The Spaniard's Pleasure: The Spaniard's Pregnancy Proposal / At the Spaniard's Convenience / Taken: the Spaniard's Virgin. Margaret Mayo
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but she didn’t want to go there—was nothing short of amazing.
‘If you lose all your money you’d make a very good life-guard.’
His incredible electric-blue eyes narrowed. ‘You’re still here,’ he said flatly.
It was always good, she thought wryly, to make an impression.
‘Where did you think I’d gone?’ The spasmodic clenching of the muscles along his strong jaw line was the only clue that he wasn’t quite as together as he looked. He really did have an incredible face, she thought with an inward sigh of appreciation as she admired bone structure that was simply sublime.
‘I suppose it’s difficult being a part-time father.’
‘I am not a part-time father.’
No but you are a total pain. Still, he was having a bad day. ‘When I was a kid, and I was mad with my parents, I used to fantasise that I was adopted.’
He turned his head; his blue eyes were flat and unfriendly as they fixed on her. ‘Is that meant to offer me comfort?’ The sardonic contempt in his cold smile made her feel totally stupid for caring.
She was totally stupid for caring.
‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,’ she promised grimly. ‘It’s none of my business that your daughter hates you.’
Perhaps he should smile at the girl more, Fleur thought, recalling that fleeting moment when she had been on the receiving end of his approval. A smile like that was a definite unfair advantage, a weapon. Which begged the question: why didn’t he use it instead of resorting to caustic comments and dark scowls?
‘I do not like people who interfere in my affairs.’
‘Then I’ll just have to learn to live without your love…a blow,’ she admitted, determined to establish herself as hard and uncaring. ‘But those, as they say, are the breaks.’
He ignored her sarcasm and studied her face for a moment. Then to her surprise some of the hauteur died from his expression. ‘Just keep out of my head, little girl.’
‘Believe me, it’s one of the last places I would want to go.’
One side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile. ‘You look cold.’
And you look almost human. ‘I thought you’d never notice.’ Fleur clenched her chattering teeth and wished she shared his indifference to the cold. ‘The blue tinge is the clue.’ Just how cold did you have to get before hypothermia set in?
‘I must get to the hospital to be with Tamara.’ He slid her an assessing look. ‘If you can keep up with me someone will get you dry things and give you a ride home. Or if you prefer I will have the Range Rover sent back for you.’
‘I can keep up. And so can he,’ she said, nodding to the dog who sat curled up at his feet.
Antonio looked openly sceptical of her claim. ‘Well, if you can’t don’t expect me to wait for you,’ he warned.
Fleur smiled as though a hike in wet clothes was just the sort of challenge she enjoyed on her birthday. ‘And I won’t wait for you,’ she promised.
She soon discovered that he had really meant it when he had said he wasn’t making any concessions. Fleur had to quite literally jog to keep up with him. Five minutes later when the lights of the Grange came into view she was panting.
As the house was hidden from the public road down a mile-long private drive this was the first time she had seen it. It was not what she had expected.
‘I thought it would be older.’ The sprawling building she was looking at was large and impressive, but it didn’t seem especially ancient.
‘The original house dated back to the fifteenth century; it burnt down at the turn of the century. All that’s left of the old house are the cellars. The present house was commissioned by my mother’s grandfather,’ Antonio explained as he waited with obvious impatience for her to negotiate a rocky outcrop.
Fleur fell behind as he covered the last hundred metres and by the time she walked through the impressive front door Antonio was already running up the curved staircase that dominated the entrance hall.
It was all a bit of a blur. There were lights everywhere, he was yelling in two languages and people were scurrying.
A middle-aged woman urged Fleur towards the sweeping staircase and said with a smile, ‘I’ll be right with you.’
A very short time later Fleur was still standing there in the echoey yet thankfully warm hallway when Antonio reappeared, rubbing his wet sable hair with a towel. He had obviously dressed in a hurry—the leather belt of his jeans was unfastened and his shirt hung open.
She swallowed, her eyes drawn irresistibly to the exposed golden flesh. Averting her eyes quickly—but not quickly enough to prevent her stomach muscles from going crazy—she cleared her throat.
He noticed her, frowned, and then looked annoyed. ‘Why has no one attended to you?’
‘I expect they were busy.’ Busy responding to the steady stream of instructions he had issued as he had athletically bounded up the stairs.
‘Busy…?’ he repeated with a displeased frown. ‘This is totally unacceptable…’ He looked around the deserted hallway and raised his voice.
‘Mrs Saunders!’
Great projection. Great voice too, if you like husky velvet with that sexy foreign inflection and, let’s face it, who wouldn’t? Her restless gaze returned of its own volition to his taut belly ridged by muscle and textured with a light sprinkling of dark hair. She swallowed as a lustful lick of heat warmed the centre of her chilled body—actually great everything!
‘Mrs Saunders!’
‘My God, I’m glad I don’t work for you.’ Especially if he made a habit of walking around semi-clothed, she thought, studying the painting above his head.
He turned his head and gave a sardonic smile. ‘On this subject we are in total agreement.’
‘Look, you go,’ she encouraged. Or at least put on some more clothes. ‘There’s absolutely no point hanging around. All I need is a dry set of clothes and my dog back, if that is possible,’ she added, directing a wry glance towards the animal at his feet. ‘Traitor,’ she inserted reproachfully as she shook her head.
She was going to have to have a quiet word with that faithless hound and explain the facts of life to him. Antonio Rochas wouldn’t look twice at a dog without a pedigree any more than he would look twice at a woman who lacked catwalk good looks. For people like him appearances were everything. The sudden realisation that she was displaying the exact characteristics she was condemning him for drew a husky laugh from her throat.
Covering her mouth with her hand, she looked up and found he was watching her.
‘It’s nothing,’ she provided. ‘I was just thinking…’
‘Happy thoughts, it would seem.’
‘Not exactly. Look, why don’t you just get along to the hospital? I’ll be fine. I hope your daughter makes a full recovery.’ Hopefully her nervous system would do the same once he was safely out of the way.
Antonio inclined his head in response and was actually turning away when he froze. Inexplicably he appeared to be studying the floor.
Under his tan he had gone pale.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, looking at her incredulously. ‘You’re standing in a pool of blood.’
Chapter Five
‘NOT a pool,’ Fleur protested the exaggeration. ‘And it’s mostly water,’ she promised with a rueful glance