Kitabı oku: «The Spaniard's Pleasure», sayfa 4

‘Tell me if I hurt you.’

Fleur gave a noncommittal grunt.

His dark brows knit into a frown as he concentrated. ‘Relax!’ he ordered tersely.

If only it were that easy, she thought, looking at the top of his dark head. Almost immediately she found herself fighting a compelling need to sink her fingers into the glossy wet strands.

She closed her eyes and took a deep sustaining breath. The sooner she put as much space between herself and this man, the sooner she could get back to normality!

After a moment—it seemed a lot longer to Fleur—he gave his verdict. ‘It’s deep.’ It was still oozing blood and the area around the jagged tear in her smooth flesh was red, inflamed and angry-looking. It had to be hurting like hell.

‘But not life-threatening.’ She gave a nervous laugh, then winced as his fingers lightly brushed the sensitive skin of her thigh.

‘That depends on whether you intend to get it treated.’ Balanced on the balls of his feet, Antonio rested his hands on his thighs and angled a critical look at her face.

If I tried that, she thought, I’d fall flat on my face.

‘You look feverish,’ he observed critically.

‘I’m not feverish. Anyone,’ she accused, ‘would think you wanted me to be ill.’ This time her laugh just stopped short of hysterical. ‘Well, if you’ve seen enough,’ she added, lifting her bottom from the seat and yanking the jeans upwards. The fabric caught against the injured area and she winced, tears of pain filling her eyes.

‘You’ll start it bleeding again, you little idiot,’ he said, catching hold of her hand.

The protest shrivelled on her tongue as Fleur stared at the long brown fingers curled around her own. She touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. Her heart was banging so hard against her ribs that he should have been able to hear it.

‘Besides, you need to get into dry clothes,’ he added, easing her jeans carefully back down to her ankles.

She looked at the top of his sleekly wet head, felt her pulses quicken and thought, What I need is for you not to be here.

‘Are you covered for tetanus?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

The admission earned her a scornful look, but Fleur barely noticed. She shifted restlessly in the chair, and pondered some more the worrying discovery that the lightest and most clinical touch of his brown fingers could make her ache deep inside. She looked at the dark shadow of his jaw and caught herself wondering how it would feel to be kissed by a man with stubble.

These were very dangerous thoughts for a girl who had sworn off men, but then Antonio Rochas, she reminded herself—it might sink in at some point—was a very dangerous man.

‘I should think you’ll need a few stitches and probably antibiotics.’

Great! Her day was complete. Stitches equated doctors and the hateful smell of hospitals. ‘No way.’

Impatience coloured his voice as he suggested laconically, ‘Shall we let the doctors decide that?’

His tone set her teeth on edge. ‘The women in your life may enjoy being patronized, but I don’t,’ she informed him tartly. ‘I mean it—I’m not going to the hospital.’ The last time she had lost her baby.

‘You would prefer to bleed to death, or be permanently scarred…?’ he suggested.

Fleur drew a shaky breath as she dragged herself back to the present. ‘I don’t care about scars.’ To a man to whom appearances probably meant everything this probably sounded strange. ‘I’ll stick a plaster on it.’

‘What about infection? Do you embrace that so joyously too?’ he wondered sarcastically. ‘That water was hardly a sterile environment.’

She peered down at the cut on her leg and was quite shocked by what she saw. ‘It looks worse than it is,’ she protested weakly.

‘You can wheel out as many clichés as you like, it’ll still need more than a sticking plaster.’

‘You really think it’ll need stitching…?’

‘I’m not a doctor, but, yes, I think so.’

‘Right.’

‘Is that a right you’ll stop being obstructive? Or a reference to my lack of medical credentials?’

Mutely Fleur nodded. ‘I’ll go…I’m not very…’ her eyes slid from his ‘…not terribly…I don’t like hospitals much.’

He looked at her keenly but only shrugged and said, ‘Who does?’

At that moment the housekeeper returned carrying a box, which Fleur presumed held the items he had requested.

She grimaced as she saw the gaping wound and said sympathetically, ‘Oh, my, that does look painful.’

‘Not really.’

‘Very stiff upper lip,’ Antonio interrupted. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Saunders, I’ll do it. Could you ask John to bring the Mercedes around to the front? We’ll go straight off to the hospital.’

With a smile in Fleur’s direction the woman excused herself.

‘I’d prefer you let your housekeeper do this,’ Fleur said as she watched him extract a dressing pad and some tape from the box.

‘Don’t worry, I can cope with a dry dressing. I’ll be gentle,’ he promised when she remained silent.

It wasn’t his level of competence she was concerned about, and what really worried her most was the suspicion he knew that.

Antonio was actually as proficient as he had claimed. In a matter of moments he had covered the area with a clean dry dressing and secured it with tape.

‘Fine, that’s done,’ he said, leaning back on his heels and surveying his handwork.

It was actually a bit of an anticlimax. She barely even needed to call on the breathing technique she had been taught in her yoga class.

‘Thanks,’ she said, getting to her feet. As she pulled up her wet jeans he walked over to the wardrobe.

‘Try this,’ he suggested, pulling something off a hanger and tossing it to her.

Fleur automatically caught it. It was a cotton tee shirt. A pair of trousers landed at her feet a moment later.

‘My sister’s. You can’t stay in those wet things.’

Only too aware of the wet fabric chafing her skin, Fleur could not disagree.

However, she made no attempt to pick them up—just stood there.

‘I can’t find any underclothes, I’m afraid.’ His narrowed eyes moved in a casual assessing sweep over her slim body. ‘And I doubt if Sophia’s would fit you anyway.’

Fleur’s response to his scrutiny was anything but casual. She felt a compulsion to cover herself with her hands, but instead she lifted her chin and stared at him with what she hoped passed for cool defiance.

It was Antonio who finally broke the nerve-shredding silence.

‘I suppose you expect me to turn my back…?’ he observed, sounding amused.

‘No, I expect you to leave the room,’ she retorted, trying to inject as much dignity into her words as a person who looked like a drowned rat could.

She didn’t expect him to comply with her edict. When he did she felt weak with relief.

The moment he was out of the room she began to tear off what remained of her sodden clothes. The possibility of him walking in when she was practically naked made her perform the task with feverish speed.

Fleur had just pulled the loose-fitting trousers, which were several inches too long, over her hips when she happened to catch a glimpse of herself in the full-length cheval-mirror. She stopped dead, one hand still holding her hair back from her face, the other anchoring the waistband of the trousers, and let out an anguished groan of horror.

The fine silky tee shirt had been intended for a woman with a lot less up top than she had. It clung in a positively indecent way to her unfettered breasts.

‘Oh, my, I look like a…’ Fleur never got to voice the un-complimentary comment.

‘I was wondering what was underneath the layers…now I know.’

Antonio had used his time outside the room to ring the hospital. The doctor he had spoken to had been reassuring—to quote him, ‘She was a very lucky girl; she’ll be fine.’ It was Antonio who felt he was lucky; he had been given a second chance.

Filled with a new sense of purpose and buoyed by the news that Tamara was in no danger, he’d actually been able to feel the tension leave his spine as he had walked back into the room.

But one look at Fleur and he no longer felt relaxed or anything even closely related.

Fleur spun around so fast the unconsidered action sent a stab of pain shooting up her injured leg.

Wincing, she bent forward, her hand pressed to her mouth.

‘You little idiot!’

‘Thanks for the sympathy vote,’ she snapped as she straightened up.

‘Are you all right?’

She pushed the damp strands of hair from her eyes and found he wasn’t looking at her leg, but her breasts. Her lips tightened and she brought up her crossed hands in a protective gesture, hating the fact she had no more control over the hot colour that flooded her cheeks than she did her quivering stomach muscles.

‘Do you mind?’

His heavy-lidded eyes lifted, the predatory glitter in his cerulean eyes cancelling out his amused smile. For a moment they stood, their eyes meshed.

Then without a word he walked across to a chest. After opening several drawers he pulled out a cream cashmere cardigan. ‘Try this,’ he suggested.

Fleur, her eyes lowered, took it, and hoped the fact she had taken the utmost care not to let her fingertips graze his was not too obvious. By the time she had fought her way awkwardly into it her heart rate, if not normal, at least allowed her to breathe fairly normally.

If she had been given the option of jumping into an icy lake for the second time that day or getting into a car—an enclosed space—with this man there was no contest. She would opt for the lake every single time!

Only she wasn’t being offered that option, so the best she could hope for was that she didn’t make it too obvious that her hormones were totally out of control around him.

Chapter Six

‘YOU know I really don’t like leaving him,’ Fleur fretted.

Antonio took a deep breath. They were not at the bottom of the drive yet and she had mentioned the animal three times. This did not bode well for the journey.

‘Your dog will be fine,’ he told her, sounding fatigued. ‘I have given strict instructions that no male is to go anywhere near him.’

‘But—’

‘No buts!’

This autocratic decree brought Fleur’s chin up.

‘Anyway, you know the animal will be fine.’

As far as Fleur was concerned to have her concern so summarily dismissed was just another example of this man’s total egocentricity.

‘You can frown at me,’ he said without diverting his attention from the road, ‘but you know I am right. You have created a problem, and fixated on it, basically because you don’t want to think about what is really bothering you.’ His blue gaze briefly brushed her face. ‘I suppose hospital phobias are not uncommon.’

As he turned his attention back to the road ahead Fleur studied his profile with some alarm, glad that on this occasion at least his instincts had failed him. Having Antonio Rochas realise that she was almost equally worried about spending time alone with him as she was nervous about going to the hospital would be deeply embarrassing.

She didn’t even know why she felt that way. It wasn’t that she expected him to leap on her or anything.

It was the fact she might want him to that had her scared out of her mind. She wondered whether his raw masculinity affected all women this way…

She slanted him an unfriendly look. ‘I don’t have a hospital phobia—I just don’t like hospitals. If you want to spend the journey delving into my psyche feel free, but I have to tell you you’re not very good at it.’

‘I’m more concerned about my daughter than your tortured psyche.’

Fleur grimaced, aware that she deserved the rebuke. ‘Of course you are. I’m sorry.’

The unstinting apology drew a quick sideways glance from him, but no comment. As his electric eyes brushed her own, Fleur’s outstretched hand stilled above his thigh.

‘I’m sure she’ll be all right.’ Crazy enough she felt the need to offer him comfort even though it was clearly not required, but squeezing Antonio’s thigh…?

‘I appreciate your attempt to be supportive,’ he observed with silky sarcasm, ‘but believe me when I say I’d find silence infinitely preferable.’

‘Fine, that suits me perfectly,’ she bit back. ‘I was only trying to be…’ She bit her lip. ‘I won’t say another word.’ Then when he said nothing she added, ‘Look, when I’m nervous I talk.’ She glared at his smug I-told-you-so profile and gritted, ‘You don’t have to listen. Tune me out.’

‘Believe me, if I could I would. Your voice is…’

‘My voice is what? It grates on you? Is it too shrill, too loud…?’ She pitched her voice an octave lower and introduced a low sexy rasp as she asked, ‘Would you prefer I giggled or—?’ She stopped dead and closed her eyes. ‘Will you listen to me? You’re right,’ she confessed, holding up her hands in mock surrender, and let him believe the least humiliating of her two present concerns. ‘I think I must have a hospital phobia.’ What she did have was just as irrational as any phobia.

‘And a very sexy voice.’

The dry aside made her stiffen and slant a suspicious look in his direction. ‘And awful hair,’ she reminded him.

‘I didn’t say it was awful,’ he said, looking at the road and thinking about pushing his fingers into that lush, shiny mass, letting the silky strands slide like water through his fingers.

‘Adam would,’ she mused, a distant expression on her face as she absently twirled a strand. ‘He’d hate it. He liked my hair short and neat.’ And I listened to him. I cut my hair; I lengthened my skirts; I allowed him to make me look stupid in front of his friends. What does that make me?

‘Who is Adam?’ He was conscious of her stiffening before she replied in a voice that was wiped clean of all emotion.

‘I was engaged to him.’ She supposed the thing about repressive relationships was that you didn’t even begin to suspect you had been in one until you had escaped.

Antonio’s eyes slid to her slim finger. ‘Past tense…?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, these days I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission to cut my hair.’

‘You don’t look like a woman who asks permission for anything.’

Her shocked eyes brushed briefly with his before she lowered them and he turned his attention back to the road.

‘I’m not,’ she said after a moment. ‘I just forgot it for a while.’ She swallowed to relieve the emotional constriction in her throat.

‘It happens,’ he agreed. In his experience you scratched the surface of the average control freak and you revealed a pathetic loser riddled with insecurities. ‘You lived with this Adam?’

She wondered how far it was to the hospital and considered telling him to mind his own business, and then thought, What did it matter? It wasn’t as if it were a secret or anything.

‘Yes, for nearly three years. We split up about eighteen months ago.’

‘Madre di Dios! How old were you when you moved in?’

‘Is that relevant?’ she countered spikily. ‘I was twenty…so what? People can be just as stupid when they’re thirty as they are when they’re twenty.’

‘Twenty? His breath escaped in a hissing sigh of disbelief. Insane! My daughter will be twenty in seven years’ time.’ The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks falling on his chest.

‘She’s going to be a knockout when she’s older,’ Fleur predicted. ‘You’re going to have trouble long before she’s twenty.’

As images of men with evil intentions pursuing his little girl flashed through Antonio’s mind he felt the foundations of his once-stable world shift even farther.

‘I don’t think so.’ The present was so bad it had not occurred to him that there was every chance that the future could be worse.

‘Oh, you’re of the over-my-dead-body school of thought?’ Fleur mocked.

His jaw tightened. ‘I believe in discipline.’

‘You do know the surest way to send a female into the arms of an unsuitable man is to offer opposition?’

The little witch is patronising me! His eyes, fixed on the road ahead, narrowed. ‘Didn’t your parents have anything to say when you moved in with this man?’

‘I was a very mature twenty…’ And her parents had at that point just retired to Scotland.

‘And now you’re a very mature, damaged…what twenty-four?’

‘Twenty-five.’ Her eyes widened as she recalled it was her birthday. ‘Today, actually.’ Her head turned as a frown formed on her smooth brow. ‘And I am not damaged!’ she yelled, her voice very loud in the confines of the car. ‘Or do you think anyone who isn’t an innocent virgin damaged goods? What century are you living in?’

‘I was speaking about emotional damage.’

‘Well, don’t, because it’s not any of your business,’ she growled.

‘For the record, I have no especially strong feelings about virgins.’

‘How emotionally mature of you.’

‘Would this be the right moment to wish you a happy birthday? I don’t suppose that this was the way you planned to spend it.’

‘Nobody plans a day like today; they just have nightmares about it.’

‘Well, you’ll never forget it, at least.’

Or you. ‘Just like chicken pox.’ She lowered her eyes, which currently had a disturbing tendency to drift towards his profile.

‘Did you have something special arranged?’ Was some man waiting for her with flowers and champagne? ‘Now I understand your crankiness. I suppose I should apologise for spoiling your plans.’

‘I am not cranky! And…I was just having a quiet night in.’

‘Alone…?’

Fleur flushed, aware that she was in danger of appearing like a sad loser if she told him what her plans for her birthday had been. ‘What is this—twenty questions? You’re getting my life history and I don’t know anything about you.’

‘I thought reading those magazines had made you an expert.’

‘I suppose there might have been one or two things they missed out,’ she conceded lightly. ‘Unless you really do spend all your time making indecent amounts of money and attending film premières.’ Not alone, but she felt strangely reluctant to bring his glittering companions into the conversation.

‘I like to think my life is more balanced than that.’ His female family members might have disputed this. Actually, they frequently did. ‘What do you want to know? Ask away.’

It amused him that his passenger didn’t appear to appreciate what an extraordinary invitation this was. He still didn’t know what impulse had made him extend it. Volunteering information was not something he usually did. After a couple of incidents when he had first found himself in the media spotlight Antonio had turned being guarded and discreet into an art form, much to the intense frustration of those who pursued him.

‘Seriously.’

He shrugged and said, ‘Why not?’ His theory was that while he kept her angry or interested she wasn’t stressing about her imminent visit to the hospital.

‘Well, knowing your views on making lifelong commitments when you’re young, as I now do, and thanks for sharing that with me,’ she said with deep sincerity, ‘I was wondering how old you were when Tamara was born.’

His head turned and for a brief moment their eyes met. She saw the acknowledgment of her hit reflected in his face. Fleur settled back in her seat, satisfied she had made her point.

‘I’m not totally sure,’ he said a moment later.

Her eyes widened. ‘Not sure? The birth of their child is not the sort of thing that most people forget.’

Under the flickering street lamps Fleur saw an expression she couldn’t pin down flicker across his lean face. ‘I wasn’t around at the time.’

‘So you weren’t there at the birth.’ Her heart went out to the mother giving birth alone.

‘Tamara’s mother and I were not together when she was born.’

‘But Tamara lives with you now…?’

‘Her mother died a short time ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It seemed inadequate, but what else could she say that wasn’t equally trite?

‘Thank you, but Miranda has not been part of my life for many years. But, yes, when she’s not running away, Tamara is now living with me. It is a…new arrangement.’

‘I suppose it can be hard for fathers when their little girls start to grow up,’ she conceded generously.

‘This situation is different.’

Fleur shrugged. ‘I suppose we all think something is different when it happens to us.’

His vocal cords chose that moment to start acting independently of his brain and Antonio heard himself tell a total stranger, ‘I only met my daughter a week ago.’

Fleur’s first thought was that she had misheard him. ‘A week…?’

‘Eight days, to be precise.’ By all means be precise, Antonio, while you strip your soul bare to satisfy her curiosity.

Antonio’s father had been a man who held some pretty inflexible beliefs when it came to manly behaviour. High on the list of things that were signs of weakness and never to be indulged in by real men were crying, whining and talking about your feelings.

If Antonio had displayed any of these undesirable traits as a child his father had been disappointed…he had looked at his son and shaken his head.

For Antonio, who had worshipped his father, a sound beating would have been infinitely preferable to that shake of the head.

Even allowing for the balancing strong female influence in his life, something of his father’s attitude had inevitably coloured his own behaviour. As an adult it never occurred to him to seek out a shoulder, not even a pretty one, to cry on when the going got tough. And he most certainly did not blurt out private and personal details to total strangers.

Until now.

‘You didn’t have any contact with her while she was growing up?’

He could hear the frost in her voice. ‘None at all.’ He’d already told this woman far too much; he wasn’t about to defend himself to her.

Lips compressed, Fleur turned her head and looked out the window. She didn’t know why she felt disappointed. It wasn’t as if the things she had read about him suggested he was big on family values. He was a selfish, hedonistic egotist and they didn’t generally make the best fathers in the world.

‘And you’re surprised she ran away?’ He ignored the child all her life and then on a whim decided he wanted to play at being father. What did he expect? she thought scornfully, turning back to look at him.

‘So you blame me? You think tonight was my fault?’

‘It’s really none of my business.’

‘Well, that hasn’t stopped you from expressing an opinion so far.’

The angry words burst from Fleur. ‘Well, I just think—’ She stopped and bit her lip. ‘Well, there’s more to being a father than DNA. It’s a title you have to earn—’ She stopped again and turned her head to the window. ‘Sorry, it’s not my business…I just think…I’m sure you don’t give a damn what I think…why would you?’

Why do I? He thought about the lies that had been printed about him, and his indifference to them, and asked himself again…why did he care about the opinion of an inquisitive female he had never set eyes an until today?

‘You sit there looking so smug and superior, thinking—’

‘You don’t know what I’m thinking,’ she protested.

‘You don’t think so? Try this!’ All the anger and frustration he had been feeling for the past week was in his eyes as without warning he pulled the car to the side of the road, brought it to a halt on the grass verge and switched off the engine.

It was a stretch of road without lights and they were immediately plunged into darkness. Fleur instinctively shrank back in her seat, her eyes widening as she heard the clasp of his belt click. He switched off the car headlights and they were immediately plunged into total inky blackness.

It was the sort of darkness that had texture.

Fleur shivered. Her eyes were wide, straining in the darkness. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear the sound of him breathing and feel his anger vibrating in the enclosed space.

The sound of his voice made her start.

‘You think that I’m a selfish absentee father who has just decided to play at families.’

As this was almost exactly what she was thinking Fleur remained silent. It didn’t seem wise to aggravate farther someone who, for all she knew, could be a dangerous maniac on his days off.

One thing she did know was that he definitely wasn’t the ice-cool character portrayed in those glossy magazines. She had begun to wonder if the authors of those pieces had ever even met him. If they had they could not possibly have missed the combustible quality that lay there just beneath the surface. She had been all too aware of it from the moment she had laid eyes on him.

Her stomach churned sickly with apprehension as she waited for him to speak.

‘That is a very eloquent silence.’

Her eyes had begun to adapt to the lack of light and she could make out his outline. It was large and threatening. ‘You’re scaring me.’

The silence that followed her breathy confession was heavy and oppressive. Then to her relief he clicked a switch and the interior of the plush car was filled with weak light.

A gusty sigh escaped her tight, aching throat.

He dragged a hand through his dark hair and looked at her pale face. ‘You scare easily.’

It might not be his fault that the pale light drew attention to the hard, chiselled angles of his face, making him look sinister and dangerous, but it was his fault that he had scared her witless.

‘No, I don’t,’ she retorted with feeling.

A grimace that might have suggested regret crossed his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pressing his head deep into the leather head rest.

Sorry was a word she suspected didn’t cross his lips too frequently. She watched as he stared out the window. The thoughts he appeared lost in were, if his expression was any measure, pretty dark. ‘I didn’t know of her existence until now.’

‘Whose existence?’

A muscle alongside his mouth clenched as his head turned. His blue eyes found hers. ‘Tamara’s.’

Fleur grimaced in concentration and wrinkled her nose as she tried to follow what he was saying. ‘How could you not know you had a daughter?’

‘I did not know until last week that there was a Tamara. I didn’t know that Miranda was pregnant. My daughter and I are total strangers.’

He watched her almond-shaped eyes fly open and cursed under his breath. What was it about her, he wondered, that loosened his tongue?

‘Strangers?’ she echoed.

He nodded, reliving as he did so the moment he had been given the first glimpse of his daughter as she’d climbed out of the back seat of the Bentley. His trademark objectivity had been history.

She’s mine…

Fatherhood might be more than some matching strands of DNA, but in that moment what Antonio had felt had been nothing less than a connection.

However, whatever hope he might have held that Tamara also felt that connection had been quickly dashed. Not content with abandoning Tamara, her so-called father, Charles Finch, had obviously done a number on her. And Antonio was clearly the villain of the piece, the heartless man who was stealing her away from the only home she had ever known and a father who, or so he’d told her, would give anything to keep her. And so his daughter never looked at him with anything but hate in her eyes.

‘That’s…that’s…’

The past faded as beside him and very much in the present Fleur shook her head slowly from side to side.

‘That’s what she meant when she said you weren’t her real father?’

He nodded.

‘Her father—the other one, I mean—does she have…? Is he…?’

‘He’s alive.’ His expression was savage as he tacked a furious volley of Spanish onto the terse statement.

Fleur didn’t understand a word, but she was guessing—it didn’t seem a big leap—he wasn’t expressing warm affection for the other man.

‘I suppose,’ she conceded, ‘under the circumstances you’re bound to resent him, but you can’t really blame the poor man, can you? I mean, I don’t know the circumstances—’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘But this must be a tough situation for him too.’

‘Yes, the poor man has suffered so much, but you know what they say about karma—what goes around comes around. We can only hope that he will get all he deserves one day.’ And Antonio really hoped that he would be around to see it…better still deliver it!

Puzzled by the edge to his voice that didn’t match the sentiment of his words, she studied him uncertainly.

His lips curled into a sardonic smile. ‘You are trying to get into my head again, aren’t you, querida?’

The husky accusation brought a guilty flush to her cheeks. ‘I’ve told you, it’s not somewhere I’ve any desire to be,’ she told him primly.

‘Maybe you just can’t help yourself where I’m concerned?’ he suggested silkily.

Now that was a really scary thought. ‘And maybe you’re totally deluded—’ She broke off, her eyes widening as without warning he leaned across and took her face between his big hands.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek and with a whimper closed her eyes tight shut.

‘It is your birthday,’ he said in a voice that seemed much more thickly accented than she had noticed before.

‘I know that.’

He tilted her framed face up to him. If he didn’t kiss that mouth he would always wonder…‘Is it not almost obligatory to kiss a person on her birthday?’

‘Not this per…’ She sucked in a deep startled breath and stilled as she felt the feathery touch of his lips on first one eyelid, then the other. At the corner of her mouth his touch was equally light.

This was fine. This she could cope with, even laugh about with Jane at a later date. The day Fleur got kissed by a Spanish billionaire would be a joke between them.

All I have to do, she told herself, is not make a big thing of it and breathe…yes, breathing was important.

His head lifted.

‘Right, I consider myself kissed. Can we get on?’

‘Kissed…?’ he echoed, his blue eyes glittering with amusement and a lot of other things that she didn’t want to put a name to. ‘You haven’t been kissed, querida,’ he drawled.