Kitabı oku: «Champagne Summer», sayfa 6

Swallowing hard, Tamsin nodded, desperately trying to resist the urge to throw herself into the safety of his arms. He leaned closer to her to whisper into her ear, and she closed her eyes, focusing on his voice, knowing absolutely that if anyone could protect her, it would be him.

‘You can start by getting out your passport,’ he breathed.

Her eyes flew open, and her gasp of fury and outrage was lost as the two uniformed men spotted Alejandro and came forward with jovial cries of welcome, uttered in exuberant Spanish. While they greeted each other in a flurry of handshaking and back-slapping, Tamsin gritted her teeth and waited for the burning in her cheeks to subside as it dawned on her that these were customs officials.

This was no ordinary plane, and Alejandro D’Arienzo was clearly no ordinary passenger here. There was no queuing to get through customs for him. Here the mountain came to Mohammed.

As Alejandro spoke to the men in rapid Spanish, Tamsin listened in fascination to the rise and fall of his low, musical voice. This was the language he had been born to speak, she thought distractedly. It was like suddenly seeing a beautiful piece of art in its proper setting. He had always spoken perfect English, so that anyone hearing him would never guess that he had neither heard nor uttered a word of the language for the first five years of his life, but there was a slight stiffness in his speech. A formality that contributed to his aura of distance.

Not so now when he spoke Spanish. He came alive. His voice flowed across her like a caress. A promise. An invitation. She felt her stomach tighten and heat spread downwards through her as her imagination supplied fanciful meaning to the delicious-sounding words she couldn’t understand.

And then suddenly she realised that they were all looking at her, and that one of the men, the swarthy, bearded one, was coming towards her. She stiffened, throwing back her head and looking questioningly at Alejandro as the man gave her a courteous nod of his head and made a gesture she didn’t understand.

‘What do they want?’ she said warily.

‘Relax. It’s just a formality. They’re from customs. They just want to give you a quick search.’

Tamsin felt her eyes widen in shock and fear as the bearded man advanced on her, and she found herself automatically moving towards Alejandro. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she hissed. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘This.’

He stood in front of her and lifted her arms. Then, keeping his face perfectly still, his hands came to rest lightly on her waist and he murmured, ‘Good. Now, stand with your legs apart.’

A wave of liquid heat crashed through her. She looked up to find his eyes on hers, filled with smouldering amusement. The bearded customs official moved round so that he was standing behind her, and began skimming his hands over her.

His touch was completely professional, totally impersonal, but pinned beneath Alejandro’s shimmering, golden gaze Tamsin felt like she was naked. She kept her chin held high, biting her lip to stop her breath from escaping her in ragged gasps of fury and humiliation as Alejandro looked at her, and kept on looking.

‘Is this really necessary?’ she said through clenched teeth, aware that nerves had made her voice take on a cut-glass haughtiness that was wholly unnatural. ‘I’m hardly a drug-smuggling criminal.’

Alejandro’s eyes darkened to the colour of rich honey, and she watched as his mouth curved into a smile of pure, mocking pleasure at her discomfiture as the customs officer’s hands moved down her body, lightly touching her ribs beneath her breasts, grazing her waist, her hips. ‘Unfortunately, they don’t know that. Your title means nothing here, Lady Calthorpe. Nothing good, anyway,’ he drawled, the husky gentleness of his tone belying the cruelty of his words. Tamsin’s insides melted as her eyes blazed with defiance.

The customs man’s hands were moving upwards again, lightly patting the outsides of her legs, her hips, her bottom …

He stopped, and said something in Spanish. Alejandro gave a curt nod.

‘He’d like you to empty your back pockets, please.’

Oh, God. No.

Tamsin felt the blood rush to her face in a shaming tide of crimson as panic gripped her by the throat and squeezed. ‘What? I’ve got nothing—why should I?’

Alejandro’s voice was like velvet now. ‘Your pockets.’

Setting her chin and lifting her head, Tamsin moved her hand to the back pocket of her jeans. Alejandro watched her with the intensity of a lion watching a deer, his eyes glittering with an emotion Tamsin couldn’t and didn’t want to interpret.

At that moment she didn’t want to do anything except vanish in a puff of smoke. Or be kidnapped by aliens.

Her fingers fumbled for the back pocket of her jeans.

About now would be good—just before she had to pull out a handful of condoms in front of Argentine customs officials and Alejandro D’Arienzo.

She held her hand out, and then looking defiantly at the customs man, uncurled her fist. Frowning, the man looked uncertainly at the foil packets lying on the palm of her upturned hand. Time seemed to hang suspended for a moment while he picked one up and looked at it.

His shout of laughter echoed through the body of the small plane. Clutching his sides with mirth, he turned round and showed the other guard, who joined in the hilarity.

Smoothing back her hair, composing her face into an expression of haughty resignation, Tamsin’s gaze flickered across to Alejandro’s face as she steeled herself against the blistering mockery she expected to see there too.

Her heart stopped and her throat tightened as she saw that it was as cold and hard as marble.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AND THAT WAS WHAT YOU called being caught red-handed.

Red-handed and red-cheeked, Alejandro thought contemptuously as he recalled the colour that had risen into her upturned, defiant face as she’d stood there with her outstretched hand full of condoms before shoving them back into the pocket she’d taken them from. She’d said nothing, probably because she was intelligent enough to realise that even she, Tamsin Calthorpe, who always managed to flirt and charm her way out of any awkward situation, had backed herself right into a corner this time. It was exactly that habit of seducing herself out of trouble that had just been exposed.

Because it was embarrassingly obvious that that was exactly what she’d intended to do. She’d clearly planned on using every trick in the book so that by the time they landed in Argentina he would be eating out of her hand, and the whole inconvenient business of the job she was supposed to be doing would be forgotten.

Her confidence in her own powers of seduction was quite breathtaking. Alejandro wondered how many men had fallen for it.

Tapping one finger irritably against the walnut inlay of the car door, he stared unseeingly out of the window at the familiar, flat landscape of the Argentine pampas. Usually his heart lifted whenever he travelled this stretch of road towards San Silvana, which was the only place that had ever felt like home, the only place he could ever relax. But now, with Tamsin Calthorpe sitting beside him, the possibility of being able to relax seemed as remote as walking on the moon.

The chauffeur swung the car smoothly between the tall gateposts of San Silvana, and Alejandro caught his first glimpse of the house in the distance through the avenue of eucalyptus trees. At least, unlike the close confinement of the plane, San Silvana was big enough so that they wouldn’t be on top of each other.

Unfortunate turn of phrase.

‘That’s where you live?’

Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to look at her. She was leaning forward, craning her head to see the building that was still tantalisingly screened by the canopy of the trees, and for a moment he was caught offguard by the sweetness of her profile, with its small, slightly upturned nose and her softly bowed lips.

He gave a brusque nod. ‘Welcome to San Silvana.’

‘It’s pretty impressive.’ She was trying to sound nonchalant, but Alejandro picked up the hint of irritation behind the words. He felt a momentary spark of satisfaction. What had she expected—some primitive shack with a corrugated-iron roof and a tin bath?

‘Civilisation has spread to this far-flung corner of the globe, you know,’ he said dryly. ‘Did you think that gracious living didn’t extend beyond English shores?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘I’m just intrigued, that’s all.’

‘By how I came to own it?’ he demanded.

‘Well …’ Once again, a rose-pink blush was creeping up into her cheeks. ‘You did say that you’d come from nothing, and that you’d worked for everything you have,’ she said crossly. ‘So what exactly do you do for a living?’

‘I’m in business.’

They rounded the last corner of the sweeping drive, and Tamsin lowered the window and leaned her head out, both to get a better look at the house and escape his maddening scrutiny. The heat closed around her like a blanket as up ahead the house came properly into view. Built at the end of the nineteenth century in Spanish style, San Silvana rose up from the flat plains of the Argentine pampas like an ornate wedding cake.

When Alejandro had told her that he lived on an estancia she had imagined something rustic and low key, a comfortable old farmhouse or something. This fairy-tale palace was just one more shock to deal with.

She wasn’t sure that her very hasty packing was going to be adequate.

‘What business?’ she muttered. ‘International arms dealing? Opium farming?’

‘I buy companies. Businesses that are struggling or facing liquidation. If they’re worth saving, I invest in them and get them back on their feet. If they’re not, I strip them down and sell off the assets.’

He spoke with a clinical detachment that sent a shiver down Tamsin’s spine and brought back the cold feeling inside her chest, like she was choking on an ice cube. She thought of the pile of bills at home that she hadn’t been able to face opening.

‘Nice,’ she said bleakly.

‘Not always. But life in the real world isn’t always nice.’

He didn’t bother to keep the stinging disdain from his voice. The car came to a standstill in front of the house, and Tamsin fumbled with her seatbelt, keeping her head bent so he couldn’t see her face. He obviously assumed a girl like her would know nothing about the harsh realities of business.

If only.

‘I know that, thank you very much,’ she said with admirable calm as the driver opened her door and stood back. ‘But it doesn’t make it any easier if you’re the one whose assets are being stripped down and sold off. Of course, I don’t suppose any of that matters to you.’ She got out of the car and looked pointedly up at the majestic white frontage of the house. ‘Profit is obviously what counts.’

He didn’t reply. Couldn’t reply, she thought smugly, crossing her arms. He clearly couldn’t think of any smart way of ducking out of that one, when the evidence was right in front of them both. Keen to press home her advantage, she carried on.

‘Of course, I don’t suppose it would occur to you that behind every business failure there’s a whole lot of heartache. Broken dreams can’t have a price slapped onto them and be sold on, you know.’

Still no answer, eh? She’d really got him there. Turning round with a superior smile, she prepared herself to face the hostility that would tell her he knew she was right.

But he wasn’t there. The driver was unloading their baggage from the back of the car, but there was no sign of Alejandro at all. Giving a gasp of outrage, she looked around, and saw his broad, retreating back just about to disappear around the other side of the house.

‘Alejandro!’

Stamping her foot in frustration, she watched him stop and turn round, shading his eyes against the sun as he looked back at her.

‘Yes?’

His voice was totally flat, utterly indifferent to the fact that he’d just brought her halfway around the globe and abandoned her on the doorstep. She opened her mouth, but, at the sight of him standing in his faded jeans and soft white T-shirt, with the sun turning his skin to burnished bronze, she felt the words die in her dry throat. Suddenly she wasn’t angry any more. She was just tired. And lonely. And unsure.

‘What do I do now?’ she croaked.

He didn’t hear. Dropping his hand, he was already starting to turn and carry on in the direction he’d been taking. ‘Just go in,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Giselle will show you to your room.’

‘Giselle?’

‘My PA. She’s on her way.’

He was almost at the corner of the house now. ‘Where are you going?’ Tamsin shouted, wincing at the blatant neediness in her voice.

‘It’s the polo season,’ he said simply. ‘I’m going to the stables.’

The stables.

OK, well that was one place he was quite safe, because there was no way Tamsin was going near any horses. Which left her little choice but to do as he’d said.

Wearily she climbed the stone steps to the front of the house. Ahead of her the double doors were thrown open against the sticky heat of the day, and the interior of the house looked cool and dim. She peered into the gloom for this Giselle, preparing herself to confront some glossy super-model type with melting brown eyes and hair like oiled mahogany. Tentatively she pulled an iron bell-pull, wincing slightly as she heard its ring echoing through the silent house in the distance, but almost immediately a door opened and rapid footsteps clattered across the polished wooden floor towards her.

‘Hola! Forgive me, Señorita Calthorpe, how terrible that you are left to find your own way in. Come in, come in!’

Tamsin smiled as relief crashed through her. The woman who came bustling towards her was in her sixties at least, short and comfortably rounded with a faded rose-patterned apron covering her ample bosom, and her grey hair swept up into a magnificent arrangement on the top of her head. ‘Oh, please, don’t worry. You must be Giselle?’

The woman gave a snort of disdain and rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but was at that moment interrupted by a cool, husky voice from the doorway behind them.

‘Thank you, Rosa, I’ll look after Lady Calthorpe now.’

Tamsin’s heart sank as the sultry Latin beauty from her tortured fantasy stepped elegantly out of her imagination and into real life, swaying seductively across the faded silk-rug on impossibly sexy four-inch heels. She held out a slender, scarlet-tipped hand as her lips spread into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Lady Calthorpe. I’m Giselle, Alejandro’s personal assistant.’

Whatever her other talents—and Tamsin could quite easily imagine—it became clear as Giselle led her through the spacious rooms and wide, high-ceilinged corridors of the beautiful house that Alejandro hadn’t hired his PA for her skill in making small talk or putting people at ease. Even walking three paces ahead of Tamsin at all times, and speaking only when absolutely necessary, she still managed to emit signals of unmistakable unwelcome. At least with Giselle on his staff he wouldn’t need a guard dog, Tamsin thought sourly.

Finally they came to a suite of offices at the back of the house. She followed Giselle into a room that was long and sunny, with glorious views out onto the kind of lush garden that people back in England paid to visit. The room was furnished in a simple, modern style, which contrasted with the heavy grandeur of the rest of the house, and at one end a large, square fabric-cutting table had been set up, alongside a desk complete with state-of-the art computer equipment and a sewing machine.

‘This is where you will work,’ Giselle said, flicking her curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. Looking around, Tamsin gave a slow nod of approval. It certainly compared pretty favourably with her scruffy studio above the tattoo parlour in Soho where the England strip had been created. But then she spotted the other desk. The one in front of the heavy mahogany door to an adjoining room.

‘And this desk?’

‘Is mine.’ Giselle gave Tamsin a smile that reminded her of an alligator—languid, but dangerous.

‘How cosy,’ said Tamsin, with only the barest hint of sarcasm. Obviously Alejandro had instructed Giselle to keep an eye on her, and make sure that she wasn’t going to import a busload of ‘proper’ designers the moment his back was turned. ‘Where is Alejandro’s office?’

In a gesture that managed to be both indolent but distinctly proprietorial, Giselle waved her manicured hand in the direction of the door behind her desk. ‘There. If you’d like to see him, just ask,’ she said loftily.

‘Thank you,’ said Tamsin, smiling through gritted teeth.

It would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

‘So, it sounds like you’ve got the kit design in hand, but how’s it going otherwise? D’Arienzo’s place is supposed to be quite something.’

Tamsin hesitated and looked out over the rolling sweep of emerald lawn to the wide, open plain of the pampas beyond. Steve Phillips was the production manager of the sportswear company who’d manufactured the England kit, and she’d got to know him pretty well in the months that they’d worked together. The Great Shirt Disaster had certainly been a very bonding experience, but, even so, she didn’t know him well enough to answer his question honestly.

‘It is,’ she said bravely. ‘The weather’s gorgeous, and I’ve spent the last couple of days working on my laptop in the garden under a massive tree. It sure beats being in a stuffy old studio any day.’

At the other end of the line she could hear groans of envy as Steve relayed her message to the rest of the office. Imagining them all amidst the chaos of fabric samples and coffee mugs, with the traffic roaring past on the rainy Archway Road outside, sent a wave of homesickness crashing through her.

If only they knew, she thought bleakly as she said goodbye and hung up. San Silvana might be heaven on earth, but even paradise could get pretty lonely when the only other people in it hated your guts.

It was a relief that in the three days since they’d arrived she hadn’t seen Alejandro at all, but what bothered her was the sour, churning certainty that Giselle was seeing him all the time.

She’d managed just one tense morning in their shared office before it had all got too much. Giselle’s blank hostility was bad enough, but Tamsin could deal with that. No, it was the sudden warmth and animation she showed when she was on the phone to Alejandro that had really got on Tamsin’s nerves. Watching for the third time as Giselle had rotated languidly on her leather office-chair, swinging one long, slim leg and curling a strand of dark hair around her finger as she’d spoken into the receiver in low, husky Spanish, Tamsin had realised that she would never finish the commission if she stayed working there. Mainly because she would end up throwing her laptop at Giselle’s head.

Taking her things and venturing outside, she’d found this shady spot under a huge, spreading cedar tree and had set up a makeshift office. From here, for the last two days she’d been liaising with the manufacturers in London, as well as cleaning up and finalising the four designs she’d come up with on the plane, until they were all at a stage she was happy with.

But despite the fact the work was going smoothly she felt miserable and on edge. The feeling reminded her of when she was a child, after she’d had the accident. She remembered being terribly anxious for a while, secretly and shamefully afraid of hurting herself again, quietly trying to avoid situations that seemed even remotely unsafe. That was how she felt again now, only it wasn’t her elbow she was trying to protect. It was her heart.

Suddenly she became aware of a sound in the distance that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck and hot needles of fear prickle all over her scalp. For a moment she thought she was imagining it, that thinking about the accident had brought it all back, but the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats grew louder and closer. Desperately she scrambled to her feet and moved around to the other side of the tree as a refuge.

The horse appeared from behind a thicket of shrubs about twenty metres away. Relief burst inside her as she saw that there was a rider on its back—someone who would be able to make it stop or keep it well away from her. Leaning against the rough trunk of the massive cedar tree for support, she waited for it to pass.

It was galloping, but there was something almost leisurely about its pace, giving the impression of plenty more power waiting to be unleashed from its glossy, muscular quarters. And then her heart seemed to stop altogether as she realised with a jolt of agony and deep, primal recognition that the rider was Alejandro.

He was wearing knee-length boots over his jeans, but no hat. Even Tamsin, who knew nothing about these things, could see that he sat on the horse with natural grace and ease, so that the glossy, vibrant animal seemed to be almost like an extension of himself. Suddenly noticing her, he pulled the horse up so that it swung round on its hind legs like a ballerina. Tamsin felt faint with terror.

‘So this is where you’re hiding. I was about to send out a search party.’

‘Hiding? I’m not hiding,’ snapped Tamsin. And then, realising she was in fact cowering behind a tree, she stepped forward. Brushing imaginary dust off the front of her white linen shirt, she tried to keep the fear from showing on her face as she kept one wary eye on the stamping, sweating horse. The other was all too easily diverted by the sight of Alejandro’s long thigh, just about level with her gaze. Mesmerised, she saw the powerful muscles flex as he held the horse steady.

‘Giselle says you haven’t been in the office since the day before yesterday,’ he said tersely. ‘She was worried.’

Tamsin gave a sugary smile. ‘Oh, how sweet of her. Do reassure her that I’m fine.’

For a moment his eyes seemed almost iridescent with anger, and Tamsin felt a sick lurch inside her as she wondered if she’d overstepped the mark.

‘Maybe you could do that yourself when you get back to your desk and get on with some work.’

Taking a step forward, she crossed her arms in front of her, determined to hide her fear. ‘I am working.’

‘Out here?’ With faint incredulity he looked at the laptop on the ground, obviously switched off, and the mobile phone and bottle of suncream beside it. ‘Working on your tan, maybe.’

‘No. Working on your designs,’ she replied hotly. ‘Not that you seem to be very interested any more. I notice you’re not exactly chained to your desk, either.’

The horse was twitching and dancing, tossing its head and rolling its eyes alarmingly. But none of that frightened her half as much as the lethal note in Alejandro’s voice when he said, ‘I don’t have to answer to you, Tamsin.’

Her fingers tightened around her arms, the left hand instinctively cupping the right elbow. Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer in her chest as she looked up at him.

‘Implying that I have to answer to you?’

‘Exactly.’ At the lightest movement of Alejandro’s legs the horse surged forward, he circled once around her. ‘I think it’s about time I had a look at what you’ve been working so hard on. I’ll see you at seven o’clock tonight. At the pool house.’