Spanish Vengeance

by Diana Hamilton

  Lean hands on her shoulders turned her to face him. As always he looked spectacular, she noted with feverish tension. Dressed this morning in stone-coloured chinos with an olive-green lawn shirt tucked into his narrow waistline, his shatteringly masculine features were bland, but instead of looking through her as usual his sultry black-fringed eyes were making a slow, devastating inventory of her quivering frame.

  This close he was dynamite, always had been. Lisa tried to smother an inrush of sobbing breath as she felt the betrayal of her peaking breasts beneath the checked flannelette shirt she was wearing over an old pair of jeans. His eyes on her body felt like a physical caress. A caress he was denying her.

  Because he’d changed his mind and he no longer wanted to touch her?

  A hand lifted from her shoulder in answer to the unspoken question that glittered in her eyes, long tanned fingers brushing the fall of her hair away from her face. The backs of his fingers lingered slightly, seductively, scorching her skin.

  She was hot all over, so hot, burning up, fiery heat pooling between her thighs, making her legs shake. She was trying to make her face as expressionless as a lump of stone but, in spite of the effort she was making, could he guess what he did to her? He slowly dropped both hands and remarked lightly, ‘Breakfast awaits. Pilar saw you were up and about and thought we might prefer to eat in the courtyard. Come.’

  Her unfortunately mesmerised eyes on the length of his legs, on his seemingly indolent stride as he led the way, Lisa felt on the point of collapse when she took her seat in the central courtyard, shaded at this time of the morning from the rapidly increasing heat of the sun.

  White doves called sleepily from the trees that overhung the high stone walls and the scent of a myriad flowers perfumed the air. In any other circumstances she would have revelled in this much perfection.

  Ever the attentive host, Diego poured juice for her and passed her the fruit bowl. Lisa, selecting a peach she had no appetite for, tried not to scream.

  If today were to follow the pattern of all the others since she’d been here he would make light conversation while they ate, suggest a walk she might like to take before the real heat of the day, and then excuse himself politely and spend his time shut away in his study.

  And she would play the part she had assigned herself, give a bored, dismissive shrug, as if she couldn’t care less, and wonder how long she could keep up the act of total indifference.

  Asking why he was spending as little time as possible with her was quite out of the question. It would let him know she was hankering for his attention. Desperate for it, even. His twenty-four-hour-a-day intimate attention! It was the reason he’d brought her here in the first place, wasn’t it? she thought wildly to excuse her shameless longing to be held in his arms, to have his mouth create havoc with hers, to…

  ‘We’ll drive down into Marbella this morning,’ Diego imparted as he laid his napkin down. ‘You appear to have packed nothing but heavy jeans and shirts.’ A censorious glance at the perspiring pallor of her overheated face. ‘Suitable for doing the weekend chores in chilly London but not for this climate, this ambience.’ He poured them both a second cup of coffee as he stated, ‘I’ll buy you the right clothes.’

  Too dazed by his intention to spend time with her just when she’d been agonising over his four day long disinclination to do any such thing to say a word, Lisa struggled to think of a single thing to say.

  Was this the beginning?

  Her heart began to race, her breathing going hay-wire, colour flooding her face. Obviously, the work-aday stuff she’d shoved so carelessly into her suitcase wasn’t turning him on. What did he have in mind? Pelmet-sized mini-skirts, black fishnet stockings, six-inch heels and minute crop tops decorated with purple sequins?

  Hadn’t he as good as said he’d treat her like a hooker, the title of temporary mistress being far too good for her in his haughty opinion? Was he expecting her to dress like one too?

  The idea was so absurd she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, just stared at him instead, her pale cheeks blooming with pink, aware that her mouth had dropped open but unable to do anything about it.

  Replacing his coffee cup on its saucer with a clatter, Diego got to his feet, noting her wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of pleasure with grim distaste.

  Greed.

  It was the first genuine emotion she’d displayed since they’d arrived here. She’d looked edgy or bored during their carefully rationed meetings. He’d only had to mention buying her a few new outfits to have her lighting up like a Christmas tree. But what else had he expected? he asked himself tersely before telling her flatly, ‘Manuel’s bringing the car round. I’ll see you on the forecourt in ten minutes.’

  Ten minutes to get her racing heartbeat back to normal, to calm herself sufficiently to face what appeared to be the next stage of the game.

  Because he was playing games, she told herself agitatedly as she exchanged the checked shirt for a marginally more attractive ribbed cotton sweater in a shade of deep raspberry pink and hurriedly applied a toning lipstick. What else could explain the way he’d left her largely to her own devices, never once mentioning the real reason for her being here, much less acting on it?

  Today he intended to spend time with her. Today he’d touched her, his hands on her shoulders, his fingers brushing the skin of her cheek as he’d pushed her hair back from her face. The second stage of the game was obviously about to begin.

  Which didn’t do her pulse rate any good at all, she recognised as she scraped her hair back in a ponytail, acknowledging that she, too, was playing games. Affecting indifference, boredom even, was all very well but she had the sinking feeling that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for much longer because he was turning out to be a real expert when it came to winding her up.

  A fact amply demonstrated by the easy way he talked to her as he drove, giving her a potted history of the former monastery, explaining that his grandfather had bought it many years ago, had it restored by experts and turned into a tasteful home without losing any of the atmosphere. ‘But my parents rarely use it; they find it far too isolated. If I didn’t love it, come here whenever I can, keep on a skeleton staff, it would fall back into dereliction.’

  As he talked his features softened, coming to vibrant life. Lisa swallowed thickly, averting her eyes from the intimate warmth of the sideways glittering glance he bestowed on her.

  This was Diego as she remembered him. The Diego she had fallen in love with. Charming, vital, fascinating. And dangerous, she reminded herself on a tingling frisson of unstoppable sexual excitement.

  The narrow road was descending through a thick belt of woodland, the air just slightly cooler, which hopefully went some way towards excusing the shiver that racketed through her.

  ‘Scared?’ he asked softly, his eyes knowing as he glanced at her, his long mouth curving with what looked suspiciously like male satisfaction as he gave his concentration back to the twisting tarmac.

  Lisa knew what he was talking about. But no way would she admit to being affected in any way at all by his far more intimate, softer attitude. ‘Not at all,’ she murmured drily. ‘You drive well, so why should I be scared? Just chilly, that’s all.’

  His open grin told her he didn’t believe a word of it. Even beneath the trees the cooler air was still soft and warm. No one could possibly feel chilly!

  ‘But of course,’ he murmured tauntingly. ‘What else could make you shudder to the soles of your pretty little feet?’

  It was time she straightened things out between them, put a stop to this cat and mouse game of his, Lisa fulminated inwardly. Against all common sense she might still secretly and hopelessly love the wretch but she hated the way he seemed to be manipulating her.

  As they approached the outskirts of the coastal playground of the seriously wealthy she told him, ‘I wasn’t thinking straight when I packed. I’d forgotten the huge difference in climate, even at this time of year. My fault,’ she admi
tted stiffly, wishing she hadn’t been in such a contrary, ill-tempered mood when she’d thrown just any old thing into her suitcase. ‘And I’ll buy my own clothes, thanks all the same.’

  A couple of cotton skirts and tops would be as much as she could afford. Marbella wasn’t the place to come if you were shopping on a budget, she decided wryly, thinking of her tiny bank balance and the fact that she had no job to go back to.

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ Diego stated firmly as he found a parking spot. Turning to her, he slid an arm along the back of her seat, deft fingers finding the narrow ribbon that pulled her hair starkly back off her face and removing it. His voice was now a soft velvet purr, making her tremble. ‘At the risk of sounding incredibly vulgar, I can afford it. Particularly as the doting daddy isn’t with us to pick up your bills.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Lisa snapped, hot colour flooding her cheeks. The ribbon was disappearing into his trouser pockets; to try to take it back would result in an unseemly tussle which she, of course, would lose. And she’d had more than enough of his mind games. ‘If you mention my supposedly doting father one more time I’ll—I’ll hit you!’

  Hard fingers fastened around her wrist as she attempted to scramble out of the car, pulling her back to face him. One ebony brow arched as he murmured, ‘Hit me and I’ll retaliate.’ His eyes dropped to the kissable, trembling pout of her mouth and lingered there. ‘But not with physical violence. There are other, pleasanter ways of subduing a woman.’

  A stab of satisfaction forked its lightning way through his body. He’d left her to stew for four whole days and nights, keeping her on an emotional knife-edge. Her veneer of indifference was cracking up and he was going to make it crumble to dust.

  A slow smile curved his mouth as his words brought the frost back into those huge inky-blue eyes, her lips tightening in mute rebuttal. She was fighting her corner with every atom of her will-power but before too long he would have her as weak as a kitten, begging him to end the impasse, clinging to him, her body on fire for him and only him.

  As his loins tightened Diego wiped out that train of thought and slowly released her wrist, frowning at the band of reddened skin. ‘A long cold drink’s in order before we hit the shops.’

  And he would foot the bill for clothes that would be more comfortable and do justice to her ethereal loveliness, in spite of her unexpected refusal to let him. A refusal that was surely just lip-service to the conventions? Easily forgotten in the face of the slightest pressure?

  Pondering that, he joined her on the pavement. She was wearing the strap of her shoulder bag across her body. It lay diagonally between the pert perfectly shaped breasts that were lovingly shaped by the softly clinging pink cotton of the top she’d changed into. The worn denim of her jeans moulded the curve of her hips, the rounded temptation of her thighs.

  He snapped his eyes away. Cristo! She was pure temptation. Before he knew it he would be the one down on his knees and begging! That was not part of his plan. She, not he, would abase herself, plead with him—not the other way round!

  Fifty yards brought them to the nearest pavement café. He led her to a table shaded by an arbour of vines with a panoramic view of the glittering blue sea. Ordering Buck’s Fizz for Lisa and plain orange juice for himself, Diego allowed the atmosphere between them to settle before probing something that was beginning to puzzle him.

  ‘Tell me something, Lisa,’ he murmured when he noted the signs of the beginnings of relaxation in the easing of her tense shoulders, the way her fingers now lay loosely around her thirstily emptied glass. ‘Why do you get so angry whenever I combine the words daddy and doting in the same sentence?’

  ‘Because you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lisa came back without heat. That drink had been delicious, dissolving her annoyance, bringing the ghost of a smile at the thought that anyone could imagine that Gerald Pennington had fond fatherly feelings for his small, insignificant daughter.

  ‘Then why don’t you enlighten me?’ A click of his lean fingers brought a waiter with a fresh glass of Buck’s Fizz to the table. Diego watched the look of surprise and pleasure cross her lovely face and waited until she’d taken the first appreciative sip before pressing softly, ‘I like to know what I’m talking about. It gives me more—’ he paused a moment before adding with self-mocking solemnity ‘—more gravitas.’

  Her brilliant eyes swept up to lock with his and she giggled softly, just as he’d intended. Diego felt a pang of self-dislike as he remembered that she’d eaten nothing for breakfast, merely mangling the peach she’d taken. Then brushed it aside. He wasn’t aiming to get her drunk, just relaxed enough to rid her of that slightly edgy indifference.

  ‘Well—’ Her slim shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. She took one more sip then decided to leave the rest. She was beginning to feel light-headed and that wasn’t a good idea around Diego Raffacani. She needed all her wits about her.

  Pulling in a tight breath, she told him, ‘My father showed little interest in me while my mother was alive and even less after her death. When I was home from boarding school I was farmed out on to his partner’s family—that’s why I’m so close to Sophie and Ben.’

  Lisa sucked her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes clouding with regret. Had been close, she mentally amended. Not any more.

  Seeing her sudden distress, Diego frowned. His instinct was to take the small slender hands that were lying on the top of the table and enfold them with his. He denied it with difficulty.

  ‘Maybe he was grief-stricken after your mother’s tragically early death, but wanted you to be able to move on,’ he suggested even-handedly, trying to understand why a man with a needy, fragile girl-child could farm her out to someone else. Where he came from people looked after their own. Family was of the first importance.

  Lisa pulled a derisory face. ‘You obviously don’t know my father!’

  Fishing for sympathy, the stock-in-trade of a spoiled brat?

  Diego stated softly, ‘Maybe not. But I do know he gave you expensive gifts and eventually, probably because he could think of nothing else to do with you, put you in a responsible position on Lifestyle. Did you get your degree, by the way?’

  The illusory mists of his seemingly gentle interest cleared from Lisa’s eyes. If that wasn’t scorn in his deep voice then she was a monkey’s uncle!

  ‘The only thing he ever gave me was a book token each Christmas—and a watch for my eighteenth, and he didn’t even choose it himself; Honor Clayton let slip that he’d asked her to pick something out. And, as for getting my degree—I didn’t get the chance, did I?’ she shot back at him. ‘As soon as I got back from Spain he told me the publishing empire had shrunk to the size of a small island—Lifestyle! He asked me—more or less commanded, now I come to think of it—to give up my university place and join the staff, dogsbodying, trying to learn the ropes. All hands on deck and everyone pulling together is the phrase I remember.’

  ‘And you were happy with that sacrifice?’ Diego wanted to know, a slight frown pulling his slanting ebony brows together.

  Her mouth set stubbornly. ‘No. Just flattered that for once he was noticing me, wanting something. Of course I agreed. I wanted to please him, didn’t I? I wanted him to value me.’

  Diego felt his breath lock in his lungs. Her lovely eyes had flooded with moisture. His own eyes narrowed as he watched her blink furiously, drag in a breath and essay a tight smile as if to signify she’d said too much, revealed too much.

  ‘Shall we go?’ As she began to get to her feet, Diego captured both of her hands and held her.

  ‘In a moment.’

  Her hands felt so small within his. The delicacy of her bone structure had aroused all his protective instincts five years ago, left him in awe of her fragile beauty. As his eyes narrowed on the exquisitely modelled features, the soft mouth that trembled slightly, he could feel it happening all over again. The need to cherish and adore.

  If she was telling the truth about her
relationship with her father, and he was pretty sure she was, then he had misjudged her, he acknowledged heavily.

  Had he misjudged her in other ways? Should he listen to what she had to say about that dreadful night without cynically presuming that whatever she said would be a tissue of lies?

  If he confessed what his conscience was belatedly telling him—that he’d been wrong to give her no option but to break her engagement, come to Spain with him—then maybe, just maybe, they could start all over again. The spark was still there; it had been playing havoc with him since meeting up with her again. And they were both older and wiser.

  Then the small, passive hands came to life, the slender fingers curving around his, and the effect was electrifying.

  He said thickly, ‘And did he? Value you?’

  Lisa couldn’t answer. Simply stared into his lean, dark, shatteringly gorgeous face. Holding Diego’s strong warm hands knocked all the breath from her body, made her quiver with a thousand memories of how it had been for them in those far off days when she’d truly believed he’d loved her as passionately as she’d loved him. She wanted to be back in that beautiful magical time with a fierce longing that pushed everything else right out of her head.

  She gently withdrew her hands from his and felt the loss of physical contact like a pain. She tried to concentrate on what he’d been asking her.

  ‘He gave no sign of it,’ she said at last, sadness darkening her eyes.

  Diego leaned over the table, the dark glitter of his eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘What kind of man is he?’ he asked rawly.

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. ‘He never let me close enough to find out.’

  ‘Yet you agreed to my demands, broke your engagement and, presumably, hurt the man you were supposed to be in love with, just to save the business and future financial security of a man who, from your account, showed very little parental interest in you.’