Santiago's Love-Child. KIM LAWRENCE

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      A woman should be soft and round, not hard and angular.

      It was humiliating, but a full twelve months after that first scorching kiss and she still couldn’t think about it without getting palpitations.

      ‘Well?’

      Rachel’s impatient voice acted like a lifeline back to the present. Lily grabbed it and held on. While she was fixated on the past the chances of her rebuilding her life were nil.

      She dabbed her tongue to the beads of sweat along her upper lip and gave a strained smile as she rubbed her damp palms against her jeans.

      ‘Sorry, I…’ Am pathetic and living in the past? Can’t get it into my thick skull he never loved me? All of the above?

      ‘You weren’t listening. I could tell…’ Rachel considered her friend’s flushed face. ‘You look a bit…?’

      ‘I’m fine.’ Smile fixed, Lily pushed the intrusive images away without acknowledging them or his presence in her head.

      ‘What you need is a nice glass of wine,’ Rachel decided. ‘Just don’t move,’ she said, padding over to the big stainless-steel fridge in her bare feet. A moment later she returned with a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses, which she filled.

      ‘A nice night in…yeah, I can live with that,’ she conceded, handing Lily her glass. She curled up comfortably on the sofa and reached for the newspaper. ‘I wonder what’s on the telly tonight?’ Turning over the pages, she suddenly stopped and lowered the broadsheet to the table. ‘Now there,’ she observed with a lascivious smile, ‘is something I wouldn’t mind finding in my Christmas stocking.’

      ‘I thought you were in love with your delicious Dan.’ Lily laughed, looking over her shoulder to see what hunk her friend was drooling over.

      ‘I’m in love, not blind. Now, there’s a man who doesn’t use a shoebox to file his returns. Look at that mouth and those eyes…’ she enthused.

      ‘You can tell about his filing system from his mouth?’ Lily teased.

      ‘No, that I can tell by the attention the financial pages give him on a regular basis. I wonder if he’s that sexy in real life?’ She slung a comical look of entreaty over her shoulder. ‘And please don’t spoil it by saying it’s just good lighting. You’re such a disgusting cynic.’

      Lily went cold as she looked at the half-page photo showing an unsmiling, dark-eyed man. It was a standard moody black and white shot of an incredibly attractive man. Lily knew that the lighting couldn’t begin to do justice to just how sexy the man was in real life. It didn’t reveal the aura of raw sexuality he projected like a force field.

      Aware that some sort of response was expected of her, and hyperventilating wasn’t it, Lily cleared her throat. ‘He does have something,’ she admitted, reading the headline above that pronounced MORAIS LEAVES THE OPPOSITION COUNTING THE COST AGAIN.

      Me too, she thought.

      ‘Something!’ Rachel squealed. ‘He is off-the-scale gorgeous. That man,’ she said, poking the page with her finger, ‘not only looks like he could be quite deliciously bad in bed—’

      Never again will I mock Rachel’s instinct, Lily decided. Of course, Rachel’s instinct only told part of the story—as well as being deliciously bad he could also be breathtakingly tender and passionately unrestrained. Lily pressed her hands to her stomach as the muscles deep inside tightened.

      ‘He’s also a genuine financial genius. His name is Santiago Morais.’ Rachel’s smooth brow furrowed. ‘He’s Italian or—’

      ‘Spanish,’ Lily inserted in a flat little voice. ‘He’s Spanish.’ And I am so over him, she thought, pressing her hand against her sternum to ease the tight feeling in her chest.

      ‘Yeah, you’re right. Since when did you start reading the financial pages, Lily?’

      ‘He makes the gossip columns too,’ she said, struggling to keep the bitterness from her voice as an image of the pop star Susie Sebastian, her pouting lips aimed like heat-seeking missiles at a willing male mouth, flashed into her mind.

      ‘That figures. You know, I think I’ll spend my next holiday in Spain. You never know, I might bump into Mr Gorgeous. He would carry me off to bed and make mad, passionate love to me.’

      Lily half closed her eyes, and saw sun-dappled shadows dancing over a lean golden torso as the breeze stirred the leaves of a tree outside the window. ‘For five days straight?’

      Rachel angled an amused look at Lily’s face. ‘Hey, get your own fantasy!’ she protested.

      Lily blushed, which made Rachel chuckle. ‘You have hidden murky depths, girl.’

      You have no idea, Lily thought.

      For a while after she’d come out of hospital Lily had thought she would never feel anything ever again. Now she wasn’t so sure that would have been such a bad thing! Oh, when were things ever going to get back to normal? So she could get on with being a librarian who lived in a Devon seaside town.

      She knew that it wasn’t healthy or constructive to go down the ‘what if?’ road, but she couldn’t help wondering what her life would be like now if she hadn’t gone down to the pool that morning all those months ago. It had been such a small decision, but the consequences had been life-changing.

      An early-morning swim hadn’t seemed sinister or significant, just a good way to clear her head after a long, sleepless night alone in the decadent honeymoon suite of a Spanish five-star hotel, which, rumour had it, had been fully booked up for the next decade or so.

      It would have been understandable if the thoughts that had kept her awake had concerned her absent husband. Her husband who hadn’t been answering her calls. The same husband who had texted her the previous morning to say the problem at work that had forced him to leave her at the airport at the start of their holiday had turned into a crisis and, no, he wouldn’t be joining her after all.

      Gordon wasn’t to know that, following his text, determined to make the best of her holiday to this enchanting area, Lily had booked herself onto an excursion to the charming nearby Renaissance town of Baeza. Places like this were part of the reason she had fallen in love with Andalucia.

      She hadn’t immediately placed the middle-aged man and his wife bearing down on her as the tour guide was in full flow. Then as she’d looked beyond the shorts and garish shirt she’d recognised a colleague of Gordon’s and his wife. She’d vaguely recalled meeting them on a few social occasions.

      ‘Matt…Susan.’ She called out to the couple.

      They did the usual ‘small world, fancy meeting you here’ stuff, and then the older man looked around expectantly. ‘Gordon not with you?’

      ‘No, he couldn’t get away, I’m afraid.’

      If he had, there was no way she’d have got to take this excursion; Gordon wouldn’t have budged from the five-star luxury of the hotel. If she had suggested that they go and see the real inland Andalucia, with its olive groves and СКАЧАТЬ