‘The baby is so lovely! We are all just so excited to have you with us in time for Christmas, and hopefully after that you will decide to settle here permanently! I am afraid that Consuela’s English is not as good as my own, or my mother’s, but she so wants to speak with you and I will be happy to translate.’
Addressing the woman who held the still smiling Matilde so tenderly, Elena indicated she should come closer. Consuela stared deeply into Dominique’s anxious gaze and spoke in a passionate, clearly emotional flood of Spanish.
‘She says she is honoured to meet the mother of her son’s child. She wants me to tell you that although her heart is broken because she has lost her beautiful son, she feels that she has been blessed by the Holy Virgin herself because you had his baby—even though he did not take care of you as he should have. Ramón was not a bad person…only troubled.’
Wary of the lump forming inside her throat, Dominique smiled and nodded to show Consuela that she appreciated what she said. She took a moment before she asked Elena to convey to her that there was no blame in her own heart for what Ramón had done, only a great sadness that he had not lived to see the beautiful daughter he had fathered.
All the while she was speaking, Dominique had been keenly aware of Cristiano listening intently to what was being said, and a big part of her wanted to go to him and lay her head on the broad, hard-muscled shoulder she was fighting so hard not to depend on. Reminding herself that she had to cultivate a distance from him emotionally—not get even more deeply involved that way—she leant forward and kissed Consuela affectionately on her cheek.
‘Gracias,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you for inviting me and Matilde to come and stay with you. I honestly was not looking forward to the two of us spending Christmas alone.’
As Elena translated, Cristiano moved closer.
‘Let me take you and show you where you will be sleeping.’ He put a hand beneath Dominique’s elbow, and the expression on his bronzed handsome face was hard to decipher even as he bestowed a warm, tender smile on the other women. ‘Consuela, why don’t you take care of the little one while I show Dominique to her rooms?’ he suggested.
CHAPTER SIX
THE house—if you could call it that—was like its own little kingdom.
Everywhere Dominique looked were soaring stone arches leading into door-lined corridors. But although it was certainly vast, somehow the family that lived there had cultivated a distinctly warm and welcoming ambience inside, instead of one that might so easily have been distant and intimidating because of its sheer dimensions.
There were homely touches everywhere. Family photographs in the most elegant frames sat atop classically designed furniture as well as on more native, unvarnished pieces. Vases of exotic blooms were plentiful, as were vivid and colourful tapestries adorning the thick earthen walls that were securely reinforced by tall brick pillars. Candles abounded, as well as a plethora of bookcases in different cosy alcoves, crammed with books of all kinds—and usually with a comfortable chair nearby, Dominique noticed, in which to sit and read undisturbed. Charmingly, every windowsill also housed a small, simply designed lamp of some kind.
But the thing that arrested her attention the most was the unique flavour of the country and its people that somehow permeated the atmosphere and wrapped itself round her enraptured senses as though casting a spell. Walking through that amazing building, with its mosaic-tiled floors, arabesque design work and compelling artefacts, Dominique had the sense that she was being somehow transported back through time. This might easily have been the palace of a sultan or an emir! An excited shiver ran down her spine. It was strange…but now that she was here she didn’t feel as alien as she’d thought she might. In fact, she had the oddest sense of belonging that she couldn’t explain.
Standing at the entrance to the most exquisite bedroom, after negotiating countless corridors and one grand sweeping staircase with Cristiano, Dominique likened herself to a shipwreck survivor who had somehow, by angelic intervention, been washed up on the shores of a beautiful island filled with every lush fruit known to man. As her brooding escort silently watched her, she was almost too overwhelmed for words by the sight that met her gaze.
The room she viewed was one of the two allocated to her, comprising a sitting room and bedroom, and was the most luxuriously appointed she’d ever contemplated staying in. Drawing the eye immediately was a very grand and magnificent four-poster bed, draped in gold and emerald-green brocade, and next to it was the most charming intricately carved wooden crib for Matilde. Dominique exclaimed her pleasure out loud when she set eyes on it. The little satin pillow and quilt inside looked hand-sewn, and were quite simply exquisite.
Sweeping her gaze round some more, she saw lush hangings made of silk on the walls, with embroidered scenes reflecting the fascinating mix of Arabic, Judaic and Christian legacies that Cristiano had informed her influenced this particular part of Spain. The antique chairs, occasional tables and clothes chests that furnished the rest of the room looked like the very finest. Her bedsit back in London resembled some Dickensian pauper’s dwelling in comparison! What must Cristiano have thought when he saw it?
‘This is just for me and Matilde?’ she asked, hugging her arms over her chest in the thin petrol-blue sweater she wore with skinny black jeans. ‘The pair of us could easily get lost in all this space after what we’ve been used to! What an amazing place you live in…I had no idea!’
‘Ramón never talked about his home?’ Cristiano’s glance all but dissected her, it was so piercing.
Feeling a little uneasy, Dominique shrugged. ‘Not really. He talked more about you, as a matter of fact.’
‘Me?’
‘He really looked up to you, you know? You were someone he admired and aspired to be like.’
Someone he’d admired and aspired to be like? Was he supposed to take heart from that, when since Ramón’s death the thought had routinely niggled away at him that in the final analysis he had simply let his cousin down? Just as he had let down his wife and child, Cristiano reflected bitterly. He hadn’t been able to save any of them. Even though he would have sacrificed everything—including his own life—so that they could live.
Frowning, he tried to push away the sense of hopelessness and futility that suddenly washed over him, but it was not easy. Finding himself staring at the slim but shapely young woman standing just a few feet away from him, with her tantalising silken rope of hair, dressed in the kind of plain and simple clothing that should not be remotely alluring at all yet somehow was, Cristiano almost swayed at the force of his desire to touch and hold her. It swept over him with all the power of something deeply primal.
Madre de Dios! What was happening to him? He was not supposed to feel this way about a girl he considered himself guardian and protector to! He knew right then that it would be extreme folly to give in to such an impossible and dangerous urge—that it would be like lighting the fuse to a most lethal explosive and the fall-out would be considerable. Everything inside him felt like a coiled spring, tightly bound, because he had to strive so hard to control his shocking impulse…
‘My family were overjoyed to see the baby…just as I knew they would be,’ he remarked, a slight catch in his voice.
There was an urgent need to change the subject to something lighter, to somehow tamp down this restless, potentially perilous desire that tormented him. It did not help his case to observe the huge four-poster bed, positioned only inches away from where Dominique stood.
‘It is so good to see them smiling again.’
‘They are incredible women! I did not realise they…and you…had lost so many of your loved ones. It’s just so sad. If Matilde being here helps bring happiness into the house, then I am truly glad that I came.’
‘Good.’ His smile somewhat strained now, Cristiano moved towards the door that led back into the corridor. ‘Why don’t you familiarise yourself with your new surroundings for a little while, and I will go and arrange for yo
ur luggage to be brought up? Do not worry about Matilde…she has three doting women to take care of her now, and is perfectly safe.’
‘Cristiano?’
‘What is it?’
Suddenly she was there beside him, her peachy smell stirring the air and making his body tighten with almost shocking and violent demand as he glanced into the flawless blue mirror of her long-lashed gaze.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course. Why should I not be all right?’ he answered tersely, confused that she should display such apparent concern towards him.
‘It’s just that I sense some tension in you. Won’t you tell me what’s the matter?’
She bit down on a temptingly plump lower lip that Cristiano would defy a saint not to want to taste and coloured deeply.
‘You’ve been so good to me and Matilde during the past few days…If there’s anything I can do to help you, you will tell me, won’t you?’
To Cristiano’s utter surprise, she reached out and laid her slender cool palm over his hand. Sensing what he was sure was simply meant to be comforting pressure, for a moment he was rocked to his very soul. The turmoil-inducing contact scorched along his nerve-endings like living flame.
‘That is a dangerous offer, Dominique. And, trust me…it is one that you would be very wise to retract at this moment in time.’
His smile was almost bitter, as well as painfully rueful. Freeing his hand and opening the door, Cristiano stalked away from her without saying another word…
Joining them for a special homecoming meal which the women of the household—along with the housekeeper, María—had prepared for that evening was Marco, Elena’s Italian boyfriend. They had recently become engaged, Elena had confided to Dominique earlier, her dark eyes glowing with excitement and pleasure. He was a slim-built and extremely handsome young man, and the couple seemed quite besotted with each other.
In fact, watching them from time to time as she hungrily tucked in to the delicious food that had been cooked in her and Matilde’s honour, Dominique knew a pang of longing that wouldn’t easily abate. And it was worryingly heightened whenever she glanced Cristiano’s way. He was sitting at the head of the magnificent dining table to her left, and amid the magical glow of myriad softly flickering candles his dark eyes and sable hair glinted with the fierce sheen of polished jet.
Why had he reacted so bitterly to her offer of help earlier? His sudden unexpected coldness had hurt her. It might be wrong, and not very wise of her, but Dominique had started to see him as her friend…someone she could trust above all. But now she indeed saw the danger of viewing such a powerful, charismatic man as him in such a way. When it came down to it he was as unpredictable and unknowable as he had been when Dominique had first met him. She was kidding herself if she dared to assume a closer bond than that.
Her stomach dived to her boots as she considered the thought that had been worrying her the most. What if he was furious with her because he thought she’d been trying to come on to him in some way? Reliving the scene when he’d made his terse remark, Dominique shockingly reflected on how her words might not have seemed quite innocent from Cristiano’s point of view. Deeply perturbed, she reached out for the glass of ruby-red Rioja that was glimmering in the candlelight beside her plate, and almost knocked it over in her haste to lift it.
‘Careful!’
Next to her, Cristiano’s compelling rich voice throbbed out a warning.
Glancing up at him in alarm, Dominique grimaced. ‘Sorry.’
‘You do not have to apologise. You are enjoying your food?’
‘It’s wonderful! I’m loving it, actually…What did you say this casserole was called?’
‘Estofado de pescado. This particular region is well known for its fish dishes.’
‘Well, it’s absolutely delicious!’
Across the long and magnificently laid table, Consuela caught her eye and bestowed an uninhibitedly warm smile on the younger woman. She had spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the early evening taking care of Matilde, and had even accompanied her to their bedroom to watch her settle the baby into the beautiful crib that Dominique was not surprised to learn was a family heirloom.
‘Eat more!’ she said, in her limited English, pushing another appetising dish in her direction. Then, turning towards her nephew, she addressed him in rapid Spanish, and it was obvious to Dominique that the conversation was about her.
‘My aunt has heard that the food in England is terrible and is worried that you have been starving yourself because it is so bad!’
Cristiano grinned, and there was no strain about that sensual, rather beautiful mouth of his as he translated. Instead it was curved with genuine delight, and beneath its dazzling effect Dominique felt a little like a neglected plant that had been languishing in the shade too long and had suddenly been moved out into the sunlight.
‘What?’
‘She thinks that you need some more meat on your bones, Dominique…and also that you need to be out in the sun more—because you are, in her opinion, far too pale!’
Knowing the older woman did not mean any insult, but was merely saying what she thought, Dominique sighed. ‘Well, please tell Consuela that I have never starved myself in my life and never will! I certainly don’t hold with all that rubbish the media push about skinny being best! And the food at home is not that bad! There’s plenty of variety, at any rate, with all the different cultures that thrive there. As for being too pale…I’m sure the Spanish sun will soon change that—given time!’
Studying her intently for a moment, Cristiano translated what she’d said, and Consuela’s concerned frown quickly turned into a pleased smile.
‘Bueno!’ She nodded and, reaching across the table, tightly squeezed Dominique’s hand.
The other woman’s care and attention was touching and, caught unawares, Dominique sensed the sting of tears prick the backs of her eyelids. She had received more kindness in this household in one day than she had in years at home with her mother, and she almost didn’t know how to handle it…
‘Tomorrow my aunt would like to take care of Matilde while I take you to lunch, and also show you some of the sights of our beautiful town. Does that plan meet with your approval?’
‘Don’t you have to get back to work?’ Dominique asked Cristiano in surprise, blinking away the moisture that had helplessly surged into her eyes.
‘I have made some phone calls and I do not need to be back in my office for another two days. Until then I will be here to help you settle in.’
‘You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have more important things to do than play nursemaid to me and Matilde! I’ve already taken up too much of your time as it is.’
‘What could be more important than bringing my aunt’s grandchild home? And I would be very remiss in my duties indeed if I did not take proper care of you and your daughter while you are living under my roof!’
‘I told you before,’ Dominique retorted, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her linen napkin, suddenly feeling more vulnerable and exposed than she liked, ‘I don’t need anybody to take care of me!’
The truth was that something in her took great offence at the idea that Cristiano only viewed her as some kind of ‘duty’ he had to fulfil. His marked distance towards her since their arrival in Spain had left her longing for the return of the charming and attentive man who had walked through the park with them on a crisp winter’s day, with his hand at her back, talking quietly about the many stunning vistas of Spain and the fragrant, sultry heat of his homeland that he was missing with a passion.
‘Excuse me.’ Politely inclining her head towards Consuela and Luisa, Dominique pushed back her chair and hurried out of the grand dining room, with its fabulous coffered ceiling and glowing candles, trying hard to get her bearings through her tears as she stood in a cavernous corridor illuminated only by the softest lamplight.
Footsteps from behind told her she had not been allowed to escape as ea
sily as that.
‘Everyone is concerned that you are not happy. What is wrong?’
Turning, she saw Cristiano walk slowly towards her, compelling and heart-stoppingly masculine, dressed in top-to-toe black, the lamplight making the carved contours of his face appear even more hauntingly arresting than usual.
‘Today has been an emotional journey in more ways than one, that’s all. And I’m very tired. I don’t mean to offend anybody, but I’d like to go back to my room now and maybe have an early night. Will you please give your family my apologies?’
‘That is not a problem. But I do not like to see you so upset.’
Before he could consider the wisdom of such a gesture, Cristiano raised his hand and touched his knuckles very gently to Dominique’s tear-stained cheek. Her skin was very close to being as soft as Matilde’s, and her blue eyes were so bewitching that he was in perilous danger of forgetting just why he had followed her out here in the first place.
‘All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine.’
‘Will you, Dominique?’
His fingers slid down her cheek and under her chin. Lifting it a little, so that he had even better access to her beguiling gaze, Cristiano found himself studying her with an explosively insistent renewal of the desire he’d experienced earlier in her bedroom. His whole body was electrified by it.
‘What do you—what do you mean?’ Her soft voice fell to a bare whisper as she stared back at him.
Knowing he was locked in one of the fiercest battles for self-control that he’d ever experienced, still Cristiano could not help but lower his head towards the sweetly parted lips that tempted him so powerfully.
‘I am not so sure a night’s sleep would ease what troubles me right at this moment,’ he said ruefully, his voice growing husky.
His mouth touched Dominique’s long before he realised he had very definitely lost the battle he’d been engaged in—that in truth had been consuming him all evening…
Married By Christmas Bundle: Anthology Page 21
