Immortal Billionaire. Jane Godman
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relieved to note, was considerably less threatening to look at than Lucinda. Connie judged her to be a couple years older than herself and she had a chatty manner and bright eyes that missed nothing. Ellie explained she was a New Yorker, born and bred. She was also unmarried.
Jonathan was her older brother. Tall and handsome, with dark hair and penetrating green eyes, he was quiet to the point of taciturnity. Ellie informed Connie that he worked for a firm of accountants, but he was also an aspiring author. Jonathan, who seemed annoyed his sister had shared this personal information with a complete stranger, moved away to look at the view out the window.
“The news of the moment is that Sylvester will be joining us anytime now.” Ellie clearly had no idea of the heart-dropping effect those words had on Connie.
A light step outside was the signal they had all been listening for. A laughing, masculine voice responded to something Vega was saying and then Sylvester stepped into the room. He paused on the doorstep, those brilliant eyes scanning the company.
Connie willed herself to remain outwardly calm, despite the fact her heartbeat was thundering in her ears. Thinking fast, she placed her glass on a nearby side table so no one would notice and comment on the sudden trembling of her hands.
Sylvester’s eyes seemed to linger on each face. Except hers. He didn’t even glance in Connie’s direction. Yet she knew, just knew with a certainty that branded itself into her heart, that he was as intensely aware of her as she was of him. You can’t possibly know that. She tried to force her rational self to take over, to stop this nonsense now. You are trying to make this into something it’s not. It was no good. Whatever this force was that existed between her and Sylvester, the very air between them shimmered with the ferocity of it.
“What sort of dreadful host arrives after his guests have assembled? I do hope you’ll forgive me.” Sylvester’s easy charm was legendary. Up close, it was devastating. In an instant the whole room was his to command. Connie was immediately aware of the strangeness of the phrase. Why would he want the sort of power that allows him to command us? It was a long time since she’d drunk alcohol and a few sips of Guthrie’s potent rum punch were clearly sending her imagination into overdrive. Water for you from now on, my girl. If only she could do something about the equally forceful impact of Sylvester’s presence. “Vega tells me dinner is ready.”
He led them into a long, hacienda-style dining room. The arched, full-length windows were open onto the terrace, allowing them views over the beach. A light breeze wafted the mingled scents of mimosa flowers, citrus and the tang of the sea into the room. Connie couldn’t help contrasting this elegant scene with years of eating takeaway meals, or sometimes nothing at all, alone in a meager room, while planning her next one-step-ahead-of-the-madman journey. Would she take luxury and tension over poverty and terror? She almost laughed aloud at the stupidity of her own question.
Sylvester took his place at the head of the table and immediately started a conversation about sailing with Ellie, who was on his right. Lucinda was quick to claim the seat on his left. Connie moved to a chair as far away from Sylvester as possible. She was glad to look up and receive an encouraging smile from Matt as he slid into the seat opposite her.
Guthrie was next to Connie, and she was surprised to learn he and Lucinda were twins. She wondered why on earth he allowed himself to be bullied by her and supposed it must be a habit that had started in the womb.
Vega’s food was delicious. Made with fresh ingredients, each dish was well cooked and plentiful. For Connie, who had spent plenty of time wondering where her next meal was coming from, it was heavenly. As she ate, Connie found her ears tuning out Guthrie’s comments and listening, almost with a will of their own, to the conversation going on beyond him at the head of the table.
“Whatever have you done to your hand?” Ellie asked as Sylvester struggled to cut his food.
“Didn’t you hear?” Lucinda cut in before Sylvester could speak. “Cousin Sylvester was so shocked by the appearance of some of our little group that he crushed his wineglass in his hand.”
Connie risked a glance at Sylvester’s face. It was impassive, but there was a flash of something in those blue eyes that might have been anger. He turned to Ellie. “Lucinda is joking, of course. I have nothing to blame for my injury other than my own clumsiness.” His voice was dismissive and Connie got the distinct impression he was making an effort not to look in her direction as he spoke. Perhaps he was able to convince himself that what he said was true. She knew better, and so did everyone else who had been present at the time.
Determinedly, Connie turned back to Guthrie. She had made a pact with herself to keep her distance from Sylvester. She should probably include eavesdropping on his conversation as part of the deal. Not an easy task in a group as small as this one.
Once he was free of Lucinda’s tight rein, Guthrie proved to be surprisingly good company. He kept Connie entertained with a steady stream of anecdotes about his job as a junior manager in a convenience store chain.
His life appeared to lurch from one comical episode to another. Although he was at pains to let Connie know how invaluable he was to his company, reading between the lines she speculated about how competent he actually was. An alarming number of unfortunate incidents seemed to occur in his working life. She decided Guthrie was one of those people for whom it was always somebody else’s problem or somebody else’s fault. He consumed a remarkable amount of alcohol during the course of the meal and Connie couldn’t help wondering how much of a contribution drink made to the mishaps that befell him.
It was during the main course of Spanish-style chicken and rice that Connie’s attention, along with that of everyone else at the table, was drawn back to Sylvester as Lucinda began to question him about the history of the island.
“The word Corazón means heart in Spanish, of course.” Lucinda’s penetrating voice carried around the room. “And the island is well known for its heart-shaped coastline. So I assume that is where the name came from?”
“You assume wrong.” Although Sylvester’s tone was softer, his words were equally compelling. Other conversations stopped as they all turned to look at him. “The island’s full name is Corazón de Malicia. It means ‘malevolent heart’ or ‘heart of malice.’”
“But that’s nowhere near as pretty.” Lucinda pouted. “In fact, it makes it sound quite nasty.”
“That’s because the story of how the island came by its name is nasty.” Sylvester paused, taking a sip from his glass.
As though drawn by a force beyond his will, he looked directly at Connie for the first time since he had entered the room. And nothing else mattered. The people around them faded into insignificance. Time stilled. In that instant she could sense his feelings as clearly as she knew her own. There was no doubt in her mind. She knew his reaction on the beach had not been about the scars on her neck. This was something deeper and darker, and it was inside them both. Neither of them wanted it, yet at the same time it was unavoidable. They could be silent and reserved, avoid each other’s gaze and pretend, but when their eyes did meet—as they met now—there was no hiding place for either of them. Connie didn’t try to understand what was going on; all she knew was that when she gazed into Sylvester’s eyes her heart leaped with a combination of joy, fear and something older and unfathomable. And she never wanted to look anywhere else.
“Well, you can’t say that and then not explain!” Lucinda’s indignant exclamation had the effect of rousing Sylvester from his trance.
Connie caught a brief flash of regret in his eyes as he withdrew them from hers. Then a slightly mischievous smile touched his lips as he turned to Lucinda. “Very well, but it’s a strange tale and an old one. I can’t vouch for its truthfulness. It concerns an ancestor of mine, one Máximo Silvestre de León y Soledad.”
“Are you named after him?” Ellie asked.
The smile deepened. “Of course. The name was handed down through the generations...and Americanized in the process, of course. Máximo was the founder of our great family.”
“And