The Spaniard's Pleasure: The Spaniard's Pregnancy Proposal / At the Spaniard's Convenience / Taken: the Spaniard's Virgin. Margaret Mayo

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      Breathing in short, choppy bursts, she forced her eyes open. ‘You can’t do this…we can’t do this…’

      ‘Why not?’ he asked, cupping the back of her head in his hand.

      ‘Because your daughter might see us.’

      The prospect did not appear to dampen his enthusiasm—at least it felt that way to Fleur as he placed a hand in the small of her back and pulled her hard up against him. ‘That,’ he said, fixing her with a hungry, burning stare, ‘is what you do to me.’

      Fleur managed to access the part of her brain that hadn’t turned to mush and mumbled weakly, ‘Tamara…’

      ‘It would be more educational for her to catch us kissing than a sex-education lecture.’

      ‘This isn’t kissing!’

      No sex-education lecture in the galaxy could have prepared me for an encounter with this man, Fleur thought, moaning softly as the hard imprint of his erection ground suggestively into her belly.

      ‘It might also traumatise her for life. No child likes to think their parent is sexually active.’

      ‘Sexually active? Not recently,’ he muttered under his breath as he lowered his head to kiss her.

      About an inch from making contact she turned her head. ‘Please, Antonio…’ she begged.

      Torn between frustration and concern because she was visibly shaking, Antonio stepped back. The hand he raised to drag the hair back from his brow was not quite steady.

      Swallowing, Fleur lifted her eyes to his. The skin was pulled tight across the planes of his hard-boned face, suggesting a tension that was echoed in the unnatural rigidity of his lean body.

      ‘Right, this isn’t the time.’

      ‘There is never going to be a right time. Or place.’

      ‘Any place would suit me.’

      The earthy admission made her shaky knees almost fold.

      ‘Are you going to come with us?’ he asked.

      Fleur shook her head. ‘I think you and Tamara need some time alone.’

      ‘We have had some time alone.’ He sketched a mirthless smile.

      ‘And on any of those occasions, you stupid man, did you tell her that you care?’

      ‘What did you say?’

      ‘I said you’re a stupid man, which you are.’ Fleur spelt it out because for a man with a mind like a steel trap he could be extremely dense. ‘Tamara thinks you don’t care and you so obviously do. Would it kill you to tell her?’ she asked him.

      ‘Obviously I care.’

      ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Don’t get on your high horse with me. The point that you seem to be missing—’

      His lips quivered. ‘Because I am a stupid man?’

      ‘It isn’t obvious to her, Antonio.’ She caught his arm, her eyes widening fractionally as she felt the extreme tension in his muscles. In an urgent undertone, she added, ‘She won’t know you want her unless you tell her. Go on…’ she urged.

      Had he stood there looking so shocked on any other occasion she might have laughed. ‘I thought you were supposed to be good at everything?’ she taunted gently.

      ‘So did I.’ His expressive mouth twisted into a self-derisory smile and Fleur’s fingers tightened on his arm. ‘Meeting you has taught me otherwise.’

      Fleur saw he was staring at her fingers curled around his sleeve and self-consciously let her hand fall clear.

      ‘I have missed so much.’

       ‘Missed?’

      ‘Tamara growing up…I have no memories.’

      The husky explanation made her eyes fill. ‘It doesn’t mean you can’t build some memories.’

      She saw him look startled by the suggestion, and then thoughtful.

      ‘Sandy and I were just going for a walk.’

      Fleur rattled the lead that was conveniently in her pocket and the dog appeared bang on cue at her side.

      ‘But feel free to use my cottage if you want to talk—a neutral territory, sort of thing. Help yourself to tea and biscuits,’ she added cheerily as she started to walk away.

      She had gone only a dozen steps when Antonio’s hand landed on her shoulder.

      ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

      ‘You and Tamara need some time alone…’ Releasing an exasperated sigh, she twisted back and focused her frustrated frown on his face. ‘You don’t need me there. You two need to talk. Not later or tomorrow—you need to talk now. Just leave the key under the mat when you leave.’

      His darkened eyes moved across her face, and just when she thought she couldn’t withstand the searching, soulstripping scrutiny a second longer without pleading guilty to something—actually anything—Antonio smiled.

      ‘You really are an unusual woman,’ he observed.

      ‘Yes, I’m unique…so go talk to your daughter.’ She looked pointedly at the hand that still lay heavily on her shoulder. Instead of letting go, he tightened his grip possessively.

      ‘Looks like we’re not going to make it to London and tomorrow I have to be in Paris, just for the day.’

      ‘That’s nice,’ she said, wondering where he was going with this.

      ‘But the next day, would you like to have dinner with me?’

      Fleur’s eyes widened. Obviously she was going to refuse, but it was rather nice to be asked.

      ‘Well, it’s nice of you to ask, but I’m…What would you do if I said no?’

      ‘I would report your vicious dog to the appropriate authorities,’ he said, deadpan.

      Her lips quivered. ‘Then this is blackmail?’

      ‘If it makes you say yes, definitely.’

      ‘Then I have no choice. What time will you pick me up?’

      ‘Seven?’

      ‘Seven-thirty.’

      The last thing she saw before she turned away was the look of male triumph on his face.

      ‘Sandy,’ she told the animal at her side, ‘I am an idiot.’ Having established her insanity, she looked into the liquid canine eyes СКАЧАТЬ