The Spanish Connection. Kay Thorpe

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СКАЧАТЬ herself as the child scampered back to join his brother. Only what else could she have said on the face of it? Perhaps if she tried a little harder to get along with Rafael, she would start to find some enjoyment in this holiday after all.

      Wheeled out on a trolley, the coffee arrived before he returned. There was also a jug of orange juice for the children. Elena accepted the cup Lauren poured for her without demur, but smilingly declined to take the seat also proffered, sitting down instead on the grass with the boys some distance away.

      In her simple cotton dress, with her black hair rippling down her back and her face free of make-up, she looked no more than sixteen. Her parents and brother, Rafael had said, were also in his employment. No doubt, Lauren reflected, jobs here at the castle carried a certain prestige.

      ‘I must apologise for leaving you so long,’ he said when he did return some minutes later. ‘There was a telephone call I had to make.’

      ‘If you have business to attend to, I’ll be perfectly all right on my own,’ she assured him.

      ‘The matter is taken care of,’ he returned easily. ‘We have yet to take a walk along the battlements. From there you can see everything there is to be seen.’

      Including a long drop, she thought with an inward shudder. The sensible thing would be to admit to her acrophobia, of course, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Only those who suffered the same symptoms could be relied upon to appreciate the fear.

      With their juice finished, the children returned to their game. César in particular was proving to have a very good eye for distance, ringing the stake on several throws. Nicolás showed no concern over his brother’s superior performance. Jealousy was an emotion unknown between the two. Eventually, Lauren knew, they would become bored with the game and start seeking further challenge, but for the present they seemed content. Happy, certainly, to be left in Elena’s charge again.

      Rafael took her up to the top of the keep via the same spiral staircase leading to her own room, bypassing both her floor and the next to emerge eventually on to a stone square not nearly large enough to afford Lauren any real sense of security. She felt the familiar tingling sensation in her ankles as she stood there gazing out through the battlements at the magnificent vista, the mounting terror at the very thought of moving away from the central block.

      ‘It’s possible to see Ronda itself from this side,’ said Rafael, crossing over. ‘Come, take a look.’

      Somehow, she forced her legs to move, to carry her forward until she stood at his side before an embrasure that afforded a bare two feet of protection from the dizzying emptiness beyond. She was going to fall! she thought desperately. She could feel the trembling weakness spreading up through her knees, hear the buzzing in her ears.

      She must have made some sound, for Rafael turned his head to look at her, taking in her white face and rigid jaw with instant comprehension. His arm came around her to draw her back from the parapet to the comparative safety of the central block again, holding her close until the trembling began to abate.

      ‘Why did you not tell me how you felt about heights?’ he grated in her ear. ‘Why did you allow me to bring you up here?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered shakily. ‘It was silly of me, I suppose.’

      ‘Foolish to the point of stupidity. There’s no shame in acknowledging such a frailty. A matter of balance, no more.’

      Her balance, Lauren thought, was disrupted in more ways than the one at the moment. She was intensely aware of the hard muscularity of his body, of the warmth and security of the arms curving her back. Her face was on a level with his throat, bared by the open collar of his shirt. She knew a sudden and almost irresistible urge to put her lips to the smooth olive skin—to know the taste of him, the smell of him. Francisco had been dead only three months, but it was more than two years since he had touched her. Not that she had wanted him to make love to her, knowing by then how many other women there had been, but her body still craved the fulfilment denied it.

      ‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m not going to pass out, or anything.’

      Rafael drew back his head to look into her face, eyes black as night and twice as impenetrable. ‘You feel capable of descending the steps?’

      ‘If you go first,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’

      Something sparked in his eyes for a fleeting moment as he looked at her, shortening her breath and causing her limbs to tremor anew, then he released her. ‘Keep close at my back until we reach the lower floor,’ he instructed. ‘Hands on my shoulders as we descend.’

      The steps were steep and narrow at this point, the spiral tight. Lauren was sure she would never have made it down again on her own without tumbling head first. The broad shoulders felt steady as rocks beneath her hands. Reaching the floor below, she drew a breath of pure relief. From here, as from her own floor, the steps were both wider and shallower, with handrails to grasp. She could negotiate those without difficulty.

      Rafael made no attempt to continue on down, however, but drew her instead into a small but comfortably furnished salón, and bade her take a seat.

      ‘We’ll rest here for a moment or two,’ he said, ‘until you’re fully recovered. A little brandy, perhaps?’

      Lauren shook her head. ‘I’m fine, really. The dizziness doesn’t last. Is this your private salón?’

      ‘Yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘I retreat here when I wish to be alone. Solitude renews the spirit.’

      ‘I shouldn’t have thought yours was ever low enough to need renewal,’ she said, and saw his brow lift.

      ‘You read me so well?’

      ‘No.’ She gave a wry little shrug. ‘Just that you seem so totally in control of your life.’

      ‘None of us can be totally in control,’ he returned. ‘Life holds many surprises.’

      He hadn’t taken a seat himself. Lauren wished that he would. Standing there, hands thrust into trouser pockets, he seemed to tower over her. She could still feel the pressure of his chest against her breasts—recall the way her nipples had tingled and peaked to the contact. They were doing so again at the very memory.

      ‘Not always pleasant ones,’ she agreed, hoping that nothing of what she was thinking showed in her face. It was shameful to be having these feelings at all for a man she scarcely knew. Francisco’s own brother, for heaven’s sake! ‘It must be getting close to lunchtime,’ she added a little desperately. ‘I’ll need to tidy myself up.’

      ‘We normally eat our meal at two o’clock,’ Rafael advised, ‘but if you’re hungry now I’ll arrange for food to be brought.’

      It was, Lauren realised, glancing at her watch, only just gone twelve. Hunger was the last thing on her mind—for food, at any rate.

      ‘My body clock is way out,’ she said with an attempt at humour. ‘I can wait, thanks. All the same, I’d like to tidy myself up.’ She came to her feet as she spoke, unsurprised to feel the unsteadiness still in her legs. Fear of a different kind this time, and one Rafael must not be allowed to guess. ‘It was good of you to spend so long with me, when I know how busy you must be.’

      ‘The СКАЧАТЬ