One Scandalous Christmas Eve

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Did London fulfil your expectations? Do you want to go back?’

  ‘To living in one room in someone else’s house?’ She laughed. ‘Don’t get me wrong—the job was brilliant. I learned so much and had the most wonderful colleagues. I made lots of friends...’

  ‘I’m sure you did.’ There was an edge to Dante’s voice. What did he imagine she meant?

  ‘The type of friends you share a pizza with, maybe pick up some restricted-view seats in the West End to see a show.’

  ‘Sounds...’

  ‘Interesting?’ she suggested with a grin. ‘You’ve got no idea. It was fun and it was formative. You don’t need money to enjoy life. And I appreciate the quiet of Yorkshire and the peace of your estancia so much more now. The calm certainty and trust in the eyes of the animals we both love is enough for me. And yes, London’s hectic and crowded, but it’s fabulous too. There’s so much to see, and not all of it has to be paid for. I always think that people like me with hardly any money can have the very best of London at their fingertips.’

  Dante frowned. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘There are so many opportunities available if you search them out. Loads of places are free to visit. There are beautiful parks and glorious buildings, and the river—’ Was she boring him with her ultimate guide to the simple life? Dante’s life was so very far removed from Jess’s experience, it was hard to tell.

  But his life on the ranch was low-key.

  True, she conceded.

  ‘Anyway, enough about me. Why don’t we turn the spotlight on you?’

  ‘I’d have to want you to do that,’ Dante pointed out, ‘and I don’t.’

  Undaunted, Jess pressed on. ‘I don’t imagine you have to hunt for parking spaces, catch a bus or miss the last Tube home.’

  ‘I do have a house in London,’ he revealed, ‘but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see your side of London one day.’

  ‘I’d be a flat-out liar if I didn’t admit I’d like to see yours,’ Jess admitted on a laugh.

  ‘Are we talking compromise?’ Dante enquired with a frown.

  His expression was more amused than disapproving. ‘We’re talking,’ she conceded with a smile.

  Dante’s sideways look made heat rush through her. ‘It must have been hard for you.’

  ‘No harder than it is for other people. What’s hard about working alongside people I really liked and admired or being taught the skills that allow me to help people like you? I count that as a real privilege.’

  ‘A vocation?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘You must miss your colleagues now you’re self-employed.’

  ‘We keep in touch, and I meet new people all the time. My life is rich and varied, so please don’t feel sorry for me.’ It’s one heck of a sight better than your life in your grass-fed ivory tower, Jess concluded. Dante’s inactivity was obviously eating away at him. She didn’t need to be a medical professional to see that.

  ‘So why physiotherapy?’

  ‘Why specialise? It seemed an obvious choice. I grew up in the horse world where, like any extreme sport, there’s always a need for medical professionals on standby. My skills allow me to work close to the animals I love, with the people surrounding them.’

  ‘An introduction from me into the world of top-class polo wouldn’t hurt your career,’ Dante stated bluntly.

  ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ she agreed, ‘but that’s a very cynical view. This isn’t about me; it’s about you, and returning you to fitness. I don’t know who’s used you in the past, but please don’t tar me with the same brush. What you see is what you get with me. Take it or leave it.’

  ‘But there’s another side to your character.’

  ‘Skylar?’ she queried, cocking her head to one side to smile up. ‘That’s just a childhood nickname.’

  ‘That suits you,’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she agreed, ‘but a name doesn’t change me.’

  ‘Just how you act,’ he suggested.

  ‘In a fortune-telling tent, maybe,’ Jess conceded, ‘but doesn’t everyone have two sides to their character—private and public?’

  He stared at her long and hard.

  ‘There are a lot of genuine people out there,’ she insisted, feeling she was being judged. ‘You don’t have to look any further than your ranch.’

  ‘I hand-pick my staff.’

  ‘While I was foisted on you?’ Jess suggested lightly, but Dante didn’t answer.

  They had reached the main square. Guessing he must be desperate to break free, she suggested a plan. ‘Leave me here. I’ll take a cab back to the ranch.’

  ‘I have something to drop off at my lawyer’s office. You can shop while I do that, then we’ll eat and I’ll drive you back.’

  A restaurant was a public place. There was no harm in eating with a patient and if he caught up with her shopping, Dante could advise on what Maria might like.

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you around here,’ she agreed. ‘But please, no swanky eateries. I’m not dressed for it; I’d feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘I’ve got a restaurant in mind,’ he informed her. ‘Don’t worry; it’s casual. I think you’ll like it.’

  Nothing like her local greasy spoon, she guessed, but anything was fine by her.

  She stood to watch as Dante made his way across the square. Taller than most, he was a standout figure. It was impossible for him to pass unnoticed. Plenty of people recognised him, and some asked for a photograph with the famous polo star. Not once did he swerve their attention or pretend not to see his fans. Dante behaved at all times with unfailing courtesy, as if he had all the time in the world to stand and chat. What she’d seen of him so far suggested Dante could be brooding and difficult, but who could blame him when he was reliant on a cane? This was the true side of him, she suspected, and it was a side she longed to see more of.

  Caught out, she gasped when he swung around and pointed to her. The man he was talking to joined his hands together and shook them in the air, as if to praise and congratulate Jess. We’re not there yet, she wanted to say. We’re a long way off. But Dante telling people she was helping him gave her a thrill of pleasure that had nothing to do with boosting her CV.

  * * *

  Dante was back from his appointment before she knew it. She’d been so busy scouring the market stalls for likely gifts and trinkets she’d lost track of time. ‘You haven’t been away long.’

  ‘Long enough to do what I needed to. That guy in the square,’ he added, neatly side-stepping any potential questions, ‘used to work for me before he retired. He asked how I was getting on, so I told him you’d get me back in the game.’

  ‘That is my aim.’

  ‘If I do as you say?’ Dante suggested, dipping his head to direct a stare into her eyes.

  ‘That will be the day,’ she observed good-humouredly. ‘But you will improve immeasurably. I’ll make sure of it.’

  ‘For some reason,’ Dante confessed, ‘I believe you.’

  Having steered her towards a cobbled passageway leading off the square, Dante ushered her through a stone archway leading into a modest courtyard. Decorated with simple clay pots overflowing with flowers, the quaint wrought iron tables and chairs made eating outside a real treat for Jess at this time of year. But, to her disappointment, the restaurant was full. ‘We can go somewhere else,’ she suggested with a rueful shrug.

  Dante’s answer was to put his hand in the small of her back and usher her forward to where a small, capable-looking woman, wearing a mob-cap-style chef’s hat and a crisp white apron, was cooking up a storm on an outside grill.

  Catching sight of them, she passed her dishes over to an assistant and bustled forward to greet them. ‘Dante, mi amor! Cómo estás?’

  Jess knew enough Spanish to understand that the chef was asking h
ow Dante was getting on. Concern showed clearly in the woman’s eyes. When she turned to shake hands with Jess, she clasped both of Jess’s hands in hers when Dante explained that it was Jess who was treating his leg. ‘Your poor leg,’ she exclaimed in English for Jess’s benefit. ‘Still no improvement?’

  ‘Some,’ he said, ‘according to Skylar here.’

  ‘Skylar?’ she queried, studying Jess. ‘What an interesting name.’

  ‘Chef Ana,’ Dante explained, introducing them.

  ‘It’s more of a childhood nickname,’ Jess explained to the cheery-faced older woman, ‘but Señor Acosta likes to use it.’

  ‘Does he now?’ Chef Ana murmured. Her smile broadened as she glanced between them.

  ‘We’re hungry,’ Dante stated, as if eager to break the spell.

  ‘When are you not hungry?’ Chef Ana commented with a shrug. ‘It will take all your skills to heal him,’ she added in a stage whisper to Jess, before adding in a far more discreet tone when Dante had turned away to greet the waiters he knew, ‘Dante has wounds you cannot see.’

  ‘I know,’ Jess whispered back.

  The two women exchanged a lingering glance as a table and chairs were hastily set up for Dante and Jess, and then, with a squeeze of Jess’s shoulder, Chef Ana gave Jess one last smile and left them to it.

  Chef Ana’s food was absolutely delicious. Platters of finger-food to share lightened the mood and made banter between Dante and Jess inevitable as they jousted for the last morsel of deliciousness. By the time the platters were empty all Jess’s sensible resolutions had floated away. Was it even possible to sit across from Dante and not want their legs to touch or their fingers to brush, or their glances to meet and hold? With his hunger satisfied, Dante was a different man. Easy and charming, he made Jess relax to the point where she really believed they were beginning to know each other. She couldn’t find much that was sensible in that, but if she were sensible what was she doing here?

  Leaning back in his seat, Dante stared as he stretched out his legs. Part of her could have stayed like this all day, but her sensible head won through. ‘What time does the market pack up?’

  ‘Is that a hint?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes,’ Jess admitted, digging in her bag for some high value notes. It might be a small, modest-looking restaurant, but the food was top-class and the prices reflected this.

  ‘Put your money away,’ Dante insisted, but on this occasion she was too fast for him.

  ‘I prefer to be independent,’ she reminded him as she handed her money over to a waiter. ‘You gave me a lift into town, so I pay for lunch. It’s only fair.’

  He seemed to find this amusing and exclaimed, ‘Dios me salve de una mujer independiente! God save me from an independent woman,’ he translated when she gave him a look.

  ‘You prefer a woman to be dependent?’ It was a loaded question.

  ‘Tell that to my sister and I’m a dead man,’ he said. And Dante was smiling...laughing. ‘I invited you to lunch, so I should pay.’

  ‘Sounds to me as if you need more independent women in your life.’

  ‘Dios! I have enough of them,’ Dante exclaimed. Standing, he snatched up his cane. ‘Okay, this is the deal. You pay for the meal, I pay for your dress.’

  ‘Okay. But nothing fancy,’ she insisted. ‘And I buy Maria’s wedding present with my own money. That’s not up for discussion,’ she added, ‘though I would appreciate your advice as to what she might like.’

  ‘We have a deal,’ Dante confirmed.

  This time Jess was sensible enough to nod rather than shake his hand and risk the consequences of touching him. ‘I believe we do,’ she agreed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE TOWN WAS more packed than ever by the time they left the restaurant. There were so many stalls she hadn’t visited, Jess wasn’t sure where to head first.

  ‘Here,’ Dante prompted, drawing her attention to a group of women on a stall full of beautifully crafted items.

  She had set out to buy Maria’s gift from what many would call a ‘proper shop’, but it soon became apparent that the items on the stall were unique. A tablecloth with drawn thread work was absolutely exquisite, but Jess doubted she could afford it. The cloth was so intricately worked the price would surely reflect the hours of dedication involved.

  ‘Why don’t we give it as a joint gift?’ Dante suggested, seeing Jess’s disappointment when she read the price tag.

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ she protested. Her mind raced as she considered how that might look.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked with a shrug.

  She could give him a dozen good reasons. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll find something else.’

  ‘Here’s another suggestion. Why don’t I buy the cloth and you buy the napkins? You’d be helping me out,’ Dante added. ‘I don’t have a clue what Maria might like, but I do know she loves to entertain, so this seems right to me.’

  ‘And to me,’ Jess agreed.

  She loved the way Dante’s mouth tugged up when he got his own way, but this suited her too, Jess reminded herself as they completed the transaction. She truly hoped Maria would love the tablecloth as much as Jess did.

  More people recognised Dante as they left the stall. He stopped to chat, which gave Jess the chance to pick up some more things from neighbouring stalls.

  ‘Have you found a dress?’ he asked when the pack around him moved on.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Follow me.’

  How many times had he done this? she wondered before scolding herself for being so obviously jealous. Was it likely the type of glamorous women Dante was renowned for dating would pick out their clothes from a market stall?

  He took her to what turned out to be the most popular outlet on the market. ‘My sister loves this stall,’ he explained, which put Jess firmly back in her box.

  ‘Your sister has excellent taste.’

  ‘Yes, she does. And I’m sure Skylar would approve.’

  The clothes were certainly more colourful than Jess would usually choose, but no less attractive for that. There was no harm in combining Skylar and Jess for a harmless day out shopping, Jess decided. Her father sometimes accused her of not having a life outside work, and this was her chance to prove him wrong. She longed to try on something different, and Dante had predicted Skylar’s taste to a tee. Her gaze did linger on a sensible mid-length tea dress, but that was definitely out of the running, she realised as Dante shook his head.

  ‘You don’t seriously expect me to wear one of these?’ she protested when he handed over his selection. They were flirty and flimsy and quite definitely eye-catching, when Jess’s preferred choice would suit a mouse.

  * * *

  His mother used to say he was an old soul, Dante remembered. He called it intuition. With no idea how he knew things in advance of them happening, he just accepted that he did. His gift was invaluable today when it came to choosing an outfit for Jess. ‘We’ll take the red dress,’ he stated before Jess had chance to argue. That was the one she wanted. She could stare all she liked at the dull, sensible dress, but he wasn’t buying it. As if to confirm his decision, her gaze strayed again to the racy red.

  ‘Seriously?’ she exclaimed. ‘But that’s the most expensive dress on the stall.’

  ‘You want it, don’t you?’

  ‘What about this one?’ she suggested, pointing to the dowdy offering she thought she should have.

  ‘I’m not buying a dress for my grandmother.’ And his decision was final.

  The bright red dress with its spaghetti straps and a length barely south of decent was perfect for Jess, in his opinion. Handing over the cash, he ignored Jess’s complaint that the dress was too short, too revealing, and that she’d probably catch a chill. ‘This is the south of Spain, not the wild moors of Yorkshire,’ he said as he pressed the package into
her hands. ‘And you want this one,’ he pointed out with a shrug. ‘Why pretend otherwise? We’ll take the shawl too,’ he told the stallholder, indicating an exquisitely worked length of smoke-grey lace. ‘For decency’s sake at the ceremony,’ he explained to Jess. ‘And for when it grows cool in the evening.’

  ‘But the shawl’s even more expensive than the dress,’ she protested. ‘I can’t possibly accept these gifts when you’ve picked out the two priciest items on the stall.’

  ‘You don’t want them?’ His expression remained deadpan.

  ‘I can’t accept them,’ Jess insisted, tightening her lips.

  ‘Hard luck. They’re paid for. They’re yours.’

  ‘Ask for your money back,’ she pleaded as he walked away. ‘Please, Dante,’ she begged, chasing after him. ‘Don’t embarrass me like this.’

  ‘The stallholder’s packing up.’

  ‘Then catch her before she leaves!’

  ‘So she loses the last sale of the day? Is that what you want?’

  Jess deflated in front of his eyes. She was far too considerate to allow that to happen. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have done this,’ she said with a shake of her head.

  ‘I can. I did. And I should,’ he argued. ‘After all, you have to put up with me.’

  ‘There is that,’ she murmured dryly, ‘though I’m determined to pay you back.’

  As they passed the impromptu dance floor in the middle of the square, one of the local bands struck up. ‘If you insist on paying me back, do so with a dance. It would be a great boost to my self-esteem.’

  Like that needed a boost, he reflected with irony. ‘It would prove your therapy’s working.’ True. It would also ease the ache in his groin. He had to put his hands on her soon, or he’d go mad. Delay might be the servant of pleasure, but it was also an aching test of his endurance.