8 Magnificent Millionaires. Cathy Williams
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sick of that word. You’re not fine.’
‘All right. I had a nightmare.’
‘A nightmare?’ He turned away. ‘You cried out, and I was worried about you—’
Her face went bright red, as if it was she who was in the wrong.
‘You don’t need to worry about me.’
He was amazed to see how quickly she could recover her composure. Then he remembered that she was used to covering up the truth.
‘As I told you, Rico. There’s really nothing to worry about.’
‘How long are you going to lie to me about this, Zoë?’
There was a long silence, and then she said, ‘I don’t know what makes you say that.’
‘I heard you this time. I heard you cry out. And then, as I came into your room, I heard what you said.’
She covered her face with her hands, but he couldn’t let it rest now. ‘Don’t,’ he said softly. Gently taking hold of her hands, he lifted them away. ‘You were in the throes of something much worse than a nightmare, Zoë. You were crying out, begging—’
‘No!’ She shouted it at him, and he waited until she grew calm again, holding her hands firmly between his own.
‘Begging?’ She forced out a laugh. ‘You’re mistaken, Rico—’
‘I am not mistaken. And I’d like to know what made you call out—‘‘Please, don’t hit me again.’’’
‘I’ve told you, you’re wrong. I would never say something like that. Why should I?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
She shook her head, and her eyes wore a wounded expression. ‘Is that why you were so gentle with me, Rico? Is that why you won’t make love to me? Is that why you agreed to stay over in a separate room? You feel sorry for me—’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ He raked his hair in sheer exasperation. ‘I don’t spend time with women because I feel sorry for them.’
‘How many women?’
‘Why are you doing this to yourself, Zoë?’
‘I tell you, Rico, you’re wrong about me.’ She scrambled upright with the sheet firmly clutched in her hand. ‘You don’t need to feel pity for me. It was just a nightmare. Nothing more.’ She shook her head, seeing the disbelief in his eyes. ‘I’m really grateful you came in to make sure I was all right. You’re kind—very kind—and thank you—’
‘Don’t!’ His voice was sharp as he put his hand up. He regretted it immediately, seeing her flinch. ‘I would never hurt you.’ His voice was just a whisper, but she had already gathered herself into a ball and pulled the sheet up to her chin. ‘Don’t ever thank me for being kind to you, Zoë. It’s the very least one human being can expect from another.’ He was consumed with relief when she lifted her head and looked at him.
‘Who hurt you, Zoë?’
‘No one…’
Her voice was tiny, like a child’s, and it hurt him more than anything he had ever heard. ‘Is that why you were crying out?’ he pressed gently. ‘Were you remembering what had happened to you?’
‘Rico, please.’
He could feel the anger pumping through him. His hands, balled into fists at his sides, ached with tension. Who could ever hurt her? It was inconceivable to him that anyone could wish to harm one hair on her head. He wanted to protect her—but how could he when she insisted on pushing him away? ‘Won’t you trust me enough to tell me, Zoë?’
‘I can’t. I just can’t.’
‘Please, don’t shut me out. I want to help you, but I have to know the truth—’
‘The truth?’ Zoë made a short incredulous sound. She hated herself as it was for her weakness. How could she know she would cry out when she was sleeping? ‘Do you always tell the truth, Rico? Do you?’
He couldn’t answer her. How could he when he had been staring at a computer screen half the night? They were both victims of the past in their own way. Suspicion was branded on his heart, but Zoë was damaged too, and her wounds had been carved far deeper and more cruelly than his.
Standing up, he moved away from the bed, carrying the image of Zoë in his mind. Her hair was like skeins of silk, gleaming in the moonlight, and her skin was so soft and warm. The room was filled with the scent of the orange blossom she always wore. As he turned, she turned too, and their eyes locked. He longed to tell her everything. He wanted nothing more in all the world than to take her in his arms and keep her safe for ever. But he could not. Instead, he would go back to his own room and maintain his vigil until the information he had asked for came through.
‘Goodnight, Zoë.’ He walked onto the veranda, closing the doors softly behind him.
Throwing his head back, with his eyes tightly shut, he let out a heavy sigh. For the first time in his life the price he had to pay for being Rico Cortes was far too high.
CHAPTER NINE
CLUTCHING the receiver between neck and shoulder while she scooped up her discarded nightwear from the floor, Zoë listened patiently. There was an opportunity to do a live interview with a national television show—a roving reporter had just arrived with a camera crew. Could she make it in time?
She looked like hell after her disturbed night. She felt like it too, especially remembering what had happened with Rico. But this was work, and there was nothing on her face that make-up couldn’t fix. Her heart was another matter, but that would have to wait.
She was curious, and she was tempted too. The publicity would be great for the series—and she was interested to find out why someone from such a well-known show had come all the way to Cazulas to speak to her. Of course the last series had been a big success, and it had generated a lot of media interest. That had to be it.
‘Of course I’ll do it,’ she said, decision made. ‘Half an hour suit you? OK, fifteen minutes,’ she conceded. ‘But get Marnie and the girls up here right away with the war paint.’
Philip had told her there would be a chance for a run-through first, so there would be no surprises and nothing for her to worry about. It was just what she needed to take her mind off Rico… He must have gone by now. There wasn’t much to keep him at the castle. But she still had her career. The thrill of the places it took her to, and the amazement that she had made something of herself after all, in spite of her ex’s assurances that she never would, had not diminished. She hoped they never would.
She had to stand under a cold shower to try and put Rico out of her mind. Finally, reasonably focused on work and totally frozen, she rubbed herself down vigorously with a towel.
There was a bad feeling niggling away inside her, Zoë realised as she dressed. It made no sense. She had done this sort of thing lots of times before, and knew that nothing was left to chance. It might all appear impromptu at home, but the groundwork had already been covered so that none of the questions came out of the blue. And yet…
‘To hell with it,’ she murmured, spritzing on some perfume. She was a seasoned campaigner and there was nothing to worry about.
Seasoned campaigner or not, she hadn’t factored quite such a bubbly young presenter into the equation. The latest in a long line of glamorous young women with an incisive mind, she was the type of person that Zoë found wearing, but fun in short bursts. They talked through the questions, and decided on the best strategy to adopt to promote the show. Zoë was confident she could keep things moving forward smoothly. They were going to film outside, with a backdrop of mountains behind them, and went on air almost immediately.
‘So, Zoë, how does it