The Spaniard's Woman

So he kept his mouth shut.

She was sitting in the car as if permanently welded to the seat, her arms crossed over her slender midriff. The grin threatened again. Suppressing it, he opened the door. She didn’t bat an eyelid. She didn’t need to say she didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to have lunch with him. Her body language said it for her.

Leaning forward, he reached in to undo her seat belt, since she obviously had no intention of doing it for herself. The back of his hand brushed the soft, sweet undercurve of her breast and his heart raced with carnal sensation. Infierno! What she did to him!

He stood back quickly, outraged at his body’s treachery. He had made one unforgivable mistake. He wasn’t going to repeat it.

‘Hurry,’ he ordered briskly. ‘Before the heavens open.’ Black clouds had raced in, heavily obliterating the earlier clear blue skies, and the wind had risen, a precursor of the storm to come.

Averting his eyes, he waited while she edged reluctantly out of her seat and stood beside him. The top of her silky gold head barely reached his shoulders. Her hair smelled of fresh air and flowers.

He brutally slapped down the temptation to bury his mouth in it and turned abruptly, striding over the forecourt, past the wooden seats and tables that flanked the open door. He waited, his hands bunched into his trouser pockets while she caught up with him, then, nodding towards the bar where an open fire burned brightly in the brick inglenook, strode to too-brusquely request coffee and a menu from the landlord.

Selecting a round table nearest the fire, Rosie held her hands out to the welcoming blaze and forced herself to relax. The cold was gradually seeping out of her veins. Sebastian was talking to the man behind the bar. How gorgeous he was. She could hardly believe she was here at his invitation, especially after all his retrospective disgust at the way they’d both behaved. Had Sir Marcus brought her mother here? Given her lunch? No, of course not. He’d been a married man and would have insisted that their meetings were a dark secret.

Not wanting to lumber herself with all that anger again—she had stopped being annoyed with Sebastian at last because it wasn’t his fault he’d been born with a drawerful of silver spoons in his mouth—she pondered happier things. Like, had her mother sat with her friends on those benches outside on warm summer evenings, chatting and laughing, drinking fizzy pop out of bottles, eating crisps and talking about hairstyles, teachers, exams and pop stars?

She liked to think so, to believe that for the first eighteen years of her life—until the fateful day when she’d fallen in love with Marcus Troone—her mother had been happy and carefree—

‘Warmer now?’ Sebastian pulled out a chair and

sat opposite her, laying down the typed menu, pushing aside the ashtray and the broken-handled mug that held half a dozen daffodils.

Her eyes were sparkling, her pale cheeks brushed with tender colour. He stared at her, his silvered gaze intense between narrowed lids. His heart kicked. She was beautiful. Dress her in decent gear and she’d be an absolute stunner.

He swallowed. Hard. Having her with him where he could keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t simply disappear taking his maybe-child with her, was the only viable option, but it was going to be difficult. Keeping his hands off her would be the main stumbling block.

He thrust the menu at her. ‘Choose what you’d like to eat,’ he said brusquely, and saw the immediate stubborn set of her lovely mouth, the way she set the typed sheet aside without even glancing at it, and silently cursed himself. He was handling himself badly; he knew that. He had never been in this situation before. He had never met a woman who could make him behave like a reckless, callow youth, ruled by his hormones.

He’d never had unprotected sex before, run the risk of an unwanted pregnancy. But was it unwanted? The thought of her beautiful body blossoming and ripening for him, of holding their child in his arms, made everything inside him melt, his brain turn to fog.

Infierno! What was happening to him?

The arrival of their coffee came as a relief. He ordered cottage pie for both of them as it appeared to be the only home-made item on offer, decided against wine, and got himself firmly back on track. The mover and shaker. The man in control.

‘Do you have a passport?’ he asked with studied politeness and not a great deal of hope, and struggled not to applaud her spirit when she came back proudly.

‘Of course I have. Why wouldn’t I? Don’t domestic skivvies travel abroad where you come from?’

‘Frequently.’ Hiding a grin, he relaxed back in his chair, admiring the cool blue challenge in her fantastic eyes, the haughty angle of her delicately pointed chin. ‘So tell me about your travels.’

Rosie huffed in a breath. Just because she’d gone and fallen in love with him that didn’t mean she had to take umbrage whenever she decided he was acting all superior! Let’s face it, he was superior to her in every way there was, she decided gloomily, and woodenly supplied, ‘Paris. On a school trip.’

She hadn’t told her mother the excursion was being arranged.

She had known there was no way it could be afforded. But the school secretary had written to the parents of all the pupils in her class and Mum, of course, had stated that she wasn’t to be left out. And had taken on an extra office cleaning contract. Her eyes misted and she could feel the all-too-familiar lump in her throat, and she couldn’t speak when Sebastian asked softly, ‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’

Something had deeply saddened her. He hated to see it. Unlike most of the women he knew she was unable to hide her emotions. Radiant happiness at something as simple as a birthday greeting that had cost nothing to say or the gift of a purloined flower, carelessly given, raw grief over something unknown to him.

Catching the mute misery in those brilliant sapphire eyes, he vowed that in the coming weeks he would know every single thing about her. It was important.

As important as knowing that she had been capable of total, honest generosity when she had made him the gift of her body, openly revelling in the driven, selfish needs of his hands, his lips—Blank that! Right now!

He cleared his throat sharply. He had to move this forward. And watched with deep compassion as she struggled for composure as their meal was put on the table.

As soon as they were alone again he stated levelly, If you’re wondering why I asked, I have to return to Spain. I was planning to, in ten days or so. But now that the domestic arrangements at Troone have altered I’ll be bringing the date of my return forward. I want you to come with me.’

A beat of total, shocked silence, ‘then, I couldn’t do that!’ Rosie reddened. Why would he want her to? It didn’t make any sense, unless—her heartbeats went haywire—unless he’d changed his mind about having sex with her again. The possibility was endlessly exhilarating but she had to resist the wicked temptation. A secret and definitely short-lived affair would damage her more than she already was!