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But then, bemusement was a key emotion in him now—bemusement that this warmly passionate woman, whose embrace melted him, could ever have been that stiff, reserved ice maiden, holding him at bay, freezing him out. That Flavia had gone—vanished completely. This Flavia was—a revelation!
And when she reappeared a few minutes later in one of the bikinis she was a revelation again. He’d knew—intimately—just how perfect her figure was, but now, skimmed by the brief material of the swimsuit, her body was breathtaking.
Enticing.
Hurriedly he snatched up his swimming trunks and headed into the bathroom himself, adjuring Flavia to make lavish use of the sunblock they’d bought in Palma.
Within minutes they were outdoors again. ‘Race you to the sea!’ Flavia cried, and hared across the beach with Leon chasing after her, and both of them collapsed into the shallow turquoise waters.
Flavia lolled in the tiny wavelets, letting her head fall back, hair streaming in the water, face lifted to the sun. ‘This is bliss,’ she murmured, splashing idly with her feet.
It was a phrase she was to repeat over and over again. It applied, she decided, to every aspect of their days—and their nights. It was bliss to wade into the warm sea, to lounge on the shaded patio on a padded sunbed, sipping iced fruit juice at lunchtime and champagne at sunset. Bliss to have late, leisurely breakfasts, and slow, leisurely lunches, and dine on nightly barbecues beneath the starry sky which was, as Leon had promised, every bit as spectacular as he had described.
But bliss, most of all, to leave the stars to heaven and find their own in each other’s arms.
They were in their own private world, Flavia knew. A world where the rest of the world did not exist. Her father’s vile machinations were vanished as if they had never been. She would not think of them—or him.
Nor would she think of the reason she had succumbed to his threats.
Though her eyes shadowed, she knew she was deliberately not thinking about her grandmother. All she did was check her phone nightly for the reassuring text Mrs Stephens faithfully sent. But apart from that she let the whole world of Harford slip away. Focussing only on Leon. Only on her time with him.
How can it be so good? How can he overwhelm me the way he does? Sweeping me away, time after time, after time, into such bliss?
But it was more than passion, she knew, searingly intense as that was. It was a sense of ease with him. A togetherness. A naturalness.
She could see that he hadn’t quite believed her when she’d said she didn’t want luxury, but now, here in this simple villa, with only themselves for company, he had realised she had been telling the truth. And he, too, seemed to be taking this simple life as natural for him.
Was it taking him back to his roots? she found herself wondering. Listening to him telling her about the work he was doing in his own country, to help others make a better life for themselves, about the difficulties they faced, the hopelessness so many lived with, even simply hearing him speak his mother tongue Spanish when they’d arrived on Majorca, had brought home to him just how different his background was from hers. How harsh his early years had been, and how much his life had changed since he was a teenager newly come to Britain, trying to make a new life for himself.
She longed to ask him about it—how he had coped with the trauma of settling in a new country, often hostile and indifferent to him. But she sensed a restraint about it and would not force it. She understood it, too, for she herself did not yet want to talk about her life in England—did not want to tell him about her grandmother, the loss of her mental powers, the non-stop care she needed now. It was too emotional, too sad …
And with a darkening in her hea
rt she knew she never wanted to tell Leon about the danger her home was in—about what her father had done.
What he had made her do …
Instinctively she veered away from thinking about it. She had resolved that she would not let her father’s poison taint this miraculous time with Leon and she would keep to that. Her thoughts were fierce.
He’s got nothing to do with it! Nothing! I’m here with Leon because I want to be—because it’s the most wonderful, miraculous thing that’s ever happened to me!
It could not last. She knew that. Knew it with a tearing helplessness. This brief, blissful time was all she would have. Soon—all too soon, she knew—they must leave. Leon’s busy, demanding life would take over again, and he would have to return to work. And she could not continue to abandon her grandmother as she was doing now. When this idyll ended she would go home—back to her life, back to her grandmother. Would nurse her and care for her until the end came. She would never leave her.
Not even for Leon.
‘I’m truly sorry about this—I wish to God I didn’t have to go—but it’s not something I can deal with here. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise—and then we’ll come right back to Santera. I’ll make sure I can stay an extra week to make up for abandoning you now.’
Leon leant forward and kissed her reassuringly. Flavia did her best to appear reassured, but she felt the thread of unease unwind inside her further, even here in Palma, at the hotel Leon had checked her into to await his return the following day. The outside world had called to Leon, and he was having to respond to it. He hadn’t told her what it was that summoned him, only that it was unavoidable, and she knew she had to believe him on that. Trust him. She knew, too, that a man like Leon Maranz would have a thousand calls on his time.
Her eyes shadowed. For herself, she had only one other rival for her time—but it was an overpowering one. One she would never turn her back on.
She still had not yet told Leon about her grandmother, for she had not wanted anything of the outside world to intrude on their private paradise. Not yet. When they were both back in England, when she was ready to let the outside world back in willingly, acceptingly, then and then alone would she tell Leon about the woman had always been the most important person in her life, and how Harford had always been the most important place in her life—her beloved home.
Part of her longed to tell him—longed to talk to him about her grandmother, about Harford—but part of her was reluctant. What if he asked her why, if her grandmother was so frail, she had come away with him as she had? And—far more difficult—how could she possibly tell him now about the ugly threat her father had made? How could she possibly confess how her father had blackmailed her into getting in touch with Leon?
When she thought about it an icy pool congealed in her stomach. What had happened between her and Leon had been so extraordinary, so wondrous, that she did not want to sully it in even the slightest way with any taint from her father’s vile machinations. Oh, she would tell Leon about it—of course she would!—but not yet. Not yet …
Because it was all so new to her—this revelation of how wonderful it was to be with him! How transformed she was by him! She wished with all her heart that she had never met Leon through her father, that he had had nothing to do with him in any way at all. She wanted, now, to separate them totally.
