Kitabı oku: «The Spaniard's Pleasure», sayfa 3

Chapter Four

THERE was a raging fire where his lungs were meant to be. Antonio almost welcomed the pain that reminded him he was alive. For a moment there he had really thought that he was going to black out before he reached the surface.

It had only been the knowledge that if he didn’t make it neither did Tamara that had enabled him to hold the blackness back.

He gasped greedily for air to replenish his oxygen-deprived lungs while simultaneously treading water and blinking the water from his eyes. His hand shook as he touched Tamara’s cold face. Her eyelashes lay like dark curtains against the waxy grey pallor of her smooth young cheeks.

Praying harder than he had ever done in his life, he tilted her head back and breathed into her mouth…once, twice, and then again, pausing each time to feel for a pulse. His efforts were rewarded with a soft flutter under his fingers.

Rolling onto his back and supporting Tamara’s body with his own, he cupped her chin, drawing her face clear of the water and, digging deep into his reserves, he kicked for shore. He had gone maybe twenty feet when he became aware of someone beside him. It was the young woman minus her dog.

‘Is she breathing?’

He nodded. With her mane of hair floating in the water around her face she reminded him of an anxious mermaid. Didn’t mermaids lure a man to his doom? This one seemed to be trying to help.

She swam up beside him. ‘Let me…?’

Not wasting his breath on a reply, Antonio allowed her to support part of Tamara’s weight. Together they swam towards the shallows towing the girl between them.

As they reached the muddy bank Antonio hefted Tamara’s limp body into his arms. His eyes left his daughter’s face for a second in order to say, breathlessly but imperatively, ‘An ambulance.’

Following him, Fleur panted. ‘I already called before…’

‘Before you jumped in the lake.’

She was conscious of a tiny glow of pleasure as he flashed her a look of warm approval. Later on she was going to have to remind herself that she shouldn’t want his approval, but right now there were more important things to think about.

Choosing a clear patch of grass Antonio laid down his burden.

‘Tamara, can you hear me?’

In response the girl rolled onto her side and retched over and over until her stomach was empty. Antonio watched, feeling totally helpless as she then began to cry.

‘I expect that was a good thing,’ Fleur, her teeth chattering, observed as she retrieved the cardigan she’d pulled off before she’d gone into the water.

She dropped down onto her knees beside Antonio and, easing the shaking girl’s head onto her lap, tucked the dry cardigan tight around her trembling body. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.

‘You’ll be fine,’ she said, hoping it was the truth. Actually the girl looked pretty awful, but the scary blue tinge around her lips had lessened.

‘Tamara,’ the tall Spaniard supplied huskily. ‘My daughter.’

‘That’s a nice name,’ Fleur said, rubbing the girl’s cold hands in between her own. Either he was a lot older than he looked or he had started a family when he was very young. She had never heard a wife mentioned so she assumed that this girl was a child from a previous relationship.

He shook his head, sending silver water droplets spraying everywhere. ‘And I am Antonio Rochas…’ He ran a hand over his wet face and managed to look more vital than any man who had just had a near-death experience had a right to.

Did he really think she didn’t know who he was?

‘Fleur Stewart.’

She looked at him through the mesh of her wet lashes. Like hers his body was shaken by intermittent tremors, which became more obvious as he shrugged his way out of his drenched jacket.

His shirt and jeans clung like a second skin to his chest and belly, delineating his superb physique. If he had been carrying even an ounce of surplus flesh on his long, lean frame it would have shown, but it didn’t and he wasn’t. He was grey-hound-lean six feet five of hard male muscle. A flash of heat washed over the surface of her chilled body.

Dragging her eyes clear of the spectacle of male beauty, Fleur turned back to the distressed girl, appalled and deeply ashamed that she could notice something like lean, muscle-packed contours at a moment like this, let alone react to it. The dog beside her whined and as she absently patted him. Fleur experienced a flash of inspiration.

‘Come here, Sandy,’ she encouraged, holding out her hand.

‘What are you doing?’

‘That’s it, good boy,’ she crooned approvingly to the dog as he curled up beside the girl. ‘Sandy’s warm and she’s cold. I’d offer her my body heat but I don’t think I have any.’

‘Good dog,’ he said.

‘Be careful!’ Fleur stopped as to her amazement her man-hating pet licked the male fingers that tickled his ears. ‘Fickle animal.’

The complaint made his lips twitch, but a moment later his forehead was creased with worry as he looked down at Tamara. ‘Perhaps I should take her back to the house. When you rang you told the emergency services our location…?’

‘Yes, of course.’

His eyes narrowed as he visualised the route they would take. ‘They’ll come along the track from the house,’ he predicted, looking with a frown around the tree-fringed clearing. ‘We should get out of here and meet them there.’

Fleur nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ she admitted. The change in his manner now that he had a purpose was noticeable.

It was obvious to Fleur that Antonio Rochas was not the type of person who enjoyed sitting back waiting for things to happen. He was the sort of man who made things happen and relished being in charge of a situation…definitely not a relaxing person to be around.

But then maybe not relaxing worked. She had never read a financial page in her life and even Fleur knew that people who knew about such things spoke his name with awe and envy.

The Rochas family name had already been synonymous with the international hotel group of the same name, but after this man had taken over the firm after his father’s death it had broadened its scope, acquiring amongst other things an airline and a newspaper.

All were now incredibly successful.

‘I don’t want…’ the girl began fretfully as her father scooped her up into his arms.

‘Right now I don’t much care what you want, Tamara. Madre mía, what were you doing going out in that boat anyway when you can’t swim?’

‘I c…can swim. I lost the oar and I was trying to reach it when I fell in. There were reeds and stuff in the bottom—my leg got stuck.’

‘She’s upset; there’s no need to be so brutal,’ Fleur admonished. ‘After an experience like that—’

‘After an experience like that,’ he cut in grimly. ‘it’s to be hoped she has learnt her lesson. But based on past experience I don’t think I’ll hold my breath.’

‘You poor thing…it’s all right now,’ Fleur soothed as the girl started weeping. Noticing for the first time the lines of strain bracketing her father’s overtly sensual mouth, Fleur realised that the girl wasn’t the only one who had had a bad experience.

It didn’t take long for them to exit the wooded area. The only problem with being in the open was that it was more exposed to the elements. The wind was light but it cut through Fleur’s wet clothes with the viciousness of a sharp blade.

The minutes ticked by and Antonio began to pace up and down pausing intermittently in order to stare impatiently up the track. He reminded Fleur irresistibly of a sleek caged jungle cat, so graceful to watch that it almost hurt.

‘Where are they…?’ He angled an accusing glare at Fleur.

‘Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,’ she soothed, tolerant of being spoken to as if it were her fault only because she recognised his aggression for what it was. He was worried sick about his daughter.

‘Don’t worry!’ he echoed. ‘This is my daughter lying here! Do you have any idea—’ He broke off and, jamming both hands into his saturated hair, let his head fall forward.

Fleur listened to the harsh sound of his laboured breathing and her throat ached with sympathy.

Frowning, Antonio lifted his head and scanned her face. The indentation above his masterful nose deepened. ‘Do you have a child?’

The unexpected question made Fleur stiffen. She made a mental note that his perception was uncomfortably acute and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

Before Antonio had an opportunity to wonder about the stricken expression he had glimpsed in her wide-spaced eyes he heard the sound of an engine. Relief swept over him. A moment later the ambulance came into view.

‘I’m c-cold.’

Fleur, who could readily identify with the girl’s complaint, watched as her father dropped gracefully down on his knees beside her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he soothed, taking her hands between his. ‘The ambulance is here. You’ll be fine now.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch.

The ambulance team were smooth and efficient. Fleur stood back to let them get on with their job. Antonio joined her, his expression grave as he watched the men strap his daughter to a stretcher.

After they had loaded their patient the paramedic stood to one side to let Antonio enter the ambulance.

‘No! I don’t want him in here.’ The youthful voice rose as she added in obvious agitation, ‘Make him go away! I won’t have him near me. He’s not my father.’

‘I am her father.’

Nobody argued with him.

‘No, he’s kidnapped me! I want to go home, I want my real dad!’

A tense silence followed this startling and vitriolic outburst.

Fleur watched the medic direct a cautious look at Antonio, who stood there looking as flexible as a rock face. The man then exchanged a look with his partner. A look that seemed to say, If he wants to get in, there’s not a lot we can do to stop him.

He cleared his throat and offered a tactful smile. ‘It might be better not to…she’s—’ he began.

‘I understand,’ Antonio cut in. ‘I will follow.’ His expression was blank as he stepped away from the door.

The other man looked relieved.

Antonio’s expression remained inscrutable as they closed the doors and drew away, lights flashing, but Fleur was assuming that he’d had better days.

Drawing the blanket the ambulance driver had given her when she had promised him she didn’t need medical attention around her shoulders, Fleur shivered.

Her tall companion, who continued to stared fixedly into the distance, remained oblivious to the fact she was one step away from hypothermia. She had a strong suspicion he had forgotten she was there. Which, given what had just passed, was hardly surprising.

She told herself it was none of her business. But of course she was curious—who wouldn’t be…?

Finally she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. She was losing feeling in her fingers. She cleared her throat. ‘That was quite a rescue.’

At the sound of her voice he spun around.

For a brief moment his expression was unveiled. The awful bleakness she glimpsed in his eyes was so shocking that Fleur actually found herself feeling sorry for him, which, considering the fact just looking at him made her skin crawl with antipathy—and other things, but she didn’t want to go there—was nothing short of amazing.

‘If you lose all your money you’d make a very good life-guard.’

His incredible electric-blue eyes narrowed. ‘You’re still here,’ he said flatly.

It was always good, she thought wryly, to make an impression.

‘Where did you think I’d gone?’ The spasmodic clenching of the muscles along his strong jaw line was the only clue that he wasn’t quite as together as he looked. He really did have an incredible face, she thought with an inward sigh of appreciation as she admired bone structure that was simply sublime.

‘I suppose it’s difficult being a part-time father.’

‘I am not a part-time father.’

No but you are a total pain. Still, he was having a bad day. ‘When I was a kid, and I was mad with my parents, I used to fantasise that I was adopted.’

He turned his head; his blue eyes were flat and unfriendly as they fixed on her. ‘Is that meant to offer me comfort?’ The sardonic contempt in his cold smile made her feel totally stupid for caring.

She was totally stupid for caring.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,’ she promised grimly. ‘It’s none of my business that your daughter hates you.’

Perhaps he should smile at the girl more, Fleur thought, recalling that fleeting moment when she had been on the receiving end of his approval. A smile like that was a definite unfair advantage, a weapon. Which begged the question: why didn’t he use it instead of resorting to caustic comments and dark scowls?

‘I do not like people who interfere in my affairs.’

‘Then I’ll just have to learn to live without your love…a blow,’ she admitted, determined to establish herself as hard and uncaring. ‘But those, as they say, are the breaks.’

He ignored her sarcasm and studied her face for a moment. Then to her surprise some of the hauteur died from his expression. ‘Just keep out of my head, little girl.’

‘Believe me, it’s one of the last places I would want to go.’

One side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile. ‘You look cold.’

And you look almost human. ‘I thought you’d never notice.’ Fleur clenched her chattering teeth and wished she shared his indifference to the cold. ‘The blue tinge is the clue.’ Just how cold did you have to get before hypothermia set in?

‘I must get to the hospital to be with Tamara.’ He slid her an assessing look. ‘If you can keep up with me someone will get you dry things and give you a ride home. Or if you prefer I will have the Range Rover sent back for you.’

‘I can keep up. And so can he,’ she said, nodding to the dog who sat curled up at his feet.

Antonio looked openly sceptical of her claim. ‘Well, if you can’t don’t expect me to wait for you,’ he warned.

Fleur smiled as though a hike in wet clothes was just the sort of challenge she enjoyed on her birthday. ‘And I won’t wait for you,’ she promised.

She soon discovered that he had really meant it when he had said he wasn’t making any concessions. Fleur had to quite literally jog to keep up with him. Five minutes later when the lights of the Grange came into view she was panting.

As the house was hidden from the public road down a mile-long private drive this was the first time she had seen it. It was not what she had expected.

‘I thought it would be older.’ The sprawling building she was looking at was large and impressive, but it didn’t seem especially ancient.

‘The original house dated back to the fifteenth century; it burnt down at the turn of the century. All that’s left of the old house are the cellars. The present house was commissioned by my mother’s grandfather,’ Antonio explained as he waited with obvious impatience for her to negotiate a rocky outcrop.

Fleur fell behind as he covered the last hundred metres and by the time she walked through the impressive front door Antonio was already running up the curved staircase that dominated the entrance hall.

It was all a bit of a blur. There were lights everywhere, he was yelling in two languages and people were scurrying.

A middle-aged woman urged Fleur towards the sweeping staircase and said with a smile, ‘I’ll be right with you.’

A very short time later Fleur was still standing there in the echoey yet thankfully warm hallway when Antonio reappeared, rubbing his wet sable hair with a towel. He had obviously dressed in a hurry—the leather belt of his jeans was unfastened and his shirt hung open.

She swallowed, her eyes drawn irresistibly to the exposed golden flesh. Averting her eyes quickly—but not quickly enough to prevent her stomach muscles from going crazy—she cleared her throat.

He noticed her, frowned, and then looked annoyed. ‘Why has no one attended to you?’

‘I expect they were busy.’ Busy responding to the steady stream of instructions he had issued as he had athletically bounded up the stairs.

‘Busy…?’ he repeated with a displeased frown. ‘This is totally unacceptable…’ He looked around the deserted hallway and raised his voice.

‘Mrs Saunders!’

Great projection. Great voice too, if you like husky velvet with that sexy foreign inflection and, let’s face it, who wouldn’t? Her restless gaze returned of its own volition to his taut belly ridged by muscle and textured with a light sprinkling of dark hair. She swallowed as a lustful lick of heat warmed the centre of her chilled body—actually great everything!

‘Mrs Saunders!’

‘My God, I’m glad I don’t work for you.’ Especially if he made a habit of walking around semi-clothed, she thought, studying the painting above his head.

He turned his head and gave a sardonic smile. ‘On this subject we are in total agreement.’

‘Look, you go,’ she encouraged. Or at least put on some more clothes. ‘There’s absolutely no point hanging around. All I need is a dry set of clothes and my dog back, if that is possible,’ she added, directing a wry glance towards the animal at his feet. ‘Traitor,’ she inserted reproachfully as she shook her head.

She was going to have to have a quiet word with that faithless hound and explain the facts of life to him. Antonio Rochas wouldn’t look twice at a dog without a pedigree any more than he would look twice at a woman who lacked catwalk good looks. For people like him appearances were everything. The sudden realisation that she was displaying the exact characteristics she was condemning him for drew a husky laugh from her throat.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she looked up and found he was watching her.

‘It’s nothing,’ she provided. ‘I was just thinking…’

‘Happy thoughts, it would seem.’

‘Not exactly. Look, why don’t you just get along to the hospital? I’ll be fine. I hope your daughter makes a full recovery.’ Hopefully her nervous system would do the same once he was safely out of the way.

Antonio inclined his head in response and was actually turning away when he froze. Inexplicably he appeared to be studying the floor.

Under his tan he had gone pale.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, looking at her incredulously. ‘You’re standing in a pool of blood.’

Chapter Five

‘NOT a pool,’ Fleur protested the exaggeration. ‘And it’s mostly water,’ she promised with a rueful glance downwards. ‘The carpet should come clean; professional cleaners can work miracles these days.’

‘The carpet! Why would I care about the carpet?’

‘Well, I’m no expert,’ she admitted, using both hands to lift the heavy weight of her wet hair from her neck as she studied the weave beneath her feet. ‘But it looks like an Aubusson to me and…’

Antonio ground his teeth and laid his hands on her shoulders. Through the wet fabric of her shirt he was aware of the shape of her bones and the shocking chill of her skin.

‘If you say another word I will strangle you.’ Kissing her, inserting his tongue between her soft lips and sampling the sweet softness within would be an equally efficient method of silencing her. But, he suspected, much more dangerous.

A man could start kissing that mouth and find himself unable to stop. A man whose daughter lay in a hospital bed should not even be thinking such thoughts.

Fleur found that his unblinking blue stare had a strangely hypnotic quality. He sounded as if he meant the strangling part. A sensible person should at this point feel scared, or angry, or both. Instead she was thinking about his eyes and the way he smelt of warm, clean male.

Maybe I hit my head as well as my leg…? It would be an explanation for the strange thoughts that kept popping unbidden into her head.

Satisfied he had her attention, Antonio continued, the rasp in his deep voice external evidence of his inner struggle not to lose it big time.

‘You are injured.’ Not to mention unhinged. He looked at the lush softness of her mouth and thought, Which makes two of us.

‘Just a little scratch.’ I hope. ‘You know a little bit of blood can look like a lot, especially when it’s mixed with half a gallon of water. It really isn’t a big thing.’

His fingers tightened on the skin that covered her delicate collar-bones. ‘You knew!’

Fleur winced and he lifted his hands, holding them palm upright towards her. ‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’ His glance drifted down her body. There was an uncharacteristic vagueness in his shadowed blue eyes as they returned to her face. ‘You look so delicate.’

The observation emerged sounding very like an accusation.

‘I’m tougher than I look,’ she promised him.

‘Not so tough you did not notice until now you’d injured yourself.’ He thought of the direct route he had taken back to the house, a route that even the most committed hill-walker would have found tough, and she hadn’t asked for help once.

This woman took stubborn into uncharted territory, along with his temper.

‘Well, I felt something when I was in the water,’ she admitted, wrinkling her nose as she recalled the sharp pain in her leg when she had been swimming out to him. ‘But I forgot about it.’ There had after all been a lot else to think about.

Antonio’s exasperation and temper climbed to breaking point. ‘Why in God’s name did you not say something? Are you a martyr or an idiot?’

‘Neither,’ she protested indignantly. ‘The water was cold, I suppose I was numb, and, like I said, I forgot about it.’ She wished she were still numb. Since they had come indoors the throbbing pain in her leg had become painfully intrusive.

‘Forgot! Give me strength,’ he gritted, rolling his eyes heavenwards. ‘We’re wasting time here.’

‘I’m not—’

‘I don’t want to hear it!’ he blasted. ‘Just tell me where you are injured and we will take it from there.’

‘You need to get to the hospital.’

‘Yes, I do. So just answer my question and stop wasting my time.’

Fleur sighed and reluctantly gestured towards her right thigh, careful not to touch the painful area.

‘Right, take off those jeans and let me have a look.’

Fleur saw an image in her head of his hands dark against the skin of her inner thigh and a jolt of sexual longing slammed through her body. Even as she stood there trying to banish the images she saw his mouth replace his fingers—in fact she could practically feel it!

‘I’m not taking off my jeans.’ She caught herself trying to remember which pants she had put on that morning and, flushing, shook her head. ‘I’m definitely not taking off my jeans.’ Modest white cotton with rosebuds…pink rosebuds.

‘If you don’t, I will. Yes,’ he said, smiling wolfishly into her shocked face, ‘you’re right; I would. And spare me the false modesty,’ he begged.

‘It’s really not necessary.’ Even as she spoke she knew the protest was useless. One thing Antonio Rochas did not come across as was a man to be diverted once he’d made up his mind about something.

‘Let me decide what is necessary, because if you bleed to death on my premises it will be me who will be held responsible.’

‘So you’re covering yourself and here was me thinking you cared,’ she trilled sarcastically. ‘Relax, Mr Rochas, you’re not responsible for me…and there’s no need to swear,’ she added with a disapproving sniff.

He looked at her mouth and thought about other ways he could release his feelings. Inhaling through flared nostrils, he pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead and told her, ‘You are enough to make a saint swear.’

‘Something nobody is about to accuse you of if the stuff I’ve read is even half true.’

‘How exciting for you,’ he drawled sarcastically. ‘After reading the thrilling instalments of my life in the pages in your intellectually stimulating magazines you’re actually experiencing a day in my life firsthand.’ He angled an enquiring brow. ‘Are you enjoying it?’

‘Strangely enough, no. And please don’t insult me by lumping me together with your adoring fans.’ Poor misguided women all. ‘I admit I have seen your photo and even read a few lines about your charmed existence in the dentist or hairdresser’s…but I found it neither thrilling nor particularly interesting,’ she fired back.

‘I’m surprised,’ he admitted.

‘Because I can read?’

‘I’m surprised that you know what the inside of a hairdressing salon looks like.’

‘Very funny…I suppose the women you know never have a hair out of place.’ Except when he made love to them. Appalled by the maverick thought, Fleur, her hands curled into tight fists, allowed her eyelashes to flicker downward in a protective screen.

Antonio thought of the women in his life, each one poised, elegant, guaranteed to handle themselves in any company and all groomed to within an inch of their lives.

‘No, they don’t.’ His flickering glance touched to the tousled head of the woman who tilted her head to glare contemptuously up at him. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘But then neither would they leap into a lake to rescue someone they didn’t even know. I don’t think I’ve thanked you—that was a very brave thing to do.’

The totally unexpected compliment threw Fleur totally. She took refuge in flippancy. ‘I was after the reward.’

‘The pleasure of my company?’ he suggested. ‘No, don’t answer that,’ he pleaded quickly. ‘I’m not sure my ego will take any more bashing.’

‘Oh, I think it would survive a force-five hurricane. You know,’ she said injecting a note of discovery into her saccharine-laced voice, ‘if you took away your vanity, egoism and overly high opinion of yourself you wouldn’t have any personality at all.’

For a second she saw shock register in his eyes, but it was swiftly subsumed by amusement and, rather to her alarm, interest. ‘I have a confession…I have never had so much trouble getting a woman to take off her clothes for me.’

The husky rasp of his voice had an effect on every single nerve ending in her body. The horror on her face was very real as she begged hoarsely, ‘Spare me the details!’ Her over-stimulated imagination was already providing plenty of those.

The things going on in her head made it hard for Fleur to look him in the face. If he guessed she would die of shame…

‘Let’s just hope your reputation doesn’t suffer lasting damage,’ she said, lacing her words with as much insincerity as she could.

Frustratingly the acid jibe just made him grin some more and ask, ‘What’s your problem anyway?’ He studied her stubborn expression and produced a possible explanation. ‘Are you not wearing underclothes or something?’

Fleur, her mind still dealing with a number of erotic mental images involving women stripping for his pleasure, felt mortified colour fly to her face.

‘Of course I’m wearing knickers!’ A discussion of her underwear or possible lack of with Antonio Rochas…could this day get any more surreal?

‘Then the sooner you stop behaving like a petulant child and take off those jeans, the sooner I can get to the hospital to see my daughter.’

At that moment the middle-aged woman from earlier appeared. ‘I am so sorry, miss, I was so long, but—’ She stopped dead when she saw Antonio.

He turned his head. ‘You have dry clothes, Mrs Saunders?’

‘Some towels and a robe.’

Fleur smiled and said, ‘That’s very kind. I’ll be fine now with Mrs Saunders…’

‘Mrs Saunders has more important things to attend to,’ he cut in smoothly. ‘If you could get me some surgical tape and a dry dressing?’ He opened the door to Fleur’s right and took the bundle from the older woman before turning back to Fleur. ‘Come on, I haven’t got all day.’

‘Which charm school did you graduate from?’ she asked him sweetly as, left with little choice, she followed him into the room. Hovering in the doorway, she slid a curious glance around the bedroom. It was decorated in a feminine style in shades of lilac with sprigged wallpaper and a four-poster bed.

‘My sister’s,’ he said, watching her. ‘It was,’ he revealed with an expressive grimace, ‘her lilac period. Nowadays she and her husband, along with their litter of kids, take a suite in the west wing, but whenever decorating this room is suggested she comes down with a bad case of nostalgia.’

Fleur continued to hover as he dragged a chair that stood against the wall towards her. His attitude was impatient as he instructed her to, ‘Take off the jeans and take a seat.’ He stood there, his arms folded across his bare chest, shoulders braced against the wall.

She nibbled on her lower lip. Logically she knew that prolonging this and making a big thing of it was only going to make her look more of a fool than she already did. The knowledge did not affect her reluctance. Exhaling a gusty sigh, she lifted her chin and shrugged as if the problem were his, not hers.

Her hands were shaking as she unfastened the button on her jeans and fumbled with the zip. Sliding the fabric down her hips, she stood there feeling horribly exposed and totally ridiculous. She sat on the chair he had provided and eased the jeans lower until they reached her ankles.

‘I thought the secret of success was the ability to delegate…?’ she grumbled as he dropped down to his knees beside her.

His head lifted. He was so close she could see the gold tip to each individual eyelash. It made sense that if she could smell the soap he’d just showered with he could smell her fear. Fear…? Dear God, I’m going crazy. There’s no reason in the world for me to be afraid of Antonio Rochas.

And then it hit her, the truth—she wasn’t afraid of Antonio Rochas. She was afraid of the way he made her feel…She inhaled deeply. She was afraid of feeling!

It was one revelation she could have done without.

She turned her head as he scanned the injured area. His attitude was clinical and his light touch objective…an objectivity she wistfully envied.