CHAPTER SIX
LISA couldn’t fault the beauty and comfort of Diego’s preferred hideout. Built centuries ago of mellow golden stone, the former monastery commanded an impressive view over fertile valleys, thickly wooded slopes and tantalising g
limpses of the sparkling blue sea between towering mountain crags.
She couldn’t fault Diego’s behaviour, either, she told herself edgily as she paced the flagged stone terrace in the soft dawn light.
She almost wished she could.
She would have better understood where he was coming from if he’d done as she had expected and taken her to his bed that first night. She might not have liked it—she might have liked it far too much, she corrected with painful honesty as her restless feet brought her to the end of the terrace—but at least she would have understood it.
What she was at a loss to puzzle out was why she’d been given her own suite of rooms. Beautiful, restful rooms that he had shown no inclination to visit. Why, during her nearly four whole days here now, he’d done nothing more alarming than treat her as a house guest. He had joined her for meals, during which his conversation had entranced her against her will—witty, perceptive and at times, hardest of all to bear, cool and painfully impersonal. And all the while he had seemed to look straight through her, not really seeing her at all.
Between meals he’d taken himself off to his study, explaining courteously that he had much work to get through, leaving her to her own devices. Her own thoughts.
Her hands tightened on the warm stone of the balustrade. She knew what he had planned for her, what she was expected to be. So what was he waiting for? Why was he behaving like a great jungle cat, stalking a prey he was not yet hungry for yet never really letting it out of his sight?
Her whole body was tingling with sexual tension, her mind edgy, her nerve-ends as jumpy as a flea on a griddle.
‘Quite the early bird. Couldn’t you sleep?’
The unexpected soft laid-back drawl made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, made her heart leap to her throat and jump about like a frightened trapped animal.
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.