He turned abruptly, placing his tense back with its ridiculous pony-tail towards her, and—damn it—she suddenly wanted to grab hold of that lock of hair, wrench at it, hurt him, launch herself at him and beat her fists against the ungiving wall of his back in an effort to relieve this—this crazy sense of bitter frustration throbbing in her blood!
Sexual frustration! she told herself angrily. And it’s all his fault! He’s done this to me! Made me aware, know, want—desire!
‘Shall we go, then?’ he said, and moved arrogantly off towards the door.
Instantly the feelings running rife inside her flipped over to become something else entirely, her gaze flicking to the discarded jewel-case then back to him again.
He didn’t mean it, she told herself nervously. He was calling her bluff. No man just walked away and left what amounted to a five-million-dollar tip for the maid!
He was standing by the bungalow door with his hand curled around the handle, waiting for her to join him. Mutinously Annie walked forward, cold sweat beginning to trickle down her spine the closer she got to him, and still he made no move to retrieve the case. Unable to stop herself, she glanced back at it, black velvet askew on a polished tabletop. Her mouth was dry, her fingers twitching at her sides as she turned back to him.
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded.
‘Your choice,’ he returned with ruthless indifference. And he calmly opened the door and stepped through it.
Annie hovered between a stubborn desire to defy him to the last and a real horror of what it would mean if neither gave in. Then with a growl of angry defeat she darted back to pick up the case.
Her eyes were hard as she walked back to him. To be fair, César made no remark whatsoever—either by word or gesture. He simply waited until she was out of the room then drew the door shut, his manner grimly aloof as he led the way back through the garden to the waiting helicopter.
It did not augur well for the journey back to his island. Annie was too busy drowning in a sea of her own resentment, and he seemed to have drawn himself behind a wall of impenetrable calm.
Still clutching the case, the moment they were back at the villa she made a bid for escape, stalking off towards the stairs with her spine and shoulders stiff.
‘Annie.’
Her spine stiffened even more. For some unknown reason he had suddenly taken to calling her Annie, instead of Angelica in that crisp, tight way he used to use. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like what it did to her. It hinted at care and affection—an intimacy that touched tender places inside.
‘What?’ she bit out ungraciously, pausing but refusing to turn. If he had something to say then she was determined that he was going to say it to her back!
‘Come swimming with m
e.’
Of all the things she might have expected him to say at that point that had never been in the running! The invitation stunned her—and the way he’d said it, with such wary uncertainty, shook her poise enough to make her spin around.
He was standing framed by sunlight in the open door, filling it, consuming the light so that she could not see his face. She slid her fingers absently over the velvet case while she tried to search out the catch in the invitation. He remained silent, watching her, waiting, tense—she could sense his tension even with the full length of the huge hall between them.
‘Why?’ she demanded finally.
‘The bay has some wondrous sights to offer,’ he answered quietly. ‘I think you would enjoy discovering them with me.’
‘I could make those discoveries just as pleasurably on my own,’ she pointed out churlishly. ‘Especially when you think I have two whole weeks to do little else but explore the bay.’
‘But to do it with someone who knows it well will be much more rewarding,’ he pointed out. ‘And I would—enjoy sharing the experience with you.’
She was tempted; despite all the animosity darting around them she had to admit that she was tempted. It was hot, and she was fed-up, restless, eager to be using up some of the energy pounding like a frustrated rubber ball inside her. But swim with him? Display yet another climb-down from frosty aloofness to him?
‘All right,’ she heard herself say reluctantly, yet felt better for saying it, some of the tension easing out of her achingly taut frame. Then with a flash of inspiration she added slyly, ‘I’ll come if you’ll relieve me of these.’ Challengingly she held out the velvet case. ‘I’ll never get a moment’s rest worrying about them otherwise. Lock them away in a safe or something—I presume you do have a safe here, considering who and what you are?’
Surprisingly he nodded, moving into action, that lean, muscled body sheer poetry in motion as he covered the distance between them. Without a word he took the case from her. With his face in the same shade she occupied she could now read his expression. Ruefully conceding seemed to describe it best.
He was giving her back what she had just given him—a climb-down. It helped to warm her frozen feelings a little.
‘I will promise to guard them well for you.’
Not so big a climb-down, Annie acknowledged. But now she’d relaxed she couldn’t seem to find the strength to start battling once again.
‘Ten minutes?’ he asked, seeming suddenly vitally alive as he walked off towards a door to the right of the vast hallway. ‘On the beach,’ he added. ‘I’ll bring the snorkelling gear.’