- -
- 100%
- +
The downpour was of biblical flood proportions. Within two minutes she was drenched. Her hair plastered against her skull; the water streamed down her face, making it hard to see. More worrying than her wet clothes was the water sloshing around in the bottom of the canoe.
Trying to see past the rain that was now being driven horizontally by a gale-force wind into her face, she recalled the weather man’s prediction of light showers and laughed.
The hysterical sound was whipped away by the wind, which was again blowing her in the wrong direction. Head bent, she paddled hard but, despite the fact her arms felt as though they were falling off, she made no headway. She put oar down for a moment to ease the burning pain in the muscles of her upper arms and shoulders, flexing her stiff fingers as she balanced it across the canoe.
She saw it happening as if in slow motion. She lunged forward, one arm outstretched and the other holding onto the edge of the wildly rocking kayak. Just as her fingers touched the oar a current carried it away out of reach. Her centre of gravity lost, Zoe struggled to pull back, but just when it seemed inevitable she would be pitched into the grey swirling water she managed to recover, collapsing back with a sob of laughing relief into the canoe.
It hardly seemed possible that a couple of weeks ago she had decided that this stretch of the river, with its series of shallow waterfalls and half-submerged stone slabs where people sunbathed and children paddled in shallow pools, made for a really lovely afternoon stroll. Pretty, but not dramatic.
Today it did not lack drama. The river was wild white water, full of dark swirls and hidden obstacles. The boulders she strove to avoid were only just visible above the foaming white water. Zoe paddled with her hands but soon recognised it was hopeless. The kayak would never survive.
Feeling surprisingly calm in the face of impending disaster, Zoe was in the middle of telling herself she was overreacting when the kayak hit a submerged rock. The jarring motion as it glanced off sent the flimsy craft rocking sideways. Thrown off balance, Zoe lurched sideways, throwing her body weight sharply to one side to right the canoe. For a moment it seemed to work, but it was hit by an extra-strong squall of wind and simply carried on going.
This time there was no reprieve and the immersion in the shockingly cold grey water took her breath. For a moment she panicked, flailing around blindly as she tried to free herself from the upturned canoe, hampered by clothes that dragged her downwards. When she did she surfaced almost immediately, choking as she gasped for air. Behind her the canoe was making its way upside down through the churning white water, before it vanished over the top of a weir.
That could have been me.
But it won’t be. The twins would be all alone, they need me. Focusing on that one thought and not the cold seeping into her bones, she struck out strongly, aiming for the opposite bank, where she would be likely to see someone who could raise the emergency services. Zoe was a strong swimmer with no fear of the water, but even so the going was tough and her progress, hampered by her clothes, was torturously slow.
As she swam she was distantly aware of a sound above the echoing roar of the water and her own heartbeat but she didn’t allow it to distract her. She couldn’t stop. She had to keep going. Every second she wasted the twins could be…No, she wouldn’t think like that. She needed to focus.
‘Focus, Zoe,’ she said to herself—but the water filled her open mouth and, choking, her head went under.
As she was lifted unceremoniously out of the water she continued to kick feebly, right up to the moment she was hauled over and left utterly disorientated in an inelegant heap in the bottom of what seemed to be a small motorboat.
She grunted as the boat swerved, sharply throwing her against a wooden seat. The locker underneath was open and a child’s inflatable vest spilled out. Oh, God, the children were out there somewhere!
She began to cry great silent, gulping sobs that racked her entire body.
Once the boat was away from the immediate danger of hitting the rocks and in the relative safety of open water, Isandro cut back on the throttle and turned his attention to the sodden bundle of misery sitting in the bottom of the boat.
He experienced a gripping sensation in his chest almost as strong as the one he had felt when he had seen her head vanish under the grey water—though without the soul-destroying terror.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he blasted.
She recognised the voice but was convinced she was dreaming. Except in her dreams he hadn’t sounded angry…Zoe dragged her hair back from her face. My God, it was him!
It was Isandro! Looking furious, very wet and not dressed for sailing!
‘Isandro…how…?’ She stopped. It didn’t matter how he came to be here. ‘No,’ she croaked, grabbing at his leg and tugging. ‘I’ve got to go back.’
‘You want me to throw you back in the water? Do not tempt me,’ he growled, seeing her vanish beneath the grey water again and feeling the visceral kick of fear in his gut again. He never wanted to relive the moment when he saw her go under.
‘No, Isandro, you don’t understand! I think the twins…’
Some of the anger died from his face as he placed his hands on her shoulders and dragged her up onto the wooden bench seat beside him. Shaking so hard that her teeth chattered, she transferred her desperate grip to his jacket. Frantic to communicate the urgency of the situation, she grabbed his lapels and pulled.
‘The twins—’
‘No, Zoe—’
‘Listen, will you?’
He caught hold of her hands. ‘The twins are with Alex, who is not, I admit, the most likely child-minder. In fact it is highly likely that he is even now teaching them to play poker. But they are safe.’
Zoe blinked as she shook her head, trying to clear the fog in her brain. Why couldn’t she think straight?
‘The twins are all right?’ Without waiting for a reply, she pushed her head into his chest and began to cry in earnest.
His arms went out wide as he looked down at the head of tangled hair. His anger had vanished and he refused to recognise the feelings that had rushed in to fill the vacuum as tenderness. Her cries tore at him; finally the mewling sounds as she burrowed in deeper snapped his resistance and his arms closed around her. He lifted her body into the warmth of his.
‘Madre di Dios, you’re an imbecile, a raving…You make me want, you make me feel—’ He stopped and thought, you make me feel…too much. Digging his fingers into her wet hair, he stroked her scalp and let her cry herself out.
He had stopped resisting the sexual desire he felt for her. Physical desire was normal, not complicated. It was something that he understood and accepted, not a weakness. It did not require that he surrender any control; it was not about trusting. He wanted her on his terms—he would have her on his terms. He would not fall into the trap of allowing emotions to cloud his judgement.
He was not his father.
Finally peeling herself away, Zoe straightened up, blinking like someone waking up.
‘I’m…’ She gulped and shook her head again as he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
‘It’s wet but better than nothing.’
The lining was still warm. ‘Sorry,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. She was too embarrassed by her total meltdown. Why did she always make a total fool of herself around him?
He kept one hand on her shoulder, the other on the tiller, guiding the boat towards the mooring.
‘Sorry…I…I thought…’ Her lips quivered as she struggled for composure. ‘I thought they’d gone on the river…’ She gave a frown, trying to remember the sequence of events as much for her own benefit as for his. ‘We’d been to the craft fair in the park. When we started back it was late and I thought they were with me. I was running—they were going to clamp the car…’ Wrong tense, she realised, they probably already had clamped the car. But having faced what she had thought was a real disaster, car clamping faded into insignificance.
She pushed the wet strands of hair from her eyes and pressed the heels of both hands to her temples before slowly turning her head to stare at him.
‘What the hell made you go out on the water? Are you suicidal?’
‘The twins—’
‘And what would have happened to the twins if you had drowned?’ Her horrified little gasp felt like a knife sliding between his ribs, but Isandro didn’t allow his expression to soften as Zoe went several shades whiter. The only colour in her face was her dramatic sapphire eyes and the blue discoloration around her lips.
‘I was not going to drown,’ she protested through chattering teeth.
Faced with this refusal to acknowledge, let alone show any remorse for, the total bloody selfishness of her reckless actions, Isandro was tempted to throw her back in the water.
‘My mistake,’ he gritted through clenched teeth. ‘I can see now that you had the situation totally under control.’
Unable to tear her eyes off the nerve that was throbbing in his lean cheek, she shook her head. ‘No, really, I’m a strong swimmer…obviously I’m grateful but…’
‘But really you didn’t need my help at all.’ He gave a shrug and, cutting the engine, steered the gliding boat expertly between the moored vessels.
Before Zoe could respond he leapt out of the boat, landing lithely on the wooden pier where he proceeded to tie off the boat.
‘I really am grateful, Isandro. It was really lucky you had a boat.’
‘I don’t have a boat.’ A faint smile flickered across his face. ‘Not here anyway.’
‘But this?’ The boat wobbled as she got to her feet. With a grimace Zoe sat down again abruptly. Her knees were still shaking and she had no desire to repeat her earlier immersion.
Considering the question, Isandro thought of Georgie’s defence and smiled to himself. ‘I borrowed it.’
‘You stole it!’ she cried, but then, not wanting to come across as ungrateful again, she added, ‘But I suppose it was an emergency.’
‘What made you think they were heading for the river?’
‘Georgie wanted to go out in a canoe and I said no. We really didn’t have time…’
‘You do not have to justify your decisions to me, Zoe.’
‘Georgie is…’
‘Determined?’
Zoe acknowledged the dry suggestion with a shrug. ‘She didn’t fight it, which isn’t like her. Saying no is like a red rag to her. I should have known.’ After a fractional pause that was not lost on Isandro, she accepted the hand he held out to her and rose unsteadily to her feet. The boat swayed again and she lurched, making an awkward leap as he tugged.
As she landed clumsily on the boarded walkway Zoe heard a splash. Letting go of Isandro’s hand, she twisted around and saw the jacket that had been draped over her shoulders floating on the water.
‘Oh, God!’ On an adrenaline high still, she moved quickly without thinking and almost reached it.
An arm like a steel band around her waist hauled her back from the edge.
‘What the hell are you doing, woman? Do you have some sort of death wish? I have to tell you once is my limit when it comes to fishing suicidal maniacs out of the drink.’
Zoe didn’t struggle against the arms banding her. She leaned back into his big, solid, hard body, allowing herself the luxury of feeling safe. She wasn’t going to drown and the twins were all right.
She was still shaking with the chill of the ice in her veins but in the shelter of his arms she was protected from the wind. The feeling of security was an illusion but as illusions went this one felt good.
‘Your lovely jacket.’
Isandro rested his chin on the top of her head, closed his eyes and shook his head…Jacket!
‘I have others.’ The woman was in need of professional help. He shifted his stance to ease the pressure on his groin and thought, Dios, she is not the only one!
CHAPTER SEVEN
HER LIPS TWITCHED faintly. ‘The man who has everything.’
‘You read the article.’
Two weeks earlier a Sunday paper had decided to dedicate half their glossy supplement to him. The Man with the Midas Touch was to his mind shockingly unoriginal and a perfect example of the dumbing-down of the press…ten pages that said nothing new.
He had everything? He supposed he did. But to Isandro his wealth represented not luxury or self-indulgence but the freedom to live his life just as he wanted. Did that make him selfish? Did it make him happy…? Was anyone happy?
He shook his head. Dios, this was not the time for a philosophical debate. This was definitely a time for action, decisive action, and the priority was warming up Zoe before she became hypothermic.
It did not take him long to weigh the options. Decision-making was, as the article author had suggested, Isandro’s area of expertise.
‘Chloe gave me her copy,’ she admitted between chattering teeth. ‘The entire village bought the paper. They were sold out. You’re a local hero…for real now…’
‘Even if you didn’t need my help.’
Her lips twisted into a grimace. ‘I really am grateful…Stop! You can’t—!’
Isandro took no notice of her protests as he began to stride up the path from the river.
‘I can walk! Put me down…please put me down.’
He flashed her a look. ‘You won’t jump back in the river?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Seriously, though, you’re chilled through. You need to dry off and warm up.’
‘I need to see the twins.’
‘You think that’s a good idea, looking this way? You’ll scare the life out of them,’ he predicted. ‘Which in Georgie’s case might not be such a bad thing. But seeing you like that is likely to give Harry nightmares for a month.’ He arched a brow. ‘What, no “you know nothing about children, so butt out”?’
Zoe shook her head, biting her lower lip to stop it quivering. He had summed up the twins pretty accurately.
‘You’re right. It’s me who knows nothing about bringing up children,’ she wailed.
A hissing sound of exasperation left his lips as he hefted her a little higher with apparent ease. On another occasion when she wasn’t busy contemplating her failure at parenting, Zoe might have been impressed. She was not exactly petite. ‘I find it infinitely preferable when you are defensive and rude. This self-flagellation is boring.’
Finding herself unexpectedly placed on her feet, Zoe waited a moment for her head to stop spinning before she raised her swimming eyes to him, her quivering lips tightening. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry I bored you.’
He smiled. ‘Better,’ he approved. ‘Now, come on. What you need is a hot bath, a brandy—or maybe not brandy, you might kiss the concierge—and a change of clothes before you return to your niece and nephew.’ Placing a hand on her elbow, he guided her past the selection of gleaming top-of-the-range cars parked in front of the hotel whose gardens went down to the river.
‘Nice thought, but unless you have them in your pocket…’ She tried a smile but her teeth were chattering too hard. Every squelchy footstep was uncomfortable. ‘Where are you parked?’
‘I’m not. Alex took the twins back to Ravenwood. I’ll ring him, and he’ll tell the twins we’ll be back later.’
Belatedly Zoe realised his intention.
‘You’re kidding—no way!’ She shook her head and shrugged off the guiding hand on her shoulder as she stared up at the recently restored art deco façade of the five-star hotel with a reputation that drew a lot of people to the area.
She’d often thought it would be nice to sample the food there—but not looking like this!
‘Why would I be kidding?’
‘You can’t just walk in there looking like this.’ She glanced at him and made the mental adjustment that while he could, she couldn’t. Isandro’s clothes might be sodden, but he had not been swimming, and even if he had, she acknowledged reluctantly, he would still have the presence to make any door open for him.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I don’t know what the dress code is but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.’ She held her hands wide to reveal her sodden muddy clothes. ‘They’ll throw me out. They won’t even let me walk across the hallowed threshold.’ She took a step backwards, shaking her head in response to the gleam in his eyes. ‘And before you suggest it, being carried won’t change anything.’
Except possibly her pulse rate. She knew that later that night she was going to remember every little detail of being carried in his arms, which would have made her a disgrace to modern liberated womanhood had she not suspected that inside most modern independent women lurked a secret desire to be swept off her feet. And if a man like Isandro was doing the sweeping, she suspected that few would find the experience objectionable.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it would have felt like if his motivation had not been totally practical—a scenario that would have required her not looking like a drowned rat and for him to not be her boss…
But this is the real world. And once more, as far as he’s concerned, you’ve shown yourself to be a pain in the backside.
‘I was not about to offer. The fact is you’re not as light as you look, especially wet.’ His grin widened in response to her indignant squeak. ‘Who exactly do you think is going to stop us?’
Zoe, who felt oddly light-headed, didn’t react to the question. ‘Just take me home, Isandro.’ She clutched her spinning head, suddenly feeling nauseous as frames of the past hour flashed before her eyes. ‘I turned around and they weren’t there, and I…’
Observing the blue discoloration of her beautiful lips, Isandro released a hissed imprecation from between clenched teeth before taking her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He turned her face up to his. The problem was not so much her imminent collapse or her stubborn refusal to enter the hotel as his struggle to maintain the necessary level of objectivity.
‘Look, adrenaline was the only thing that kept you on your feet, and it’s crashed.’ So had she.
‘I do feel a bit…’
‘You look a bit, too.’ His glance drifted over the curve of her cheek, delineated by classic high cheekbones. Her perfect skin was marble pale, the only colour in her face was supplied by her eyes, which stood out as a flash of startling colour in a monochrome film.
‘You didn’t succeed in drowning yourself, so now you are inviting hypothermia.’ The effort to conceal the concern her fragility evoked in him made Isandro’s voice cold and flat. ‘We need to warm you up, get you out of those wet clothes.’
The words had barely left his lips before a stream of images that Isandro could have done without flashed through his head. He was regaining his shattered control when a sly voice reminded him that skin-to-skin contact was a well-known treatment for hypothermia His control went out of the window!
Even a sub-zero body temperature was not going to save him from the spike of lust that hardened his already half-aroused body. Madre di Dios, he was turning into a sad adult version of some sex-starved teenager! For a man who prided himself on his self-control it was…not tolerable. The only thing that was going to restore him to sanity was spending a week in bed with Zoe Grace.
He exhaled. The first step to solving a problem was admitting it existed. This he had already done. The next step was to work out a strategy. He needed to treat this problem like any other and apply logic and cool objectivity. The problem was that where his housekeeper was concerned he struggled to think objectively, and as for logic—he’d just stolen a boat, for God’s sake!
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Zoe said, looking at him over the soggy tissue she had produced and was now sniffing loudly into.
The prosaic action was rather touching, but not touching enough to hold his attention when the competition was the heaving contours of her breasts under the thin layer of drenched cotton through which her peaked nipples were clearly outlined.
‘I rather doubt that, querida.’ His thoughts were pretty rampant.
‘You think I’m not fit to look after a cat, let alone two children,’ she wailed, in full self-pity mode.
He did not respond with any comforting denials, but glanced rather pointedly at his watch.
This callous behaviour drew a hiss of annoyance from between her chattering teeth. ‘So sorry—am I keeping you?’ she said, wondering why she had thought for a second that her problems would do anything but bore the pants off him.
Her eyes dropped, running the length of his long legs, then making the journey back once she had reached his now muddy boots. She could see that, for some women, getting his pants off by whatever method would be considered a good result but she…Who was she kidding? Even on the brink of what felt like imminent hypothermia she could not stop lusting after him.
‘Not at all. Feel free to go ahead and beat yourself up,’ he encouraged. Zoe tried to bear her teeth in a snarl but she was shaking too hard and she bit her lip instead, drawing a pinprick of blood and his disturbing dark stare. ‘But do you mind if we continue this conversation indoors?’
Zoe glanced at the hotel entrance. The golden light shining through the doors looked warm and inviting…and she was very cold. She lifted a hand to the hair that was plastered to her skull. His was, too, but in his case the effect was not drowned rat.
‘I can’t.’ It was an invitation for him to contradict her, and he accepted it.
‘Can and will,’ he said, catching hold of her hand. ‘We need a room.’ On so many levels they needed a room!
‘You can’t walk in and book a room for a few hours,’ she said, pointing out the obvious. At least it seemed obvious to her.
‘Why not? People do. Oh, I see.’ He laughed. ‘You’re afraid your reputation will be ruined if you’re seen going into a hotel room with a man.’
‘Of course not. And nobody is going to think that you…me…we…unless you normally have to half drown a woman before she’ll have sex with you.’
‘Not so far.’
Before she could interpret the odd inflection in his voice he had tightened his grip and virtually dragged her up the shallow flight of steps.
The warmth inside the hotel foyer hit her like a wall. So did the stares. It seemed to Zoe that a thousand eyes followed their progress.
But, as he predicted, nobody attempted to stop them, though it would have taken a very brave person to approach Isandro, who had adopted what she privately called his ‘to hell with the lot of you’ expression. His antagonism was probably aimed at her. This couldn’t have been the way he had intended to spend his day, but the people who cleared a path for him weren’t to know that.
It was amazing, she reflected enviously, as at her side Isandro gave every appearance of being genuinely oblivious to the stares and hushed comments that followed their progress across the lobby. But then he was probably used to people staring. And who could blame them? she thought as she directed a covert sideways look through her lashes at his stern profile, dishevelled but beautiful.
Even as someone who had previously not been totally sold on the dark brooding aura, she was willing to admit he was a fantastically good-looking man, who didn’t just have the perfect face and body but also the indefinable extra factor. Confidence, sheer arrogance—whatever it was, he had it, and being extremely damp with his clothes spattered with mud and badly in need of a shave did not lessen it. The liberal sprinkling of stubble on his jaw lent an extra layer of air of danger, and did not exactly diminish his appeal.
So who could blame people for staring? she thought, making a conscious effort to emulate some of his attitude. And promptly tripping over the sodden hem of her jeans. It would happen when one stared at a man and not where one was going!
The ripple of laughter at her near pratfall brought her chin up. Trotting now to keep up with Isandro, Zoe suddenly thought, To hell with this! and gave the person who had laughed an enquiring look, even managing to inject a little hauteur into it. The culprit looked away before she did.