She was her father’s daughter, all right.

She looked so like him. She shared the same tainted blood. Women like her were good for one thing only….

His senses flared as he looked at her again. With that in mind, he would have to build a few bridges. Didn’t they say revenge was a dish best served cold? Though when they got between the sheets he’d take his hot. Little Sophie Ford had ripened like a peach for the plucking—and he was developing quite an appetite.

The Spaniard’s Revenge
Susan Stephens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

THE man lounging back on the pale hide sofa appeared infinitely more at ease than the camera crew and reporters crowding the room. But he was suffering the glare of the lights, and people from Wardrobe were still buzzing around him like gnats.

As he sent a look spinning up to dismiss them, one girl holding a fat brush loaded with powder misread the signs and froze, trapped in his stare. Her eyes darkened and her lips plumped, all within the space of a few seconds. The television lights were blindingly bright but, as far as she was concerned, they might have been alone in a candlelit hacienda full of soft lights and low music.

‘Enough,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t do make-up.’

The other girls took the hint, backing away step by step in a timid, doe-eyed flock, dreaming wildly he might call one of them back.

‘Go,’ Xavier Martinez Bordiu insisted in a low, gravelly voice, flicking his wrist at the remaining girl. ‘Go join your friends. You’re not needed here.’

Abruptly, her eyes cleared and, as he watched them fill with tears of embarrassment, a pang of regret caught him unawares. Straightening up, he reached out to apologise, but she had already gone with the others and the double doors leading out of his apartment at the presidential palace had closed behind them.

What the hell was wrong with him?

As Xavier made a deep sound in his throat, feeling a stab of familiar pain, he saw the Floor Manager starting to panic. He made a signal to deflect the man’s concern, but he was already calling. ‘Water for Dr Martinez Bordiu.’

Xavier sat back again, oblivious to the splendour of his surroundings: chandeliers the size of houses, ivory fretwork screens, precious paintings banked up side by side as far as the eye could see on towering walls decked out in crimson silk.

This was a temporary stay at the President’s personal invitation, but he had lived with such opulence all his life. It meant nothing to him. However sumptuous his living quarters, however attentive his staff, even a life of unremitting luxury could pall in the end. That was why he had trained to become a doctor. And that was partly the reason he had chosen to lose himself in Peru, in a medical project that meant everything to him.

His jaw clenched and then released again as he waited impatiently for the vanities of the woman who was shortly to interview him about the project to be indulged.

She had the dark flashing looks of a true South American beauty. She was voluptuous and provocative, with a fall of glossy, nut-brown hair cascading over her smooth tanned shoulders. And when she turned to look at him he saw the tip of her tongue creep out to moisten her lips.

He viewed her lazily through hooded eyes and saw her squirm a little on her seat to ease what he knew would be bolts of desire. He knew then he could have her after the show: here, where he was sitting, or straddling his lap on the hard, upright chair where she was having her make-up perfected…or there on the Aubusson rug in front of the wall of windows so that everyone in Lima could get an eyeful.

He had that effect on women. And somewhere along the way it had all become too easy for him.

He never got involved. He didn’t need to. He didn’t need anyone. He was fine by himself. He had trained himself to be that way. Loving and losing, they were the same thing as far as he was concerned—and better avoided.

But that didn’t give him the right to trample rough-shod over other people’s feelings, Xavier thought, mouthing a quick response as someone brought over a jug of iced water and a glass. His thought processes changed track suddenly. Shutting out the rest of the room, he ran over the moment he almost made someone cry—not in pictures, but emotions, and found he cared…he really cared.

He subdued the rush of relief that gave him as the presenter came to sit across from him on a matching sofa, and tuned his expression to neutral as the interview began.

CHAPTER ONE

‘XAVIER MARTINEZ BORDIU! Are you sure, Henry?’

Shocked at hearing the name—even more shocked at blurting it out in a tone that made her boss’s head shoot up—Dr Sophie Ford felt her cheeks flush red. She knew she only had herself to blame when Professor Henry Whitland levelled a thoughtful stare on her face.

‘Xavier Martinez Bordiu is one of the finest physicians in Europe. We’re lucky to have the chance to work with him,’ he reproved her mildly. ‘I can’t think of anyone better to head up the immunisation programme in Peru.’

But Sophie wasn’t listening. Images of piercing navy-blue eyes were flashing through her mind…and sun-streaked tawny-brown hair, the colour, lustrous and rich, like a glass of good brandy—

‘Sophie… Sophie?’

While her head of department struggled to recapture her attention it took Sophie a few moments to shunt her thoughts back on track. ‘I’m sorry, Henry. You were saying?’

He frowned. ‘I’ve heard Dr Martinez is something of a maverick, leaving all that luxury behind him and those vast estates…half of Spain, wasn’t it?’ He shook his head and sighed as he thought of it. ‘But he’s bringing his Midas touch to medical projects now, so perhaps we should be grateful.’

He waited a moment, then stared at Sophie inquisitively. ‘You’re very quiet, Sophie. Is there anything else about him you think I should know?’ Laying down his gold-rimmed spectacles, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he waited for her to answer.

Xavier Martinez Bordiu? Sophie played for more time with a dismissive gesture. Rumour said Xavier had become Spain’s most notable monument to chauvinism in a country hardly noted for the retiring nature of its men. Would she have volunteered for the project if she’d known who was in charge? Probably not.

‘No, Henry,’ she said, able to reassure him on one point at least. ‘There are no skeletons in Dr Martinez Bordiu’s closet as far as I am aware.’ But even that wasn’t strictly true, Sophie realised as her face burned a little hotter. ‘I hear on the grapevine that he’s become a great doctor,’ she said, struggling to return to safer ground as her throat dried.

‘You speak as if you already know him.’

‘I used to,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I knew the Martinez Bordiu family when I was a child.’

‘Ah,’ Henry said.

Why did she have a sinking feeling he wasn’t about to let the matter rest? Henry wanted to be a lot more than her boss at St Agnetha’s, and it was fair to say a kind of understanding had developed between them. Henry lived in the same village as her mother, whose knowledge of him was minimal, but enough for her to describe him optimistically as a safe pair of hands. Sophie had no argument with that. Henry Whitland was kind, thoughtful and very well respected in his chosen field. And one day she would have to make a decision about her personal life…

‘And Xavier?’ he pressed.

Xavier, Sophie mused. The last time she’d seen him she’d been a hormonal teenager—but now she was a career woman with better things to think about than romance, she warned herself sternly.

‘Xavier Martinez Bordiu,’ Henry said again, with a touch more impatience.

‘Yes?’ Sophie said helpfully.

‘Forgive my interest, but I can’t help noticing how the mere mention of his name makes your face flush. I realise it’s none of my business—’

‘I should have known who was leading the team,’ Sophie said with a shrug.

‘Martinez Bordiu kept his name out of it until recently. You could hardly be expected to know. Does it make a difference to your application?’

‘Do you mean, am I going to back out? No,’ Sophie said firmly. Whatever problems might be associated with working for Xavier, she could handle them. Glancing at her watch, Sophie suddenly found herself longing to escape to the purposeful bustle of the wards.

‘Must you dash off?’ Henry said with a touch of petulance as she stood up to leave. ‘I thought we could talk some more.’

‘I should be getting back—’

‘I do remember your connection with Martinez Bordiu now.’

Sophie tensed as she waited for him by the door.

‘I remember some talk in the village of a terrible accident in Spain—and, forgive me, but am I right in thinking that your parents split up shortly after that—?’

‘That’s right,’ Sophie confirmed abruptly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, Henry—’

‘Far be it for me to risk Sister Spencer’s wrath,’ he agreed. ‘It’s almost time for rounds. I’ll walk with you.’

As they parted at the double swing doors that led into the children’s ward, he put his hand on the sleeve of Sophie’s white coat, stopping her. ‘I’m sure Dr Martinez Bordiu will be delighted to see you again.’

That tugged a smile from Sophie that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. She doubted Xavier would see it that way. ‘It’s kind of you to say so, Henry,’ she managed politely.

‘I wondered if we might discuss some of the wider issues regarding your posting over dinner tonight?’

Sophie’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. ‘I’m not sure, I—’

‘Just a quick snack? At that brasserie you love down the road.’

‘The one you hate?’ Sophie shot him a wry grin as she shovelled her hands into her pockets.

‘I don’t hate it,’ he argued mildly. ‘The music’s a little loud.’

‘Eight o’clock, then,’ she agreed with a quick smile. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy Henry’s company, Sophie reasoned as she pushed the double doors that led through into the ward and hurried to join the small group of junior doctors milling around the nurses’ station. She just needed more time to work out exactly what role he played in her life.

Casting a preoccupied glance out of the window of the light aircraft, Sophie tried telling herself that the arrangement she had made with Henry was fine. Before she left England he had insisted she have the antique ring she was now absentmindedly twirling round her finger. Their understanding was open-ended—no pressure, no deadlines; it was more of a thinking space than an engagement. He offered friendship and security. And security, as her mother had pointed out pragmatically, was exactly the sort of thing a career woman like Sophie would come to want. Eventually.

‘Mark my words, you will want to settle down one day…’

Settle, maybe, Sophie mused, remembering her mother’s forceful lecture. But settle down? She wasn’t so sure about that.

She didn’t feel ready for suburbia just yet. Maybe she never would, she thought, peering out of the window again. There was still so much she wanted to see, so much to do first. But her sensible self demanded a hearing: Henry was a man in his mid-forties, with a wealth of experience behind him…behind him being the operative phrase as far as her mother was concerned. She had delicately pointed out that a man like Henry was less likely to make demands on Sophie.

Sophie’s lips hardened as she remembered what had caused her mother’s apprehension where men were concerned. Home was supposed to be a sanctuary, but it hadn’t proved to be that for her mother. It hadn’t been that for Sophie either, though she didn’t bear any physical scars. She had only cowered on the stairs as a child, listening to the violence that stemmed from her late father’s drunken rages. It was a miracle her mother had survived at all, let alone gone on to live a full and happy life—and that was only thanks to the resilience of the female spirit.

Shifting in her seat, Sophie forced her mind to close down on that part of her life and concentrate on Henry instead. He had proved himself the perfect mentor, a loyal colleague and a true friend. And maybe, when she was ready, he would make the perfect husband. She reminded herself that the large cabochon amethyst was just a friendship ring…and that lots of successful marriages were founded on friendship; then, slipping it off her finger, she fastened it safely inside the top pocket of her jacket.

‘Look out of the window.’

Evie, the pilot, broke into Sophie’s thought processes, tipping the wings to give her a better view. ‘We’re just starting to fly over the Nazca Lines.’

‘I had no idea they covered such a vast area,’ Sophie said. Gigantic stylised figures, carved by an ancient people, reached across the arid umber plain below them for as far as she could see.

‘Some of them are over three hundred metres across and, on that scale, only visible from the air,’ Evie informed her, banking steeply. ‘I’ll spin you around to get a better look.’

She was serious, Sophie realised, bracing her feet against the floor as the small aircraft stood on its nose. Willing herself to stay calm, she managed to keep her stomach in place as they rotated through a full turn. But then, as curiosity got the better of her, she opened her eyes. She could make out a monkey, a fish, a spider and some sort of bird, as well as numerous geometric figures all painstakingly carved into the wide span of desolate earth, before the female equivalent of the Red Baron straightened out her plane and flew on.

‘How on earth?’

‘No one knows,’ Evie said, anticipating the question. ‘When? How? Why? It’s a complete mystery. Even Xavier—’

‘Xavier?’ Sophie cut in, viewing her attractive companion with a keener eye.

‘Xavier Martinez. Isn’t that who you’re going to be working with? There’s not much else happening out here apart from his medical project. But if you don’t know him yet,’ she said, without giving Sophie a chance to butt in, ‘you soon will. That’s his truck down there. And this is as far as I go.’

Sophie instinctively braced her feet again as the small plane plummeted down on a trajectory that had the ground screaming up at a furious rate to meet them.

‘Damn!’ Evie exclaimed as she levelled out for landing. ‘One of these days I’ll get that monument to male chauvinism to jump out of the way—or maybe even notice me. But not today,’ she fumed, ramming on the brakes after touchdown.

Making a tight turn, she accelerated down the narrow, bumpy airstrip to where Sophie could see a rangy figure, casually dressed, lounging back against the side of a dusty brown pick-up truck.

Extending her hand as they stopped, Evie said, ‘I take it they’ve equipped you with a radio. If that sexist brute gets too much for you and you need an out, just call me, OK?’

‘I can handle Xavier Martinez,’ Sophie said confidently, returning the firm handshake. ‘We’ve known each other for years.’

‘You obviously haven’t met him lately.’

‘No,’ Sophie admitted. After the rumours she’d heard she couldn’t resist probing just a little. ‘When I did know him he was quite a charmer…’

‘Charmer?’ Evie demanded incredulously. ‘People change. I give you a week,’ she added, drawing to a halt within spitting distance of Sophie’s new boss.

And then the pilot’s door flew open and Xavier was right there, ducking his head inside the confined space, baiting Evie with a dark, searing glance. The heat flew in from outside the aircraft, enveloping them in a warm cloud of faintly spicy air, and the temperature inside the small cabin went soaring up.

‘Women drivers!’ he challenged in a low, husky voice.

That voice… How could she have forgotten that voice? Sophie wondered, as vibrations rippled up and down her spine. That lust-inducing Latin growl of censure and testosterone that had every woman within earshot figuratively licking her lips…except this woman, Sophie asserted, feeling her defence shields snap into place.

‘Is it my fault you like to litter up the place?’ Evie retorted smartly. ‘Now clear off my runway, Don Juan. The light’s not going to hold up for much longer, and I need to get away.’

‘What about your passenger?’ he cut in, straightening up so that Sophie’s view out of the door was suddenly obstructed by a spread of rock-hard chest, clothed in a rugged, chequered shirt open at the neck to reveal a scoop of black cotton.

‘Dr Sophie Ford, safely delivered. Would you care to sign the manifest—’

‘What the hell?’ He ducked in again and peered across. ‘Is this some sort of a joke?’

A giant hand seemed to seize hold of Xavier’s guts and wrench them out where his back used to be. A red mist descended over his eyes as he tried to control the emotion clawing at his senses. It was so real, so tangible, he tried clearing it from his eyes with the knuckles of one hand. If there was anything on this earth he never wanted to see, or hear from, again, it was a member of the Ford family. Every one of the promises he had made to himself back in Lima to improve his manner evaporated as he stormed round the front of the aircraft.

His angry footsteps accelerated Sophie’s efforts to release her seat belt.

‘So, it is you,’ he growled, flinging her door as wide as it would go.

‘Xavier. You must have known,’ Sophie insisted calmly, gathering up her wits along with her gear. She had no intention of allowing herself to be drawn into a confrontation with the navy-blue lasers currently trained on her face. And just when had his hair darkened to sepia and mutated into aggressive spikes that emphasized his incredible bone structure, instead of conforming slavishly to the longer, sleeker style that started a whole new fashion amongst his wealthy set years back? Just when had cool become hot?

‘How do you work that out?’ he demanded curtly, stabbing into her memories.

‘Henry wired ahead—’

‘Henry—’ Xavier’s mimicry stopped just the polite side of parody ‘—hasn’t a clue what’s going on out here. He can’t get hold of me by radio, fax, or pigeon post when I’m in the high country. He should know that by now. He should make it his business to know,’ he added firmly, his voice rising when Sophie started to interrupt. ‘He should also know I don’t carry passengers.’

‘Passengers! I’m here to do a job,’ Sophie retorted firmly.

‘Well, there aren’t any cushy clinics out here for you to waft around.’

Sophie bit her tongue. She wouldn’t take the bait and get into an argument with him. Five minutes into their meeting, she already knew the only way to work with Xavier would be to keep everything impersonal—emotion-free. Once aroused, he was just the type of full-blooded male who provoked emotions she chose not to examine too closely. But she could see why he would be shocked to see her. It made her go a little way to accepting his behaviour. If there had been time she would have warned him—given him time to prepare. It had to pain him to be confronted with a face from the past, and one from a family he had every reason to despise. But the Xavier she had known years back would never have behaved like this—and his assumption that she wouldn’t be capable of pulling her weight was inexcusable.

As she went to climb out he slammed one hard, unyielding fist against the door, stopping her.

‘Get out of my way!’ Sophie warned, levelling a red-hot glare into his eyes as she heaved against the door.

Evie’s low whistle forced a brief pause between them.

‘I’d love to stick around to see how this thing works out between you two, but sadly—’ she shot a glance through the windscreen ‘—the light’s failing and time’s pressing on. I gotta go.’

‘Fine,’ Sophie said pleasantly, dumping her rucksack on the ground. ‘Thanks for the ride.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Now just a minute,’ Xavier insisted savagely. ‘You aren’t going anywhere, Sophie Ford. Get back in there.’

But Sophie had already slipped under his arm, picked up her rucksack, and was powering away from the aircraft as fast as she could.

‘Good luck, Sophie!’ Evie shouted, leaning out of the window, as she wheeled the plane round and lined up for take-off. ‘Don’t forget what I told you. I’m only a plane ride away.’

As the engine noise rose to a crescendo Sophie paused a moment, dropping her heavy rucksack to the ground to raise her hand. The propellers were whipping up a storm of fine dust particles from the hard-baked earth, forcing her to try and protect her eyes as she waved. ‘Thanks, Evie,’ she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘I won’t forget!’

‘I suppose you think that’s smart?’

‘What? I… Thank you,’ Sophie was forced to say with surprise, when instead of continuing to berate her, Xavier snatched up the rucksack she had been carrying.

At least he was still a gentleman, she thought, then let out a grunt as he swung it back on to her shoulders.

‘It will be interesting to see how long you last,’ he called back to her as he made for the truck.

‘I might surprise you.’

‘I doubt it!’ Sophie Ford! Xavier cursed his luck. The pampered product of an overwrought mother and a father— He shook his head and made a sound of utter contempt.

‘Well, thank you for that,’ Sophie shouted after him, firming her lips.

‘Don’t thank me,’ Xavier warned as they reached his truck. ‘You’ll be begging to be sent home within the week.’

‘Not a chance,’ Sophie muttered back, rubbing the last of the dust from her eyes.

Flinging open the passenger door, Xavier offered her his hand. She ignored it.

‘Where I’m going is no place for you,’ he rapped when they were both safely installed inside the cab.

Personal considerations aside, he needed strong, no-nonsense people for his project in Peru, not some dizzy blonde who looked as if she had never got her fingernails dirty in her life. Resting his hands on the steering wheel, he slanted another long look at her. ‘And the pace of the project is too fast for a soft-bred city girl like you.’

‘I’m here to stay, Xavier,’ Sophie said in a quiet, steely voice. ‘Get over it. According to your own promotional literature you need doctors. I’m a qualified doctor—ergo, you need me.’

Xavier’s only response to that was a bark of derision.

Quite a welcome! Sophie thought, biting her tongue. Reminding herself Xavier was her boss, she stayed cool as she ran through every one of the reasons that had brought her to Peru. Leaving him out of the equation, she’d made the right decision. Putting him back in? If fate had conspired to put her in the passenger seat right now, she was going to make damn sure he treated her as an equal from here on in.

‘The first flight I can get you out of here is next week—’

Sophie cut across him angrily. ‘Let me remind you that I signed a contract.’

‘So?’ he challenged harshly. ‘I’ll buy you out of it.’

‘There isn’t enough money in this world to buy me, Xavier.’ If he thought his immense wealth could put her off he was sadly mistaken, Sophie thought, seething with fury. She lost no time disillusioning him. ‘I’m here to do a job. And there is absolutely no possibility that I am simply going to turn tail and run back home on your say-so.’

‘That’s all I need,’ he said with a rough sound of impatience. ‘A headstrong woman.’

‘Too much for you?’ she suggested dryly.

There was a time when little Sophie Ford would never have dreamed of taking him on, Xavier reflected grimly. But there were benefits to be drawn from that. He didn’t have to pussyfoot around for one thing. He could get rid of her the minute the first opportunity presented itself. Contenting himself with a sardonic half-smile, he said nothing more. But a muscle worked in his stubble-shaded jaw, suggesting he would like to say plenty. Turning the key in the ignition, he gunned an aggressively tuned engine into life.

Xavier had always liked to tune his own engines, so nothing much had changed there, Sophie thought, as he took off with a burst of speed that knocked her back in the seat. And yet, she realised, sneaking another glance at him, everything else had changed. What was one of the richest men in Spain doing in the wilds of Peru? What had transformed his life to the extent that he had retrained as a doctor whilst juggling the demands of the Martinez Bordiu birthright? Deep down, Sophie knew she didn’t even have to ask herself that question—but he was looking at her again, his sharp, knowing glance hunting for cracks in the defences she had built around her thoughts—and there was a lot more hidden than she cared for him to see.

Quickly pinning a neutral expression to her face, Sophie turned her head to stare blindly out of the window, but not before the grim smile tugging at Xavier’s lips had caught hold of her composure and tied it in knots. He was so male, so blatantly virile, and there was no escape from him in the confined space. Was this how he treated women now? A mental picture of him thrashing about like a wounded animal, seizing a mate for a few moments’ comfort, and then casting them aside the moment emotions came into play, made her pulse quicken with apprehension.

Determinedly turning her thoughts back to work, Sophie frowned. Surely he didn’t imagine she’d crumble on the sole basis it didn’t suit him to have her in Peru?

Her only crime, as far as she knew, was that she came from his past. But the accident haunted her too; it always would. She felt his loss keenly as she glanced across at him, but Xavier’s lips only hardened as he sensed her scrutiny. She would just have to accept that empathy wasn’t enough. The fact she knew about the accident only made him doubly determined to get rid of her. As first meetings with your new boss went, Sophie mused wryly, this one was a classic!

‘It’s been a long time, Sophie. You’re looking good.’ He caught her off-guard. Straightening up, Sophie instinctively moistened her lips, and even brushed back an errant strand of hair from her face before the calculating and faintly amused look in Xavier’s eyes warned he was playing a very masculine game. She certainly hadn’t come all the way to Peru to provide some male predator with his daily diversion.

The truck’s small cab was like a pressure cooker. It was bog-standard-basic, with no add-on luxuries such as air-conditioning. No luxuries, full stop, Sophie thought, glancing around. It was stifling with heat, and over-cooked opinions. Snatching up the topmost item on a pile stacked on the seat between them, she began fanning herself distractedly.

‘That’s my clean washing,’ Xavier informed her as he retrieved the square of black cotton from her hands.

Boxers! Sophie saw as he shook them out with one hand and went on steering with the other.

‘Fold them, and put them back,’ he instructed, as if having her wave his pants in the air was an everyday occurrence.

‘I…I don’t—’

‘Do it,’ he said, increasing speed.

Save it! Sophie warned herself, knocking her temper back into touch as she replaced the offending article with as little fuss as possible. She had six months to tame this tiger. She could afford to yield on the first occasion.

CHAPTER TWO

SOPHIE sat staring ahead for what felt like hours on end, while the truck bumped and snarled its way across miles of featureless rust-coloured plain. But finally, when neck-ache began to beat at her brain, she was forced to give in. Easing her head from side to side, she stole a glance at her companion. His character had changed for the worse—that much she knew already. Now it was time to see whether the years really had been as kind to him as first impressions suggested…

‘Seen enough, Sophie?’

Well, his senses were as keen as ever.

‘Enough to see you haven’t changed,’ she lied with every appearance of calm. Inwardly she was as churned up as she could ever remember. It was one thing playing the ice-queen to Xavier’s blatant virility, but he was sending her senses haywire! He always had been attractive. But now, with every vestige of civilised man stripped away, he was a lot more dangerous—a fact her body attested to as it responded urgently to him. In fact, there was a whole orchestra thrumming an insistent pulse where at best a mild pelvic clench would normally signal the presence of some attractive male.

‘Is that good, or bad?’ he said, eyes crinkling, lips turned down in wry enquiry.

Sophie felt her senses flare as she ran the inventory. Good—because she really liked his hair shorter, and the fact that it had darkened with age. It was as thick as ever with sideburns losing definition in the black stubble on his jaw…She stopped for a moment. For her, the stronger the attraction, the greater the fear; it was a potent combination, she realised, forcing herself to continue. Good—because his tanned face was just as strong and lean as she remembered it; the type that could almost have been described as stereotypical ‘carved out of granite’ had it not been for some really great additions. The mobile mouth for instance…and those clued-up, laughing eyes… She sucked in a guilty breath as he returned her stare full throttle.

‘You haven’t given me an answer yet,’ he said, turning his attention back to the rutted road. ‘Good. Or bad?’

His resonant voice was strumming her like a practised hand on a finely tuned instrument, the same harmonious chord running through her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes…and all of that long before her mind had a chance to register the melting pot of confident Latin male and shrewd, irresistible humour he managed to shoe-horn into the one short question.

‘It’s good to see you again, Xavier,’ Sophie admitted carefully, aware that her lips were actually trembling. And bad? The few moments Sophie gave herself to consider this slipped away too quickly. ‘Bad, because you don’t want me here—’ She slammed her mouth shut without even bothering to try and dig herself out of the hole. Was that really the best she could come up with? It sounded like a suck-up! The kind of simpering, no-brain remark the person he seemed to think she had grown into might make. The look on his face only confirmed her worst fears.

‘Too right I don’t,’ he said brusquely.

She should have known. And now she was angrier with herself than with him. Trust her to fall for the brief interlude when he almost made it to polite! She should have known he was only softening her up for the verbal kill. Turning her face away, Sophie stared numbly as the bleak terrain flashed past.

‘So now I get the silent treatment?’ Xavier said, flashing her a glance.

What was she doing here anyway? Sophie asked herself angrily. She could practice medicine equally well back home. Fate? She dismissed that out of hand. Henry? That was more likely. Wide-open spaces before the net of suburbia closed over her. Space from Henry—

‘So, no husband yet?’ Xavier demanded.

The patronising question stabbed into her reverie. ‘Is this what I’m missing?’ Sophie murmured tensely.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I asked a simple question.’

‘It’s none of your business, Xavier,’ she flashed back. ‘And let’s get something straight. I may work for you but my private life’s just that—private. I’m here to stay. Get used to it.’

‘You sleep in here,’ Xavier told her as he shouldered open a creaking tin door. ‘I leave for the high country tomorrow morning at dawn.’

As Sophie dumped her rucksack on the ground, Xavier looked round the sparsely furnished room, thumbs firmly planted in the belt-loops of his snug-fitting jeans, inviting her to change her mind and beg him to let her return to her safe, cosy bed back in the UK.

At least it was clean, Sophie thought—floor newly swept, windows bright in their frames of peeling, yellowing paint. Taking in the dilapidation as well as the lack of amenities, she just nodded her head. ‘Fine. I’ll be ready first thing tomorrow,’ she agreed evenly.

Xavier shifted position, drawing himself up. Asserting his authority. Sophie felt herself instinctively bristling in response.

‘I said I’d be heading for the high country. You’ll be staying here.’

‘Oh, really?’ Sophie knew she was overtired. The last thing she wanted was a fight. But she had no intention of backing down either.

‘Yes, really,’ he stated firmly.

They were confronting each other tensely like two stalking tigers. Xavier broke the silence first, adding a little more chaos to his hair with an impatient pass of his strong, tanned fingers.

‘Look, Sophie,’ he said, applying a very masculine brand of reason. ‘This place needs sorting out before morning. A pile of new medical supplies have arrived, and they all need putting away in some sort of order. Then the details need filing—’

‘If you wanted a filing clerk you should have requested one in your list of job opportunities in the recruitment pack,’ Sophie pointed out.

‘We’re a team. We share the work-load.’

‘Then may I suggest you stay with me here at base until we have completed the office work and stock-take. Then we can both travel on to the high country together.’

There was just enough of a pause to show that she had got through to him.

‘What I’m trying to say—’

‘I think I know what you’re trying to say, Xavier,’ Sophie countered firmly.

As she watched his eyes narrow she felt a thread of apprehension run through her. Xavier had become a difficult, complex man, not someone it was sensible to range herself against. But teamwork meant sharing everything, didn’t it? From clearing up, to treating patients. ‘I’d better sort out my things…freshen up,’ she said, taking a different tack in the hope of cooling things down.

‘Of course.’ He gave her a mock bow, but his disturbing gaze held her own until Sophie’s desperately searching fingers managed to locate the fastenings on her bulging rucksack and she could pretend to busy herself with that. But before he left she wanted another answer. ‘Who sleeps in here?’ she said, surveying the row of camp beds.

‘Me,’ Xavier said with a shrug, ‘and whoever else drops in.’

Taking a deep breath, Sophie swallowed back the panic that threatened to choke her. She was here to work. She had to forget every one of her personal concerns and just get on with it. ‘How exhilarating,’ she managed evenly. ‘I shall never know what to expect from one night to the next.’

Xavier shot her a darkly amused stare. ‘You won’t be here that long,’ he promised.

‘Don’t count on it,’ Sophie murmured under her breath, glancing around.

‘My apologies,’ Xavier said as he watched her. ‘I don’t know what you were expecting, but this isn’t the Ritz. It’s just an old place I’m using until I get something else built.’

‘I think it’s all quite satisfactory, thank you,’ Sophie countered. ‘Apart from having to share with you, it’s exactly what I expected.’ She saw his lips kick up at one corner, and his eyes begin to gleam. ‘Bathroom?’ she demanded briskly, though her heart was still juddering.

‘Bathroom?’ The drawled exclamation was accompanied by another humour-laced stare. ‘Turn right outside the door, third bush down—’

‘OK, Xavier,’ Sophie said calmly. ‘I can see I’m not getting anywhere with you being polite. So, let’s both shoot from the hip. Don’t waste your breath. You don’t frighten me.’ But the feelings he awoke in her did, Sophie acknowledged, struggling to ignore them.

‘Good,’ he said mildly, throwing up his hands in mock-surrender.

‘So when do I get to meet the rest of the team?’ she said, adopting her professional manner.

‘Impatient, Sophie?’

‘Keen to get on with the job.’ And to be too busy to think about anything else.

‘The rest of the team are in place now,’ he said. ‘I’ve been flying backwards and forwards from Spain for some time now. All that’s left is for me to finish my tour here and check that everyone has everything they need.’

‘And I fit in, where?’

Xavier’s eyes hardened thoughtfully as he looked at her. If he had seen her name before she arrived she wouldn’t even have got this far. And he wasn’t about to tell her that the last position on his list, the position she thought she was filling, was for his second in command—a doctor who would accompany him wherever he went. ‘Are you hungry?’

Sophie locked eyes. ‘You didn’t answer my question yet.’

‘And you didn’t answer mine,’ he said easily.

They stood confronting each other in silence for a few moments until Sophie saw something change in his eyes, then she quickly looked away.

‘We’ll discuss your position over dinner,’ he said. But the curl of his mouth, the look in his eyes, suggested, missionary, or dominant?

Defences formed in her mind and sprang to her lips. ‘I don’t know what kind of arrangement you have with your other female colleagues,’ Sophie said coldly, ‘but let’s get this straight from the outset, Xavier, I never mix business with pleasure. And I don’t find you the least bit attractive,’ she blurted when she saw the amusement behind his eyes.

‘You are hungry,’ he murmured confidently.

As a flood of feelings she had kept at bay for a lifetime threatened to overwhelm her, Sophie reminded herself forcefully how much she wanted this job. ‘As it happens, you’re right. I am hungry,’ she said, relieved she could sound so cool.

‘So, why don’t you leave the unpacking for now?’

Sophie relaxed fractionally.

‘By the way, where do you want to sleep?’ He echoed her glance down the line.

‘Next to the window?’ Sophie suggested. The first three bunks were already occupied—one of them by him, presumably. A two-bunk gap was the best she could hope for, so she’d take it.

Picking up her rucksack, Xavier dumped it on top of the last bunk. ‘After you,’ he said, gesturing towards the open door.

If possible, the kitchen was even more basic than the sleeping quarters. An ancient stove fed by bottled gas, and blackened with use, sat squat in one corner. A single cold tap dripped rhythmically over a large, rectangular pot sink crazed with age, and above that some hastily erected shelves were haphazardly stacked with assorted tinned food of uncertain origin.

‘I can feel your concern coming right at me through my shirt,’ Xavier observed, sounding pleased. ‘Time to book that plane ticket home?’

‘No,’ Sophie said flatly. And, as long as it was only concern he could sense, that was fine by her.

‘Well, it’s clean,’ he said, glancing around with relish. ‘At least I can reassure you on that point.’

Reaching up to the top shelf, he brought down a crude wooden box. ‘I’ve got some fresh supplies,’ he explained, tipping it a little so that Sophie could see inside. ‘The local big shot gets me anything I need. He offered me his youngest daughter yesterday.’

‘Did you accept?’ For some reason his gag bothered her more than it should have done, Sophie realised, wishing she could call back the question.

‘Joke?’

‘Ha ha,’ she intoned dutifully, keeping her face in neutral while a rogue shaft of sensation warned her not to think about Xavier in any way at all, other than as her boss.

‘So,’ she continued a little too brightly. ‘What do we have here?’ As his attention returned to their food supplies, Sophie’s gaze was drawn to his powerful arms. On one wrist he wore a black leather wristband, which had been his younger brother Armando’s, and on the other, a no-nonsense steel watch.

The sight of the wristband forced Sophie’s thoughts into a dark, shadowy corner. No wonder Xavier had been shocked to see her. How could he talk about the past without making some reference to the accident? He had to log everything as before or after. People who came after were safe, because they didn’t know, didn’t have to know. She was very much before the accident. She must have been the last person on earth he wanted around, she reasoned, telling herself to go easy on him.

Xavier stopped rooting through the food and stared back at her. Instinctively, he glanced at the wristband and, just for an instant, Sophie saw the pain was still as raw, still as devastating and undiminished as on the day Armando had been killed. Surely he couldn’t still be blaming himself? In that moment she longed to reach out to him, to touch him in some way, but the closed expression on his face warned her not to try.

‘The food’s pretty good,’ he said, confirming her suspicions, as he turned back to the prospect of supper with a force that suggested he was keen for them both to leave the past undisturbed. Plunging his hand into the depths of the box, he murmured, ‘Now this looks like Pachamana.’ Lifting out an earthenware pot, he held it up.

‘Which is?’

‘Various meats, and vegetables.’

‘Meats?’

‘Still a vegetarian?’ he guessed.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise for that.’

He made it sound as if she had plenty to be sorry about without the fact that she was a vegetarian, Sophie thought wryly. ‘Do you have anything else?’

Xavier shot her a look that suggested this foray into domesticity was about as far from fun for him as it got. Remembering she had vowed to be nice to him, Sophie said, ‘Don’t you miss that wonderful chef your mother used to employ at Casa Bordiu?’

‘I don’t miss anything about my old life—with the exception of seeing my parents most days,’ he said, the expression in his eyes hidden from her as he turned away.

‘But all that opulence and then this—’ Instantly, Sophie knew she had gone too far, delved too deeply into realms he would rather forget. When he turned around the shadows in his eyes were darker.

‘Opulence?’ He spat out the word like poison, and then drew himself up to lash her with his pain. ‘Have you forgotten how my brother was killed? Opulence—’ He stopped, his face an ugly mask, but the words dredged up from some fetid place at his core hung in the air between them like a dissonant chord.

‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ Sophie said gently.

‘Don’t bring it up again,’ he rapped, each word staccato.

But she hadn’t, he had, Sophie registered.

Xavier turned angrily on himself. This was his worst nightmare come true. All he could see when he looked at Sophie was her father. She had the same blue eyes, the same blonde hair, and the same slim build. On her father it had been an insipid combination—perfectly suited to his character. Xavier’s lips curled in self-disgust. It was no use trying to shovel blame for the accident on to that weak excuse for a man. The blame for Armando’s death rested squarely on his own shoulders—one day he’d have to confront that, but not today—and not with Sophie Ford. He cast another glance at her. She was her father’s daughter all right. She looked so like him. She shared the same tainted blood. Women like her were good for one thing only…

His senses flared as he looked at her. With that in mind he would have to build a few bridges. Didn’t they say revenge was a dish best served cold? Though when they got between the sheets, he’d take his hot. Little Sophie Ford had ripened like a peach for the plucking—and he was developing quite an appetite.

‘It’s baked over a heated stone inside a hole in the ground,’ he said pleasantly.

Sophie actually flinched as she hurried to pay attention. It was as if the tense exchange had never taken place. Xavier might have been conducting a presentation to a class of students, she realised, as he carried on describing the food they had available.

‘What else have you got?’ she said, glad to play along.

‘Papa a la Huancaina,’ he said, removing a lid from the second pot with a flourish.

She was relieved to see him relaxing a little. She guessed his emotions had stalled ten years back at the time of the accident. Rather than confront the deep well of grief inside him at the time, he had simply shut himself off from it. This wasn’t the Xavier she knew—this was a man who cared for nothing and no one; a man who had forgotten how to love, Sophie mused, vowing to cut him some slack.

‘It could have been prepared especially for you, señorita: boiled potatoes with cheese bathed in a mild chilli sauce.’

At least he had forgotten to scowl this time, Sophie noticed wryly. Maybe there was hope for a reasonable working relationship after all. ‘Sounds great,’ she agreed.

‘And for pudding we have tropical fruit.’ He introduced each one in turn. ‘Papaya, mango, passion fruit.’

‘So, what did you have to give the local big shot in exchange for all this?’ she teased. But from the minutest change in his eyes she saw that her attempt at humour had missed its mark by a mile.

‘Is that important?’

His voice was soft and unthreatening, but Sophie knew she had touched a nerve. There was something in his eyes—unanswered questions that must have lain dormant in his mind for years. Suddenly something occurred to her: surely he didn’t imagine she was one of the people who thought him responsible for his brother’s death? The very idea was offensive to her, ludicrous.

‘If it was anything to do with the full moon and virgins, no, not particularly,’ she said in a desperate attempt to lighten the situation. She leapt with alarm as the box hit the floor with a slap.

‘Is that what you think of me?’ Xavier demanded quietly. Tension swirled around them like a mist, making the tiny kitchen feel a good deal smaller.

‘Of course not.’ Sophie was frightened by the intensity in his gaze, and at the same time the thought of Xavier doing anything underhand was inconceivable.

Silently, he returned to the business of lighting the cooker, signalling the end of the exchange.

They had to get to know each other all over again, Sophie realised, as she watched him. The impetuous teenager she had once been was as far removed from her present incarnation as Xavier was from the life-loving young aristocrat who used to rip up the roads with his high performance cars.

Over supper they discussed nothing more controversial than the various treatments for asthma, a condition Sophie had suffered from since infancy. Then, after helping him to clear up the dishes, she made an excuse to escape to her own bed. Away from Xavier’s distracting presence, Sophie hoped it might be possible to get her thoughts in order and have a decent night’s sleep before their early start the next morning.

Snuggling deep into her sleeping bag, half-clothed, she meant to spend an hour or so quietly mulling over everything that had happened. But the moment her head touched the pillow her eyes drifted shut, and she knew nothing more until an insistent tapping on the window brought her fully awake the next morning.

Gathering her thoughts, Sophie clambered out of the low-slung bed and stared out of the window. A Peruvian couple stood waiting outside, a broad smile on the woman’s round face, with just a little more tension showing on the face of her male companion.

‘Just a minute,’ Sophie called to them as a cluster of impressions struck her all at once: Xavier’s bed hadn’t been slept in, the floor felt chilly under her bare feet, even though the sun was beaming promisingly outside, she was in Peru! Excitement ripped through her as she pulled on her jeans and made for the door. Whoever the couple were, they looked friendly, and Xavier had to be somewhere around…didn’t he?

She was here to do a job, Sophie warned herself as she went to open the outer door to the clinic. Even if an unashamedly primitive part of her insisted on responding to the fact that Xavier was masculinity incarnate—a fact that excited and worried her in equal measure—it was high time she got on with it.

But where were the keys? And, more importantly, where was Xavier?

She was fully awake now, her senses on full alert, and she had the unmistakable impression that she was alone. Swinging around, she scanned the sparsely furnished room, and there, on top of the table where they had eaten supper the previous evening, she saw a large bunch of keys resting on top of a sheet of paper. Snatching up both the keys and the paper, she made for the door, reading as she went.

Juan and Lola will take good care of you—

The hand holding the sheet of A4 clenched automatically, scrunching the rest of Xavier’s message into indecipherable gibberish.

He’d gone without her!

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