The Spaniard's Summer Seduction: Under the Spaniard's Lock and Key / The Secret Spanish Love-Child / Surrender to Her Spanish Husband. Maggie Cox
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criticism in his manner. She refused point-blank to allow him to make her feel guilty for a spontaneous peck on the cheek, it had just been innocent fun and even if it hadn’t been it was none of his business!
It wasn’t as if he had wanted to dance with her. Now that, she admitted, would have been a very different experience and not nearly so innocent.
‘That’s because I’m utterly irresistible, a real man-eater.’
Rafael said something that drew a laugh from the young man who caught Maggie’s hand, bowed low over it and brushed it with his lips. Then with a grin and a display of youthful exuberance he ran off to be clapped on the shoulder by his friends before claiming his next partner.
Antipathy shone in Maggie’s eyes as she took her seat next to Rafael. Choosing water rather than wine, she filled her glass from one of the jugs on the table.
He raised a brow at her choice and taunted lightly, ‘The vintage not to your palate?’ The locally made wine, thanks to some clever marketing, had actually started to appear on a number of high-end restaurant wine lists, and his investment in the new winery that many had considered wasteful had not only already paid for itself but brought jobs to an area where young people were often forced to leave in order to find work.
‘You’re not drinking,’ Maggie observed, unwilling to admit she had no head for alcohol—a sniff of a wine gum made her tipsy.
‘I’m driving.’
The reminder made her frown. ‘What time is it?’
He extended his arm towards her; his sleeve was rolled up to the elbow. Maggie stared for a moment, her throat dry and her heart pounding as she struggled to resist the impulse to run her fingers over the hair that lightly dusted his sinewed golden forearm.
Her voice was husky as she read the time on the metal-banded watch that circled his wrist out loud.
‘It’s a long way back,’ she fretted.
Rafael watched as she nibbled gently at the pouting curve of her full lower lip. This had never been about seduction…but he found himself wanting her more than he had wanted a woman in a very long time.
‘Don’t look so worried—I am a man who believes that a woman is allowed to change her mind.’ This was an attitude that had rarely been tested.
The colour flew to Maggie’s cheeks. ‘About what?’
He just laughed. ‘It’s fine if you have second thoughts,’ he observed not in reality feeling at all fine as he looked at her lovely mouth. His glance slid lower to the outline of her lush breasts beneath the fine fabric of her top, and he felt even less fine.
He felt hungry.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved by his take-it-or-leave-it attitude or insulted.
Had she changed her mind?
Did she have a mind? Now the initial defiant mood had ebbed, allowing herself to be picked up by a total stranger had started to seem less spontaneous and more criminally reckless.
And if she felt this way when the music was playing and the moon was shining how was she going to feel in the morning? she asked herself.
There had to be a less dramatic way to shake her sensible girl image. Next time she would settle for something tamer, like a motorbike or tattoos.
‘I will make sure you get safely back.’ Maggie’s eyes connected with his and her stomach went into a lurching dive. There was nothing safe about the glow in his smoky eyes. ‘But what,’ he asked, tilting his chair back to avoid a collision with some passing dancers, ‘is the hurry?’
Enrique called out and winked at her as he whirled his new partner past.
‘What did you say to him before?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Were you talking about me?’
‘I simply translated.’
Maggie replayed the conversation and her eyes widened in dismay. ‘You didn’t!’
One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. ‘Actually I gave him a modified version—I told him that you eat little boys like him for breakfast.’
‘What if he thought you were serious?’ she charged.
His eyes dropped and Maggie was shocked and embarrassed to feel her body respond to the slow, insolent sweep of his densely lashed eyes.
‘What makes you think I was not serious?’ he countered. His voice lowered a husky octave as he leaned into her and observed softly, ‘You are a very desirable woman.’
Tongue-tied and blushing, she looked away, unable to come up with a smart remark to diffuse the fizz of sexual tension.
Did she want to diffuse it?
A thoughtful expression drifted across his lean predatory features as Rafael watched her plunge into a state of delicious blushing confusion. Rather than exploiting her sexuality, she seemed shocked by any reference to it.
‘I think maybe I will have some more to eat.’ Not looking at him, Maggie picked up her plate.
As she hurried across the grass towards the long trestle table loaded with food she bit her lip to repress a groan. So much for the new improved sexy me—I must have looked like a scared rabbit! What must he think of me?
Unable to stop herself, she glanced back over her shoulder and it became clear he wasn’t thinking of her at all. Her place had been taken by a pretty woman in a low-cut blouse who as Maggie watched threw back her head and laughed, her uninhibited spontaneity a striking contrast to Maggie’s own stilted self-consciousness.
She felt a stab of something that was obviously not jealousy but was nonetheless unpleasant. It was strange. She was not normally so self-conscious; it was just something about Rafael… Something? Who was she kidding? It was everything about Rafael!
The fact was she had never been attracted to a man this way in her life before. It wasn’t just the fact he was incredibly handsome, which he was, it was more…his earthy sensuality… She shook her head, frustrated by her inability to analyse what it was about him.
Maybe it was not possible to analyse; maybe she just had to accept that looking at his mouth made her ache.
One minute she was thinking about his carnal perfect mouth and the things she was shocked to realise she would have liked him to do to her with it and the next she was running.
Later, when she tried to work out the exact sequence of events they remained a confused jumble. In each reconstruction her shocking, shameful thoughts somehow mixed up with the sense of panic and urgency that she reacted to instinctively.
She was never even sure why she had glanced towards a pile of recently sawn timber—perhaps movement caught her eye? She actually looked away, barely registering it as her attention drifted to the children playing a hundred yards or so away.
Then a low rumble just audible above the sounds of merriment made her turn her head again. She froze, paralysed with horror as she saw the stack of felled trees begin to move… Like a house of cards they slipped, fell and began to roll down the steep incline.
Straight towards the group of playing children.
The plate slipped from her fingers. She was told later she yelled—that was what caught the attention of the others who set off in her wake—but she had no memory of that. She just remembered running, praying and the sound of her laboured breathing loud in her ears as she raced towards the children.
By the time she reached them the older ones, alerted by cries, had already started moving, running out of the path of the approaching danger. Some were crying, but the sound was lost in the general pandemonium.
Maggie bent and scooped up two of the smaller children sprinting to the safety of higher ground before depositing them in the arms of women standing, shocked, watching, and she went back, passing men running in the opposite direction