At the Spaniard's Pleasure

Liza turned over and buried her head in the pillow, great sobs racking her slender body. She had been right to be suspicious all along. He still saw her as a tramp, because he thought nothing of using her for sex, and that was the cruellest cut of all. Choking on a sob, she felt her heart tear with grief, and she gave in to a paroxysm of weeping. Until finally she lay pale and still, her throat hoarse, and stared with sightless eyes at the ceiling, all cried out.

A long time later she sat up, and pressed her knuckles against her red-rimmed, swollen eyes. She and Nick had only ever been a childish dream; she should have left it that way. Now he was her worst nightmare, and, slipping off the bed, she headed straight for the shower.

What kind of idiot was she? she asked herself bitterly as she stood beneath the pounding spray. She had compromised her ideals in the first place by deciding to enjoy a holiday romance. Some joke! A one-night stand was all that had been on offer. She should have known when he got her into bed as soon as the damn plane took off!

Nick Menendez was an arrogant, unfeeling devil. He had told her years ago he liked extreme sports for the instant thrill, and kept looking for harder and harder challenges because he was easily bored. She had been a prize idiot for falling for his charismatic charm, and with a new determination in her eyes she scrubbed at her skin, determined to wash any memory of the man from her body and her thoughts.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LIZA finally gave up trying to sleep when she heard the muffled chimes of the clock in the hall strike six. At eight she was ready to leave, with her bag packed, her long hair divided into two neat braids and wearing denim jeans with a red shirt and denim jacket—she was dressed for travelling.

With one last look around the blue interior, she unlocked the bedroom door and, suitcase in hand, she left. Unable to resist, she glanced at the door to Nick’s bedroom as she walked along the hall. It was wide open, and the bed was undisturbed. She closed her eyes briefly against the pain squeezing her heart, and quickly looked away.

Using her to make Sophia jealous had obviously worked for Nick, Liza thought bitterly. The hurt and humiliation were crushing, and she couldn’t get out of the place fast enough. She was going to get the first plane back to Lanzarote; at least there she would be alone for a while, and free to lick her wounds in the privacy of her hotel suite. She wished like hell she had never left it and she didn’t care if she had to sit all day at the airport; anything was better than staying here. She was angry at her own feeble-mindedness in wanting Nick. He had used her, and she despised the man…

With that thought in mind she marched into the kitchen and dumped her suitcase on the floor. Straightening up, she focused on Manuel busily preparing a coffee tray.

Manuel turned around. ‘Señorita Liza, I was just about to bring you coffee.’

‘Thank you, Manuel, but I am leaving as soon as possible. Would you please call me a taxi to take me to Malaga Airport?’ She walked past the kitchen table to where Manuel stood beside the preparation bench.

‘But I will have a coffee while I wait.’ Manuel filled a cup and handed it to her, and then stood hovering, as if he did not know what to do next. Spooning a big dollop of sugar in her cup—she needed the energy—Liza reminded him, ‘The taxi, please, Manuel; I am in a hurry.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He moved to where the telephone was suspended on the wall. ‘For Malaga, you say.’ He looked back at her with a frown. ‘You are sure.’

‘Yes, Manuel.’

‘No, Manuel,’ a deep voice commanded, ‘a taxi will not be necessary. I will drive Liza into Malaga.’

Liza stiffened, anger and resentment simmering inside her along with a hollow feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. So much for Nick’s statement she was a welcome guest, she thought bitterly. He couldn’t wait to see her leave, probably frightened in case she told Sophia what a love-rat he was.

With slow deliberation Liza sipped her cup of coffee to the dregs. Now all she had to do was face the dregs of her relationship with Nick. Placing the cup carefully down on the bench, she composed her features into a bland, socially acceptable mask.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned around. ‘Good morning, Nick; that is very kind of you,’ she said with determined brightness. ‘But I would prefer a taxi.’

He was standing in the middle of the room, his magnificent body clad in black jeans and a white cashmere sweater, his legs slightly splayed and his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his trousers. He was all bristling male attitude, and the hard dark eyes that stared back at her held no hint of the intimacy they had shared, only a flash of irritation that she had declined his offer.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Not only was she a slut but she was also ridiculous in his estimation. ‘Thank you for that.’ Her attempt at social politeness sank as the crushing weight of his betrayal sparked her anger. ‘But I was trying to be reasonable. I would not dream of putting you out in any way,’ she drawled sarcastically. She jerked her chin up, refusing to let him see how he had hurt her, and met his aloof gaze with stony eyes, at the same time thinking, what she would really like to do was knock the arrogant, deceitful devil out flat! But instead she added coolly, ‘I’m sure you have much more important things to do with your time.’ Sophia for one, she thought bitterly.

‘But I insist, Liza. I brought you here; it is only good manners I assist you to depart, and I know what a stickler you are for good manners.’

A cold hand closed around her heart as she searched his handsome face. She saw his strong jawline harden, and the arrogant cynicism in his expression that said clearer than words that it was over. Pride alone made her step forward.

‘In that case you won’t mind getting my luggage,’ she said with saccharine-sweetness and indicated her suitcase with a wave of her hand. ‘I am in a hurry.’

‘Not so great a hurry we can’t have breakfast first, surely,’ Nick prompted silkily. ‘What time is your flight?’

She noticed there was no offer of the private jet. Why was she not surprised? He probably knew damn fine she had not booked a flight, he was simply being his usual sarcastic, superior self. ‘I have no idea,’ she said airily. ‘I intend to wait on standby; the sooner I get back to Lanzarote the better.’

‘Well, if you’re sure I can’t tempt you,’ he drawled, the mockery in his eyes clear for Liza to see, ‘to eat…’ and scarlet colour stained her cheeks and she just knew the pig was laughing at her.

Five minutes later, seated in the passenger seat of a Land-Rover, Liza glanced at Nick as he started the motor. He was whistling! Whistling a catchy tune as if he had not a care in the world. But then, why would he? He was probably recalling his night in Sophia’s bed.

The anger and resentment that had sustained her from the moment he walked into the kitchen this morning gave way to a gut-wrenching pain as an image of Nick naked with Sophia filled her mind, touching the other woman, kissing as he had kissed her… Turning her head, she looked out of the window at the countryside flying by without even seeing it.

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