos on her laptop, but her focus of a few days earlier had evaporated. The screen might as well have been blank for all the attention she gave it. Instead she couldn’t stop thinking about what Sofia had said about her son, and her sadness. Her words played inside Cristina’s head as images of Luis looped through her mind. His dark eyes as she’d asked him to leave, that blank look on his face the moment before he’d turned and walked out…
Her downshifting mood and diminishing concentration weren’t helped by her phone vibrating with persistent regularity in her pocket.
Finally, it was time to wander up to the main house for supper.
She hadn’t been expecting to see Luis, but even so the sight of the table once again set only for three gave her a jolt. The meal seemed to last for ever, and by the end her face was aching with the effort of smiling. Finally, pleading tiredness and a need for an early night, she excused herself and, back in her room, she lay down on her bed, willing herself to fall asleep.
It didn’t work.
Her body felt impossibly restless. There was a sharpness beneath her ribs, and her breathing faltered in her chest. And she knew why she was feeling like this now. It was because he wasn’t here.
She was missing him.
Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the ceiling in confusion.
That made no sense at all. For the last few days she’d been desperate to escape his cool, critical gaze, so why should she be missing him now?
She should be celebrating, or at least feeling grateful that she wasn’t having to spend time with him, for it was clear that despite praising her photos he still thought she was shallow, devious and not to be trusted. His barely concealed contempt for her had left her as breathless as his lovemaking.
Her pulse gave a twitch, heat flaring inside her as she remembered how Luis made love. The cool touch of his fingers, the heat of his mouth, the hard thrust of his body against hers, the feeling that when finally he pulled away she had lost a part of herself…
Her phone vibrated on the bed beside her and her body froze, her thoughts abruptly eclipsed by a shifting and by now familiar apprehension. Glancing down, she felt almost winded with relief as she saw it was her mother calling.
‘Hi, Mum.’
Pressing the phone against the side of her face, a rush of homesickness hit her head-on as she pictured her mother in her room.
‘Oh, Chrissie—thank goodness.’
Hearing the agitation in her mother’s voice, Cristina felt suddenly nauseous. Her mum was usually so good at hiding her emotions, but she wasn’t even trying.
‘What’s the matter?’
Her heart seemed to drop inside her chest. Could Laura have contacted her mother? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible.
Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘Has something happened?’
‘I’ve been leaving you messages for days. I thought something had happened to you. I know it’s late, and I wasn’t going to ring, but I couldn’t bear it—’
Her mother’s voice wobbled and Cristina gripped the phone more tightly, guilt coursing through her. After her father had left both she and her mother had become scrupulous about staying in touch. Even when she’d been at her worst—bunking off school, staying out all night—she’d still called her mum and answered every text from her.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’ She spoke quickly, desperate to reassure the one person in her life who had been constant and caring. ‘The signal here isn’t great,’ she lied. ‘And my phone keeps losing charge.’ Another lie. ‘It’s been a crazy few days.’ That was true—although not in the way she was making it sound.
The rest of the conversation was much easier. Her mum was a good listener, and so partisan in support of her daughter that Cristina found herself relaxing for the first time in days. But even as she said goodbye she could feel her earlier tension returning.
Gritting her teeth, she gave up all thoughts of an early night and, standing up, unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor.
Ten minutes later, with a full moon above her, she was running along the cliff path, a light breeze in her face. Usually in London she wore headphones, to block out the noise of the traffic, but here there was no need. It was the first time she’d run in weeks, and the absence of any noise and the taste of clean air and sea spray was as exhilarating as neat alcohol.
Slowing down slightly, she zig-zagged through a clump of pine trees down towards the beach, her gaze following the pale path beneath her feet. And then she was on the beach, her trainers sinking into damp sand and the sound of the surf filling her head.
Hands on her hips, she breathed out slowly, enjoying the relentless motion of the waves and the sheer, dizzying pleasure of being so close the sea. She looked longingly down at the water. It would be so lovely to go for a quick swim. But then again…
She sighed. Swimming alone at night in a sea she didn’t know was probably not the most sensible idea. Maybe she’d get up early and come back tomorrow—
Glancing up the beach, she stopped mid-thought, her attention snagged by a movement on the dark rocks—a flash of white.
Was it a bird?
Frowning, she walked swiftly across the sand. Up close, the rocks were slightly steeper than she’d anticipated, but she managed to grapple her way to the top. It was higher up than she had thought, but on the plus side she could see that there was a less arduous way back through the pine trees.
For a second she gazed at the path, mentally tracing it up the hill. Heart still pounding, she made her way cautiously over the rocks—and then abruptly stopped.
Gazing down, she felt a tug of excitement. It was a tidal pool, almost circular, maybe ten metres wide, carved out and fed by the sea and perfectly hidden. Pulse twitching, she watched the waves lap over the edge of the rocks—and then, without warning, her breath caught in her throat and she took a step back.
Beneath her, swimming with smooth, effortless grace was Luis.
He was on his front, wearing nothing except a pair of blue swimming shorts with a flash of white. Feeling like a voyeur, but unable to stop herself, she inched forward, her eyes locked on his muscular back and the smooth, sleek lines of his limbs.
She knew she should move, but her feet seemed to be embedded in the rock beneath her. All she could do—all she wanted to do—was stare. And then, just like that, he was pulling himself out onto a terrace of rock, smoothing his hand over his wet hair, and it was too late for her to do anything.
Pulse soaring, she watched mesmerised as he made his way up towards where she standing. Right at the last moment he looked up and froze.
Cristina stared at him mutely, her skin on fire as though the moonlight was burning her. Sea water was trickling down from his shoulders over
his chest and stomach, and his eyes were deeper and darker than the pool behind him. He looked like some mythological hero. Her gaze dipped to his mouth. But he was real.
Luis felt his muscles contract.
What the hell was she doing here?
He’d thought he was alone, and judging by her next remark Cristina had clearly been thinking the same thing.’
‘I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were on the mainland.’
Blood singing in his ears, Luis stared at her dumbly. Having made up his mind after their catastrophic kiss not to spend any more time with her than necessary, he had been avoiding her masterfully—even going to the trouble of arranging a meeting with a business colleague on the mainland.
His mouth tightened. If it wasn’t so tragic it might almost be funny!
He’d gone away ostensibly to work, in reality to forget her. But he’d done neither.
Her name, her face, her body, even her voice had been impossible to forget, for she was inside his head. He could taste her in his mouth, feel her swimming through his blood just as he had swum across the pool.
And it wasn’t just his memory and his body that seemed determined to remind him of her at every opportunity. The flowers on the table had conspired against him too, their scent reminding him of her and causing him to lose track of what he was saying on more than one occasion during lunch.
He gritted his teeth. He’d tried to stay away, but he couldn’t. His need to see her, to be near her, kept pulling deep inside him, strong and relentless, like a marlin on the end of a line. And even though he’d known that returning to the island was an admission of weakness he’d come back anyway.
But seeing her like this, here—
His breath felt suddenly too low in his chest. This place was almost sacred to him. Bas had taught him to dive here. They’d tried their first and only cigarette sitting on these rocks. And it was where they’d always come to trade their fears and hopes.
Now he was here with Cristina. A woman he didn’t fully trust and yet who reminded him so much of his brother—not just in her beauty but in her effortless rapport with people even his parents. Usually they were quite formal and reserved with anyone except immediate family and longstanding friends, but they were both already clearly fond of Cristina, and she was delightful with them.
Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire Page 10
