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She stripped off her clothes, showered, wrapped herself in a towel and slumped on the bed. Her head ached miserably from the heated exchange between her and Felipe. He’d said it all in that brief but painful altercation. This was a Gemma Soames he knew nothing about. But was it any wonder? Once she had been happy and carefree, but lately she had been morose and bitter, and it was all his fault.
How very little they did know of each other. They were familiar with each other’s bodies but that was all. She would never have believed him capable of such cruelty. The very idea of him bringing her here to make her suffer was quite astonishing. He believed she had rejected him, his Hispanic descent had taken that as a personal humiliation and now he was determined to humiliate her in return.
Gemma buried her face in the cool lace bedspread. She felt sick and weary and wished with all her heart she had listened to her mother and not taken this assignment.
When she finally raised herself out of a deep sleep it was dark. Amber candle lights glowed softly in wrought-iron fixtures on the wall. The fan above the bed whirred softly. For a second Gemma wasn’t sure where she was and then it all folded over her, a black cloud of depression.
She got up, splashed her face with water, and found her white satin robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, freshly ironed.
She slid into it and found that Maria had unpacked for her, ironed all her clothes and put them away.
‘You are awake,’ Maria said as she stepped softly into the room. ‘Felipe would like you to go down for dinner but he said not to worry if you have the lag jet.’
Such thoughtfulness from Felipe would have gone unnoticed before, but now it throbbed with suspicion. But maybe he’d had time to think how unreasonable he had been.
‘I feel a little better, Maria, but not enough to dress and go down for dinner. Is Se?or de Navas back yet?’
‘No, not for a few days yet,’ Maria told her, straightening the bedspread.
Pity, thought Gemma, she would have made the effort for him, her father. The thought didn’t excite her any more, just speared regret through her. She shouldn’t have come.
So she had a few days to kill before he came back. Under any other circumstances she would have welcomed the wait. It would give her the chance to fully recover from her ‘lag jet’ and emotionally prepare her for coming face to face with her real father. Now, with Felipe around to torment her, the waiting could be doubly insufferable. Depression washed over her in a fresh wave of despair.
‘Señorita…’ Maria started, but suddenly she became tongue-tied and a slight flush rose to her cheeks.
‘Please call me Gemma,’ Gemma said, trying to put her at her ease.
Maria smiled, ‘Gemma,’ she repeated, having difficulty with the soft G, and it came out as if she had something stuck in the back of her throat. ‘Felipe, he tell me why you are here…’
Gemma froze, her hand suspended over her head as she was brushing her hair. Surely he hadn’t confided in the housekeeper, told her they had been lovers and the reason he had engineered this commission?
‘Is my daughter, Christina. She love the Americano and he one day go back home and maybe he take my daughter with him…she is all I have. Maybe…you have time to do a…to do a small picture…’ Suddenly she shook her head. ‘No, I should not ask…’
Gemma grinned, half with relief, half with pleasure. ‘Oh, Maria, you want me to paint your daughter?’
Maria shook her head again, twisted her hands in front of her. ‘I should not ask…’
‘I’d love to do it,’ Gemma laughed with relief. It was a marvellous idea. It would keep her occupied and soothe her ravaged thoughts and how could she refuse such a heart-rending request?
‘I pay,’ Maria smiled, relief flooding her motherly features.
‘You won’t!’ Gemma protested. ‘It will be a gift from me to you. It will be a pleasure to do it,’ she told the woman, lightly squeezing her arm to prove she meant it.
Flushed with pleasure Maria turned away and stopped at the door. ‘I bring you food. You must eat and I tell Christina. She will be much excited.’
Gemma finished brushing her hair and wished she could brush away the depression with it. Well, at least, that was one problem solved—what to do with herself while she waited for Agustªn de Navas. Would Felipe mind? She presumed that Maria’s daughter also worked here but there was no reason why the girl couldn’t sit for her in her spare time. But what had it to do with Felipe anyway—this was Agustªn’s home, wasn’t it? But Felipe lived here and Maria addressed him as if he was the head of the household in Agustªn’s absence.
She frowned in bewilderment as she lay her brush down on the dressing table. Why did Felipe live here anyway? True, only some of the time, but he was here now, none the less. She knew he had something to do with finance in the oil-field sector. Was he an adviser to her father…to Agustªn? The remoteness of the sprawling hacienda would warrant a long stay if Agustªn operated his empire from home. But that was only a presumption. The truth she longed to know but would it make any difference to the terrible predicament she found herself in?
The blackness outside her bedroom window gave no answers as she stared bleakly out, holding back the drapes with one hand. Strange how life twisted and turned, forever catching you unawares. She had come out here with trepidation in her heart at the thought of coming face to face with the man who was her father. Now that trepidation was for another man, her one-time lover, Felipe Santos. The fear of what he had in mind for her now outweighed the apprehension she felt at meeting Agustªn de Navas.
‘I’m sorry you don’t feel well enough to join me downstairs for dinner. The mountain comes to Mahomet, as you probably intended.’
His voice was raw with sarcasm and Gemma swung to face him.
‘That wasn’t the intention.’ She scowled as he put a tray of food down on one of the sideboards. ‘I’m not playing games as you suppose. I could hardly anticipate your doing such a menial task as bringing my dinner up, could I?’
‘Nothing surprises me about you. You’re sharp enough to realise that I would be annoyed by your stubbornness and not let it pass.’
‘I was under the impression I had a choice—to join you downstairs or to eat in my room,’ Gemma retorted. ‘In fact, I thought how considerate you were to think I might be suffering from jet lag. How wrong I was.’
‘Are you suffering from the after-effects of your long journey?’ He smiled coldly, his deep-set eyes sweeping over the provocative white satin of her robe.
Gemma stood her ground, not rising to the giveaway action of tightening it around her in an attempt at propriety. He knew what lay beneath it well enough.
‘Aren’t I allowed even that small weakness?’ she asked bitterly.
‘Only if I’m allowed one too.’
Because she wasn’t expecting it, her body wasn’t geared for defence. His hand shot out and slid round her waist and in one swift thrust she was hauled hard against him. His mouth was hot on hers, hot, demanding and deadly in the instant desire it sprang in her. His tongue eased past her lips, grazed heatedly over the soft inner skin of her lips, numbing her senses to why he was doing this.
A noise came from his throat, animal-like, predatory, uncontrollable. It was one she recognised and had always thrilled to in the past. An admission from him that the power of his love demanded her complete surrender, here and now and with an urgency that left her breathless. She had always matched his eagerness with a depth of desire that never ceased to arouse him to the limits of his endurance.
It was happening now, that turbulent flush of emotions coursing through her that had her aching so intensely for his penetration. His hand now sliding over the soft satin, now kneading her flesh beneath it till the white heat of desire scorched every negative pulse under her skin as if a virulent flame had flashfired over her body.
Her mind spun with the depth of the need, and so intense was it that she couldn’t register that this was just a punishment, his revenge, his torment. His hands, burning now, hard with intention, thrust beyond the thin fabric, scored across her breasts, drawing a deep gasp from Gemma’s throat.
He held her breast fiercely to guide her aroused nipple to his mouth, drew deeply on it as if he was sampling some rare, sweet wine and wanted to savour the very last drop.
Gemma’s hands flew to his hair, twisting the familiar springy silken coils in her fevered fingers, holding him against her for fear of losing him again.
But he was lost, her tormented senses reasoned. He hated her. Believed she had wronged him and not the other way around. This was the torment he had promised her. But surely he must be in pain too? Surely this wasn’t an act put on for the purpose of revenge? He needed her, desperately. The hardness of his body thrusting against the heat of her own, the breath quickening in his throat, his moist mouth so possessive and demanding on her breasts, couldn’t be faked.
And then it was all over, the desire swept away on a swirling current of painful memories of betrayal. Their thoughts and reasoning coupled as their bodies weren’t going to be allowed to.
They both drew back from each other at the same instant and their glazed eyes locked painfully.
‘Hardly the way I had anticipated it ending,’ he grated harshly, pulling her robe around her and tightening the belt viciously.
Gemma clasped her shoulders and hugged herself for some sort of comfort. Her body trembled under the satin, not with desire but with the shock of the cold cessation of his embrace.
‘I…I thought that was the whole point of the exercise,’ Gemma whispered in a voice roughened by the intensity of her confused feelings. She knew in that moment that she wanted him as much as she ever had, not a need fuelled by just wanting his body but a need fuelled by love. She hadn’t been wrong about her feelings for him and a week had been long enough to prove that it was real. Her love was all still there, badly tarnished by his cruelty, but nevertheless there, deep in her heart. The confusion came for him. Didn’t he realise that too, that they had had something special and that whatever had passed could be resolved?
‘You’d better eat before your food gets cold,’ he said brittly, turning away from her and stopping at the door.
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, this abrupt change of subject once again. She wanted him to tackle her, she wanted a blazing row because sometimes good came out of such furious confrontations. But he had stopped and he was facing her and he had something more to say. She held her breath, absurdly anticipating and wishing something harsh and cruel to come from his beautiful mouth, an insult she could match and thrust back at him to start the ball rolling.
‘Tomorrow, after you are fully rested, I’ll show you over the rest of the hacienda. You’ll find enough to occupy yourself with till Agustªn returns.’
‘I already have something to do,’ she blurted, ridiculously hoping that he would object to her intermediary commission and so start the row she so longed for. ‘Maria asked me if I would do a painting of Christina for her.’
Her heart raced as his brow darkened. ‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ he said tightly. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’
‘No!’ Gemma cried, clenching her fists at her side. That hadn’t been her intention, to get Maria into trouble. She’d handled it all wrong and now Maria was going to be on the receiving end of his wrath, not her.
His eyes narrowed at her protest and his fingers whitened on the edge of the door.
‘No,’ Gemma repeated. ‘She was hesitant about asking me, said she shouldn’t have, but Christina is all she has and…and she wanted something to remember her by if…if one day she decided to go away.’
She didn’t mention Mike. He might not know that Agustªn’s pilot was in love with Maria’s daughter. She was walking a tightrope for Maria as it was.
‘She kindly offered to pay, but I said I would do it for nothing. It will keep me busy while I’m waiting. I don’t know what Christina’s position is in the household, but I promise I won’t let it interfere with her duties.’
Suddenly she didn’t want the row she had been needling for. It had all gone wrong and he wasn’t angry with her any more but with Maria, and that wasn’t fair.
‘She has enough spare time, so I don’t think it will be a problem,’ he said quietly, and relief flooded Gemma. ‘At least it will keep you out of my hair,’ he added brutally. ‘Give you time to reflect on what nearly happened in this room tonight. Don’t think for a minute that I’ve eased up on you, Gemma. Making love to you tonight doesn’t fit into my plans. But when I’m good and ready for you, you’ll know. I’ll have you hammering on my bedroom door before very long.’
All hope faded and Gemma tensed the body that only minutes before had melted in his arms like butter in the sun.
‘Sure you will,’ she conceded, braving a cynical smile. ‘I’ll be hammering on your door with a feather and I won’t have to do it twice, will I? Because you’ll be waiting eagerly enough, and you won’t have torment on your mind, will you?’
She thought that his rage would burst out and he’d murder her there and then and put them both out of their misery. His face darkened thunderously, his grip tightened so fiercely on the door that she feared he’d rip it from its iron brackets. But this was a new Felipe, one she was so terribly unsure of, one who didn’t do what she expected of him.
‘Sleep well, querida,’ he said, controlled and immobile now. ‘Think on what I have said and prepare yourself for the onslaught. It’s not a threat but a promise.’
He closed the door infuriatingly softly behind him and Gemma stemmed a cry of frustration in her throat.
CHAPTER THREE
GEMMA was up early the next morning. She’d slept enough for a month and awoken refreshed, though as soon as her feet touched the rug by the bed Felipe’s threats swamped her once again.
She wasn’t going to let it weigh her down, though, she determined. That was what he wanted: to undermine her confidence till she was an emotional wreck. She was halfway there, she suspected, but no one was going to know it.
After showering she dressed in a cool lemon sundress with thin shoulder straps and slipped on soft leather flip-flops. She grabbed her Ray-Ban sunglasses as she went out of the room. Her eyes ached this morning, a reminder that she wasn’t as brave as she was trying to be. She’d fought tears last night, battled with them till her eyes ached so badly that she had been tempted to give in and let them flow. But she wouldn’t give him an inch, let alone her tears!
The villa was still and Gemma hoped she was first up, hoped that no one would mind if she got her bearings in the old villa.
She paused on the stone stairway to study the paintings. Nothing she recognised, like a Renoir, a Turner or a Picasso. Mostly old portraits of the family, handed down from generation to generation. She wondered if any were of Agustªn but saw none that had been painted in the last fifty years. There were no portraits of women, she noted, but wasn’t surprised. This was a macho country where the women didn’t count for much, she cynically supposed.
The downstairs rooms were cool and airy. Huge rooms with high ceilings, heavily beamed, whitewashed stone walls and polished terracotta floor tiles throughout. The furnishings were in keeping with the villa, heavy antiques of dark carved wood. Tapestries of ancient hunting scenes decorated the walls and the sprawling sofas were upholstered in luxurious brocades. The Hereke rugs on the tiles were flat woven in shades of blue, red and ivory with flashes of gilded thread. Real gold? Gemma wondered.
There were bowls of flowers everywhere, roses to scent the air, lilies and the exotic orchids that decorated her own bedroom. The house, though sombre, was very beautiful, and a peculiar thought struck Gemma—that no children had exploded with laughter within these walls. In fact it had the awesome feel of a museum where children were inhibited and silent.
One room was locked and Gemma presumed that to be Agustªn’s private domain, his study possibly. Running out of rooms, she followed the corridor to the kitchen. She opened a door at the end, a heavy studded affair similar to all the doors in the house but this one somewhat newer.
This was where the heart of the home pulsed. The kitchen was huge, bright and a century more modern than anything she had seen so far.
Maria turned from the huge stainless steel range where she was frying crisp bacon and turning round flat pancakes in a pan. The smell was delicious and cheered Gemma, which made her reflect that though the rest of the house was beautiful it had slightly depressed her.
‘Gemma, you are well, si? Felipe is with the horses.’
Gemma could see for herself. She saw him through the open door at the back of the kitchen. He was exercising a black stallion in the paddock in front of the stables. He wore a black T-shirt with white riding breeches and even from this distance she could see that the gauntness she had first noticed about him was confined to his face, not his body. He was still a muscular, powerful man, but the hunted look gave the impression of an overall weight loss.
Her heart ached to think she might be the cause, but surely not? He hated her now, didn’t he? But the torment he had promised her was giving him no satisfaction. This revenge that was powering him was doing more harm than good.
Gemma turned away from the door as Maria called her for breakfast, an informal affair round an oak refectory table, which reminded Gemma that she was here for a purpose, to work—she wasn’t a guest in the house.
‘Christina cleans the bedrooms and will be finished soon. You start the picture then?’ Maria asked eagerly as Gemma ate her breakfast.
‘Later, Maria,’ came a voice from the back door, and Gemma turned her head to look at Felipe. He stood framed in the doorway, the glaring light of the day behind him silhouetting him as if he were the devil himself taking a day out from hell.
‘I wish to spend the morning with Gemma. Christina can sit for her this afternoon.’ He sat across the table from her and laid his riding crop down on the bench seat next to him as if he might need it at any moment.
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