On his part, Deborah realised with a flash of intuition. Caroline Winters hadn't been at the party because she still wanted Jake.
'Oh I see,' she said lightly, trying to hide her relief.
'Do you?' Jake's mouth twisted. 'I doubt it.'
Something in his voice warned her to drop the subject before she found herself in too deep. She stood up, moving restlessly around the room. 'Let's talk about something else,' she suggested pretending interest in a large abstract painting, hanging on one of the walls.
'What do you suggest?' Jake watched her as she moved, slender and graceful, the silk dress clinging to the softness of her body.
She shrugged, frowning. 'I don't know. Anything.' The room seemed filled with tension and she felt the hair on the back of her neck prickling.
'Okay. Let's talk about you and me,' he said softly.
Her head jerked round and she eyed him warily. 'What about you and me?'
'Tomorrow we're flying out to Seville,' he informed her with a slight smile.
'Seville? Why?' She felt suspicious, nervous. What was he up to?
Jake stood up in one lithe movement and walked over to her. He was so tall she had to tilt back her head to look into his face.
'The play I'm writing at the moment has its roots in the Spanish Civil War. I need to do some research.' He reached out slowly, his long fingers stroking her hair. 'And you need a holiday. I know these past weeks have been a strain for you.'
Deftly he removed the pins that held her hair in place, so that it fell loose and shining about her shoulders. 'You look tired,' he said gently. Trembling violently beneath his touch, she tried to move away but he trapped her against the wall, his hands resting either side of her.
'I am tired,' she admitted, and her voice sounded sharp, a defence against his unexpected kindness.
It was true. The wedding had exhausted her, coming after weeks of solidly hard work. Since returning from Windermere she had thrown herself into her work, catching up on the backlog and finishing her designs for the new collection. The past week had been spent grooming Cassandra to take her place. All her strength seemed used up, and the thought of a holiday was enticing, though the thought of sharing that holiday with Jake made her heart pound with worry.
'But I won't let you bully me. I don't need a holiday.'
'You'll have one anyway,' Jake told her smoothly, his voice implacable. 'Call it a honeymoon if you like.'
'No!' It was an involuntary rejection. 'Jake, for God's sake ...' She watched his mouth hardening, a muscle flicking in his jaw and realised that she had insulted him in her panic. He was so close that she could feel the coolness of his breath against her loosened hair, and that treacherous weakness ran in her blood, undermining her willpower, her self-control.
'Why are you doing this?' she asked, lowering her
eyes.
Jake caught her chin between his fingers and tilted up her face. 'Because I want you,' he said calmly.
The ground beneath her feet seemed to move, the words shuddering through her.
'But I don't want you,' she lied, moistening her dry lips with her tongue, an unknowingly provocative gesture.
Jake smiled, but his eyes were smoky, heavy with desire. 'You're my wife,' he reminded her in a low voice.
'Because you blackmailed me.' Her voice cracked. The tension snaked between them like raw electricity, blotting out the rest of the world. She was acutely aware of him, her mind and her body open to him, sensitive, achingly alive.
'It was your own decision,' he muttered angrily.
'Liar!' She tried to pull away from him, but she couldn't move a muscle. She was paralysed by the naked desire she saw in his face.
'You really think I'd have taken you to court?'
'Yes,' she whispered, her heart racing. 'Yes.'
Very gently, Jake traced the outline of her parted lips with his thumb. She shuddered uncontrollably.
'You're the liar,' he said, and there was a teasing tenderness in his voice.
Slowly he bent his dark head, his mouth finding hers, tormenting her with brief hungry kisses that parted her lips then broke away. Unable to keep her balance, her hands came up flat against his shoulders. Beneath the thin material of his shirt, she felt the smooth hard warmth of his skin, the tension in his powerful muscles. And she swayed against him, weak with longing, her sudden need matching the need she felt in him. His arms came around her, holding her tightly against the length of his body.
'You're driving me out of my mind,' he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his mouth sliding to her throat. 'God, Deborah, I want you—I don't think a lifetime could ease this pain ...'
Deborah closed her eyes, her hands still caressing his wide muscular shoulders, tangling in the vital thickness of his hair. She knew how he felt. She wanted him with an intensity that made her feel faint.
'I want you,' she whispered, her voice breaking. It was not an admission of defeat, but an answering of his need. 'Jake, hold me, please, hold me.'
She felt the strength of his arms tightening possessively around her, and, suddenly the wetness of tears on her face. She swallowed them back, aware that she was on the point of abandoning her foolish pride for ever. She would never know a love like this again.
Unbidden, Leila's face rose in her mind, holding her back, reminding her that Jake had never loved her.
'Why ... why did Leila tell the press?' she asked in a shaking voice.
Jake stared down into her face, his grey eyes still heavy with desire. 'God knows,' he said huskily. 'I guess because she's not very well. She can't always'
'Three years ago, I found her in your bed,' Deborah cut in, unbearably hurt because he was still defending Leila, even now. 'I don't think you can excuse that by saying she wasn't very well, damn you!'
She felt him stiffen, his body tensing. The desire faded from his eyes, his face becoming a hard expressionless mask. 'What the hell are you talking about?' he demanded.
'You know very well,' Deborah almost shouted.
'You must have thought I was a fool, and I suppose I was to have trusted you.'
She saw his jaw clenching. He grabbed her, his hands bruising the fragile bones of her shoulders.
'Tell me,' he said harshly.
'You don't remember?' All the pain that she had been holding in for three long years seemed to spill out unchecked. She felt angrier than she had ever felt before in her life. 'No, I don't suppose you do. I came here to see you. I went upstairs to your room and found Leila in your bed. You were in the shower. I hated you!' She spat the words at him, her eyes wild.
Jake's grip on her shoulders tightened until she thought her bones would break. She winced with pain.
'And I hate you now!' she added, struggling against his hands.
'So you went straight to Stevens,' Jake muttered, between his teeth.
'What difference does it make?'
He let her go, releasing her so abruptly that she nearly fell. They stood inches apart, suddenly facing each other as bitter enemies. He was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes leaping with fury.
'You stupid littie bitch. I've never taken Leila to bed, I've never touched her.'
'You're a liar!' Deborah said wildly. 'A liarV She flew at him, beating at his broad chest with her fists, wanting to kill him. 'I saw you with my own eyes.'
He caught her hands, pinioning them behind her back, pulling her against his hard body.
She fought him violently as he began to kiss her. His mouth was angry, almost brutal and she tried to resist. But her body betrayed her again, her lips parting almost immediately, her response quick and fierce.
Jake let go of her hands and they crept up around his neck, to touch his hair, his shoulders. She moaned beneath the demanding hunger of his mouth.
At last he lifted his head and stared down into her hot blind face, bitterness in his eyes.
'How could you go to him? How could you let him touch you?' The w
ords were torn from him, harsh and accusing.
'I didn't.' She felt too weary to lie any more. She closed her eyes, lowering her head.
'What?' He tilted up her face, hurting her, forcing her to look at him.
'I didn't,' she repeated, dry mouthed, knowing she had to tell him the truth. 'I never did. Robert was never my lover.'
Jake's grey eyes held hers, searching her face. 'I saw you together.'
'He loved me. That night you saw us, I didn't expect him to kiss me, I didn't want him to. As far as I was concerned we were just old friends. I never thought of him any other way. Never.' There was a calm relief in finally telling him the truth. 'I didn't see him for months after that night.'
'Your stepbrother told me'
'It was to protect me. I didn't want to see you.'
Jake's mouth hardened, his jaw tense. 'You married him, dammit.'
'Because he was dying. It was what he wanted and I couldn't refuse him,' she whispered, the tears coursing down her face.
Jake swore long and violently. His face was white, totally blank. His eyes were burning like fire.
'Jake, I ...' She had to say something. She was
disturbed by what she saw in him.
He didn't look at her. He turned away and walked from the room in silence, his body very tense. Deborah watched him go in confusion, not understanding his anger, his deathly fury.
Her mind was in a turmoil, refusing to function properly. She sank down on to a chair and cried her eyes out.
CHAPTER NINE
They arrived in Seville at eight o'clock the following evening. Deborah slept for most of the flight, her head resting on Jake's shoulder.
She woke as the plane touched the runway, embarrassed colour flushing her cheeks as she lifted her head and met Jake's dark eyes.
'What time is it?' She smoothed back her hair, feeling hot and tired, needing something to say.
'Just after eight.' He was watching her, his face unfathomable.
She turned away, looking through the tiny window. Outside it was very dark, she couldn't see a thing as the plane slowed. 'I must have been asleep since we left Valencia,' she said quickly, still embarrassed that she had woken in his arms.
Jake smiled at her nervous chatter, and lowering his head, kissed her briefly on the mouth.
She looked at him, wide-eyed with surprise, her fingers coming up to touch her lips, but he was already moving, reaching for her jacket, handing it to her.
Most of the other first class passengers had left the plane at Valencia. Seville airport terminal was small and deserted and they cleared customs quickly.
A small knot of people waited behind the thin partition outside. A tall dark man shouted Jake's name. Jake answered in rapid Spanish, leading Deborah towards the man who was standing with his arm round a slender dark-haired woman. He introduced them as Concepcion and Fernando Garcia de Loza.
Deborah smiled, shaking hands. Fernando was tall and distinguished. She guessed he was in his early forties, very attractive, his face tanned and strong. His wife Concepcion was younger, very beautiful, with long raven hair plaited down her back.
'You must call me Conchi, everybody does,' she said, her English perfect. She took Deborah's arm as they stepped out into the warm night air.
Concepcion and Fernando were leaving on a three month business trip to Hong Kong the following day. Knowing that Jake needed peace to work on his play, they had offered the use of their house while they were away. Fernando was an old friend. He and Jake had attended the same university, Fernando now being a very rich, very successful antique dealer with an international reputation.
At the kerb outside stood a long black limousine, a driver holding open the doors.
Deborah breathed in deeply, enjoying the night air with its distinctly Continental scent.
'Is this your first visit to Spain?' Concepcion asked, noticing Deborah's interest in everything around her.
Deborah nodded, her eyes shining. 'And I think I'm going to like it.'
Fernando watched her face as she spoke, his dark eyes openly admiring. He turned to Jake. 'You are a very lucky man, my friend. Dios, but your new wife is beautiful.'
'I know,' Jake said softly, his eyes serious as he looked at her. Something in his voice made Deborah's heart lurch violently. She knew that it was all an act for the benefit of Concepcion and Fernando, but she couldn't help responding. I'm a fool, she thought, turning away to look out of the window.
The airport was some miles from the centre of the city, but the drive was pleasant, the road wide and empty. Jake and Fernando talked in English as a courtesy to Deborah, and it was obvious that they were close friends, strong bonds of affection and respect binding them together.
As they approached the centre of the City, the traffic became heavier.
Concepcion and Fernando's house was near the Guadalquivir River, on the edge of the Bario Santa Cruz. It was a large old building, Moorish in style, barely visible from the road.
The car pulled through high ornate iron gates into a huge tiled courtyard, filled with exotic plants, orange trees and the splashing sounds of a fountain.
Deborah stepped out of the car, looking round with an exclamation of delight. The night air was warm and inviting, the scent of jasmine, orange blossom and carnation filling her nostrils. Birds sang in wooden cages, and from somewhere far away drifted the sound of a plaintive flamenco guitar.
'It's beautiful ... breathtaking.' She looked round and found Jake beside her. He smiled down into her green eyes, his mouth sensual.
'I'm glad you like it.'
There was mockery in his voice, reminding her of her stubbornness about coming here. But there was tenderness too, and for a moment they were totally alone, a deep awareness binding them together.
'You'll want to rest before dinner.' Conception's laughing voice broke between them, her high-heeled shoes clattering on the rainbow-coloured tiles. 'I'll show you to your room. Leave the cases, Joaquim
will bring them directly.'
The house flanked the rectangular courtyard on all four sides, and Concepion led them through a high arched door of heavily carved oak, into a hallway the size of Deborah's flat in London.
The floor was pale polished marble. All around the hall archways led to rooms hidden behind high carved doors. The architecture was spacious and graceful, everywhere a profusion of old Moroccan tiles, their faded colours glowing beneath crystal lanterns.
Upstairs, Concepcion threw open a door, gesturing them inside. 'I hope you'll be comfortable here. I'll send Ana up with some coffee. Dinner in two hours?'
Deborah smiled gratefully. 'Thank you.'
'No, thank you, we are happy to have you here with us,' Concepcion said graciously, her liquid dark eyes on Jake, as she added teasingly, 'we were beginning to think that Jake would never find the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. I've been dying to meet you.'
She left them as Joaquim appeared with their luggage. He was a middle-aged man with a dried brown face. He smiled at Deborah, flashing gold teeth, as he retreated silently from the room.
Deborah glanced round as the door closed. It was a beautiful room, decorated luxuriously with the antiques of Fernando's trade.
A carved bed with a canopy of midnight blue velvet dominated the room. The windows, on opposite walls, were open, delicate fretwork shutters pulled across, to keep out insects. Two doors revealed a dressing room and an en suite bathroom with a huge marble bath and blue and gold tiles.
The coffee arrived before Deborah had finished looking round. She sipped it gratefully, realising she was very thirsty. She pushed open the shutters to stare out into the balmy night.
The house backed on to the gardens of the Alcazar, the palm trees tall against the black sky. From the other window across the room the view was the terracotta tiled roofs of the Bario.
'It's like going back in time,' she said turning her head to find Jake watching her unsmilingly. The sudden realisation
that they were alone in this exquisite room, robbed her of further speech, and she could hear her own heart beating in the silence.
Jake had removed his jacket. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing fine dark hair against tanned skin.
She stared at his wide muscular shoulders, and her mouth dried, her throat aching with sudden tension. The cup she was holding rattled in its saucer. She set it down, very carefully. 'There's only one bed,' she realised shakily.
'You've noticed.' There was amusement in the deep voice.
'But ...' She tried to find the right words, angry that he was laughing at her. 'You tricked me---'
'On the contrary. I suppose Conchi and Fernando assumed that our marriage is a normal one,' Jake said sardonically. 'One room. One bed.'
'I won't sleep with you, I told you that. I can't.' Panic made her unwittingly rude, and Jake's mouth hardened.
'I suggest you go and tell Conchi that. Ask her for another room.'
It was clear that he was not going to help her and the thought of explaining to Concepcion that she couldn't share a room with her husband, was too embarrassing to contemplate. Her mind worked fast. Tomorrow the house would be theirs. She could sleep where she liked then. But until then, she would have to manage somehow.
'I think I'll take a shower before dinner,' she said coolly, shooting him a poisonous glance.
'Running away?' Jake queried mockingly.
'No. I feel hot and sticky after the flight. I don't really enjoy flying.' She hated her own transparency. Jake looked at her and she could hide nothing. And she had to stop herself from running into the bathroom to get away from those penetrating all-seeing eyes.
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