Anne Mather - The Virgin's Seduction

‘I meant it can’t be easy having only an elderly lady as a companion,’ he amended drily. Then, with a glint of humour tugging at his thin mouth, he added, ‘Who am I kidding? You obviously don’t want us here.’

‘I never said that.’ Eve was appalled that she’d betrayed her feelings so candidly. ‘Naturally, Cassie’s always welcome. This is her home.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He grinned at her discomfort, white teeth contrasting sharply with the dark tan of his skin. ‘But it’s not my home. I know.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Eve had been staring at him, but now she dropped her gaze. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me,’ she said, concentrating her gaze some way below the shadow of beard already showing on his jawline. But the tight-fitting pants were just as disturbing to her present frame of mind, the velvet-soft fabric clinging lovingly to every line and angle of the bulge between his legs.

Dear God!

‘I’m trying not to,’ he said then, and his husky drawl scraped like raw silk across her sensitised flesh. He was much too close, much too male, and it was an effort to remember where she’d been going before this encounter.

‘I—I have to go,’ she declared hurriedly, attempting to move past him. ‘Um—Mrs Robertson will be wondering where I am.’

‘The old lady?’ As her breasts came up against the arm he’d put out to stop her, she recoiled in panic. But all he said was, ‘She’s not in her room. Cassandra said she insisted on coming downstairs to eat with us.’

Eve gathered her wits about her. The knowledge that Cassie had persuaded her mother to leave her bed, when she really needed her rest, just to join her and her paramour for supper was bad enough. But what had just happened had added a tension she really didn’t need.

Yet what had happened? she chided herself. It had obviously meant less than nothing to him. And was she so afraid of male attention that having her boobs accidentally crushed against his arm turned into a major event?

Once, she wouldn’t have considered it. Once, she would have fought off any attempt to get close to her, and any man who’d tried would have been nursing an aching groin for his trouble.

She was getting soft, she thought, aware that he was watching her with a strangely speculative look on his dark face. But, dammit, her nipples were still taut and tingling, and the unexpected contact with his body had caused a disturbing explosion of heat inside her.

Shaking her head, as if the simple action would clear her confusion, she said stiffly, ‘Where is she? My—Mrs Robertson, I mean.’

‘Your Mrs Robertson is in the library,’ Jacob Romero told her consideringly, and she guessed her slip of the tongue had not gone unnoticed. His brows drew together above his straight, almost aquiline nose. ‘Are you all right?’

Eve did step back then. This had gone far enough. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she exclaimed, managing to sound surprised at the question. She smoothed her palms, which were unusually damp, down the seams of her cords. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if she needs anything.’

If she’d thought to escape him, she was disappointed. He accompanied her across the circular Persian carpet that occupied a prominent position in the centre of the floor. Double doors opposite opened into the library, which had been her grandfather’s study while he was alive, but now served as both estate office and sitting room.

It was a cosy room, the books lining the walls scenting the air with the smell of old leather. A fire was burning in the large grate and Eve’s grandmother was seated in her armchair beside it. A footstool supported her injured ankle, and although Eve thought she looked tired, she was defiantly holding a glass of red wine in her hand.

Cassie was there, too, occupying the chair opposite. In thin silk trousers and a matching sapphire-blue tunic, she looked blonde and elegant. Someone had dragged her grandfather’s old captain’s chair over from behind the desk in the corner, and it was pulled strategically close to Cassie’s; obviously with Jacob Romero in mind, thought Eve cynically. Which meant she was obliged to sit on the ladder-backed dining chair that Mr Trivett used when he came to discuss estate matters.

‘Help yourself to some wine, my dear,’ Ellie suggested when Eve made to sit down, but Jacob Romero intervened. ‘I’ll get it for you,’ he said, indicating the chair beside Cassie. ‘And sit here. My bones are more liberally covered than yours.’

Eve doubted that. There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his body. And although she wanted to demur, it would have seemed uncharitable to do so. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and ignoring the irritation she could feel emanating from the woman beside her, she turned to Ellie. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m feeling much better this evening,’ Ellie declared, despite the fact that her usually ruddy cheeks were pale. ‘Don’t look so disapproving, Eve. I didn’t struggle down the stairs on my own. Mr Romero carried me.’

Eve only just stopped herself from giving him an admiring look. Her grandmother was no lightweight, and he had to be fit if he’d carried the old lady down from her room.

‘Um—that was good of—of you,’ she murmured lamely, accepting the glass of wine he’d brought her, but she was aware that Cassie was now preening herself in his reflected glory.

‘Jake’s immensely strong,’ she said, her smile towards him warm and intimate. Her tongue circled her upper lip in a deliberately sensual gesture as he seated himself beside Ellie. ‘I suppose it’s because he gets plenty of exercise.’

The double entendre was unmistakable, but the object of her insinuation didn’t respond in kind. ‘My family owns a charter company in San Felipe,’ he offered smoothly, leaning forward, his arms along his thighs. His thumbs circled the glass he’d brought for himself. ‘I’ve been hauling masts and rigging sails since I was a kid, so lifting a lightweight like you, Mrs Robertson, was no problem.’

Ellie looked pleased. ‘San Felipe?’ she murmured, echoing the name as Eve absorbed the fact that he wasn’t an American after all. ‘Is that in Spain?’

‘It’s an island in the Caribbean, ma’am,’ he said, and Eve had an immediate image of white sands, blue seas and palm trees. No wonder he was so darkly tanned. She guessed he must be brown all over.

Now, where had that come from?

‘Jake’s family own the island, Mummy,’ Cassie put in smugly. ‘His father’s retired, of course, and Jake runs the company himself.’

‘How nice.’ Eve was pleased to see her grandmother wasn’t overawed by this intimation of unlimited wealth. ‘So what are you doing in England, Mr Romero? I’d have thought this was the time of year when most people visit the Caribbean.’

‘It is, of course.’ He sounded regretful. ‘However, I’m obliged to spend at least part of the year in Europe.’

‘Jake has business interests all over the world.’ Cassie was evidently determined to impress her mother. ‘We met last year at the Paris Boat Show—didn’t we, darling?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought sailing boats would interest you, Cassie,’ remarked Ellie drily. ‘You were always seasick whenever your father and I took you out on the water.’

‘That was years ago—’ began Cassie snappishly, but before she could say any more Romero explained.

‘Cassandra was one of the hostesses at the show,’ he said, smiling at her hostile expression. ‘She was very good at it, too.’

‘It was just a fill-in between parts,’ protested Cassie resentfully. ‘I don’t usually do that sort of thing.’

‘Don’t you?’ Her mother seemed to perceive that she suddenly had the upper hand. ‘Remind me, Cassie: what was the last part you played?’

Eve now found herself in the unlikely position of feeling sorry for her and, with unexpected compassion she said, ‘You had a role in the remake of Pride and Prejudice, didn’t you, Cassie? I think you played one of the Bennett sisters.’

‘You know I didn’t play one of the Bennett sisters,’ hissed Cassie, giving Eve a filthy look, but her mother only smiled.

‘Mrs Bennett, perhaps?’ she suggested, enjoying the moment. ‘You’d be unlikely to be cast as an ingénue, if that’s the term they use these days.’

‘So, did you and Mr Romero spend much time in Paris, Cassie?’ Eve asked quickly, realising her grandmother wasn’t about to back off, and this time Cassie seemed grateful for her intervention.

‘Just a few days,’ she said. ‘But Jake promised to look me up the next time he was in London,’ she added, giving him a forgiving look. ‘And that was six months ago, wasn’t it, darling?’

‘Something like that.’ Eve noticed that Romero didn’t respond to Cassie’s frequent endearments. But she was taken aback when he turned to her. ‘And my name’s Jake. Or Jacob, if you prefer.’

‘Yes.’ Aware that all eyes were on her now, Eve was forced to be polite. ‘Yes, right.’ Then, dragging her gaze away from his disturbing face, she managed to smile at her grandmother. ‘Um—I’ll go and see how Mrs Blackwood is getting on. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Yes, you can get me another drink,’ said Cassie at once, holding out her glass as Eve got to her feet. ‘I’ll have whisky, if there is any.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘Your choice of wine isn’t to my taste.’

‘Nor are your manners to mine, Cassie,’ retorted Ellie, and Eve wished now that she hadn’t offered to go and see how the housekeeper was coping. There was an ominous atmosphere building in the room, and she dreaded what her grandmother might say next.

‘I’m not a child, Mother.’ Everyone must have noticed that the honeyed ‘Mummy’ had given way to the chillier term. ‘And I don’t like red wine, as it happens. But you knew that.’

‘I’d forgotten,’ declared her mother blandly. ‘Your visits here are so infrequent, Cassie. I can’t be expected to remember everything.’

Cassie’s lips tightened, and Eve guessed she was biting her tongue. She must know better than anyone that it would be unwise to antagonise her mother when there was a guest in the house. Particularly when that guest was someone she wanted to impress.

In the hope of avoiding any further argument, Eve set Cassie’s empty glass on the tray. Then, keeping her back to the room, she managed to sneak the whisky bottle off the tray and into the cupboard below. Swinging round on her heels, she said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry. There doesn’t appear to be any whisky here, Cassie. I expect there’s a new bottle in the kitchen. Why don’t you come and get it?’

The face Cassie turned to her was hardly friendly. Eve was sure the words, Why don’t you get it? were hovering on her lips. But politeness—or common sense—won out, and with a muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ to Romero, she pushed herself to her feet and flounced across the room to join Eve at the door.

She waited until the door was firmly closed behind them and they’d put the width of the hall between them and the library before speaking again. But when she did, her words were hard and accusatory.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded. ‘I saw the bottle of whisky on the tray when Mrs Blackwood was pouring us all a glass of the poor excuse for claret my mother insists on serving. Don’t think I didn’t see you spirit it away into the cabinet. I’d be surprised if anybody missed it.’

Eve’s lips twisted. ‘I should have known that nothing I did would please you,’ she said flatly. ‘And here I was thinking I was saving your sorry ass!’