Rival's Challenge

Orla stared at him blankly. It took seconds for his words to sink in—to realise that what she’d just seen hadn’t been some projection of her deepest fantasies. That she wasn’t going totally mad. Then she recalled the open front door …

A lyrical sing-song voice called out, and then a young, dark-haired attractive woman appeared, taking off an apron as she walked in. Antonio let Orla’s hand go to greet the woman warmly, kissing her on both cheeks.

She smiled prettily, showing dimples, and Orla could only watch as Antonio turned back to her to say, ‘I’d like you to meet Marie-Ange, my housekeeper. She and her husband, Dominic, look after the place for me while I’m not here. They live in the local village.’

The woman was smiling so widely that Orla couldn’t help but respond, despite the shock she’d received. They shook hands, and just then the two children exploded into the room again and Antonio caught one up and held him high, where he squealed with delight.

The woman was explaining in charmingly accented English, ‘Please excuse the disturbance—I was hoping to be long gone by now but Dominic had a crisis with his car this morning and we had to go to the garage and then he had to take my car … and I had to take the kids….’ She smiled with that long-suffering look of the slightly harassed mum.

Orla had seen it countless times in the hotel and had always done her best to make sure both mother and children were accommodated.

She smiled and muttered something vague, acutely aware of Antonio with the small boy in his arms, speaking to him in French. The other child, a little girl, a toddler, equally cute, was clinging on to Antonio’s leg, her huge brown eyes imploring him to lift her up. Seeing Antonio so at ease with these children made something quiver inside her.

But then Marie-Ange was lifting her daughter away from Antonio’s leg and instructing her children firmly to leave Mr Chatsfield and his guest alone. She was speaking in a flurry of fast French to Antonio, who had put the little boy down. He responded with a very Gallic expression that was a universal sign for don’t worry. Orla’s French was passable but not fluent.

Antonio kissed Marie-Ange again, and Orla reeled a little to see this side of him and to see the obvious warmth he felt for this woman. The little girl was in Marie-Ange’s arms, a thumb in her mouth, eyes disconcertingly steady on Orla.

Orla had never really contemplated the reality of having children. When would she have the time? But when she’d seen these two jump out of nowhere and streak through the room like little ghosts—that feeling of longing had been so intense, she still shook with it. It was as if her biological clock had just started with a resounding bang.

Marie-Ange was leaving, calling goodbye, her son rushing ahead of her. And then they were gone. Antonio turned to Orla, something enigmatic in his eyes. He arched a brow. ‘You got a shock to see Marie-Ange and the kids? I should have told you….’

Terrified that he might guess at the seismic revelation seeing those children had precipitated within her, Orla just shrugged minutely. ‘I was startled, that’s all. I hadn’t expected anyone else to be here.’ It was only now that she recalled seeing another car near the entrance of the property, back up the drive.

Something else came into Antonio’s expression then, something far more recognisable. Desire. And Orla welcomed it—anything to avoid thinking about what had just happened.

Throatily Antonio said, ‘We won’t be disturbed again unless we want to be.’

He took her hand again and started tugging her in the direction of the stairs which led to the upper levels from the reception area. ‘I’ll show you the rest of downstairs later. Right now I’m more interested in showing you where we’ll be sleeping.’

Desire, wicked and hot, burst into Orla’s solar plexus. Relieved again to be moving away from far too disturbing and scary revelations, she said nothing as Antonio led her up to a second level and down the flagstoned hallway covered with rugs to an open door.

A majestic bedroom was revealed, spanning the width of the house, with breathtaking views out over the rest of the property and the sea and the gathering dusk. A soft neutral-coloured sisal-type carpet covered the floor. White drapes billowed gently in the fragrant warm breeze.

But all Orla could see was the enormous super-king-size bed in the centre of the room, covered in white linen. Antonio let her hand go and came to stand in front of her. Orla gazed at him and gulped…. He looked so feral. Dangerous.

Surprising her, he cupped her jaw gently. ‘Thank you, for coming here with me.’

Something tender gripped her inside. What was it about this man that kept her so thrown? So unsure of what he was about to do next?

Wanting to diffuse the emotions, Orla said provocatively, ‘I haven’t come … yet.’

A ghost of a smile made one side of Antonio’s mouth quirk and to Orla’s endless relief he pulled her

into him. Roughly he said, ‘I think I can remedy that within a short matter of time….’

And then his mouth was covering hers and lust was rising and pushing down all the scary things that Antonio made her think of and feel. This she could handle…. The other? Not so much. Orla made a vow to herself before Antonio’s wicked mouth and hands rendered her completely senseless to avoid straying off this lust-fuelled path as much as possible while they were here.

And she also said a silent prayer, as he deposited her on the soft surface of the bed, that this desire would blaze out between them and leave her free to resume her life. Free of far too disturbing wants and desires that had never really risen to bother her before.

The dawn light bathed Orla’s pale, pale skin in a pinky glow. She was on her front, arm curled close to her chest where Antonio could see the fleshy curve of her breast, one leg straight, one leg bent. Her bare backside was surprisingly plump for someone so slim and petite. The sheet had long ago fallen from the bed. In fact, Antonio thought wryly as he rested his head on one hand and regarded her, he was surprised all the sheets hadn’t burned off the bed altogether.

His smile faded as he went back to his slow perusal of his lover. His lover. He’d never had a lover like Orla before. Her face was towards him, resting on one cheek. Lashes long and dark against her skin, mouth pouting softly, swollen from his kisses. Her hair a vibrant splash of red on the white linen. Needless to say, even just looking at her like this had his body in a painful state of arousal. After making love to her endlessly, all night. Until exhaustion had finally claimed them.

He had never allowed a woman to spend more than a night or two at the most in his bed. That had been as much a conditioning of his career as anything else. But even before he’d embarked on life in the Legion, he’d avoided anything but the most fleeting intimacy like the plague.

He could remember a time when his parents’ marriage had been relatively happy. Solid. But he could also remember how quickly it had fallen apart. As if it had never been held together by much except superficialities in the first place. Antonio had long suspected his father of his infidelities before it had become fact. Even before his wife had crumbled completely and left.

He thought of Orla’s muted reaction to seeing Marie-Ange’s children the previous day and recalled how he’d felt a bizarre sense of regret. What was that all about? He knew how much Orla had invested in her career; she was the kind of woman who might never marry. He certainly couldn’t see her in an apron baking cookies for happy chocolate-covered children … and yet … the image slid into his mind with shocking ease, mocking him. He could see it all too clearly. And the fact that he could even drum up such an image made him break out in a cold sweat.