Passionate Protection

'Everything,' he told her succinctly. 'Did you honestly think I would allow you to remain in Seville to further harass my poor brother upon his return, spreading the lord only knows what rumours about his relationship with you— rumours which could well reach the ears of his novia? Seville is a very enclosed society and a very rigid, one. Barbara's father would never consider Jorge as a husband for his daughter if he were to learn of his relationship with you.'

'I should have thought it was Barbara's opinion that mattered, not her father's,' Jessica remarked sardonically, watching him look down the aquiline length of his nose at her, 'and besides, I had no intention of staying in Spain.'

'You tell me that now, but you cannot deny you came here initially with the express purpose of seeing my brother, when he had already written to you telling you that your association was at an end? No, even if you swore to me that you would never try to contact Jorge again I would not believe you. There is only one way to end your interference in our lives.'

'And what may that be?' Jessica asked tartly. 'Or does the mere fact that I'm in your employ mean that no one would ever believe a Calvadores guilty of demeaning himself by becoming involved with a mere wage-slave?'

Her sarcasm brought a dark tinge of angry colour seeping beneath his tan, his eyes as cold as granite as he stared at her aloofly.

'By no means,' he said at last, 'but what they will think is that Jorge would never stoop to become involved with my mistress.'

'Your… You mean you'd let people think I

was your mistress?' Jessica gasped. 'Oh, this is infamous! You wouldn't dare!'

A muscle clenched in his jaw, beating angrily against the taut skin, and her eyes were drawn betrayingly to it, as it echoed the uneven pounding of her own heart.

'I thought you might have learned by now not to challenge me,' he told her softly, and she knew that he did dare—anything—if he deemed it necessary.

Heavens, it was like a Restoration comedy! First of all he accused her of being his brother's mistress and now he was saying everyone would think she was his!

'You're exaggerating,' she said positively. 'No one would believe, because I was working for you, that I was your mistress.'

'Of course not,' he agreed smoothly, 'if we were working at the factory. But we shall be working at my home, and I shall take good care to make sure that our relationship is not merely that of employer and employee.'

'But this is all so unnecessary!' Jessica cried heatedly.

'To you perhaps, but not to me. The Calvadores name means a great deal to me, and I will not have it dragged in the mud because some greedy woman tries to blackmail my brother into marrying her.'

His last unforgivable words infuriated her. By what right did he presume to stand in judgment on her?

'Well, if you expect to stop me by dragging me off to your hacienda, you're in for a big disappointment,' she told him coldly, 'because I'm not coming with you, and there's no way short of using physical force that you can make me.'

'You've already agreed to work for me,' he pointed out icily, '—of your own free will. If you don't…'

'I know,' Jessica agreed wearily. 'Colin will lose the contract.'

'No doubt he will understand—when you explain to him your reasons for refusing,' he told her smoothly, and a sick dismay filled her. Of course she could not explain to Colin why she had refused, it was all far too complicated now, and he would probably simply tell her to tell the truth. How could she do that now? How could she expose Isabel to his wrath? For one thing, she would not put it past him to go to England and terrorise Isabel into doing something foolish. And what about John? How would he react to the news that his fiancee had been having a brief fling in Spain when she was supposed to be thinking over his proposal, and moreover that she had actually thought that she might be pregnant by her lover? No, she could not tell the truth, and the only alternatives were to either accept the proposition and everything that went with it, or refuse it and risk jeopardising Colin's business. Some alternative!

She knew she really had no choice, but it infuriated her to have to give in to such outrageously buccaneering tactics.

'I will come with you,' she said coolly at last, 'but if you attempt to give anyone the impression that we're anything other than business colleagues, I shall be forced to contradict you.'

'Who said anything about "telling" anyone?' he mocked her softly. 'There are other, more subtle ways—like this, for instance.'

Before she could stop him, he had jerked her against his body, his hands locking behind her, holding her against him. She could feel the steady thud of his heart, so much at variance with her own which was racing unsteadily, the breath constricted in her throat, her eyes on a level with the plain severity of his tie. Her heightened senses relayed to her the sharp, clean fragrance of his cologne, the pristine freshness of his shirt, and the smooth brown column of his throat. She lifted her eyes. There was a dark shadow along his jaw suggesting that he might find it necessary to shave night and morning, and she shivered at the thoughts the knowledge conjured up in her mind.

'Let me go!' Her voice was husky, edged with anger and pain. She saw the curling mockery of his smile, the darkness of the cold grey eyes, and knew there was about as much chance of her plea being answered as there was of a hawk dropping its prey.

'You are trembling.'

It was a statement that held an edge of surprise, accompanied by a quick frown. The hand that wasn't securing her body against the hard length of his moved to her shoulder, flicking aside the collar of her robe to reveal the silky paleness of her skin.

'You didn't do much sunbathing when you were on holiday, or is it simply that Jorge told you how much we Latin races admire a palely beautiful skin? Yours has the translucency of a pearl.'

His fingers stroked lightly across her exposed collarbone, tiny tendrils of fear curling insidiously through her lower stomach. Dear God, she thought achingly, what was he trying to do to her? What was he doing to her? She had been touched before, for heaven's sake—but never with such explicit sensuality; never as though the male fingers drifting against her skin were touching the softest silk.

'Dios,' she heard him murmur smokily, 'one would think you had never been touched by a man before. But we both know that is not true, don't we, senorita?'