Under the Spaniard's Lock and Key (5 page)

‘Rafael.’ The man who greeted her companion stared at Maggie with open curiosity before smiling and making a comment in his native tongue.

The men spoke for a moment before Rafael turned back to

Maggie. ‘I did not find it,’ he said, responding to her previous question. ‘I was brought up not far from here.’

‘A country boy!’

He arched a dark brow as he placed his fingers under her elbow to guide her to a seat at one of the long trestle tables. ‘That surprises you?’

Considering his aura of sophistication it did, but she had to admit he did seem very relaxed and at home in the surroundings and, judging by the number of people who greeted him with warmth and familiarity, he had not forgotten his roots.

She smiled as people moved to make way for them; Rafael told her to save him a seat while he left to bring her back food.

Maggie sat quietly drinking in the sights and smells, trying to commit this very special moment to memory, she was pretty sure that by the morning it would all seem like a dream.

Rafael returned carrying two plates of steaming paella and, setting one before her, pulled a stray chair to the table and straddled it.

Maggie speared a prawn with her fork and put it in her mouth. She gasped. ‘That is incredible!’ and refilled her fork.

Her plate was half empty when she realised that Rafael was spending more time watching her than eating himself.

She lifted her eyes to his face and once again he responded to a question before she had framed it. ‘I like watching you eat. It is rare to see a woman who enjoys her food.’

‘Well, I’d enjoy it more if you weren’t watching every mouthful,’ she admitted frankly.

Maggie tapped her foot as the fiddler struck up a fresh tune. The man on the accordion finished off his glass of wine before he joined in too. There was a ripple of clapping as people flocked onto the makeshift dance floor. This was clearly a popular choice.

‘They all look as if they’re having a good time.’

The wistful note in her voice was not lost on Rafael, who was starting to find her undisguised enthusiasm for everything wearing. Every time she looked at him with wide trusting eyes he experienced a need to justify his actions to himself that he did not enjoy.

He knew he was doing the right thing.

So why, asked the voice in his head, do you feel like such a lowlife?

‘The paella is very lovely.’

Of course it was.

She was the easiest woman to please he had ever met and by far the most beautiful.

Would she be equally appreciative in bed?

The sybaritic image of her naked body beneath him, her dark hair spread out on a pillow, flashed into his head. Struggling to banish the erotic sequence of images that followed it, he shut his eyes, disconcerted by the strength of the desire that gripped him.

It seemed the moment to remind himself that she was not his type at all.

Luscious, obviously, but there was an aura of wide-eyed innocence about her that under normal circumstances he would have steered well clear of.

He had a low boredom threshold and virtue was, in his experience, boring. It was admittedly not boredom that had him in a constant state of painful arousal, but sexual hunger once quenched did not have a long shelf life. He gave a jaundiced smile; if anyone knew that it was him.

Maybe, he mused, it was genetic. His father’s numerous mistresses had never lasted long—pride in his family name had not extended to Felipe Castenadas depriving himself of female companionship after Rafael’s mother’s departure.

There had been many women and his father had spoken about them with a lack of respect behind their backs and
sometimes to their faces that had never sat easily with Rafael as a boy.

Rafael had been in his early teens when he had gone to leave the room in disgust during the middle of one of his father’s coarse diatribes about his mistress of the moment.

His father had stood up and blocked the door. Rafael could still recall the smell of alcohol on his breath. ‘You know what your problem is, boy, you romanticise women,’ he had sneered. ‘Don’t shake your head, boy, I’m doing you a favour. Do you want a woman to make a fool of you? At heart they are all like your mother, basically whor—’

The crude sentence had never been completed. Felipe had met his son’s eyes—realising for the first time perhaps that he had to tilt his head to do so—and what he had seen there had made him pale.

He had moved away from the door maintaining an illusion of macho bluster, but clearly shaken. It had been a turning point. He had never pushed Rafael in the same way, or mentioned his mother again.

In other respects nothing had changed. It wasn’t just female companionship his father had not deprived himself of—Felipe Castenadas had lived a lavish lifestyle even when he couldn’t afford it. Rafael had been forced to watch silently as his father sold off the estate he’d claimed to love piece by piece to pay for his indulgences, all the time silently vowing to one day restore it.

He had done so now and gained in the process the respect and gratitude of the people on the estate. Though his father would never have accepted an invite to a party like this, Rafael did so regularly, and he frequently enjoyed these simple occasions more than the lavish social events he was expected to attend.

He had never brought anyone along before so he could almost see the speculation in his tenants’ faces as they looked
at his companion. It was annoying but the speculation would die away.

He studied her through his lashes as she smiled. The man who did end up with her would have to share her—the woman loved the whole world, and paella.

He watched as her smile had a predictable effect on a group of young men who stood a few feet away, staring. He could almost smell the testosterone from here; she remained cheerfully oblivious to the effect it had on them.

Rafael’s clenched teeth were starting to ache.

If that smile had turned out to conceal a mean and spiteful agenda he might not be feeling this uncharacteristic guilt.

He had nothing to feel guilty about.

So why do you feel the need to remind yourself of that so frequently?

‘You are not counting carbs, then?’

The sardonic observation made Maggie lift her chin. ‘Sorry if that offends you,’ she said, sounding anything but.

‘It was not a criticism.’

Almost certain that, despite this reassurance, it was exactly that, Maggie paused, her fork in the air. The furrow between her brows deepened as she studied his dark face. His entire attitude since they had arrived had been offhand and she was getting the impression he had regretted bringing her.

She ought to be regretting it too, but the hormonal rush she got every time she looked at him had an addictive quality. Then there was the smell of his skin and the way he…She inhaled deep, closing down this chain of thought, which could, if left unchecked, go on for a long time—there was a lot about him she found fascinating!

He might be her hormonal Achilles’ heel, but she was not about to apologise for liking food. She had been there, done that before.

‘I tried dieting.’ Simon had bought her a number of very
useful books on the subject of healthy eating. ‘It made me cranky and I almost fainted running for the bus.’

A look of astonishment crossed his face. ‘Why would you diet?’ His eyes dropped, sliding appreciatively over her lush curves; by the time he made the return journey to her face Maggie’s cheeks were burning and her heart was slamming hard against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She was trapped, trapped by the sheer strength of the sexual awareness that had invaded every cell of her body.

‘I know I could do with losing my hips and my bottom is a bit…’

A hoarse rattling sound emerged from Rafael’s throat. ‘You have a magnificent body.’

Heat flashed through her body as their eyes meshed, the sweet sharp ache between her legs made Maggie shift uncomfortably and feel acutely embarrassed—but mingled with the embarrassment was a strong element of dizzy excitement.

‘Clothes hide a multitude of sins,’ she joked, trying to lower the sexual temperature, she was mortified by the thought of anyone listening in to this conversation.

‘It depends on your definition of sin.’ His slurred drawl made her shiver. ‘Would you like to compare notes?’

Maggie swallowed, the fork slipping from her nerveless fingers. His smoky eyes were eating her up.

‘I would really like to know what sinful thoughts are going through that beautiful head right now.’ His finger trailed down her cheek.

Maggie gasped and pulled back breaking the spell that held her in sexual thrall. ‘I’d really like to dance.’

Rafael laughed at the change of subject and thought I would like to see what those clothes are hiding. ‘This is not my sort of music.’

‘Your foot was tapping.’ Perhaps it was just her he didn’t want to dance with?

He heaved a sigh, there was time to ring Angelina and warn her later.

And why should he pass up the opportunity to legitimately hold that soft warm body next to his own?

It looked as if he was not the only person to have this idea.

Recognising the young man who, egged on by shouts from his friends lining the makeshift bar, was approaching, Rafael acknowledged him. ‘Enrique.’

The friends, who clearly had not really thought their friend this bold, fell silent.

Maggie watched as the two men spoke; the young man with the bold eyes and macho swagger kept flashing her smouldering looks that made her want to laugh. Despite the physical dissimilarities—he was dark and not very tall; Sam and Ben were tall and fair—he reminded her of her brothers.

When Rafael showed any inclination to smoulder in her direction she felt no desire to smile—in fact her reaction was worryingly close to throwing herself on the floor and screaming,
Take me!

There had to be a logical reason for her bizarre behaviour…That fish last night had tasted funny…?

* * *

‘Enrique wants to know if you’d like to dance.’

* * *

‘And you don’t mind?’

His brows lifted at the question. ‘Why should I mind?’ Rafael shrugged, displaying zero reluctance to relinquish her to the care of the flashing-eyed young man, and said, ‘Have fun.’

Maggie looked at him with narrowed eyes. Weren’t Spanish men meant to be possessive? Clearly if they were Rafael was the exception to the rule because, far from objecting to the handsome boy—actually he was more than a boy; now she looked more closely she could see he was probably
nearer her own age than her brothers’, but next to Rafael there was something immature about him—

‘Don’t worry, I will,’ she promised, taking the young man’s hand and allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

R
AFAEL
drummed HIS fingers impatiently on the table-top as he waited for Angelina to pick up. He felt a jolt as Maggie, who appeared to be rapidly losing her inhibitions, turned her head and smiled at him.

He smiled back, then scowled as she was whirled away by her laughing partner, her dark hair streaming behind her like a silken cloud, her laughter floating on the air as Enrique, his shirt unfastened to reveal a bronzed chest, pulled her closer to demonstrate a complicated step that she copied with ease.

She was very graceful and her laughter and her lack of inhibition made him feel unaccountably annoyed.

Above the sound of her warm laughter he heard Angelina’s voice.

‘Rafael, are you at a party? Is that why you deserted us so early? Alfonso said you were avoiding the photos.’

Rafael forced his gaze from the dancing couples.

‘I’m planning on staying at the
castillo
tonight. Is Alfonso there?’

‘Yes, do you want to speak to him?’

‘No. Don’t talk, just listen.’ I’m about to turn your perfect day into a nightmare. He expelled a deep breath and said, ‘Your daughter is here.’

The silence lasted a full thirty seconds before she breathed hoarsely, ‘That isn’t possible! What is she like, Rafael?’

‘Like you,’ he said, wishing he could not hear the raw longing in her voice. Conscious of a male voice in the background, sharp with concern he added quickly, ‘She was going to crash the party.’ The ease with which he had diverted her had made Rafael think that the timing of her arrival might after all have been fortuitous—from her point of view—rather than malicious.

Malicious or not, the effect would have been equally destructive. He did not regret his actions and the necessary subterfuge. This was definitely a moment when the ends justified the means.

‘I’m playing it by ear,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t think she knows who I am.’

A man who believed in meticulous research, Rafael did not enjoy the novel sensation of working in the dark.

If he’d had a detailed report on his laptop telling him everything that was relevant about Miss Maggie Ward, he would have been much happier. At the moment all he knew about her was that she had a lopsided smile, a husky voice, a mouth that invited sinful speculation and a lush distracting body—and she liked paella.

‘If the opportunity arises and she feels able to confide in me I will do my best to convince her this is a bad move, but that’s a long shot,’ he admitted, thinking of the stubborn firmness of her rounded chin. ‘You should tell Alfonso sooner rather than later. I’m sorry, Angelica, it was bad advice.’

He slid the phone into his pocket as a breathless and happy Maggie was delivered by a smug-looking Enrique back to the table.

Maggie, her face flushed from the exertion and her eyes sparkling, smiled as the young man spoke, then looked to Rafael.

‘What did he say?’ Without waiting for the translation she caught Enrique’s hand and flashed a smile of radiant warmth, then, appearing oblivious to the effect it had on the susceptible boy, said, ‘That was fantastic. You’re a great dancer, but I’m worn out,’ she added, fanning herself with her hand and miming a faint.

The young man raised her hand to his lips and spoke again.

‘He said that you not only look beautiful but you dance beautifully too.’

‘Oh, how sweet!’ Maggie said raising herself on her tiptoes to reach up to plant a kiss on the young man’s smooth cheek. She turned her head to Rafael, her smile fading as she encountered his stony expression. ‘Tell him thank you.’

‘He already got that part.’ A nerve clenched in his lean cheek as Rafael sought to contain the irrational surge of anger that he had experienced when he had watched her kiss the boy.

‘I think he’s smitten.’

Maggie’s eyes narrowed and her chin lifted at the cold criticism in his manner. She refused point-blank to allow him to make her feel guilty for a spontaneous peck on the cheek, it had just been innocent fun and even if it hadn’t been it was none of his business!

It wasn’t as if he had wanted to dance with her. Now that, she admitted, would have been a very different experience and not nearly so innocent.

‘That’s because I’m utterly irresistible, a real man-eater.’

Rafael said something that drew a laugh from the young man who caught Maggie’s hand, bowed low over it and brushed it with his lips. Then with a grin and a display of youthful exuberance he ran off to be clapped on the shoulder by his friends before claiming his next partner.

Antipathy shone in Maggie’s eyes as she took her seat next to Rafael. Choosing water rather than wine, she filled her glass from one of the jugs on the table.

He raised a brow at her choice and taunted lightly, ‘The vintage not to your palate?’ The locally made wine, thanks to some clever marketing, had actually started to appear on a number of high-end restaurant wine lists, and his investment in the new winery that many had considered wasteful had not only already paid for itself but brought jobs to an area where young people were often forced to leave in order to find work.

‘You’re not drinking,’ Maggie observed, unwilling to admit she had no head for alcohol—a sniff of a wine gum made her tipsy.

‘I’m driving.’

The reminder made her frown. ‘What time is it?’

He extended his arm towards her; his sleeve was rolled up to the elbow. Maggie stared for a moment, her throat dry and her heart pounding as she struggled to resist the impulse to run her fingers over the hair that lightly dusted his sinewed golden forearm.

Her voice was husky as she read the time on the metal-banded watch that circled his wrist out loud.

‘It’s a long way back,’ she fretted.

Rafael watched as she nibbled gently at the pouting curve of her full lower lip. This had never been about seduction…but he found himself wanting her more than he had wanted a woman in a very long time.

‘Don’t look so worried—I am a man who believes that a woman is allowed to change her mind.’ This was an attitude that had rarely been tested.

The colour flew to Maggie’s cheeks. ‘About what?’

He just laughed. ‘It’s fine if you have second thoughts,’ he observed not in reality feeling at all fine as he looked at her lovely mouth. His glance slid lower to the outline of her lush breasts beneath the fine fabric of her top, and he felt even less fine.

He felt hungry.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved by his take-it-or-leave-it attitude or insulted.

Had she changed her mind?

Did she have a mind? Now the initial defiant mood had ebbed, allowing herself to be picked up by a total stranger had started to seem less spontaneous and more criminally reckless.

And if she felt this way when the music was playing and the moon was shining how was she going to feel in the morning? she asked herself.

There had to be a less dramatic way to shake her sensible girl image. Next time she would settle for something tamer, like a motorbike or tattoos.

‘I will make sure you get safely back.’ Maggie’s eyes connected with his and her stomach went into a lurching dive. There was nothing safe about the glow in his smoky eyes. ‘But what,’ he asked, tilting his chair back to avoid a collision with some passing dancers, ‘is the hurry?’

Enrique called out and winked at her as he whirled his new partner past.

‘What did you say to him before?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Were you talking about me?’

‘I simply translated.’

Maggie replayed the conversation and her eyes widened in dismay. ‘You didn’t!’

One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. ‘Actually I gave him a modified version—I told him that you eat little boys like him for breakfast.’

‘What if he thought you were serious?’ she charged.

His eyes dropped and Maggie was shocked and embarrassed to feel her body respond to the slow, insolent sweep of his densely lashed eyes.

‘What makes you think I was not serious?’ he countered. His voice lowered a husky octave as he leaned into her and observed softly, ‘You are a very desirable woman.’

Tongue-tied and blushing, she looked away, unable to come up with a smart remark to diffuse the fizz of sexual tension.

Did she want to diffuse it?

A thoughtful expression drifted across his lean predatory features as Rafael watched her plunge into a state of delicious blushing confusion. Rather than exploiting her sexuality, she seemed shocked by any reference to it.

‘I think maybe I will have some more to eat.’ Not looking at him, Maggie picked up her plate.

As she hurried across the grass towards the long trestle table loaded with food she bit her lip to repress a groan. So much for the new improved sexy me—I must have looked like a scared rabbit! What must he think of me?

Unable to stop herself, she glanced back over her shoulder and it became clear he wasn’t thinking of her at all. Her place had been taken by a pretty woman in a low-cut blouse who as Maggie watched threw back her head and laughed, her uninhibited spontaneity a striking contrast to Maggie’s own stilted self-consciousness.

She felt a stab of something that was obviously not jealousy but was nonetheless unpleasant. It was strange. She was not normally so self-conscious; it was just something about Rafael…Something? Who was she kidding? It was everything about Rafael!

The fact was she had never been attracted to a man this way in her life before. It wasn’t just the fact he was incredibly handsome, which he was, it was more…his earthy sensuality…She shook her head, frustrated by her inability to analyse what it was about him.

Maybe it was not possible to analyse; maybe she just had to accept that looking at his mouth made her ache.

One minute she was thinking about his carnal perfect mouth and the things she was shocked to realise she would
have liked him to do to her with it and the next she was running.

Later, when she tried to work out the exact sequence of events they remained a confused jumble. In each reconstruction her shocking, shameful thoughts somehow mixed up with the sense of panic and urgency that she reacted to instinctively.

She was never even sure why she had glanced towards a pile of recently sawn timber—perhaps movement caught her eye? She actually looked away, barely registering it as her attention drifted to the children playing a hundred yards or so away.

Then a low rumble just audible above the sounds of merriment made her turn her head again. She froze, paralysed with horror as she saw the stack of felled trees begin to move…Like a house of cards they slipped, fell and began to roll down the steep incline.

Straight towards the group of playing children.

The plate slipped from her fingers. She was told later she yelled—that was what caught the attention of the others who set off in her wake—but she had no memory of that. She just remembered running, praying and the sound of her laboured breathing loud in her ears as she raced towards the children.

By the time she reached them the older ones, alerted by cries, had already started moving, running out of the path of the approaching danger. Some were crying, but the sound was lost in the general pandemonium.

Maggie bent and scooped up two of the smaller children sprinting to the safety of higher ground before depositing them in the arms of women standing, shocked, watching, and she went back, passing men running in the opposite direction with children in their arms.

One child remained, a solemn-eyed little boy who raised his arms to Maggie when she reached him, hefting him into
her arms. She turned, pressed his face into her shoulder and tried to run; her legs felt leaden. They worked painfully slowly as she fought against the inertia, struggling to suck air into her oxygen-starved lungs.

She could hear the danger approaching but didn’t dare look…Convinced she wasn’t going to make it with her last ounce of strength she flung the little boy at a young man who was running out to meet them.

She saw him safe and closed her eyes as the adrenaline rush in her bloodstream dipped dramatically. She tried to run felt her legs give and cried out. Safety was tantalisingly near but she couldn’t…Her face scrunched into a teeth-clenched mask of determination as she tried to push herself forward.

Then something hit her. For a brief moment she thought it was the loose timber, then she realised the solidity was warm and male—it was Rafael. She stopped fighting as he carried her from danger.