‘I’ve only just got engaged,’ she pushed out between suddenly unbearably sensitised lips, knowing that he would regard the statement as irrelevant.
‘Break it.’
He got to his feet, large, lean and intimidating. But so utterly gorgeous her mouth went dry as she looked at him, searching for the man he had been, the man she had fallen so helplessly in love with.
‘I’ll call on you tomorrow morning. Early. For your decision.’
Diego strode out of the room, closing the door behind him with an emphatic snap. Lisa shuddered, wrapping her arms around a frame that seemed about to shake itself to pieces. Bereft of his presence, the room felt cold and hollow. But then, she thought shakily, he had always generated an atmosphere so vital the air around him was charged with stinging sexual energy. Unfortunately nothing had changed in that respect.
She felt sick with nervous tension. What Diego had asked—demanded—of her was impossible! Quelling the uncomfortable knowledge that he need only have used a kind word, confessed, with regret, that he had been two-timing her all those years ago, then the impossible would have turned into the opposite, she gave herself a savage mental shake.
Like the arrogant swine he obviously was he was accusing her of being in the wrong. True, she had behaved atrociously. But she had been too young to cope with his betrayal with any dignity at all. She’d had too much to drink, been borderline hysterical…
‘So, how did it go?’
Lisa nearly leapt out of her skin. She’d been drowning in her own tortured thoughts and hadn’t heard Ben enter. He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I saw Señor Raffacani leave—now, why does that name ring a bell?’ He hunched his shoulders, dismissing it as unimportant. ‘Don’t suppose you talked him out of withdrawing his advertising account with us?’ he queried defeatedly. ‘The Dads couldn’t get anywhere with him, apparently.’
At the wry resignation in his tone Lisa scrambled to her feet. His brows peaked in enquiry. He carried no sizzling sexual aura around with him. Just stolid, quietly comfortable normality. For the first time ever she wanted to fling herself into his arms and beg him to save her from the old treacherous longings Diego had woken within her. But they didn’t have the kind of passionate relationship that would make that possible. For years now she’d tried her best to appear coolly sophisticated, in control. He would hate it if she went to pieces.
Her eyes stung with tears and she bent to adjust a strap on one of her shoes to hide them. Dear practical, sensible Ben would be mortified if he thought she was even considering—for one split second—prostituting herself to save the magazine.
But she wasn’t, was she? she adjured herself silently. No way! Not ever! She straightened, willing herself to appear normal. ‘We can’t talk about it now. Later. We can stay another half an hour then you can take me home and we’ll discuss it.’
A look of incredulity spread across his pleasant features. ‘The Dads will want to know what he said to you, you know they will. We can’t just walk out of our own party. People will think it’s odd, to say the least!’
‘No, they won’t.’ Lisa sighed resignedly, pointing out, ‘They’ll think we’re like all newly engaged couples—panting to be alone together.’
‘Don’t be crude, Lise—it doesn’t suit you.’ His frown deepened. ‘And why all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? Either the guy’s going to finish with us, or he isn’t. A straight yes or no will do.’
Ignoring his reprimand—there had been no driven eagerness in their desire to be alone together so he wouldn’t understand what she’d been getting at—she tucked her hand beneath his arm and explained heavily, ‘It’s not as simple as that. Raffacani made a proposition. With strings attached. I need to tell you about them, in private, before everything comes crashing down round our heads.’
That earned her a puzzled glance but stopped him arguing and they rejoined the party. And for the entire fifteen minutes or so while they mingled and chatted Lisa’s head felt as though her brains had been scrambled, the hopelessness of the situation making her stomach cramp and her heart bang against her ribs.
She had it in her power to save her colleagues’ jobs, ensure them a brighter, more secure future. One word from her would prevent Arthur Clayton and her father from looking into the bleak face of failure. She owed them something, didn’t she?
A light hand on her shoulder had her tensing her spine but it was only Maggie Devonshire, the Picture Editor. ‘Caught you at last!’ Her kindly face beamed with pleasure. ‘I’m so happy for both of you—two young things starting out together, that’s so beautiful!’ Ready tears misted her tired hazel eyes. ‘Show me the ring.’
As Lisa put her hand into the older woman’s her own eyes stung. Maggie was one of the best; she bore her troubles with fortitude and grace. Her son had suffered brain damage at birth; Billy had the mind of a four-year-old in a young man’s body. Because Maggie’s husband had walked out on her many years ago she coped on her own, delivering Billy to the day care centre on her way to work, collecting him on her way home. And never one self-pitying word. If she lost her job she would never find another. In her mid-fifties all she could hope for would be something low paid and menial—cleaning offices, maybe.
A clammy chill spread over every inch of her body as Maggie, her admiration of the diamond hoop voluble, released her hand and confided, ‘It was lovely of you to invite me but I really must be off. Billy’s spending the evening with a neighbour. I don’t want to impose on her good nature. You never know, I might need her again. A handsome millionaire might ask me out to dinner!’
As she turned away with a light self-mocking laugh Lisa put an unsteady hand on Ben’s arm. ‘Let’s go,’ she murmured thickly.
Could she barter her body for the sake of the magazine and the jobs it provided? And why did thinking about exactly what that would entail send dark heat surging through her veins?
She would have to return Ben’s ring. How hurt would he be?
Could a short affair—how long would it be before Diego decided she bored him?—leave her anything other than deeply humiliated?
Even more deeply humiliated than she felt right now, she decided, angry with herself as her skin began to flutter and her heartbeat quicken at the mere thought of making love with Diego Raffacani.
‘You will do as he asks?’
Slumped on the sofa, the coffee she’d made cold on the table in front of him, Ben had listened to all she’d had to say in heavy silence. Now he waited for an answer to his question.
Lisa, pacing back and forth, driven by a gripping inner tension, couldn’t find one and only came to an abrupt, shocked standstill when Ben stated flatly, ‘You want to. You still want him. Five years ago you swore you were madly in love with him. Sophie and I thought it was teenage infatuation. None of us knew who he really was and I put the worst possible interpretation on the whole thing. I thought he was stringing you along for what he could wheedle out of you.’ His shoulders hunched in a wry shrug. ‘When he didn’t turn up that night I assumed that was the end of it, but it obviously wasn’t.’
‘He did turn up,’ Lisa admitted unhappily, wondering why Ben wasn’t furiously angry over Raffacani’s proposition, vowing to kill the other man if he ever came near her again. Wondering, too, why his pragmatic response didn’t hurt her.
Gingerly, she perched on the edge of the sofa beside him. ‘That last night he turned up with a totally fabulous woman—rich as Croesus, by the look of her.’ She didn’t mention those earlier sightings; there seemed little point. ‘I was sick with jealousy. I wanted to pay him back. So I kissed you, remember?’
‘Do I!’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘You shocked me rigid. That sort of behaviour in a public place was so unlike you. It was months before I could feel really easy in your company after that.’
Ignoring the evidence of his streak of prudery, Lisa confessed, ‘Diego was standing right behind us. I said something really vile to him. That’s why he’s put such impossible stri
ngs on his rescue package. To punish me. I hurt his precious pride.’
Ben swung his head round to look at her. Something about that look told her he was resigned to letting her go, she thought in a panic, knowing that even though they weren’t in love with each other he represented emotional safety. ‘Not impossible, surely? You obviously hurt more than his pride,’ he said gently. ‘Five years is a long time for a man like him to carry a torch.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Lisa dismissed sharply. ‘I told you—he wants to punish me.’
‘And you want that kind of punishment?’
‘Of course not!’ she denied, her cheeks going hot at the thought of the kind of punishment Diego could dole out.
‘Then why didn’t you tell him straight out to sling his hook? Why feel you had to discuss the situation if you were unwilling to go along with it? And don’t repeat all that other stuff—saving Lifestyle and all that. If it folds it wouldn’t be the end of the world. The Dads would sink into comfortable retirement and I could find other work in my field, no problem—’
‘And what about the others? Their jobs would go. And Maggie—what would she do?’ she interrupted heatedly, incensed that he should put her concerns down to hot air and a sneaky desire to do exactly what Diego had suggested.
‘People are made redundant every day,’ he pointed out. ‘They don’t starve to death. They manage. And, as for Maggie, she’s nearing retirement age. She’ll receive a worthwhile pension.’
He huffed out his breath and got slowly to his feet. ‘Admit it, Lise. You’d be a willing sacrificial lamb. You and I never pretended to a grand passion. If, deep down, you’re still in love with your Spaniard, then go to him. But be honest about it, don’t dress it up as anything other than a need to be with him at any cost.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. ‘Think about it and be honest with yourself. And, if you do decide to do as he asks, you have my blessing. I don’t go for all that hearts and flowers stuff, you know that. Even so, I wouldn’t want a wife who was secretly yearning for another man. It wouldn’t work out.’ He gave her a last gentle smile. ‘Keep the ring as a symbol of my regard for you.’
Lisa never was sure how long she sat there after Ben walked out. She was frozen with shock. How easily he’d let her go. How pertinently he’d put his finger on the heart of the matter. She still wanted Diego, was still in love with the handsome, charismatic young Spaniard who had broken her heart all those years ago
She had never regarded herself as a fool, but she did now.
Wearily, she dragged herself to her room, unwilling to face Sophie. Closing the door behind her, she leant against it, pressing her fingertips to her throbbing temples.
Diego would demand her decision in the morning.
Would she be strong enough, sane enough, to tell him to get lost? Leave Lifestyle to its ignominious fate. As Ben had pointed out, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if the magazine folded; saving it would just be her excuse to justify her actions. A willing lamb to the slaughter.
Or would she go with him, lie with him and pleasure him? Take what she could of him and bear the pain and shame when it was over? Could she resist the wicked temptation?
Exiting the taxi that had brought him from the central London hotel he was using, Diego instructed the driver to wait. This wouldn’t take long.
Despite his immaculate cashmere overcoat he shivered, blamed the miserable English March weather and set his jaw grimly. The unprecedented stinging, shivery sensation deep inside him had nothing to do with her answer.
It was down to the depressing weather, the grey streets and buildings, so unlike his vibrant, colourful homeland that it made his very soul shake inside him. Or he’d caught flu—that would explain the band of perspiration that was chilling on his forehead.
His long mouth quirked wryly. He was turning into a hypochondriac now!
Shrugging that distasteful notion aside, he pushed open the door of what had once been an elegant Regency townhouse and was now converted into tiny flats. The unfurnished hallway was bleak. Someone’s bicycle leant against the banisters of the uncarpeted stairs. His heart jumped like a landed fish as he began to mount them but he refused to let the possibility of a negative answer to his proposition take root in his mind.
Five years ago, when he’d truly loved her, she’d been greedy for sex, he reminded himself forcefully. It had taken all his self-control to deny her. He’d known his own mind, wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman, but she’d been young and impressionable and he’d needed her to be as sure as he was. Out of respect for her he’d denied himself the rapture of making love with her, so on that last hateful night she’d set her sights on Clayton, dismissing the supposedly penniless waiter as if he were dirt beneath her dainty feet.
Greedy for sex then—nothing would have changed over the intervening years. No problem there, then. Giving in to his demands for retribution would be no hardship as far as she was concerned—with the added, not inconsiderable bonus of the financial security engendered by the renaissance of Lifestyle. That would be important to her. Despite her initial, and understandable, shocked protests she’d had all night to think her way round his proposition. Lisa Pennington would always come out in favour of what was best for her.
He had her! He was damn sure of it!
His hands flexed into fists as his body leapt and hardened at the remembrance of her eager, passionate responses all those years ago. How he’d adored her, the blind witchery of falling truly in love for the first time in his life making him romanticize her, believing her to be an angel sent from heaven for him alone.
Cretino!
He gritted his teeth. Reaching the second floor landing, standing before the door to the flat she occupied, his mind darkened with an unaccustomed flicker of self-doubt.
Clayton.
Had she already given the poor guy his marching orders? Was he even now nursing a broken heart? He remembered, all too clearly, exactly how he’d felt that night five years ago. That night and countless sleep-deprived others. The pang of sympathy shook him. Then, determinedly, he dismissed it.
Lisa Pennington was a hussy. In the long run he’d be doing Clayton a huge favour.
He lifted his hand and pressed the doorbell.
CHAPTER FOUR
HER usually welcome morning tea tasted vile. Lisa put the cup down on the cramped breakfast bar; she couldn’t stomach another drop.
She hadn’t slept, hadn’t expected to. And how early was ‘early’? she asked herself agitatedly.
At least Sophie wouldn’t be around when Diego arrived for his answer. It had been well after three when she’d heard the other girl’s exaggeratedly careful progress to her bedroom, so she’d probably sleep in until eleven or even later. It was Sunday, after all, the day they usually spent relaxing, tackling the most pressing chores, catching up on the gossip.
She moved to the sitting room, restless. There would be nothing usual about today.
Crunch time.
Her heart lurched.
Would she? Wouldn’t she?
Tugging her aubergine-coloured sweatshirt down over her jeans-clad hips she gravitated to the mirror that hung over the blocked-off fireplace. What she saw did nothing for her self-assurance. She looked like a twelve-year old, she decided, sighing with disgust.
The baggy top swamped her delicate curves. She looked flat as a board. Her hair scraped back off her face, held into her nape with a limp ribbon, looked dull and lifeless. As did the dark-ringed eyes that stared mournfully back at her.
Quelling the sudden impulse to go and do something about the way she looked, she turned and paced back to the kitchen. She had no wish to impress him. In fact, if she looked like a rag doll who’d been left out in the rain he might decide he wanted nothing to do with her and take back that shameful proposition, take the decision she’d been wrestling with all through the wretched night right out of her hands.
Perhaps if she ate somethin
g the horrible shaky feeling inside her would go away. But one look at her cooling cup of tea made her feel queasy and she scotched the idea of trying to eat anything, jumping like a scalded cat when the doorbell rang.
He was here!
And she still hadn’t decided what answer to give him. Ben had made her take a long hard look at her motivations for even considering, for a single second, Diego’s blackmailing proposition. The conclusions she’d drawn had told her uncomfortable things about herself. She knew what she wanted but couldn’t convince herself that it would be right for her or for Diego.
A shriller, more persistent ring of the doorbell had her scurrying out of the kitchen on legs that felt as insubstantial as cotton wool. The noise would wake Sophie and that would be disastrous. She was going to have to pick her words carefully when she told her best mate that her engagement to her beloved twin was off. And explain why. Ben wouldn’t put himself through the humiliation of marrying a woman who, so he’d decided, was still in love with another man.
Her hands were shaking as she opened the door and met Diego’s impatient dark eyes. Her breath locked in her lungs and a sharp, catching sensation invaded her stomach. No man had the right to be so out and out gorgeous, so—so shatteringly male. Once she had rejoiced in his masculine perfection—now the slightly older, tougher version scared her witless!
Wordlessly she stood aside to allow him to enter, noting the elegantly styled coat he wore with the careless arrogance of a man born to such luxuries.
Once, in those long-ago days of heady loving, she had believed him penniless, scraping a meagre living while she had come from a well-heeled family. His imagined near poverty hadn’t bothered her a jot; now his obvious wealth gave her the shivers. Her once adored Diego was a stranger.
Spanish Vengeance Page 4
