A flush rose high on his cheeks. “I am not stupid, Kyra. The picture you paint is quite clear. You grew up a princess in a castle.”
Kyra gave a little laugh. “Rapunzel?” she said. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”
A terrible coldness was forming around Antonio’s heart. He wanted to reach out and pull Kyra into his arms, kiss her and kiss her until she remembered that everything she was talking about was unimportant compared to what they felt for each other.
But the truth was he had no idea what she felt for him. He had made assumptions, leaped to conclusions…
He had made that mistake before.
He turned, walked a few steps, then swung around to face her.
“None of this mattered yesterday,” he said tonelessly, his eyes on her face.
Kyra sighed. “It did. It’s part of the reason I was so hesitant about—about our becoming involved.” It’s one of the reasons I was so afraid to admit to myself that I was falling in love with you. The thought was so clear and sharp in her head…but this wasn’t the time to speak of love, not when Antonio was standing there looking stern and unapproachable, when she was standing here knowing that she could never be herself if she allowed him to control her life. “I suppose—I suppose it would have been better if you’d known more about me before I came to your island, Antonio, but—”
“But you did not come here willingly.” A muscle danced in his cheek. “I brought you here.”
“Yes. And I didn’t expect—I didn’t expect—”
“To end up in my bed.”
Kyra winced. She had meant that she hadn’t expected to fall in love. Antonio’s words, delivered with stoic callousness, put a very different edge on things and brought a rush of flame to her cheeks.
“That’s true.”
”Sí. It is. It is true that I brought you here, true that I gave you no choice but to come.” His eyes darkened as he came toward her. “But I did not force you to make love.”
“I never said you did! I’m just trying to explain why…” She blew out her breath. “I don’t know how to get through to you, Antonio.”
“Perhaps,” he said coldly, “it would be best if you simply got to the point.”
“The point,” she said, flinging out her arms, “is that we have different expectations. I knew that as soon as you told me about yourself, about your childhood. I should have said something then, but I didn’t want to hurt you…”
She was still talking, her silver eyes fixed on his, but Antonio was no longer listening. Why should he, when he knew what she was going to tell him? He was not good enough for her. She would say it with more kindness than Jessamyn, but the message would be the same. Despite his wealth, despite his feelings for her, she was still the princess and he was the commoner. He was good enough for the dark passion that swept over them in the night, but anything else was out of the question.
A rage so deep it drove every sane thought from his head swept through Antonio. He wanted to reach out and grab Kyra, to shake her until her bones rattled, to force her face up to his and kiss her until she cried out the truth, that the “expectations” that were so important to her would never allow her to admit that she had fallen in love with the rough-bred bastard who loved her.
But he didn’t love her. He was only a victim of the same foolishness that had happened years ago.
Was he such a sentimental idiot that he could not want a woman for more than a couple of days without trying to convince himself he loved her?
“Enough,” he said, his voice slicing harshly into her endless explanation.
“Antonio?” Kyra stared at him. His face had become a white mask under its olive hue; the skin was drawn so tight that it looked as if it might tear over the sharp bones beneath. “Antonio, please. Listen to me.”
“I am done listening.”
“I don’t think you’ve listened at all.”
“I have listened,” he said with disdain, “and now I am bored.”
Kyra flushed. “Bored? Bored, while I’ve tried to explain how we might work things out?”
His teeth flashed in a quick smile. “I know what you have proposed, Kyra. We will go on as we have been, with you in my bed.”
Her flush deepened. “Well, yes. That will give us time to explore each other, and—”
Antonio laughed. “Ah, querida, I have explored you all that is necessary. I know what makes you moan, what makes you reach up and pull me down to you. What more exploration do I need than this?”
Kyra paled. That he should reduce things to such a level stunned her. Was this what happened when he couldn’t get his own way?
Antonio saw the look on Kyra’s face. He had hurt her deeply; he should have felt a rush of satisfaction. Instead, a pain lanced into his heart.
“Kyra…”
“Don’t,” she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I—I want to leave here, Antonio.”
“Kyra, what I just said—”
“I don’t give a damn about what you just said,” she lied. Her chin lifted. “I wish to be in Caracas by this afternoon.”
Antonio’s eyes narrowed. “I am not a boy to be given orders.”
“No.” Kyra’s voice trembled. “You’re not a boy, Antonio You’re a coldhearted, mean-tempered, no-good-”
She cried out as his hands closed on her shoulders.
“Be careful of what you say to me,” he growled.
“I’ll say whatever I damned well please.”
“You will not!”
“Listen, Antonio, maybe you can give orders to the rest of the world, but I won’t take them!”
“But you will, querida.” The coldness in his tone made the word anything but an endearment. “You are my servant on this island. Have you forgotten that—or did you think your performance in bed would satisfy your debt?”
Kyra felt the blood drain from her face. How could she have thought herself in love with this man? No woman could love Antonio del Rey, not if she valued her self-respect.
“Thank you for reminding me of my position here,” she said, her voice trembling. “And you’re right, Antonio. I haven’t repaid my debt. But if there’s a shred of decency in that—that block of ice you call a heart, you’ll let me leave San Sebastian right away.”
He nodded stiffly. “With pleasure. I will telephone for an air taxi.”
He turned and walked away. By late afternoon, new passport and visa in hand, Kyra was at the airport in Caracas and on her way home.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS the coldest winter Colorado had seen in years.
Everyone agreed to that, from the TV weather forecasters trying not to look gleeful as they flashed satellite maps and photographs each evening to the tourists pouring into towns like Aspen and Boulder.
For her part, Kyra was too busy to notice.
She had returned from the Caribbean filled with a brisk, almost brittle, energy. Within a week’s time, she had signed up for evening classes in computer science and real estate at the university and accepted chairmanship of an art exhibition that people said would be the highlight of the season.
In November, she got a call from Zach. He wanted to tell her that he’d gotten married in Las Vegas over the weekend. There hadn’t been time for a real wedding, he said. He and his bride had only been able to take a couple
of days off between films.
“When we finish this picture, we’ll come for a long visit. You’ll love Eve, Sis,” he said, and Kyra replied she was sure she would. She was happy for him even if, for some unaccountable reason, the news of his marriage put a lump in her throat.
A couple of weeks later, Grant phoned.
“You’ll never believe it,” he said happily, “but I’m married! Crista’s wonderful. She’s in the middle of opening her shop—she makes jewelry. Beautiful stuff, you’ll see. Things should ease up in the spring. We’ll come for a long visit I just know you’ll love her.”
Kyra said she was sure she would. And the lump rose in her throat again.
Cade didn’t phone; he was off in the middle of nowhere, searching for oil, but from everything that he had—and hadn’t—said the last time Kyra had seen him, she had the feeling that he, too, had fallen in love.
All the Landons had, except her.
What she’d felt for Antonio had nothing to do with love. It had to do with sex. Antonio was a sexy man and she’d wanted to sleep with him, but she hadn’t been adult enough to admit it. So she’d created a dreamscape of hearts and flowers and forever-after—and she thanked her lucky stars she hadn’t let herself get trapped inside it.
She was living her own life now, and if sometimes she woke in the dark with traces of dampness on her cheeks and a lump in her throat, it didn’t mean a damn thing except that maybe she was coming down with a cold—or maybe she needed something more to do.
In December, the short days and endless storms made the mansion seem gloomier than ever.
“I hate this place,” Kyra said to Stella one night, as the wind whistled outside.
And just like that, it came to her.
She wouldn’t sell the house. It was home, despite everything, and she loved the land and the lake and the mountains that surrounded it. But the house could be changed.
The next morning, Kyra phoned her banker to be sure of just how much money she had. The answer was staggering. It was enough to tear down the mansion and rebuild it ten times over.
But that wouldn’t be necessary. All she needed was an architect, a contractor and an auctioneer to sell off virtually all the mansion’s massive furniture and pretentious works of art.