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Greed.
It was the first genuine emotion she’d displayed since they’d arrived here. She’d looked edgy or bored during their carefully rationed meetings. He’d only had to mention buying her a few new outfits to have her lighting up like a Christmas tree. But what else had he expected? he asked himself tersely before telling her flatly, ‘Manuel’s bringing the car round. I’ll see you on the forecourt in ten minutes.’
Ten minutes to get her racing heartbeat back to normal, to calm herself sufficiently to face what appeared to be the next stage of the game.
Because he was playing games, she told herself agitatedly as she exchanged the checked shirt for a marginally more attractive ribbed cotton sweater in a shade of deep raspberry pink and hurriedly applied a toning lipstick. What else could explain the way he’d left her largely to her own devices, never once mentioning the real reason for her being here, much less acting on it?
Today he intended to spend time with her. Today he’d touched her, his hands on her shoulders, his fingers brushing the skin of her cheek as he’d pushed her hair back from her face. The second stage of the game was obviously about to begin.
Which didn’t do her pulse rate any good at all, she recognised as she scraped her hair back in a ponytail, acknowledging that she, too, was playing games. Affecting indifference, boredom even, was all very well but she had the sinking feeling that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for much longer because he was turning out to be a real expert when it came to winding her up.
A fact amply demonstrated by the easy way he talked to her as he drove, giving her a potted history of the former monastery, explaining that his grandfather had bought it many years ago, had it restored by experts and turned into a tasteful home without losing any of the atmosphere. ‘But my parents rarely use it; they find it far too isolated. If I didn’t love it, come here whenever I can, keep on a skeleton staff, it would fall back into dereliction.’
As he talked his features softened, coming to vibrant life. Lisa swallowed thickly, averting her eyes from the intimate warmth of the sideways glittering glance he bestowed on her.
This was Diego as she remembered him. The Diego she had fallen in love with. Charming, vital, fascinating. And dangerous, she reminded herself on a tingling frisson of unstoppable sexual excitement.
The narrow road was descending through a thick belt of woodland, the air just slightly cooler, which hopefully went some way towards excusing the shiver that racketed through her.
‘Scared?’ he asked softly, his eyes knowing as he glanced at her, his long mouth curving with what looked suspiciously like male satisfaction as he gave his concentration back to the twisting tarmac.
Lisa knew what he was talking about. But no way would she admit to being affected in any way at all by his far more intimate, softer attitude. ‘Not at all,’ she murmured drily. ‘You drive well, so why should I be scared? Just chilly, that’s all.’
His open grin told her he didn’t believe a word of it. Even beneath the trees the cooler air was still soft and warm. No one could possibly feel chilly!
‘But of course,’ he murmured tauntingly. ‘What else could make you shudder to the soles of your pretty little feet?’
It was time she straightened things out between them, put a stop to this cat and mouse game of his, Lisa fulminated inwardly. Against all common sense she might still secretly and hopelessly love the wretch but she hated the way he seemed to be manipulating her.
As they approached the outskirts of the coastal playground of the seriously wealthy she told him, ‘I wasn’t thinking straight when I packed. I’d forgotten the huge difference in climate, even at this time of year. My fault,’ she admi
tted stiffly, wishing she hadn’t been in such a contrary, ill-tempered mood when she’d thrown just any old thing into her suitcase. ‘And I’ll buy my own clothes, thanks all the same.’
A couple of cotton skirts and tops would be as much as she could afford. Marbella wasn’t the place to come if you were shopping on a budget, she decided wryly, thinking of her tiny bank balance and the fact that she had no job to go back to.
‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ Diego stated firmly as he found a parking spot. Turning to her, he slid an arm along the back of her seat, deft fingers finding the narrow ribbon that pulled her hair starkly back off her face and removing it. His voice was now a soft velvet purr, making her tremble. ‘At the risk of sounding incredibly vulgar, I can afford it. Particularly as the doting daddy isn’t with us to pick up your bills.’
‘Don’t!’ Lisa snapped, hot colour flooding her cheeks. The ribbon was disappearing into his trouser pockets; to try to take it back would result in an unseemly tussle which she, of course, would lose. And she’d had more than enough of his mind games. ‘If you mention my supposedly doting father one more time I’ll—I’ll hit you!’
Hard fingers fastened around her wrist as she attempted to scramble out of the car, pulling her back to face him. One ebony brow arched as he murmured, ‘Hit me and I’ll retaliate.’ His eyes dropped to the kissable, trembling pout of her mouth and lingered there. ‘But not with physical violence. There are other, pleasanter ways of subduing a woman.’
A stab of satisfaction forked its lightning way through his body. He’d left her to stew for four whole days and nights, keeping her on an emotional knife-edge. Her veneer of indifference was cracking up and he was going to make it crumble to dust.
A slow smile curved his mouth as his words brought the frost back into those huge inky-blue eyes, her lips tightening in mute rebuttal. She was fighting her corner with every atom of her will-power but before too long he would have her as weak as a kitten, begging him to end the impasse, clinging to him, her body on fire for him and only him.
As his loins tightened Diego wiped out that train of thought and slowly released her wrist, frowning at the band of reddened skin. ‘A long cold drink’s in order before we hit the shops.’
And he would foot the bill for clothes that would be more comfortable and do justice to her ethereal loveliness, in spite of her unexpected refusal to let him. A refusal that was surely just lip-service to the conventions? Easily forgotten in the face of the slightest pressure?
Pondering that, he joined her on the pavement. She was wearing the strap of her shoulder bag across her body. It lay diagonally between the pert perfectly shaped breasts that were lovingly shaped by the softly clinging pink cotton of the top she’d changed into. The worn denim of her jeans moulded the curve of her hips, the rounded temptation of her thighs.
He snapped his eyes away. Cristo! She was pure temptation. Before he knew it he would be the one down on his knees and begging! That was not part of his plan. She, not he, would abase herself, plead with him—not the other way round!
Fifty yards brought them to the nearest pavement café. He led her to a table shaded by an arbour of vines with a panoramic view of the glittering blue sea. Ordering Buck’s Fizz for Lisa and plain orange juice for himself, Diego allowed the atmosphere between them to settle before probing something that was beginning to puzzle him.
‘Tell me something, Lisa,’ he murmured when he noted the signs of the beginnings of relaxation in the easing of her tense shoulders, the way her fingers now lay loosely around her thirstily emptied glass. ‘Why do you get so angry whenever I combine the words daddy and doting in the same sentence?’
‘Because you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lisa came back without heat. That drink had been delicious, dissolving her annoyance, bringing the ghost of a smile at the thought that anyone could imagine that Gerald Pennington had fond fatherly feelings for his small, insignificant daughter.
