A Spanish Christmas. PENNY JORDAN

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      So he was good-looking, very good-looking. So what? Without realising she was doing so, Meg gave a small toss of her burnished hair, unwittingly causing the object of her thoughts to break off his conversation to look at her. And Meg, although she was too modest to know it herself, was very well worth looking at from a male point of view.

      Small, slender, but with a deliciously curvaceous female shape. The harmonious toning of her hair and skin colouring with her caramel clothes allied to the unexpected brilliance of her spectacular eyes set in a soft heart-shaped face, guaranteed to bring out the hunter in even the mildest of men.

      Unable to break the contact his gaze was deliberately locking her into, Meg felt her heart start to race whilst tiny flutters of anger-edged nervousness infiltrated her body. It was as though he was silently, subtly taunting her, telling her that of the two of them he had the more power, the power over her as a female, the power to do whatever he wished with her, to her.

      Abruptly he looked away, breaking the spell, addressing her patient for all the world as though that oh, so male look of domination and power he had just given her had never existed.

      ‘You look tired, Tia Elena,’ he said softly, his voice warm with sympathy and concern. ‘You shouldn’t be waiting out here in the cold like this. Your nurse should—’

      Once again he was looking at her, this time with very evident disapproval, Meg recognised wrathfully.

      ‘It isn’t Meg’s fault,’ Elena Salvadores insisted, immediately coming to Meg’s rescue. ‘We ordered a hire car but so far it hasn’t arrived.’

      ‘Allow me to give you a lift,’ came the swift and firm response, followed by a very sardonic look in Meg’s direction before Christian added, ‘I have my car here.’

      Unable to help herself, Meg glared at him. A quick fresh look at the waiting limousine had conveyed to her what she should have recognised much sooner: namely that it was far too expensive and exclusive a vehicle to be anything other than privately owned. However, there was no way she was going to acknowledge her error to him! Instead she pointed out grandly, ‘This is a public taxi rank, and private cars are not allowed.’

      Before she could finish what she was saying Elena was informing her gently, ‘Christian has special status, Meg. His diplomatic duties mean that he is allowed to park wherever he wishes.’

      His diplomatic duties? Meg was struggling not to betray her chagrin, refusing to be impressed even when her patient introduced them formally. So the Spaniard was titled, a member of the Spanish nobility. Don Christian Felipe Martinez, el Duque de Perez!—and her patient’s godson. So what?

      His suave, ‘You may call me Christian,’ made Meg’s eyes shoot sparks of brilliant angry fire, but somehow she managed to hold her tongue, busying herself instead with ensuring that the chauffeur who was helping her patient did not inadvertently add to Elena’s discomfort in any way.

      But it wasn’t the chauffeur, it was Christian himself who took charge and helped Elena into the car, making sure she was comfortably settled inside it—whilst Meg, who had been about to do exactly that herself, was forced to stand back and look on in helpless indignation. How dared he both pre-empt her and at the same time manage to subtly imply that he didn’t trust her ability to take proper care of her patient?

      Stiff-backed with growing hostility towards him, Meg allowed the chauffeur to usher her into the car, which had to be the most luxurious she had ever been in—a huge Mercedes with black leather upholstery, and a far cry from her own little compact at home.

      For the first ten minutes of their journey Meg listened in silence whilst her patient talked to Christian about his family and various shared friends, but when Elena started to tell him she was concerned that Meg would be lonely and bored in Seville, with only her for company, Meg started to frown.

      However, before she could interrupt to remind Elena that the purpose of her being in Seville was for her to nurse Elena, she heard Christian telling the older woman very much the same thing, his voice becoming crisp and rather cool as he looked pointedly at Meg and then away again.

      Infuriated by the fact that he dared to disapprove of her, Meg did some interrupting of her own, telling him pointedly in Spanish that she could both speak and understand his language.

      Instead of recognising that she had been warning him against discussing her, Christian reacted to her interruption by telling her sharply, ‘I am relieved to hear it, since Tia Elena does not speak English very well. You should really have told us about your accident.’ He turned away from Meg to gently scold Elena. ‘I could have come to London myself to bring you home. My mother will be very cross that you did not let us know.’

      ‘I didn’t want to bother any of you,’ Elena was admitting. ‘I know how busy you are, Christian. Your mother told me the last time we met that this charitable work you have taken on for our government is taking more and more of your time.’

      Christian was shrugging. ‘As my late uncle’s representative, it is my duty to ensure that the orphanage he founded in Buenos Aires is properly administered and if, whilst I am there, I can represent the views of our country on certain matters, then it is also my duty to do that as well.’

      Unable to stop herself, Meg murmured sardonically under her breath, ‘Noblesse oblige.’

      But to her dismay she recognised that Christian had overheard her. ‘You think it a matter for mockery that a person should acknowledge a sense of obligation and duty?’ he asked her coldly. ‘You surprise me, given your choice of career—but then, perhaps I should not be surprised since you obviously choose to sell your services to the highest bidder rather than work in the public services, as so many other nurses do.’

      The arrogance and sheer unfairness of his comment took Meg’s breath away, but she knew that her hot face and angry eyes betrayed her feelings, even if his comment had been said too softly to reach Elena’s ears. Let him think what he liked, Meg decided furiously. There was no way she had any need to justify herself to him, or to explain just why she could only now work as a private nurse.

      At her side Elena was saying wistfully, ‘I envy your mother so much, Christian. It has always been a deep sadness to me that I never had children, and I especially feel the lack of them at times such as Christmas. You will all be going to the castillo, of course. Christian owns a most beautiful estate,’ she informed Meg. ‘It was given to his family by King Felipe in the sixteenth century, but Christian can trace his ancestry right back to the Moors.’

      ‘I am sure your nurse does not wish to be bored with the history of my family,’ Christian chided Elena, though the smile he gave her and the warmth in his voice robbed his words of any unkindness and instead made Meg feel as though somehow she was the one who was not worthy to receive such information. But Elena was totally oblivious to the underlying note of antipathy and sarcasm in his voice, and was already assuring him innocently, ‘Oh, no, Christian, you are wrong. Meg is very much interested in our history and culture, and very knowledgeable about them,’ she added, giving Meg an approving smile before continuing fretfully, ‘I would have liked to have shown her something of our city whilst she is here, but of course with my knee the way it is that is out of the question.’ Her face brightened as she suddenly exclaimed, ‘But you are an expert on our local heritage, Christian. Perhaps you—?’

      ‘No.’

      Meg’s face reddened when both Elena and Christian turned to look at her as she voiced her sharp denial.

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