Taking a deep breath, she slid her glass onto the counter and stepped out of the alcove. Just in time to hear him snarl before he ended the conversation.
Like a magnet, her gaze swung to him.
He stood frozen between the French doors, the phone tight in his grip, his eyes locked on her.
‘I don’t speak Spanish, so I didn’t understand any of what you were saying,’ she blurted.
One corner of his mouth twisted, although tightly packed anger still seethed from his tall, imposing frame. Moving forward into the room, he shut the door behind him and tossed his phone onto the counter without taking his eyes off her.
‘You don’t need linguistic understanding to know what’s going on.’
‘I guess not,’ Goldie replied, her skin jumping at the sparks still lurking in his eyes. She stared at him until the breath locked in her lungs. Then she dragged her gaze away. ‘Um...goodnight.’
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked, and his voice contained a bite. She couldn’t determine whether it was aimed at her or was residual from his phone call.
She stopped her retreat. Nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Then stay. Join me for a nightcap. Yours will be water, of course.’
For some reason she felt a little bit better that a trace of mockery was back in his voice. Retracing her steps to the counter, she picked up her half-empty glass and waited for him to pour an expensive-looking cognac before she joined him on the sofa.
She noted that he still wore his shirt and trousers from earlier, although a few more buttons had been undone on his shirt, giving her a glimpse of a firm, bronze contoured chest and a strong throat.
Averting her gaze from the arresting sight, she stared around, painstakingly counting the pieces of furniture in the room as a distraction tactic.
Fifteen.
Her eyes swung back to him.
Gael was watching her. He didn’t seem inclined to speak, appeared just content to sip his drink, preferring to keep his thoughts internal. Goldie licked her lips, knowing this wasn’t the time to pursue the business conversation they’d begun before her inadvertent trip into Liquor Land. When his stare got too much, she glanced around again, her gaze landing on a small ornate clock on top of an antique console table.
Two o’clock in the morning. ‘So, do you conduct all your business meetings in the early hours of the morning?’
His gaze shifted from her to the contents of his glass. ‘That wasn’t business. It was family,’ he said, confirming her earlier suspicion.
‘Family?’ she intoned faintly.
‘Sí.’ That crack of a smile was at his lips again. ‘You’re not the only one with maternal challenges.’
‘You were arguing with your mother?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You could say that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there’s a problem. Isn’t that why people argue?’ he snapped.
She frowned. ‘Well, yes, but...’
‘I don’t wish to talk about that, Goldie.’ His voice was a low, raw command.
Knowing how she felt about the subject of her own mother, she nodded. ‘Okay. What do you wish to talk about?’
‘You. Why acting?’ he asked, his voice cold and abrupt.
‘Because I’m good at it,’ she stated without arrogance.
His breath huffed in a short laugh. ‘Sí, that you are.’