Christmas Kisses: The Spanish Billionaire's Christmas Bride / Christmas Bride-To-Be / Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses. Alison Roberts
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CHAPTER EIGHT
AT THE restaurant they sat outside, like many other diners, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the stunning views of the mountains in the distance. Viewed from a stranger’s perspective, Dominique was sure she blended in perfectly with everybody else … a tourist, perhaps, having a relaxing lunch with a handsome friend, husband … or lover … She flinched at that last too disturbing possibility. Yes, outside she might appear to be calm and at ease, but inside … inside she was in utter turmoil.
The gift of the stunning sapphire shawl from Cristiano had all but undone her. So had the comment he had made about her eyes. Coupled with his deeply stirring kiss last night, she barely knew what to do with the wildly impossible thoughts she was having.
‘You are not eating.’
Glancing up, she tumbled headlong into the compelling velvet darkness of Cristiano’s searching gaze. ‘I’m just trying to take it all in … the beautiful day … that breathtaking view of the mountains … the fact that I’m here in Spain and Matilde has been reunited with a grandmother who loves her. I might have to pinch myself to check that I’m not dreaming!’
‘So … you are happy?’ A corner of his beautiful mouth quirked upwards into his smooth-shaven cheek. ‘Happier at least than when you were in England on your own?’
‘I won’t pretend it wasn’t tough. Being a single mother is hard enough, but to be honest I think there’s a conspiracy of silence about raising children amongst those who have them! Because it’s viewed as such an everyday event it’s assumed it should be somehow easy, when actually it’s probably one of the hardest things a human being could ever do!’
‘But you do not regret having Matilde?’
‘Never! How could I? She’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me! I’d die if anything happened to her!’
‘Well …’ Raising his wine glass to his lips, Cristiano’s tanned brow creased thoughtfully. ‘One day you will meet a good man, get married, and she will have the father she deserves.’
Why did his comment not cheer her in the way he obviously meant it to? Dominique reflected dolefully.
Of course she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life raising her daughter on her own, but after Ramón’s desertion thinking about meeting someone else was the furthest thing from her mind. Yet when she was with Cristiano she sensed herself becoming more and more entranced by him. And seeing the way he was with his family—so caring and protective—and how he was so natural with a small infant like Matilde, didn’t help her vow to keep her distance for fear of future hurt—but something told her it was already too late for that anyway …
‘That will not be for a long time yet, I’m sure.’ Laying her fork down beside her plate, she touched her napkin to her lips, inexplicably feeling her heart race.
‘You are not the kind of woman who should be alone, Dominique.’
‘What makes you say that? I’ve been managing all these years on my own, more or less!’
‘But that does not mean you have to continue managing on your own.’
‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ It was hard not to react defensively when Cristiano was touching upon the one issue that never made her feel very good. ‘Relationships are unfortunately my Achilles’ Heel, and that’s just the way it is! No matter how hard I try, I’m just no good at them!’
‘Be careful that doesn’t become a self-fulfilling prophecy,’ Cristiano warned darkly, his expression without humour.
Why did Dominique get the curious feeling he was not just talking about her? What was his story? she mused silently. Why wasn’t an amazing man like him married, with at least half a dozen kids to dote on? He was clearly devoted to family, and appeared to genuinely love children. Yet there was something behind those fascinating eyes of his that Dominique had glimpsed once or twice that bothered her … something that suggested he had been badly wounded by someone too …
‘This is really very good,’ she said, digging her fork into the fragrant rice dish in front of her, knowing she was deliberately trying to deflect further discussion about a topic that caused her more grief than any other. ‘Though it’s hard to concentrate on food with the fantastic view.’
‘Yes,’ Cristiano agreed, his steady gaze lingering long on Dominique’s face. ‘The view is … rather compelling …’
Later that evening Dominique found herself in the library. She had mentioned to Luisa that she had forgotten to bring a book to read, and the older woman had kindly brought her to this magnificent repository of books of all kinds—many, as she had proudly told Dominique, in English. Her husband had been a great reader, and so was Cristiano, and he often brought books back with him from his travels. After Luisa had left her to go and help prepare the evening meal, and while Matilde was under the protective wing of her grandmother in the sitting room, it was really pleasant for Dominique to have some time in which to relax on her own for a little while.
As she scanned the generously filled bookshelves, she was inadvertently distracted by a group of photographs that hung on the wall. Her interest piqued, she found herself gravitating there to inspect them more closely. But before she could do so the library door opened behind her, and the man she seemed to spend an ever-increasing amount of time trying not to think about entered the room. He was dressed casually but smartly, in another elegant white shirt teamed with black trousers tailored to perfection, and his dark hair looked glossily damp in the light that shone from the hall behind him. Dominique realised he must have recently showered for dinner.
Without saying anything, he shut the door behind him and slowly came into the room to join her. She sucked in a breath. When he was just inches away from her, he spoke. ‘My mother told me I would find you in here. I do not mean to intrude upon your privacy, but I thought you might like some help navigating what we have. Tell me what kind of books you like and I will point you in the right direction.’
‘Oh … I like all kinds of books. Biographies, novels, history … Do you have anything about the region where you live?’
Dominique’s tongue briefly stole out to wet her suddenly dry lips. Cristiano was standing way too close … She could barely remember her own name, let alone expound on what kind of books she liked reading when he stood so near!
‘Sí.’ He shrugged those wide shoulders of his as though her answer amused him. ‘Of course. We have many books on that subject. We have a fascinating history, as I am sure you can tell just by glancing at the architecture around you. But you surprise me, Dominique. I would have thought you were more in the mood for a novel of some kind. A Christmas Carol, perhaps, bearing in mind the season we are in?’
‘Dickens is a wonderful writer, but honestly I don’t think I have the concentration for a novel right now. My mind is all over the place!’
‘Oh?’ His gaze was seemingly transfixed on her lips, and Dominique froze. ‘Why is that?’
‘Wh-why?’
‘I see that you are wearing the shawl I bought you,’ he commented.
Disturbingly, he moved closer. So close that she could see every minute detail of his arrestingly attractive face in sharp focus—from the coal-black sweep of his long lashes to the darker shadow of beard grazing his hard, lean jaw, with that Cordova dimple in the chin that Matilde had so charmingly inherited. She was startlingly aware too of the exotic tang of his aftershave which, combined with the seductive male heat he emanated, was putting her senses under extreme intoxicating duress. Dominique had no will to tear her gaze away for even a second.
‘I was right. It perfectly matches the colour of your eyes.’
‘It does? Well, I—’
She was stunned into silence when Cristiano placed his hands either side of her face,