Diego walked towards her and then past without so much as touching her. Lisa’s face fell a mile but her dismay was swiftly forgotten when he laid garments she vaguely recognised from the stuff he’d splurged out on yesterday down on the bed and turned to her, grinning wickedly over his shoulder.
‘I’ve been retrieving last night’s careless scatterings.’ He straightened up, his feet planted apart, his soft, slightly breeze-ruffled black hair gleaming in the shafts of sunlight, his eyes smiling for her. ‘We left your dress and a fortune in diamonds in the courtyard, remember?’ A slanting brow quirked. ‘Now, I don’t mind the staff putting two and two together but I thought you might.’ His mobile mouth curved. ‘The diamonds are back in the safe and your dress is back in your room.’
And after that he’d tramped the hillside, getting his mind straight and not liking himself. He could only describe his behaviour as appalling. He’d verged on an unprecedented and shameful temper tantrum after she’d admitted that holding on to her father’s approval was the only reason she’d agreed to his unholy proposition. So, not recognising what was actually happening to him when it smacked him squarely in the face, he’d set out to punish her.
He’d been falling in love with her all over again and had been too stiff-necked and blinkered to admit it to himself. He didn’t care how badly she’d behaved in the past. Madre di Dios! She’d been little more than a child at the time!
‘And this—’ a lean tanned hand indicated the clothing he’d put down on the bed, drawing a steadying breath to get himself back on track ‘—is for you to dress in after you’ve showered.’ He glanced at her enquiringly. ‘So, breakfast in half an hour?’
At her mute nod he dipped his head understandingly and came to her, where her feet felt rooted to the polished boards, his hands thrust firmly in his trouser pockets. ‘I know.’ His voice lowered with husky understanding. ‘But if I touch you we’ll never leave that bed. And I’ve got plans for today. There’s a cove I know of, not more than a hour’s drive away. No one ever goes there. It will be just the two of us.’
He wanted to take her in his arms, feel that beautiful body trembling with need against his own, kiss her until they both forgot what planet they were on, wanted it so much that he didn’t know how he managed to get himself out of that room.
But how could he talk rationally to her when they were in the throes of making love—which was what would happen if he stayed in the intimacy of the bedroom with her—naked and utterly desirable as she was?
Couldn’t be done.
On the secret silvery beach, just the two of them and all the time in the world, he could open his heart to her. They could disregard all that had happened in the past and plan for the future. A long and happy future together. If she’d have him, if she could fall in love with him all over again.
And if she was having any trouble in that direction he’d make it happen for her just as it had for him, he decided with a surge of fierce Spanish possessiveness before he turned his mind to more practical matters and stalked off to find Rosa to order a lavish picnic hamper.
A tender smile on her face, Lisa couldn’t move for quite some time. They were to spend the day together. Not like yesterday when he’d stalked around with a face like thunder, spending money on her as if it were an unpleasant but necessary duty. Not like the days that had gone before when they’d met only briefly at mealtimes, either. But together, really together, and loving too. Well, she was almost certain about that.
Almost.
With a guilty squawk, realising time was flying, she showered in his bathroom and scurried back to the bedroom to get into the clothes he’d so thoughtfully brought in here for her.
Gossamer fine underwear, just panties, no bra. Her face bloomed with frankly delicious lustful pleasure because the top he’d provided was definitely provocative—a fine cotton, much the same colour as her eyes, sleeveless, cut to reveal her shoulders with a sexy V neck and tiny buttons down the front. She could just imagine him undoing them, slowly, one by one.
Before those mind pictures could get the better of her she stepped into a floaty cream-coloured skirt and thrust the hem of the top under the narrow waistband, then used Diego’s comb to restore her hair to its normal sleek, beyond-shoulder-length waterfall.
She was nervous as a kitten faced with a bristling Alsatian, she admitted as she stepped into the strappy sandals that completed the outfit, frightened of what the future might bring.
What if Diego saw the future as the few weeks, or mere days even, before he had to get back to his busy working life? Nothing more than a stolen interlude of fabulous sex with a very willing woman? And then: goodbye, it’s been nice getting reacquainted, see you some time. Maybe.
She took a deep breath to calm herself down, told herself to stop being paranoid—she really meant something to him, didn’t she?
Of course she did!
To stop herself from dwelling senselessly on the worst case scenario, she decided to spend a few minutes before joining him for breakfast taking stock of his room in daylight.
Unlike the room she’d been given, it was almost austere, dominated by the huge bed. Highly polished floorboards, no softening colourful rugs. A cavernous wardrobe, heavily carved with what appeared to be exotic fruits and vine leaves, and a solitary desk set against the wall between two of the tall windows.
Gravitating towards it, she noted the angled lamp, the pens in a horn beaker, suggesting that when he was here he sometimes wrote letters or jotted down memos for his staff before retiring for the night.
A photograph in a plain silver frame. A handsome middle-aged couple. His parents? Running her fingers over the frame, Lisa wondered if she’d ever get to meet them and tried to block out the memory of his scathing, ‘There are women a man would be happy to introduce to his parents. Patently, you are not one of them.’
That had been before they had made love and found each other again. Things were very different now. Of course they were, she assured herself staunchly.
A smaller frame was half hidden behind the photograph of the smiling middle-aged couple. Curiously, Lisa slid it out into the light. And her heart literally stopped. Then crashed on. She would never forget that fascinatingly sensual face. The face of the woman she’d seen him with all those years ago. Feeling nauseous, she pushed it roughly back out of sight.
He wouldn’t still keep her photograph near his bedside if she’d been simply a young man’s fling, part of his wild oat sowing period, would he, part of a promiscuous past he would rather forget. She had to be someone really special to him. The knowledge left Lisa feeling cold and frightened. Had she got everything wrong? Was her heart to be broken all over again? And could she hope to survive it?
Had he married this vibrantly lovely creature? Was that why he kept her photograph beside that of his parents, part of a family group? Was he being unfaithful to his wife, treating her, Lisa, as nothing more than a piece of unfinished business?
He was used to cheating on women, wasn’t he, as she knew to her cost. She should have remembered that.
Her hand flew to her trembling mouth to smother a cry of pain, the suspicions crowding in, thick and fast. And why, in the name of all that was holy, hadn’t she thought to ask him, way back in London, if he was married?
She swung out of the room. It was an omission she was about to remedy. The last time, when faced by evidence of his perfidy, she had cut him brutally out of her life without telling him why.
This time it would be different.
CHAPTER NINE
CALM, at all costs she had to remain calm, Lisa repeated to herself as she trod the upper corridors of the ancient monastery, heading for the stone stairs that would take her down to the magnificent great hall.
There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation why that photograph was in Diego’s bedroom, though she couldn’t for the life of her think of one. But she loved him, didn’t she, even if he turned out to be the selfish bastard, ruthless and cru
el, that was being conjured up by all these unwanted suspicions.
Some women—herself probably first among them—were their own worst enemies! She wished she could turn love off, like a tap, but knew she couldn’t.
She could have married dear, safe, trustworthy Ben and spent her life on an even keel, avoiding the shattering peaks and troughs of being madly in love with a man she couldn’t trust as far as she could throw him. She desperately wanted to trust him but how could she?
Pausing on the first floor landing to allow her racing heartbeat to decelerate, she leant against the cool stone window mullion. She was going to be sensible and calm about this, not rush in hurling accusations which might be unfounded.
She was no longer a naive eighteen-year-old, fresh from a convent schoolroom, she reminded herself snippily. They were both, as Diego had stated, older and wiser. She would have to try harder to believe in him, in spite of the haunting memories of what had happened all those years ago.
She knew she’d been a darn sight longer than the half an hour Diego had given her. Nevertheless she lingered for a further few moments, her attention drawn now by a bright yellow low-slung sports car parked at a skewed angle on the gravelled approach at the front of the building.
Diego had a visitor, she deduced on a flash of irritation. What a time to pick! The planned confrontation would have to be put on hold. Which might not be such a bad thing, she reflected on consideration, beginning the final descent to the ground floor. It would give her more time to cool off and recover from the shock of finding that woman’s framed photograph in Diego’s bedroom.
She had no appetite for breakfast, usually taken in the courtyard, but if there was any of Rosa’s excellent coffee left and still drinkable she could certainly do with a cup.
Suddenly the idea of sitting in the peaceful seclusion of the courtyard strongly appealed. Breathing in the warm scented air and listening to the melodic sound of the doves, the fountain playing into its stone basin, the rustle of the soft breeze in the leaves of the old fig tree while she waited for Diego to deal with his visitor was exactly what she needed.
Such tranquillity would surely help her to come at the situation from an adult direction?
The quickest way to her objective was through the outer door in the library, rather than the french doors leading out of the small salon she normally used. Funny how she was finally learning her way around this maze of a building at precisely the time she might have to leave nursing a badly broken heart.
But she wouldn’t think about that. Not yet anyway. It was far too negative, she informed herself tartly as she pushed open the heavy oak door. First she had to hear what Diego had to say. She might have got entirely the wrong end of the stick, which begged the question that she might have badly overreacted five years ago.
And that was the last sensible thought she had because what Diego had to say on the subject of the silver-framed photograph became academic when she saw that the subject herself was sitting at the table beneath the fig tree with floods of tears running down her beautiful face. Diego was seated opposite, leaning forward, holding her hands in both of his, talking to her, his actual words indecipherable from this distance, but the tone of his voice soothing and quite definitely placatory.
Something he said must have angered the beautiful young brunette. It happened so quickly that Lisa, rigid with the shock of what she was witnessing, could only flinch with disbelief as the other woman sprang to her feet, bristling with anger, her voice hysterically shrill. The only word she was able to pick out of the tirade of Spanish was Perfidia!—and wasn’t perfidious one of the words she’d used herself to describe the man who’d betrayed her with this very woman five years ago?
Lisa’s eyes frosted over, her stomach tying itself in knots, as she watched Diego immediately get to his feet and capture the other woman’s gesticulating hands. Then, with a few murmured words—silver-tongued, lying excuses?—he pulled her into his arms and held her there, tenderly pressing her glossy dark head against his wide shoulder, rocking her gently back and forth until gradually moving her towards the door to the house.
As they disappeared inside Lisa pressed her knuckles against her mouth to stop herself from crying out. She had no idea what was going on but from where she was standing those two were very far from being casual acquaintances! The suspicion that the other woman was either his fiancée or his wife returned with a force that made her feel ill.
The only way to discover the truth was to confront them and ask. And the only way to get her leaden legs to move was to try to assure herself that this was just some misunderstanding, something that looked definitely iffy on the surface, hiding a perfectly innocent explanation. After last night it just had to be that. She wasn’t going to go on torturing herself by thinking anything else. Well, was she?
Shaking inside, Lisa found herself in the great hall. The ancient stone walls seemed to freeze her right through to her bones instead of creating the usual welcome cool ambience. The silence lay like a heavy weight on her shoulders. Now she was about to begin her search for Diego and the other woman she didn’t think she had the courage.
If what she couldn’t help suspecting turned out to be the truth she didn’t think she could bear it. Not after last night when his love-making had made her feel like the most beautiful, desired and loved woman in the world.
Adrenalin pumping, she almost leapt out of her skin when Rosa, soft-footed in her comfy old plimsolls, appeared at her shoulder. Her pretty features had concern and condemnation written all over them. Her normal smile was notably absent. Disconcerted, Lisa told herself not to be a coward; she had to get this sorted out, of course she did. She stated, ‘I’m looking for the señor. Do you know where he is?’
A quick frown clouded the big brown eyes. ‘I am to take to them coffee and cognac and leave—solo—’ She struggled with her rudimentary English. ‘You leave also. Is bad thing when the beautiful Isabella find husband have other woman. Much explosions! The señor needs to be—privado. So you leave also?’
Leave. It was the only option, Lisa decided hollowly as Rosa disappeared to meet Diego’s request for coffee and brandy. Barely able to move for the feverish pain that invaded every inch of her body, she dragged herself upstairs to the rooms she’d been given.
To allow herself to be conned by Diego once had been a dreadful mistake. To allow it to happen twice should be a capital offence!
That she hadn’t known he was married was no excuse, she castigated herself wildly as she closed the door to her bedroom behind her and sagged weakly back against it, nausea a coiled knot in her stomach. She should have damned well asked.
She should have known. A man so gorgeous, sinfully sexy and rotten rich would have been snapped up years ago.
Isabella—as Rosa had named her—had obviously discovered that he had a woman holed up here with him in his self-admitted private hideout, the place the family rarely visited, where his sins, for sins they were, could be hidden.
But someone must have blown the whistle—Rosa, through a sense of family loyalty?—and the wronged wife had appeared to confront him. Demanding explanations was out of the question; she saw that now, she thought on a wave of draining exhaustion. His poor wife had enough to contend with without coming face to face with Diego’s latest bit on the side.
Feeling dreadful for her part in this sordid shambles, Lisa walked unsteadily to the hanging cupboard to drag her clothes out. Just the things she’d brought with her—she never wanted to set eyes on the expensive gear he’d bought her again.
In a minute she’d change out of the pretty skirt and sexy top she was wearing. But first she had to make sure she had everything she needed. Her head was in a dreadful daze, her brain consumed by her awful discovery. If she didn’t take herself firmly in hand she could well land up at the airport without the essentials, hysterical and not knowing what the hell she thought she was doing!
Tipping the contents of her handbag out on to the bed beside her s
uitcase and the untidy heap of clothing she’d tossed there, she sifted through what the average male would classify as junk—combs, lipstick, tissues, sundry keys, a battered appointments diary, a clutch of old letters and postcards from friends—and located her passport and her wallet. She would use her credit card to take care of the flight home but, unfortunately, she would need to beg a lift to the airport.
Would Manuel be willing to drive her? There shouldn’t be too much difficulty about that, she decided sickly. Hadn’t Rosa insisted she leave? The Spanish woman might be disgusted by her but she would make sure her husband facilitated that sensible outcome, if only to see the back of her.
Her fingers shaky, she carefully slotted her passport and wallet into the zipped compartment where she would know where they were, and was beginning to shovel everything else back any old how when Diego walked in.
His beautiful face was grim. His wife had obviously been giving him a hard time. Serve him right! Lisa thought, trying to ignore the stab of pain that pierced her already mangled heart. She hadn’t wanted to set eyes on him again but now that she had she wasn’t going to let him see how devastatingly upset she was.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘What does it look like?’ Lisa muttered fiercely, wanting to strangle him. ‘And there’s no need to snap. It’s your fault if your wife’s been reading the riot act, so don’t take it out on me!’ She grabbed the packet of tissues and something rolled off the bed. ‘Rosa, in her wisdom, told me to leave so that’s what I’m doing. Eminently sensible under the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?’
Straightening abruptly after automatically stooping to retrieve the object that had dropped from the bed, Diego drew a sharp breath in through his teeth. Black brows meeting, he demanded, ‘Run that by me again. Why the hell should Rosa tell you to leave? By what right? And what wife? I don’t have a wife!’
Spanish Vengeance Page 10
