The Last Heir of Monterrato

Colourful images flickered frame by frame behind her eyes, like an excruciating X-rated home movie. The pool, the gym, the mat...what they had done on the mat... And, worse still, the way Rafael had behaved afterwards.

She had no one to blame except herself. Unfortunately she could remember with bruising clarity the sequence of events, and if it hadn’t exactly been totally one-sided she had definitely been the one who’d started it. Maybe she could blame it on her hormones. After what she had been through they had to be all over the place. Or the hypnotic effect of the pool, perhaps. But deep down she knew there was only one thing she could blame it on. The relentless, carnal, erotic effect that Rafael had on her.

And she was only human. There was only so much temptation a woman could take.

She thought back to the image of Rafael at the end of the pool, peeling off his jeans, gloriously naked in the shadows before diving into the water... Sensuous shivers ran through her again. But the temptation had been her undoing, as her screwed-up ball of a heart could testify now.

The sex had been amazing, of course. They had always had the most incredible connection—as if their two bodies had been specifically designed to fit together for the most explosive of results. But last night had felt like something else...as if the lid had been blown off the pressure cooker of their lives, right there and then, in that dark room, on that slippery gym mat. The pain of the past, the strain of the present, the hopes of the future—all detonating in a mushroom cloud of intensely powerful sexual intensity. She could still sense the aftershocks rippling through her.

But it wasn’t those memories that were scratching their nails down her skin now—not the image of his lean, honed body as he’d spread himself on top of her, not the excruciating pleasure when he had pushed inside her, and not even the realisation that no one else could ever, ever make love to her like that, make her feel like this.

No. This gash of pain came from what had happened afterwards: the look of distaste on Rafael’s face when he had handed her that towel, the way he had almost herded her back up the stairs, watched while she had closed the door of her bedroom, almost as if she was not to be trusted, as if at any moment she might fling herself at him again, force him to make love to her. That was what was crucifying her now.

Snapping open her eyes, she pulled back the coverlet and got out of bed. She had to be strong now, not agonise over her mistakes. She would focus on the day ahead, on the reason she was here. The baby—if there was a baby—was the important thing. Wincing slightly, sore where Rafael had been, she took determined strides towards the bathroom.

Rafael was nowhere to be seen when she finally ventured downstairs. Which was a relief. She certainly didn’t want to see him. Even if she had spent the last hour bracing herself for the awkward meeting, repeatedly going over in her mind how she would be with him: cheerful, light-hearted, casually flippant about what had happened the night before in a Ho-ho, that was fun, but obviously it didn’t mean anything and obviously it won’t happen again sort of way.

But in the event none of her acting skills were needed. Lunch came and went and still there was no sign of him. Several times Lottie passed his study door, pausing gingerly outside to see if she could hear anything. But all was quiet, and she certainly wasn’t going to debase herself any further by tapping on his door to see if he was there, looking as if she cared or, worse still, as if she was going to make repugnant demands on him again.

By the evening, when there was still no sign of him, she had convinced herself that he had gone for ever, abandoned her alone in this beautiful place. And she didn’t care if he had. In fact it would be for the best. It would save a lot of embarrassment all round.

As twilight started to turn into dusk Lottie decided she needed some fresh air and, pulling on a warm jumper, walked out on to the terrace. There was a full moon tonight, illuminating the garden with a ghostly light, sharpening the outline of the plants and trees so they appeared to be harder, more aggressive versions of their daytime counterparts.

Opening the iron gates, Lottie paused, gazing at the moon’s searchlight across the rippled water. It was stunning. Slowly she started to descend the steps to the water, treading carefully through the shadows. The last thing she wanted was to fall now—now that she had been effectively deserted. Heaven knew when anyone would ever find her.

As she neared the bottom she became aware of the sound of an engine and, looking up, saw a speedboat coming towards her, Rafael at the helm. She watched as he came closer; he was standing up, the top half of his body visible above the windscreen, one hand on the wheel, confidently manoeuvring the sleek vessel towards its mooring.