Elena de la Vega smiled at her sons. Then she walked into the office and placed an elegant hand on Ramon’s shoulder.
‘Querido, would you give me a moment alone with your brother, please?’ She waited for the door to close behind him, then sat in the chair he’d vacated, fixed her caramel-brown eyes on her eldest son and said, ‘I’ve just had an interesting conversation with the very beautiful and utterly charming young woman in your apartment.’
CHAPTER TEN
JORDAN PACED THE full length of the living area at least a dozen times before she paused, took a deep breath and told herself to calm down.
But she couldn’t.
How could she be calm when she knew Xavier was going to be furious? Livid.
If only she’d stayed out a bit longer. Explored a few more of the quaint streets in the city’s medieval Gothic Quarter. But three days of full-on sightseeing in Madrid and four nights of vigorous lovemaking had finally taken their toll. The idea of whiling away the afternoon with a book, stretched out on one of the loungers by the apartment’s pool, had been too tempting to resist.
And then Xavier’s mother had walked into the apartment.
His mother.
Her stomach tied in knots, she began to pace again, her bare feet taking her on another circuit of the living area and then out onto the sun-warmed terrace. But the fresh air didn’t help; her mind continued to spin in ever-decreasing circles, tighter and tighter, until her thoughts narrowed down to a single, soul-crushing certainty.
He would end it now.
He would be so angry about what she’d told his mother he’d change his mind about her staying and ask her to leave.
And this time his rejection wouldn’t just sting, like it had the night he’d spurned her by the pool. It would burn. Painfully. Horribly.
Because she cared now. More than she had before.
How could she not? They’d been intimate together. They’d shared things. Oh, she wasn’t fooling herself with romantic delusions. She understood this was an affair, not a proper relationship. But she’d have to be carved from stone to feel absolutely nothing.
And she knew him better now. He was proud and honourable and generous and hardworking. She didn’t only desire him, she liked him. Respected him.
Oh, come on. It’s more than that.
Desperately she shut out the voice in her head. Feelings of love—true love—took time to develop. You couldn’t fall head over heels for someone in less than two weeks...
With a groan of despair—because she feared that was precisely what she’d done—she stopped again and covered her face with her hands.
For a moment—just a moment—she thought about how easy it would be to flee. Not to have to face Xavier. To avoid his anger, the inevitable rejection—
‘Jordan?’
She froze. No. She wasn’t ready for him. Not yet. She needed more time. More time to shore up her emotional defences. More time to slip into whatever kind of cool demeanour mistresses adopted when they were about to be unceremoniously dumped.
‘What are you doing?’
Did he sound angry? She couldn’t tell.
She pulled in a deep breath, dropped her hands and faced him. He moved towards her, as darkly handsome as ever in his tailored suit, his short hair glossy black in the sunlight. His expression was serious but not, she registered with a rush of surprised relief, angry.
Perhaps it was that which gave her the courage to answer candidly. ‘I don’t know... Panicking, I think.’
She huffed out a small, self-deprecating laugh, but Xavier’s expression remained serious.
‘Why?’
She eyed him warily. ‘Has your mother spoken with you?’
He came closer. ‘Sí.’