‘You don’t have any option.’ Sebastian was right back in control, where he should have been all along. I have to be in Spain so you do, too. I might have made you pregnant, in case you’d forgotten,’ he tacked on drily, tasting the cottage pie, which was surprisingly good. I need to be sure, one way or the other. I’m not a man to duck out of my responsibilities. I need you where I can see you. I don’t want you panicking and disappearing.’
Rosie wanted to fall through a hole in the floor and never be seen again. She put down the fork she had only just picked up before it dropped from her nerveless fingers. True, unlike her father, he took his responsibilities seriously. But did he have to be so matter-of-fact and deadpan about it? She felt deeply humiliated, a real nuisance. And what had she been thinking of? That he was suddenly finding the idea of having sex with her again utterly irresistible?
As if!
‘Think of it as an expenses-paid holiday,’ he stated, supremely sure of himself—and thankfully unaware of what was churning round in her mind, Rosie thought, wondering how he could be so cool about a situation which was anything but.
His gorgeous features might have been carved from stone for all the emotion they displayed. It would be easier if he told her she was a pain in the neck and blamed the whole mess on her.
At least she could then have a stab at hating him, instead of fancying him rotten and praying for a miracle that would make him fall in love with her.
Whatever he said in that detached, authoritative voice of his, no way would she go to Spain with him, demean herself by being dragged around like an unwanted piece of luggage that had to be watched over in case it turned into a time bomb!
She could always excuse herself, right this minute, go to the loo, she thought wildly, and come back and tell him her period had started, goodbye and it’s been nice knowing you!
She tightened her mouth to stop it wobbling in plain panic and wild indecision and Sebastian told her flatly, ‘We’ll stay at my mother’s home just outside Jerez. You’ll have company—Marcus is there with his fiancee-to-be. He’s easy to get on with and, ostensibly, you’ll be there to help Terrina get organised for the move back to England.’ He laid down his fork, his plate empty.
‘Packing and so forth, running errands. She’ll like the idea of having a personal maid,’ he informed her drily. I have business to attend to back home, so my early return won’t cause undue comment.’
He sighed. He hadn’t meant to, but the thought of the devious methods he would have to employ to get rid of Terrina stuck in his gullet like a spectacularly sour plum.
A sizzle of something that was part excitement, part trepidation, fizzed through every last one of Rosie’s veins. It was scary, but she could do it. She could.
She could put up with being an unwanted nuisance as far as Sebastian was concerned for the chance to come face to face with her father at last.
She picked up her fork and said, tonelessly, she hoped, ‘OK, I’ll tag along. When do we leave?’
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN Sebastian slid the sleekly opulent car into a reserved spot in the underground car park and, carrying her tatty luggage, ushered her into the matt steel lift that whisked them up into an ultra-modern, fabulously expensive penthouse suite Rosie’s embarrassment deepened until it practically sucked her into its hot and squirmy depths.
Acres of bare polished wood flooring, a group of small sofas upholstered in an ultra-soft black leather which sported the slightest and most tasteful sheen, low clean-lined tables, artful spot lighting, two modern paintings which she guessed would just have to be masterpieces and worth a small fortune, even though she couldn’t make head nor tail of them.
The apartment he used when he was in London, Sebastian had informed her. He also had a house in Cadiz. Well, bully for him!
It was all a far cry from the run-down estate where she had been brought up. She’d seen his eyes narrow as he’d taken in the sight of the groups of mean-looking youths lounging on street corners, the younger kids kicking empty beer cans about, the abandoned cars on the waste land that had once been a kiddies’ playground but was now, somehow, turned into a rubbish dump.
‘I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.’ His voice sounded flat.
As if, Rosie thought miserably, he was now regretting having ever suggested she accompany him to Spain, where she would sully the rarefied atmosphere of his mother’s no doubt exquisite home.
Rosie followed like an automaton. She’d had to call in to collect her passport and pack a few more things for the journey ahead, there had been no getting out of it. Not that she was ashamed of her home ground but it made the differences between them stand out even more starkly.
Man-like, he’d told her to get her passport, not to bother with anything else, no doubt blithely thinking she could manage with just the working jeans and tops she’d taken to Troone Manor.
And man-like again, stubbornly refusing to stay with the car as she’d suggested, in case someone stole the wheels, he had followed her into the mini-market, chatting with Jeff, who was manning the check-out, while she shot up to her room, Jean hot on her tail.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ her old friend had demanded. ‘He could be a white slaver, for all I know! Now your mother’s gone, God rest her, I feel responsible for you.’
‘He’s my employer.’ Rosie had pushed her passport into her best handbag, added a couple of clean handkerchiefs and her purs
e, which felt comfortably fat with her week’s earnings, solemnly counted out by Madge. ‘Going to Spain is the only way I’ll ever clap eyes on Marcus Troone. He’s not in England.’
She’d reached down a shabby suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and stuffed everything she owned into it, just in case, patiently explaining, Apparently, he was taken ill a while back and is getting his strength back over there. It was either grab the opportunity or forget all about getting to meet him. You don’t have to worry about me, truly you don’t.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Jean hadn’t sounded very convinced.
‘Keep in touch, won’t you? You have our phone number. And Rosie—don’t think I forgot your birthday. I didn’t. I didn’t send a card or phone you. I didn’t know if you’d gone there incognito and I didn’t want to blow your cover! But I’d planned a surprise party for when you got back here.’