The Argentinian's Demand

Emily smiled politely. He hadn’t said a word about how she looked, and although she hadn’t dressed for him it would have only been courteous to pay her some sort of compliment, wouldn’t it?

‘That’s brilliant!’

‘And, if you look to your left, you’ll see that they’ve specifically laid a table for us. It’s a demo of how all the tables will be laid when the place is full. I’ve told my people here that there must be no shortage of attention to detail. Feel free to comment on the job they’ve done...’

‘Of course.’

She was so conscious of him next to her that she felt faint. Something about being there, seeing him in different surroundings...

She might be at great pains to stick to formalities, but he was not. His clothes were cool and casual. No suit, no tie, no restrictive jacket. Now he was in a pair of light-coloured Bermuda shorts, a black polo shirt and loafers without socks. And a couple of days in the blazing sun had lent his complexion an even more burnished hue.

Could the man look any sexier? She had to feebly remind herself that this was just the sort of package that gave him a sense of entitlement to women—the sort of casual sense of entitlement that repelled her.

‘But I’m sure it’ll all be perfect—just as the room is perfect.’

‘That’s the difference between a good hotel and a really great one. A great one takes nothing for granted and never gets complacent.’

Had he been complacent about her? Was that why she had handed in her resignation? However little need there might be for her to hold down a job, surely an intelligent woman like her would still want the distraction of work that provided a challenge? Unless, of course...

‘Are you pregnant?’ he asked abruptly as they sat at the table opposite one another.

It took a few seconds for the softly worded question to sink in. Emily had been absently admiring the surroundings. The eating area was fashioned along the lines of an enormous gazebo. It was covered, so that diners would be protected from the elements, but open at the sides so that there was an unimpeded view of the sea, now just a dark body of water lapping gently along the shore. Bird-feeders had been strategically placed on the outside so that during the day there were always birds dipping down to feed and filling the air with their chorus. It was idyllic.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It never occurred to me, but it makes sense. The rushed marriage, the resignation letter... Are you pregnant? Because if you are then I have no problem keeping the job open for you until you feel fit to return to work...’

He pushed his chair back and angled it to one side, so that he could cross his legs while he kept his eyes firmly pinned to her face. In the mellow pool of light her face was soft and flushed...

There was an expression on it that he couldn’t put his finger on until she said, with biting cynicism, ‘I’m anything but pregnant. Kids?’ She laughed and took a long gulp of the wine that had been brought over to them. ‘That will never be on my agenda.’

As hooks went, this one was irresistible. Leandro had never experienced such intense curiosity about a woman. On every level he wanted to know more, even though he recognised the weakness behind the pull on his senses.

‘I thought it was the dream of most women to have children...’ he murmured encouragingly. ‘Diamond rock on the finger, walk up the aisle, the pitter-patter of tiny feet...’

‘Not me.’ Emily took another energy-boosting sip of wine and realised that her glass was empty. It was quickly refilled. Part of the excellent service.

‘And does the lucky guy in your life know that?’

‘What lucky guy in my life?’ She was momentarily bewildered. ‘Oh. Oliver.’ She shrugged. ‘Absolutely.’

‘You seem very young to have made such a momentous decision...or perhaps your fiancé is behind it? Is he divorced? Maybe with a family of his own already? Sometimes middle-aged men with grown children don’t want to add to the tally when they decide to marry someone much younger than them...’

Emily recognised fishing when she heard it, and although she should have terminated the meandering conversation the wine had dulled her senses. She wasn’t accustomed to alcohol. She could feel herself wavering on the brink of saying more than she would ever have dreamt of saying had she been her usual careful, alert self.

It was so strange, being here with him. In the warm, shadowy night he was no longer her boss, no longer the man she privately scorned, no longer someone in whom she should never confide. The boundaries between them were blurred, and his deep, lazy voice was oddly enticing.

‘I didn’t think we were here to talk about me,’ she said, in a voice that lacked its usual firm conviction.

Leandro sipped his wine and allowed the conversation to drop as they consulted their menus. He chatted briefly about the offerings for dinner. Her soft hair fell in waves around her face and he was mesmerised as she tucked a few strands behind her ear and chewed her lip thoughtfully at the menu.

Perhaps there should be more fish, she thought aloud. After all, they were in the Caribbean, and wouldn’t guests expect more than just a couple of fishy options?

‘I take it you like fish...?’

‘Love it. Especially as I don’t often cook it at home.’

Leandro wondered what her home was like. A reflection of her complex personality? Sharp modern designs? Abstract reproductions hanging on the walls?

‘I don’t often cook,’ he said by way of an amused rejoinder, and Emily tilted her head to one side and looked at him.

‘You know what? That doesn’t surprise me.’

‘No? And why is that?’

‘Because men like you don’t.’

Leandro stilled. He looked at her narrowly and she met his eyes without blinking.

‘Men like me?’ he said coolly. ‘Are we going to revisit the tired topic of the way you think I use women?’

He sat back as their starters were set in front of them and plates neatly adjusted to the perfect position. Their glasses were refilled but then they were left alone, which was good. Her attention had drifted down to her starter, but Leandro thought that if she figured she could now change the conversation and start talking about the table service, or some such other bland topic, then she would have to think again.

‘You have lots of money,’ she mumbled, picking at her starter and then digging in with more enthusiasm because it was delicious—a cool salad of leaves and fresh mango with spicy prawns piled on top. ‘Why would you cook for yourself when you can pay someone else to do it for you?’

‘Because I may actually like cooking but lack the time to put into it.’

‘Do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Really like cooking but just don’t have the time to do it...?’

‘Not exactly...’ Leandro shot her a sexy grin that made her breath catch in her throat and brought a reluctant smile to her lips. ‘I have produced the occasional successful omelette, but I’m no expert in the kitchen. Well...’ He shrugged his broad shoulders in a gesture that was typically his. ‘Growing up with a horde of sisters does have its advantages...’

‘Aside from plying you with make-up when you were young, they spoiled you? Is that what you’re saying?’

She thought wistfully of when she was a kid, always wishing for a sibling... Now, more than ever, it would have been nice to have someone with whom she could share all her worries. Her destiny would still not have been the big happy family scenario, but at least she wouldn’t have been on her own coping with all her problems.

‘An only boy...’ He tilted his head and looked at her with a half-smile. ‘What can you expect?’

He was momentarily distracted by the removal of plates and kept his curiosity at bay as she chatted about the food, made all the right noises about its quality. He refilled her glass and called for another bottle of wine to be brought to them. Only when their main courses were set in front of them did he return to the subject that had been on his mind.

‘So,’ he drawled, ‘you were telling me about the fiancé with the family...’

Emily blinked. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You don’t want kids because he already has a few of his own...?’

‘Of course he doesn’t have any kids!’ She wondered how it was that her wineglass seemed to be permanently full. When she tried to marshal her thoughts they swirled away, just out of reach. She tried to grasp hold of an image of Oliver. ‘He’s the same age as me!’

‘So neither of you is interested in prolonging the family line...’

‘Do you intend to have kids? Get married? Settle down?’

She couldn’t picture it. No, he was the sort of guy who would never settle down, and if he ever did then he would carry on leading the bachelor life. There were men like that. Handsome, charming, wealthy men, who just took what they wanted and didn’t care about the people they hurt in the process.