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‘Yes, you do!’ Roque exploded all over again. ‘Have you any idea how much trouble you’ve caused by getting lost? Maria is weeping all over the place, and I was about half a minute away from calling the police. Only a madwoman drives off
into the hills without knowing where she is going, so do as I tell you, Angie, and switch on the damn—’
The line went dead. Roque bit out a string of filthy curses. Lost in the hills … He turned full circle, a set of long fingers scoring through his already dishevelled hair, then grabbed hold of the back of his neck. She’d been gone for hours, so she could be anywhere.
When did he get to be so stupid? How did she get to drive at all in the kind of shoes Maria had described?
He tried to connect to her phone again.
Angie ignored the phone’s ring while she touched buttons until she finally brought the satellite navigation screen to life, then she sat staring at the screen. It showed her a map with hardly anything on it except for a thin thread of road. All the information was in Portuguese. With no clue as to how she changed it to English, or even if she could change it, the map was, therefore, of absolutely no use.
She recovered her phone and allowed the connection. ‘I’ve got the satellite thing working, but—’
‘Angelina, I am about to lose my temper here.’ Roque’s grim voice cut across hers. ‘So do yourself a favour and don’t cut our connection again!’
‘It’s all in Portuguese,’ she continued as if he had not interrupted her. ‘You are going to have to tell me what to do so that I can understand it.’
She heard him suck in another deep breath. She felt him fighting to control his temper. Angie did not offer up any encouragement, just waited until he spoke again. ‘I will talk you through it, so concentrate …’
The drive back down through the forest-strewn hills was relatively simple now she had her own personal pilot to guide her, Angie discovered. Roque had instructed her on how to make the car’s computer recognise her mobile phone, and now the deep cool sound of his voice filled the car via its speakers, firing questions and directions at her as she drove. In a strange way Angie found it comforting to have him there with her, though she wasn’t sure why—because she had certainly shut down from feeling anything else right now.
Self-preservation kicking in, she assumed, as she glimpsed signs of civilisation appearing in front of her, and only a few minutes later she was joining the main highway. Relief was a feeling, she acknowledged as she heaved out another sigh.
It was only a short second later that a red Ferrari flashed up beside her, then shot past, only to pull in front of her two metres away from her front bumper.
‘Is that you?’ she gasped in surprise.
‘Sim, it is me,’ Roque responded.
‘But—what are you doing here? ‘
‘I am here to make sure that you don’t get lost again before I have had a chance to throttle you, meu querida,’ he explained, so smoothly Angie almost missed the threat threading through his silken tone.
‘Just—go to hell, meu querido,’ Angie said, and switched the phone off, preferring to finish the rest of the journey following his car without having to listen to him at the same time.
She hated him, she remembered. He was a lying, cheating, self-seeking playboy. The minute she got back to the house she was going to pack her things and leave. Her head was aching. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. She had a stupid pregnancy test lying on the seat beside her, and he had his mistress waiting for him not far away.
The first strangled sob tore from her as she followed him through the quinta gates, then into the tunnel of trees. By the time she came out again into hot bright sunlight the tears were trickling down her cheeks.
She stopped the car behind his at the front steps, then reached up to wipe the tears away with one hand while the other fumbled to unlock her seat belt. Reaching for her things from the seat beside her, she was about to open the car door when it suddenly flew open, and Roque stood there, looking less than his usual immaculate self.
Angie allowed herself a brief flickering glance at him. His hard-edged face was marblelike, the golden skin across the curving sweep of his cheekbones pulled tight. He stuck out a long-fingered hand in a grimly silent offer to assist her to alight from the car, but she ignored it, preferring to slide her long legs out over the high sill to land on slender heels the length of five-inch spikes.
The hand stretched out again, as if to steady her just in case the slender heels would not support her, and Angie quivered. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she whispered, then brushed around him and ran up the steps to the house.
Ramming his rejected hand into a fist, Roque watched her almost twist off one of the ridiculous shoes in her rush to get away from him, and bit back a colourful oath. ‘For God’s sake, Angie, be careful—’
For God’s sake, Angie turned into For God’s sake, Nadia in her head, and her spine shot erect with a jerk as she strode as fast as she dared into the house
She’d already crossed the vast empty space of the grand hallway and was running up the stairs by the time Roque reached the front door. Her white and green dress clung to every slender curve and her hair hung in a rich river of fire between her taut shoulderblades. The shoes were too high. The marble staircase was unforgiving to anyone who should fall on it. He’d seen the tracks of tears streaking her pale cheeks before she’d pushed past him, and—
‘Slow down before you break your neck!’ he roared as he strode after her. ‘You are not going to shake me off, Angie, so you might as well stop trying!’
Angie had reached the graceful curve of the upper landing by then, and she spun round and leant over the banister. Halfway up the marble staircase Roque paused and looked at her, and that unfair, totally unyielding crash of attraction she always felt when she looked at him caught Angie full-on. The way he was standing there, with one foot elevated to the higher step, one long-fingered hand resting lightly against the banister rail sensually—as if he was caressing the rich dark colonial wood. Everything about him was sensual, from the untidy state of his jet silk hair to the striped shirt hanging open at his throat. The unsmiling taut mouth, the slightly flaring nostrils, the deep, dark bottomless eyes looking at her with.
‘You are a total womanising rat.’ She broke down on the first helpless sob. ‘If—if I had a knife handy I would be jumping over this rail so I could plunge it into your chest!’
Roque released a sigh. ‘I can explain about Nadia—’
