At The Spaniard's Pleasure. Jacqueline Baird
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‘Good-looking, is she?’
‘Certainly no hardship,’ Nick joked back. ‘Speak to you later.’ And he cut the connection, his face as black as thunder.
Striding into the living room, he poured a large measure of whisky into a crystal glass, raised it to his mouth and took a long, fiery drink.
But still a cold knot formed in Nick’s belly. Liza Summers; he was not sure if she was guilty or not. The child he had known had been embarrassingly honest. But the beautiful, sophisticated woman of twenty-five she had become… That was a different question. It was perfectly possible she lived by her wits and stunning looks, and her job was just a cover for stealing. On the other hand she could be completely innocent, and, as she had implied, simply following her boss’s orders…
He knew he had to question her tonight about Henry Brown, and he also knew he should instruct his people to look into the state of her finances, but somehow he could not bring himself to do it. Maybe because he still held cherished memories of the child she had been.
Nick snorted in disgust and spun round. Who the hell was he kidding? He had taken one look at Liza today, and his body had reacted like a teenager. He had kept her out of the way all day for her own sake, and his if he was honest. Carl would have quite happily had her arrested this morning. Liza was beautiful, granted, but then all Nick’s women were beautiful, and he had never felt the slightest need to protect them. So why Liza Summers?
He could tell himself it was for her mother’s sake, to avoid the embarrassment a court case would cause, but that was only part of his reasoning. There was no point in pretending; along with surely every man on the planet, he wanted Liza for himself. He had walked around all day in a semi-permanent state of arousal, and he ached with frustration. Right at this moment he would not care if Liza was the biggest thief in Christendom, if he could get her in his bed.
There, he had admitted it. Nick scowled as he lifted the glass in his hand to his mouth again and drained the whisky from it then slammed it down on a convenient table.
Now, get over it…he told himself and walked out of the house, his aristocratic features as hard as granite and his heavy-lidded eyes equally as stony as he slid into the waiting car.
Three hours later, rested and showered, Liza walked back into her bedroom and surveyed the clothes she had brought with her. Excitement and anticipation bubbled in her veins like the finest champagne. She tried to keep a lid on her emotions, but it was difficult, for the first time in years, she was really looking forward to going out with a man. She fantasised in her mind how the night would progress—a candlelit meal somewhere romantic, with a deep conversation verging on the intimate, a few gentle caresses and at evening’s end perhaps a kiss, or even more…
She shivered delectably, and took a fourth outfit from the wardrobe. Nick was attracted to her, she knew it, and for once she allowed herself to think of a relationship with a man—not just any man, but Nick Menendez.
He had explained why he had yelled at her at sixteen, it was simply because of her age, and she could understand that even though she did not agree with his chauvinistic attitude. But now he saw her as a mature, sophisticated woman, and he was interested. She had seen it in his eyes, in his touch, and this time she was going to take the chance, and to pot with the consequences. Who knew, she thought optimistically, this could be the start of something big…?
Liza finally settled on a sleeveless, figure-hugging black jersey-silk dress. She slipped it over her shoulders; the bodice crossed over between her breasts and tied around her narrow waist, the wrap-around skirt ending a couple of inches above her knees. But, mindful the nights could be chilly, she added a pashmina shawl in silver-grey.
She left her long hair loose and straight, and with the addition of one more coat of lip-gloss she was ready. She stood back from the mirror. Not bad, she thought, and slipped her feet into high-heeled sandals. She was reaching for her clutch bag when the telephone rang.
It was Reception to say a Niculoso Menendez had arrived. Her heart did a funny little jig in her chest, and, taking a deep breath, she closed the door behind her and crossed to the elevator, her blue eyes sparkling with excited anticipation at the evening ahead.
Liza walked out of the elevator, and saw him immediately. He was leaning against the reception desk, laughing at something the attractive receptionist had said to him. To her surprise she felt a swift stab of something very like jealousy, and just as quickly a stomach-curling pleasure as he turned and saw her.
His firm lips parted over gleaming white teeth in a slow, sensual smile. Liza had thought he looked great in jeans, but, dressed with unexpected severity in a superbly tailored dark suit with a white shirt and plain dark tie, the man possessed a lethal, predatory aura, a supreme confidence in his masculinity that made every fine hair on her skin stand erect.
She couldn’t help it; she watched with total fascination as his big, powerfully muscled body moved towards her with a lithe arrogance that made her pulse race with excitement.
He stopped an arm’s length away, and Liza swallowed hard. So the man was incredibly handsome, sinfully sexy, and her insides felt as if they were dissolving but it was only a chemical reaction, just lust, she told herself, plain and simple. She was no longer the adoring child who hung on to his every word, but a successful career woman. Involuntarily Liza straightened her shoulders, and stood a little taller. She could handle a date with Nick, and without having a fit of the vapours, she scolded herself, and tilted her chin assertively.
‘Nick, so sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘You are worth any wait, Liza,’ Nick opined throatily. His dark eyes travelled over her from her hair, her face, lower to linger on her cleavage, revealed by the neckline of her dress, and down over her body and her long, shapely legs to her feet, then back to her face. ‘You look stunning.’ His eyes, gleaming with all-male appreciation, caught and held hers.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her breath lodged in her throat as she dragged her gaze away from his, and asked in a desperate attempt to free herself from the electrifying sensations he aroused in her and be her usual assertive self, ‘I don’t know where you planned on eating, but I thought, seeing as you showed me around today, perhaps you would like to be my guest for dinner, in the hotel.’
His firm lips quirked in a crooked smile. ‘Call me old-fashioned,’ he reached out and cupped her elbow with his hand, ‘but when I ask a lady out to dine I make the arrangements, and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed,’ he said, amusement colouring his tone, and, dropping his hand from her elbow to circle her waist, he held her to his side and turned towards the exit, taking control.
He felt her slender body tremble and stiffen and glanced knowingly down at her. ‘I thought we could eat at my villa if you have no objection. Plus you will be doing me a big favour, as my housekeeper loves to cook but I very rarely have any guests to dine when I am here.’
Liza flicked him a bright if strained smile; being held close to his hard body was playing havoc with the cool sophistication she wanted to display. ‘Your place is fine,’ she agreed. ‘So long as the food is not cooked over a volcano like lunch,’ she tried to joke. ‘It could be dangerous.’
‘Good.’ Nick dropped his hand and stood back to let her through the foyer door. Nowhere near as dangerous as sharing a suite with your boss, he thought sardonically as he immediately followed her out. The very obliging receptionist had quite happily given him the information. He reached an arm around her shoulders and led her to where the car waited at the kerb, and if his grip was a little hard he had good reason.
Liza felt the touch of his fingers, and repressed a sensual shiver. Nick was a very tactile man, and it was playing hell with her hormones, she thought as a wave of heat scorched her face, but that was all it was—sexual attraction—on her part. That was all it could be, a simple feminine reaction to his raw masculine sexuality. ‘No Jeep tonight,’ she commented, striving for lightness as they crossed the pavement.
‘No,’ Nick said shortly.
Then she noticed a man get out of the car and grin