The Balfour Legacy. Кэрол Мортимер
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said slowly.
Carlos nodded and continued to stroke her hair, careful not to say anything in case he halted her flow.
‘We were happy there. And then my mother had to take my sisters back to England, back to boarding school, the way she always did. And one night…’ Her voice began to shake again. ‘One night, while I was asleep…b-burglars b-broke into the house. There was nothing much to steal, but Victor challenged them. There was…there was a fight. I woke up and heard voices shouting, and then…then…’
This time he did prompt her even though he could feel the frozen fear in her body. ‘Then?’
‘I heard a gun go off!’ she blurted out. ‘I was so frightened that I just lay there. I was terrified that they were going to come upstairs and shoot me.’ For a moment she said nothing, her breathing shallow and rapid as she relived that night of violence.
‘That’s why you don’t like fireworks,’ said Carlos slowly, as he remembered her brief moment of fear in the boat.
Kat nodded.
‘So what happened next?’ he questioned softly.
She swallowed. ‘I crept downstairs—to see the burglars fleeing. And that’s when I found Victor. He’d been shot…’ She swallowed, trying and failing to quell the pain of that awful memory. ‘There was blood…everywhere.’
Carlos stilled. ‘And?’
‘He…he died.’ She sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘He died right there, in my arms.’
The hand which was at her back stilled, and instinctively he pulled her closer. Her hair brushed against him and he was fleetingly aware of its softness. ‘He died?’
‘Yes!’ she sobbed.
‘How old were you?’
‘Ten.’
Ten. A child. An innocent, sheltered child. Beneath his breath, Carlos let free a flow of some of the more colourful curses he had learnt during his own chequered upbringing. He felt rage. More than rage—a sudden and unwanted sense of identification with her, because hadn’t the trust of his own childhood been destroyed by the greed and violence of adults?
‘A long time ago,’ he said.
‘Thirteen years.’
Was she really twenty-two? Hadn’t he somehow thought that she was a couple of years younger than that? And hadn’t it suited him to think that? To add her relative youth to the list of reasons why he shouldn’t want her? But now that was forgotten as he found himself wanting to comfort her—she, a woman he had never imagined would need anything as basic as comfort.
‘How often do you get this nightmare?’ he demanded.
‘Depends. When I hear fireworks. Sometimes a film can spark it off. Sometimes often, sometimes not.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s random.’
Carlos nodded, and something about her listless body language made him want to reach out and take something of her pain away. ‘You know, we’re all products of our past, Princes a,’ he said softly. ‘And yours has been more tainted than most. But there are parts of it you have to let go. You have to, if you’re going to live any kind of meaningful life.’
People had said it to her before, many times—but she had stubbornly refused to believe it. Yet when Carlos said it, the oddest sensation began to creep over her and Kat started to think that maybe he was right. That it was true. Was that because he’d never spoken anything to her but the stark truth, no matter how painful that could sometimes be? Or just because he seemed so confident and brash about life, so strong and powerful?
‘I know I do,’ she answered. ‘It’s just easier said than done.’ She forced a note of lightness into her voice, wanting to dispel the heavy mood which seemed to have settled over them. She looked up at him. ‘Any tips on how to go about it?’
He wished that the light scent she was wearing would not invade his senses with quite such unerring provocation. Or that her hair didn’t feel like liquid silk spilling over his fingers. ‘You have to tell yourself that you’re more than a product of what happened to you,’ he told her fiercely. ‘Otherwise, it’s like letting the perpetrators of the crime win. Like allowing them to claim two victims, instead of only one. And you have to start believing that, as of now. Right now.’ With the tip of one finger he tilted her chin upwards and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Do you think you can do that?’
Kat thought how astonishing it was that he could quickly turn from sexy tyrant into a man of rare understanding—and yet didn’t that make her want him even more? ‘I’ll try.’
‘Good.’
But despite her tentative word of resolution, he could still feel the faint trembling of her body. Clearly, she was in some kind of reactive shock to the bad dream and had then relived it by telling him about it. And she was still locked in his embrace too. Carlos shifted slightly. It felt almost comfortable to have her leaning on him like that. A little too comfortable.
Suddenly, he let her go, pushing her back gently against the pillows, hardening his heart against the startled question in her eyes even as his body instinctively hardened to the soft promise in hers. ‘Get back underneath the blankets,’ he informed her tersely. ‘You need to sleep.’
Sleep? It seemed as distant a possibility as dry land at that moment. And he had left behind an aching void. All Kat knew was that, without him, she felt cold and frightened again. Once more she bit her lip as a faint memory of the nightmare whispered over her skin and her eyes locked with his in terrified question. ‘Where are you going?’
Where the hell did she think he was going? ‘Back to bed.’
‘Don’t…’ She swallowed, hardly daring to formulate the question, not wanting to open herself up to rejection once again. But Kat was not asking him to make love to her—she just wanted his presence to reassure her. To stay until the dream became a distant memory. ‘Please don’t go,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet. I’m…’
‘What?’
‘Scared.’
Carlos swallowed. Her slender limbs were splayed like a colt’s and the ebony fall of her hair was spilling onto the pillow like dark satin. Reaching out, he clicked on the bedside lamp in the hope that extra light might dispel some of the unbearable intimacy of the setting. But it was a vain hope, because now she was bathed in a soft, apricot light which made her skin look completely edible.
How could he resist such a heartfelt plea—but what the hell was she asking of him? That he endure a temptation which was fast becoming unendurable? Staying close to the enticement of her body when his own was crying out to touch it?
Yet hadn’t he always been the master of control in so many areas of his life before now? And surely this could be just another opportunity to prove his own inner strength and determination.
‘Okay,’ he bit out, and lay down beside her as gingerly as a man might lie beside a snake. ‘I will stay, but only for a while. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Instinct told him that it was pointless to leave her trembling on the other side of the big bed, and he intended the arm he reluctantly put round her shoulder to be nothing more than comforting as he pulled her close. A cuddle—even though, as a rule, he didn’t do cuddling.
And he soon saw why. He had been a damn fool to minimise the sensual impact of her slender body, despite the fact that it was covered with those rather prudish pyjamas. Or maybe that was what added to her allure. He’d never been to bed with a woman wearing pyjamas before. Come to think of it, he’d never been to bed with a woman and just lain there with a chaste arm around her shoulder either.
Kat snuggled against him, loving the way his fingers were now idly playing with her hair. Loving the solid reassurance of his powerful physique and