Flame of Diablo (13 page)

worse than death?'

'I don't understand.'

'Don't you? Carlos understood. While he

was grovelling to me, he apologised for

laying his hands upon my woman.'

She said in a voice like cracked ice, 'But

I am—not your woman.'

'Not yet,' he said softly. 'But you will be,

chica.
Because that is the price I require

for taking you to Diablo to find your

brother.'

There was a long silence. His words

seemed to whirl round and round in her

head, making no sense at all. She said at

last,

'You—you're not serious!'

'I was never more serious in my life,' he

said lazily. 'Why should you doubt it? I

may have called you a child, but you're

woman enough to know that I want you.

You knew that back in Asuncion.'

'I—didn't,' she said lamely, and he threw

back his head and laughed.

'I thought you were an actress,' he

mocked. 'I hope you play your stage

roles with more conviction,
querida.

Imagine, if you wish, that you have just

been offered a new and challenging one

—as my leading lady.'

'Leading no doubt to the shortest run in

the history of the theatre,' she said

stonily. 'Thank you, but I'm not

interested.'

He gave a slight shrug. 'As you wish.

Then we return to Bogota in the

morning.'

'You may go where you like.' Her

breathing was uneven. 'I'm going on to

Diablo—alone if necessary.'

'Oh, you won't be alone for long,
chica
,'

he said drily. 'You may even catch up

with Carlos. I'm sure he would be

willing

to

come

to

some

new

arrangement with you.'

'You bastard!' Her voice quivered.

'Bravo,
Raquel. You delivered that line

with real feeling. But if you mean to

shame me into escorting you to Diablo

without payment, then your luck has run

out,
querida.
I have stated my terms.

Now the choice is yours.'

'You're mad!' She hugged her knees with

her arms, her body as tense as a coiled

wire. 'You must be. After all, you don't

need to do this. You—you're very

attractive.'

He inclined his head ironically.
'Muchas

gracias, senorita.'

'You could probably get any woman you

wanted,' she went on wildly. 'So why do

this? All you'll achieve if you force me

is to make me hate you forever.'

'What force have I used?' That eye-patch

made him look satanic. 'I haven't even

touched you. It is all in your mind, like

this hatred of yours. But when the time

comes, I'll teach you not to hate me, I

promise you.'

'Perhaps hatred is too strong a word.'

She forced her voice to steadiness. 'It's

my indifference you'll have to overcome.

I don't think it will please you, Senor de

Mendoza, to find yourself in bed with a

woman who won't kiss you or respond to

you in any way.'

'Is that a challenge,
querida
?' He gave a

soft laugh. 'If so, I accept it. English ice

against Spanish fire. But will the fire be

quenched, or will it melt the ice, I

wonder?'

'I've already told you the answer to that.'

She drew a deep breath. 'Very well,

senor,
I accept your unspeakable terms.

You will take me to Diablo to find my

brother for— what? One night, two

nights?'

He said with sensual mockery, 'As long

as it takes,
chica.
And don't delude

yourself that my better nature will

triumph, or that I'll permit you to vanish

before your debt is paid. It won't, and I

shall not.'

Rachel looked away, refusing to meet

the intensity of his gaze. The beat of her

heart seemed suddenly slow and

suffocating as all the implications of his

incredible demands came home to her.

She had been wanted by men before; she

wasn't blind to her own attractions. But

there had never been a situation she

wasn't able to handle—except for Leigh,

of course. She sank her teeth into her

bottom

lip,

remembering

that

unattractive little episode, and how

close she had come to making an utter

fool of herself. Was that to be her fate,

she wondered sombrely, to be regarded

by men simply as a sex object? Would

she never meet anyone who would love

her as a person in her own right, rather

than as a body to be desired? In spite of

the hurt Leigh's Ice Maiden story had

caused her, she had sometimes hoped

that one day she would find a man

sufficiently caring and interested in the

girl behind the image to discover the''

truth.

She pulled herself together with a start,

mentally giving herself a little shake.

What strange byways her thoughts

seemed to be taking her down! How

could the consideration of Vitas' cynical

proposition have led on to thoughts of

love? His sole concern was with the

satisfaction of his appetites, she thought

angrily, and she would not have the

slightest compunction in leading him up

the garden path. If he imagined for one

moment that she would keep to this

immoral bargain with him once she was

safely reunited with Mark, then he was

not only an egotist but a fool as well,

and fully deserving of the slap in the

face that was coming his way.

His voice cut across the oddly

disappointing tenor of her thoughts. It's

time we got some sleep. We shall be

making an early start in the morning.'

She gave him a swift startled look. The

mocking intimacy had vanished from his

voice. He sounded cool and practical,

and probably that was how he would be

until they reached their destination, and

she would worry about what happened

next when they arrived there.

'You seem surprised,' he remarked

tauntingly, getting to his feet in one swift

supple movement. He walked round the

fire and stood looking down at her. 'Did

you expect me to demand part of my

payment in advance?'

'No, of course not.' She tore her eyes

away from his dark face with an effort.

He laughed and reaching down gripped

her arms, pulling her up on to her feet.

'You're too trusting,
chiquita
,' he jibed.

'Haven't your experiences tonight taught

you that at least? But you don't have to

worry. That's the only lesson you'll be

called on to learn—for the time being.

When our time comes, you see, I want

your undivided attention, unclouded by

past fears and alarms, and thanks to

friend Carlos I don't think you could give

me that tonight.'

She was rigid under his hands. She said

very quietly, 'Let's get one thing straight,

senor.
I'm—giving you nothing, either

tonight or any night. And now if you'd be

good enough to let go of me, I'd like to

fetch something out of one of the saddle

packs.'

A faint smile twisted the corner of his

mouth. 'What do you need,
querida
? A

gun, perhaps, to defend your honour —or

shoot me with?'

She lifted her eyebrows. 'I may be an

actress,
senor,
but I have little taste for

bad melodrama. No, I need something

far more prosaic—a fresh shirt to

replace the one your— predecessor

tore.' She shrugged the concealing

blanket away from her shoulders and let

it drop to the ground. Some men would

regard that as a provocation, she knew,

but he would not. He would know that

she was simply demonstrating her utter

and total indifference to him, and she

hoped that his masculine pride would be

dented a little if not bruised. Besides, if

she was honest, she knew that he'd seen

more of her when he'd stood over her as

she lay asleep in her room at Asuncion.

That was another humiliation that she

hoped to repay with interest before she

had finished.

She went on with studied insolence, 'Just

tell me when you've seen enough,
senor.'

She allowed her eyes to widen as if

something had just occurred to her. 'Or

perhaps you'd prefer me not to change

this shirt. Perhaps it would suit your

machismo
better to have me ride into

Diablo behind you with my clothes half

torn off?' She lifted her eyes, innocently

questioning, to his face, and saw just for

one satisfied second the reaction she had

hoped for—the flash of cold anger,

instantly controlled, although his fingers

tightened momentarily, bruisingly on the

soft flesh of her arms.

'It's a beguiling thought, I admit,

querida
,' he said almost lightly. 'But I

think you are mistaken in my image.' His

dark gaze matched her own insolence as

it lingered on her, frankly appreciating

the glimpse of her white skin that the

torn shirt afforded. 'Why rip a woman's

clothes, when to remove them slowly—

between kisses—can be so much more

rewarding?' He studied with amused

interest the hot wave of colour suffusing

her face that his words had induced.

'Don't you agree?'

'I wouldn't know,' Rachel snapped,

wrenching herself free and walking

towards the tent where Carlos had

deposited her personal belongings—a

lifetime ago, it seemed.

She was furious to find her hands were

shaking as she searched through the

pack, choosing a spare shirt at random

and shaking it to rid it of the inevitable

creases.

She closed the flap on the tent and

changed swiftly in the darkness, rolling

her discarded garments into a tight ball.

It was the first time she had ever put

clothes on to go to bed in, she thought,

but this entire trip was beginning to

contain altogether too many first times

for her liking.

In the morning she would, throw her torn

clothes away or burn them, but there was

no way in which she was going to leave

the frail security of the tent again that

night, although she believed Vitas de

Mendoza when he told her that she had

nothing to worry about that night at least.

But even that had not been prompted by

any sense of consideration for her, she

reminded herself indignantly. He was

merely concerned that her experience

with Carlos might have proved too much

of a turn-off for her to give him the

satisfaction he expected.

Oh God, she thought, clenching her

hands into fists, I'm going to make him so

sorry! At least I know he's not

invulnerable. That crack about his

machismo
really got to him.

Smiling to herself, she wriggled with

care into the sleeping bag of blankets.

Oh, she would lead him along nicely.

She might even let him think she was

resigned to the inevitable, but at the

same time, whenever she got the

opportunity she would plant little barbs

—barbs he would remember when she

finally gave him the slip under Mark's

protection.

Still smiling, she closed her eyes

determinedly, trying to shut out a small

persistent inner voice that wanted to

inconveniently remind her that the last

time she had made Vitas de Mendoza

really angry, the only vulnerability

exposed had been her own, and with

well-nigh disastrous consequences.

She shifted uneasily in the darkness.

That was something she did not want to

think about. Nor did she want to ask

herself the disturbing question if her

motives for provoking his anger once

again were quite as simple as she

wanted to believe.

It was the smell of cooking that woke her

—a

delicious,

beguiling

smell

intermingled with woodsmoke that had

her sitting up, her nose twitching in