The Secret Sanchez Heir. CATHY WILLIAMS
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been out with some of the most beautiful women in the world and none of them could get to him the way this one could.
It was as infuriating as it was undeniable.
She was still in his system, a slither of unfinished business, and there was only one way he could think of to get her out of his system once and for all.
He lowered his eyes and felt the kick of satisfaction at a decision taken. It would be an insult to fate, which had decided to throw them together, were he not to take advantage of the situation.
‘It’s none of your business whether there’s someone in my life or not, Leandro!’ Agitated, she sprang to her feet, challenging him to stop her. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Hal is waiting in the kitchen. I’ll go fetch him and we can head off. It took us hours to get here, and it’ll probably take us hours to get back, and I...’
‘And you...what?’
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘I just need to go now.’
‘By all means, although...’ he nodded towards the window ‘...you might want to reconsider that decision. If you look outside, you’ll find that the weather conditions that delayed your trip here are now considerably worse. Leave here and you’re liable to end up in a ditch by the side of the road somewhere. That’s the thing with these country lanes—they’re very picturesque in summer but positively lethal in winter when the weather decides to take a turn for the worse.’
Abigail paled and followed the direction of his gaze, then she anxiously went to the window and peered outside. The flakes were raining down fast and thick. Already, the extensive grounds of the country estate were carpeted in white. It was beautiful. It was also, she noted with sickening dismay, virtually impassable.
‘I can’t stay here. I have to get back!’
‘Feel free. But perhaps that should be a joint decision taken with your driver.’
‘You don’t understand! I have to get back to London tonight.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Leandro told her. ‘This snow is going to get worse before it gets better. You might be willing to put your life at risk in your desperate need to return to the city, but you have your driver to consider. Frankly, what you choose to do with your life is entirely your concern, but I won’t be responsible for any accident that might befall your driver. I will ensure that he is fed and settled into one of the guest suites for the night. By tomorrow, you will doubtless find that the driving conditions are improved.’
Abigail was close to tears but there was nothing she could do. ‘I can’t get a signal on my phone,’ she told him, defeated. ‘I need to make a call.’
Leandro didn’t say anything but he was thinking fast. A man? Not a husband, but a lover? Who else? And would that stop him? He wanted her, but was that want reciprocated?
He had one night, he thought with satisfaction, and one night should be more than enough to put this urge to bed once and for all. He would find out soon enough.
ABIGAIL HAD EXPECTED similar alarm from Hal about being trapped at Greyling Manor for the night—he was a family man with three young children—but he seemed pleased as punch not to be returning to London.
‘Treacherous roads,’ he said comfortably as he settled in front of the array of wildly extravagant food which had been laid on for them by Leandro’s housekeeper. ‘Wouldn’t want to risk driving on them, and besides, I haven’t been out of London in months.’
While he had tucked into the surplus party grub, with Julie nodding approvingly at his hearty appetite, Abigail toyed worriedly with her food. She had, at least, managed to get through to her friend Claire who was looking after Sam for the evening, and she had cheerfully agreed to stay until she returned.
‘I’ll be back no later than tomorrow lunchtime,’ Abigail had said sotto voce, for she had been directed to the landline and was petrified that Leandro might be lurking behind a door and overhearing her conversation. ‘I don’t care what the weather decides to do. There’s no way I can stay here.’
‘I know you miss Sam,’ her friend had said soothingly, ‘but it’s better for you to wait and travel back when it’s safe rather than risk life and limb. I promise to take very good care of the little guy!’
Abigail knew that her friend would. She had met Claire at the handful of antenatal classes they had attended together, and they had hit it off immediately. Both young, both single and both pregnant. Although, in Claire’s case, she had had a job at the local nursery. Thanks to Claire, Abigail had managed to get Sam registered and, much as she had hated leaving him there when he had only been four months old, she’d had to in order to work to keep the roof over both their heads. Knowing that Claire was there, looking after him every bit as thoroughly as she looked after her own son, had helped a lot. Just as Vanessa had given her a job when she had needed it most, so too had Claire chipped in and helped her with Sam when she’d needed it.
Claire had no idea where Abigail was and neither did she know why she so desperately needed to leave.
So far, she had inspected the weather a dozen times in the space of the past two hours.
There was some let up but not much. She had barely been able to touch a morsel of food and was only thankful that Leandro had disappeared into the bowels of the house. There was a slim chance that she wouldn’t see him again but she knew that that would make little difference to the onslaught of memories, heartache and misgivings that had risen to the surface, like debris washed ashore.
Of course you could never forget the past, but now the scab that had been formed had been picked apart to expose the barely healed wound underneath.
As Hal was shepherded up to his quarters, as happy as a privileged guest in a five-star hotel, Abigail remained in the kitchen with her cup of coffee, remembering the past she had tried to put behind her.
She could recall the very second she had looked up and seen Leandro standing in front of her, so unbelievably gorgeous that her mouth had run dry and every single thought had fled her head. In that split second, she had forgotten all about the job she had just failed to secure, the uncertain future staring her in the face, the last laugh her philandering, lecherous ex-boss had had at her expense by insinuating in his reference that she had been sacked for theft. She had turned down the pass he had made, had allowed her disgust to show and had paid the price.
She had been at rock bottom. Every single effort she had ever made to elevate herself and get away from a background that had been a slideshow of foster homes and indifferent adults had been for nothing.
Then she had felt a shadow, looked up and there he’d been, all big, brooding and heart-stoppingly gorgeous, and for the first time in her life Abigail had discovered the meaning of sexual chemistry.
She’d spent so many years playing down her looks, telling herself that she would never, ever allow anyone into her life because they wanted to have sex with her, and fending off unwanted advances from the age of thirteen, that she’d been quite unprepared to discover that sexual attraction had no time at all for pep talks and earnest lectures.
Indeed, sexual attraction hadn’t given a damn about her resolve never to leap into bed with a man who wanted her for her body and not much else. Her mother had been that woman before an overdose had ended her life. Abigail had known that she would never end up selling herself short like her mother had. Unfortunately, the power of that same sexual attraction she had had under tight control had refused to obey her ground rules. It had raced out of the box in which it had been contained with the gusto of a racehorse sprinting from the starting box.
Leandro hadn’t even beaten around the bush. He’d just said, conversationally, that it was nearly lunchtime and he knew a nice little Italian just round the corner. He had not bothered to wrap up what he’d wanted in fancy packaging. She’d bowled