A Spanish Inheritance

By the time she made it down to the shore the sun was a huge orange ball balanced on the horizon. A light breeze had kicked up the waves so that they ran in truculent eddies around the rocks, tossing plumes of white foam into the soft evening air. Impatient to feel the soothing chill of deeper water, she plunged in and started to swim, embracing the waves with a reckless excitement as if the shock of the icy sea could really help soothe her overheated emotions.

As the familiar rhythm worked its magic she powered out, hard and fast, oblivious to the speed with which she was being carried away from the shore. Only when the ocean began swallowing more and more of the sun did she break stroke and start to head back. But the current was unforgiving. She trod water, her mind whirling frantically.

The only visible point of safety in a rapidly darkening sea was the sleek white roof of Ramon’s cruiser; her only hope was to swim to it—to swim for her life… But she was tiring rapidly, and with every stroke the waves seemed to grow higher, rougher and faster, until choking on seawater, she battled for air.

And when she went under it wasn’t her whole life that flashed before her eyes…just the same charismatic face that penetrated all her dreams. Feeling herself sinking lower, she kicked out weakly, in an attempt to break through the deadly ceiling so cruelly close to her head. But as the remorseless current tugged her sideways, her reaching arms achieved nothing more than a weak pass at a beam of moonlight that provided a slim shaft of light in the unremitting gloom.

Weakening fast, she barely registered the fact that a band of iron had snapped around her waist. But after Ramon brought her coughing and gasping to the surface she went rigid as a flood of expletives in Spanish exploded in her ear.

‘Ramon!’ she cried gratefully, trying to turn in his arms.

‘Keep still, you little fool! Do you want to kill us both?’ he rasped, kicking out strongly.

He was holding her so tightly she was almost more frightened by that than the thought of drowning. He was absolutely furious, she realised as she submitted to the indignity of being towed to shore like a piece of driftwood.

Yanking her from the water, he carried her to the beach—and when he saw she was all right he all but dropped her onto the sand at his feet. ‘You little idiot!’ he grated furiously. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

Spluttering helplessly, she retched violently in an attempt to expel the last of the sand and water from her lungs.

‘I’m waiting, Annalisa.’

His voice was merciless, and when she was able to risk a glance at him she saw that every muscle and sinew betrayed the depths of his emotion. To make matters worse, he was dressed for dinner. Apart from the shoes he had obviously shed just before diving into the water, black trousers and a black silk shirt clung to his body like a second skin. Both were completely ruined. But it wasn’t the loss of his clothes that concerned her most. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped at last. ‘It’s just that I’m unfamiliar with—’

‘What?’ he cut in harshly before she could say any more. ‘Drowning?’ And when she began to stutter an apology he hunkered down beside her, grabbing her shoulders in an unforgiving grasp to shake some sense into her. ‘Let’s keep it that way, shall we?’

Recoiling from the heat in his eyes, Annalisa hung her head as she nodded agreement.

But Ramon hadn’t finished with her. He demanded her full attention. Seizing her chin, he forced her round to face him. ‘No more swimming in the dark, comprende?’

‘OK, OK.’ He was very close…too close. She stiffened, ready to push him away…then relaxed. He had just saved her life…

‘The sea knows no master, Annalisa,’ he rapped starkly. ‘The last time you did something foolish I warned you. Now I’m telling you. Don’t ever swim in the sea on your own again.’

When he was satisfied her remorse was genuine Ramon stood up and tugged off his shirt. Exhausted as she was, Annalisa’s senses sharpened as she took in the broad sweep of his shoulders and the taut muscles of his deeply tanned chest, along with the strength so clearly defined in his powerful arms. She looked away as he began to finger the buckle on his belt. Then, as he peeled off his sodden trousers, she instinctively whipped her head away, wrapping her arms across her chest and drawing her legs tightly underneath her.

‘It’s OK. You can look now,’ he said.

She should have known he could not be trusted! She had seen him in bathing trunks before…but they had been designed for swimming. His close-fitting black silk underpants had not. She closed her eyes, as if that might help to obliterate an image already branded on her mind.