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Polly nodded with determination.
Recalling how wonderfully close she and Raul had been earlier in the day, Polly began to droop. Had Raul been with Melina that night? Only a fool would believe anything Melina said, she decided. But a split second later she was thinking the worst again, imagining how easy, how tempting it would have been for Raul in the mood he had been in to seek consolation with his mistress, a beautiful, self-assured woman whom he had known for so many years...
Two minutes later, Raul strode back in and scooped Polly off the sofa.
‘I’m so miserable!’ Polly suddenly sobbed in despair.
Taken aback, Raul tightened his arms around her and murmured what sounded like soothing things in Spanish.
‘And I haven’t had too much to drink... I just feel awful!’ she wept, clutching at the lapel of his dinner jacket and then freeing him again, because she didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to be close to him in any way if he was capable of such deception.
Raul carried her upstairs, laid her gently down on his bed and slipped off her shoes.
‘I’m in agony with a headache!’ Polly suddenly hurled.
‘You’re tipsy,’ Raul murmured with total conviction as he unzipped her dress.
‘My head’s so sore,’ Polly mumbled, drowning in selfpity.
Raul extracted her from her dress and deftly massaged her taut shoulders. ‘You’re so tense,’ he scolded. ‘Relax, I’ll get some painkillers.’
Hadn’t he heard what she had said to Melina after all? Had she jumped to conclusions? Surely he would have said something by now?
‘Why were you angry with me?’ she whispered.
‘You were flirting like mad with Patrick.’
‘I like him,’ Polly muttered, distracted by that unexpected response.
‘I know,’ Raul growled, in an undertone that set up a chain reaction down her sensitive spine as he undid her bra and deftly disposed of it. ‘I didn’t realise you were feeling ill. I was surprised you were drinking so much.’
‘I knew I had a bad head when I came downstairs,’ Polly sighed, wriggling her way out of her tights at his behest. ‘I felt rotten.’
‘You should’ve told me,’ Raul purred. ‘Melina said you were talking about our annual fiesta here...were you?’
Polly tensed. ‘Don’t remember...my head was splitting. You seem to know her very well.’
‘Inside out,’ Raul agreed silkily.
‘When did you invite Melina to dinner?’
‘The same evening I visited my grandfather. Fidelio is the foreman of the ranch Melina rents,’ Raul revealed.
‘Oh... Oh...’ Polly gasped slightly, slowly putting that together for herself.
Raul had called in with Fidelio that night to tell him he had a great-grandson. And that was why Raul had seen Melina. How silly she had been! And why hadn’t it occurred to her before now that at some point Raul would have had to see Melina face to face to inform her of his marriage? As she came to terms with that rational explanation, a giant tide of relief started rolling over her.
‘I’m awfully tired,’ she confessed.
Raul tugged her up against him and gently slotted her into the silky pyjama jacket he had fetched. He carefully rolled up the sleeves. ‘I have a villa on the coast. I think we should spend a few days there...’
‘Sounds good,’ Polly mumbled, and closed her eyes.
She slept like a log but she had the most terrifying dream. She was living in the house at the foot of the garden and Melina was queening it at the ranch. History repeating itself in reverse. She woke with a start, perspiring and shivering, just in time to see Raul reach the door in his riding gear.
‘What time is it?’
‘Only five-thirty ... go back to sleep.’
