Alejandro's Revenge (14 page)

Abby was sympathetic. ‘Do you have brothers and sisters?'

‘Two brothers, three sisters.' He smiled mockingly. ‘Cubans usually have large families. But only my oldest sister still lives in Florida. The rest are married and scattered about the country.'

‘But you see them often?' suggested Abby, thinking how nice it must be to have a large family. ‘I hope Eddie and Lauren go ahead and have children. I can't wait to become an aunt myself.'

‘Or a mother?' remarked Alejandro seductively. ‘Surely you wish to have children of your own?'

‘Well, of course I do,' Abby exclaimed, feeling her face heating again. ‘But I'm not on the point of getting married. Eddie is.'

‘You do not have to be married to have children,' pointed out Alejandro drily, and Abby quivered at the images his words created. A vision of herself pregnant with his child flashed before her eyes and she hurriedly addressed herself to her coffee again to avoid his knowing gaze.

‘Well, as I'm not involved with anyone at the moment, the question doesn't arise,' she mumbled into her cup. ‘Um—I think I ought to be getting back, don't you?'

 

Contrary to what Alejandro had told her, Mrs Esquival wasn't at all pleased to hear where Abby had been and who she had been with. Apparently Alejandro had given Dolores the impression that he'd arranged for her guest to join a sightseeing tour—which was probably why he'd balked Abby's efforts to speak to the other woman before they left. He'd said nothing about escorting her himself, and it was obvious that Lauren's mother thought Abby had taken advantage of his kindness.

Abby went from feeling guilty to harbouring a certain resentment towards the older woman. It wasn't as if Alejandro was complaining, and she certainly hadn't asked him to take her out. Consequently, when he rang her the following morning and offered to take her to dinner at a famous South Beach restaurant that evening, she didn't hesitate before accepting his invitation.

Why shouldn't she have some fun while she was here? she defended herself. It wasn't as if Edward was falling over himself to look after her. And, although the Esquivals were polite, she never felt anything but a guest in their home.

The evening was every bit as exciting as she'd anticipated. This time there was no avoiding Dolores's disapproval, but Alejandro seemed indifferent to his cousin's displeasure. When she suggested that perhaps Abby ought to be resting, in preparation for the following evening's festivities, he merely pulled a wry face and said, ‘I am sure Abigail will have plenty of time to relax tomorrow,
querida
. And, as you appear to have everything under control, why should she not enjoy herself?'

‘People will talk,' Dolores exclaimed tersely, but Alejandro's face only stiffened into a sardonic smile.

‘Let them,' he remarked, ushering his companion towards the door. ‘
Adios
, Luis. I promise I will return your guest safely to you.'

They started the evening at a flashy bar on Ocean Drive, rubbing shoulders with several famous Hollywood faces who seemed to be enjoying their celebrity status. Abby was sure Alejandro had only taken her there to see the wide-eyed bemusement on her face, and she wasn't at all surprised when he took her somewhere much more exclusive for dinner.

The food had a West Indian bias this time, and Abby enjoyed the subtle blends of herbs and spices that flavoured the many exotic dishes she was offered. Afterwards, they strolled along the sidewalk, taking in the culture overload that was South Beach, and Abby caught her breath when he took her hand and linked his fingers with hers.

Although she'd sensed that he seemed to find her particularly attractive this evening, she was totally unprepared when he backed her into a shadowy doorway between two hotels and kissed her. The fire that leapt between them startled him, too, she thought, and he repeated the kiss, this time parting her lips with his tongue and thrusting his way into her mouth.

He whispered to her in his own language, low, husky sounds that made her feel weak at the knees. Cupping her head in one large hand, he angled her face so that he could go on kissing her, drinking from her lips, reducing her to a trembling mass of shivering anticipation.

She had never had such feelings before. She'd been kissed before; of course she had. But the men she'd dated had never made her feel like this, had never aroused the needs that were now churning inside her.

Almost without thinking, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, gripping the satin lapels of his tuxedo, trying to anchor herself in a world that was suddenly out of control. The crowds about them disappeared, the sounds and the music fading into nothingness as she drowned in the sensuous ardour of his touch. She felt his hands at her waist, felt them brush too briefly over the rounded curve of her bottom, and arched against him. And felt the unmistakable ridge of his arousal hard between them.

‘Cara.'
His voice was thick with emotion, but although she wanted to protest she sensed his withdrawal.
‘No ahora,'
he whispered ruefully. ‘Not here. Not now.' His thumb brushed across her soft mouth, parting her lips almost roughly. ‘Tomorrow, hmm? We will continue this tomorrow. After the wedding,
no
? We will go somewhere where we can be alone.'

Of course she told herself that nothing more would come of it. The things he'd said had been spoken in the heat of the moment, and once he had had time to think about it he'd realise that they had nothing in common. Except a mutual desire to tear one another's clothes off, she thought, quivering as she lay in bed that night. And how sensible was that?

But she feared sense had little to do with it.

The wedding took place in the late afternoon. Lauren made a beautiful bride, and Abby had never been so proud of her brother as she was when he stood at his wife's side welcoming their guests.

As Alejandro had teased, Dolores had left nothing to chance, and every detail of the ceremony and the reception that followed it had been organised in every detail. A twenty-four-piece orchestra played while the guests dined on steak and shellfish, strawberries and champagne. A veritable swarm of waiters kept glasses filled and offered trays of seafood delicacies, chicken
vol-au-vents
, mounds of caviar. Ice sculptures melted in the early-evening heat, and jackets were shed as the bride and groom shared a romantic waltz before going to prepare for their departure.

After they had left for the airport Abby, who had felt very much the outsider for most of the afternoon, eased her feet out of her high heels and sought the comparative coolness of the loggia. She was glad everything had gone so well, but she was also glad it was over. The Esquivals' friends and relations were almost all of Cuban descent, and she had little in common with them.

All except Alejandro, she thought, finding a lounge chair and stretching her toes with some relief. But then, Lauren's mother had ensured that he had no time to waste on their annoying little English guest. Dolores had spent most of the reception hanging onto his arm and Alejandro had been too polite—or too relieved at having the initiative snatched away from him—to do anything about it.

‘So this is where you are hiding yourself.'

His voice came out of the darkness. Although the rest of the garden was floodlit for the occasion, the servants had extinguished many of the lamps around the house. In consequence, Alejandro was in shadow. Until he moved closer and she could see his face.

‘I—I was just resting my feet,' she said awkwardly, wondering if she could slip her shoes on without him noticing. ‘It's been a long evening.'

‘But a very successful one,' remarked Alejandro, moving her feet aside to sit on the end of her chair. His hands lingered on her instep, his fingers searching for and finding the aching pads beneath her toes. ‘Your brother and his new wife looked suitably virginal, did you not think so? It is amazing what an occasion like this can do.'

Abby swallowed. ‘It was a wonderful wedding,' she agreed. Then, with some embarrassment, ‘You don't have to do that, you know.'

‘But you are enjoying it,
sí
,' he murmured, his fingers miraculously massaging her aches and pains away. ‘
Lo importante
, you are enjoying it,
no
? I know you are. Your eyes betray you.'

‘All the same…' Abby made a helpless gesture. ‘Shouldn't you be with the other guests? The dancing has started. I'm sure Dolores will be looking for you.'

‘I have done my duty,
cara
,' he told her softly. ‘The bride and groom have departed and the rest of the evening is mine.
Ours
,' he corrected himself, his fingers circling her ankle possessively. ‘Come,
cara
. I want to take you for a drive.'

Abby knew she should demur. She knew perfectly well that Dolores would not approve, and as she was leaving for home the next day she should be doing her packing. But her host and hostess were busy with their guests and no one noticed them leaving. Feeling like a thief, she allowed Alejandro to whisk her away in his convertible, the night air cooling her temples but making little impact on her blood.

They drove for a while along the coastal highway, and the breeze off the ocean made a tangle of her hair. She'd secured it in a French twist for the wedding, the formal style had seemed more suitable for the occasion, but now she gave up any hope of rescuing the fiery strands that blew about her face. Besides, she had the feeling that Alejandro preferred her hair loose, despite its wildness. His arm was along the back of her seat and his fingers caressed her nape, dislodging the few clips that still remained.

They eventually turned away from the water, threading their
way through wide streets with gabled houses that had given this area of Miami its name. Street lamps illuminated pastel-shaded houses and parks where fountains played. But the most memorable thing of all was the lush vegetation, and the exciting scents of the flowers on display.

The house Alejandro took her to was on Old Okra Road, an impressive Spanish-style dwelling, set behind towering oaks and stucco walls. A servant admitted them and then, on Alejandro's orders, left them to themselves, allowing him to show her round his home.

The things Abby remembered afterwards were the huge fireplace that took up almost the whole of one wall in the drawing room, decorated with Italian tile, and the massive oval swimming pool that was lit from below and gleamed with a turquoise beauty in the darkness. She also remembered the master bedroom suite and the enormous square bed that adorned it.

Alejandro poured them both a glass of wine and then opened the sliding doors onto the patio. They stepped outside with their drinks and Abby expressed her delight at the sight of the pool. ‘You're so lucky,' she said. ‘In this climate I expect you can swim all the year round. Apart from the fact that few people have pools back home, there are only a few months in the year when it's warm enough to use them.'

Alejandro shrugged. ‘We have our cold days, too,' he said drily. ‘And just occasionally a hurricane comes along to—how do you say it?—to keep us on our toes,
no
?' He smiled. ‘You like to swim?'

Abby glanced up at him for a moment and then took a sip of her wine. ‘Very much,' she said, wondering if he was remembering how they had met.

‘Then perhaps we should,' murmured Alejandro softly. ‘What do you think? It is warm enough,
desde luego
. And I can recommend it.'

Abby's jaw dropped. ‘What? Now?'

‘Why not?' His dark gaze seemed to caress her. ‘Have you never gone swimming after dark?'

‘Only—only in a hotel pool,' she admitted after a moment.
‘When a girlfriend and I went on holiday to France. But lots of people were in the pool at the time. It was a sort of evening pool-party-cum-barbecue, you see.'

‘Ah.' Alejandro inclined his head. ‘So—shall we?'

Abby shook her head. ‘I don't have anything to wear.'

‘Why wear anything?' asked Alejandro, his fingertips tracing the soft contours of her arm. ‘In this country we call it skinny-dipping. It is much more fun to swim without clothes.'

Abby was sure it was. She was also sure he was probably experienced at it. But she wasn't. She'd never taken her clothes off in front of a man before. The very idea was daunting.

‘I—don't think—' she was beginning, when he set down his glass and started to unfasten his dinner jacket. Depositing it on the nearby swing-seat, he tackled the buttons on his shirt, tossing his tie aside as he did so.

Beneath his shirt, his skin was darkly tanned and roughened by a mat of dark hair. The hair was thickest between his nipples and arrowed down to his navel. Abby dragged her eyes away when his hand moved to the buckle of his belt.

With his belt hanging loose and the waistband of his trousers unfastened he stood before her, and Abby's mouth dried at the realisation that he intended to go the whole way. ‘Do not be afraid,
cara
,' he said softly. ‘I will not hurt you. I just want you to enjoy yourself, to cast off these inhibitions that are stopping you from having fun.'

Abby shook her head. ‘I can't,' she said, emptying her glass in one unladylike gulp and turning away. ‘If you want to swim, go ahead. I—I'll wait for you in the house.'

‘Pobrecita,'
he whispered huskily, and when she would have put the width of the patio between them he caught her from behind, his arm strong about her waist. ‘Such a
timido
little one,' he added, drawing her back against his powerful frame. ‘Have I embarrassed you again? Would you not like to cool off in the water?'

Abby could think of nothing she'd like more—if she wasn't
so nervous about taking off her clothes. But it was no good. She couldn't do it. However tempting the prospect might be.