Chapter 6
The fallout from that misadventure had been surprisingly slight. Once we returned to the safety of the big house, the doctor had been called, and my cracked ribs and broken tibia had been dealt with quickly and efficiently, as well as the scrapes and bruises that covered my body. Granda was fortunately out that night, and he had no idea what time of day I’d been injured. He was told I’d fallen near the rocks at the edge of the vineyard, and apart from vast annoyance and the surprising appearance of a plate of my favorite cinnamon buns, no mention was made apart from a few dozen stern warnings. Even Mary Alice couldn’t find out the truth about my injuries, or she would have immediately told Granda, so I managed to recover with just the right amount of pampering.
For some reason, I’d been too embarrassed to meet Ian’s disapproving gaze in the next few days. I avoided him, as I avoided Bella and Marcus. For once, her sweet excuses didn’t penetrate the deep hurt I felt, and I stayed in the women’s salon, my splinted leg straight out in front of me, reading romances and not giving a damn who saw me. I didn’t realize until later that Ian had been fool enough to ignore the gash in his arm, when a few stitches and disinfectant would have taken care of everything. Instead, it got infected, and while I had healed very quickly, he still bore the scar of our misadventure to this day.
My misadventure. My stupidity. And it suddenly struck me that I had never, ever thanked him. He had rescued me, saved my life, and I had been too self-conscious to say a word to him.
“Shit,” I muttered beneath my breath, suddenly filled with the need to say something. But I couldn’t. I was Bella-Beast—I could hardly tell him I was sorry I had never thanked him.
Or could I? It was after nine, early for a Spanish evening, and given the jet lag and my long nap, I still had plenty of energy. I needed to go find something to eat, but first I needed to take care of business. After all, that was why I was here, wasn’t it? To right any wrongs I may have done, to finally let go of my obsession with this place and my lost family.
Now was as good a time as any. Tomorrow, Marcus would be here, bringing his own set of issues, and I would need all my wits, all my energy to deal with him. I could dispense with any lingering issues with Ian tonight and move on.
I passed no one as I moved through the tiled halls with their towering ceilings. Mariposa, in its current incarnation, was a bit over two hundred years old. Beneath the maze of cellars were Roman ruins, with Moorish ones laid on top of them, and the Moorish influence could be seen throughout the house. The tiles were cool beneath my bare feet, and I considered heading upstairs to grab a pair of sandals with their teetery heels, then thought better of it. I headed for the kitchens and the door to the side courtyard, the stretch of drive that lay between the old stables and the big house.
As I expected, there were a number of pairs of mud boots, work shoes, and even clogs. I slipped the clogs on and headed out into the warm night.
It was easy enough to see where he lived. The original stables had been vast, large enough to hold the army of horses, both for riding and working the land Mariposa had required before the advent of tractors. Now most of the stables had been converted, leaving only a small section that still held half a dozen horses.
The first floor was ablaze with light, and I could hear music on the night air. I recognized Juanes, and smiled. I loved Juanes, the warmth of his voice, the passion in his heart. I would never have thought Ian the Wretch would share my taste in music.
I glanced around. He’d said he had plans for the evening, but I could see no sign of a car near the building. He’d probably been lying, trying to annoy me. As if I cared what he was doing.
The stairs were the same, worn, narrow stone. We had played up there occasionally, but back then the dusty space, once lived in by the stablemaster, was simply filled with storage. Typical of Ian that he’d choose to live in a hovel rather than enjoy the comforts of Mariposa.
My stomach was in a knot, but I knew this had to be done or I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I wish I didn’t remember it all so clearly, but there was nothing I could do except face it and get it over with.
I knocked on the door, loudly. A moment later the music was muted, and I heard Ian walking toward the door. What if someone had come here some other way, I thought suddenly. What if I’ve interrupted some idyllic sexual encounter?
No, sex would never be idyllic with Ian. He was too big, hard, unrelenting. And I felt heat flame my face at the thought.
The door was flung open, and he stood there, all six feet two of him, looking thoroughly annoyed. “What do you want now, Bella-Beast?”
I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. He was only Ian the Wretch, not some big, scary monster. “I wanted to talk to you. If you’re busy I can go away...”
“I wish you would,” he muttered beneath his breath, so low I could barely hear him. “I’ve got a minute,” he said in a louder voice. Belatedly he stepped back. “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”
I gave him a withering glance as I stepped inside, then stopped. The place had been transformed. The wood floors had been varnished, the walls painted a soft white, the carpets rich and colorful. I recognized some of the furniture from the big house—a carved wooden chest, a beat-up old sofa that had once been in the so-called nursery, a wooden chair fit for a legendary Spanish monarch. On the wall hung the small, dark El Greco that had once adorned the west salon, and I drew in my breath.
“Does Granda know you have that?” I demanded sharply. If he was stealing from Granda, I’d have to do something about it, even if it meant exposing my masquerade.
“You know as well as I do that Granda gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. He said the disapproving face reminded him of me.” His voice was casual.
What Would Bella Do? I surveyed him slowly. “Maybe at eighteen,” I said judiciously. “Not anymore.”
“Are you suggesting I may have improved in my old age? I’m flattered, Bella.”
“Don’t be. The bar was set low.”
He laughed, unperturbed by my snappishness. “So to what do I owe the honor of your visit? I told you I had plans.”
I glanced around me. “I don’t see anyone. Or are you going out?” Indeed, by Spanish standards, the evening had barely begun. The restaurants and bars in town would be open late, filled with throngs of people.
“I’m expecting a visitor. Not you.” He crossed his arms, waiting.
It took me a moment to remember why I came there. “I needed to tell you something about...Podge.” It took an effort to come up with the hated name.
For a moment he looked surprised, then he nodded. “Go ahead.”
He was wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, and I could see the scar. It strengthened my determination. “I saw her recently, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. Where?”
“In the States. She lives in New Hampshire. That’s up north...”
“I know where New Hampshire is. Continue.”
He didn’t ask how his long-lost cousin was, I noticed. He’d dismissed me as thoroughly as Granda had, and for some stupid reason it hurt.
I stiffened my spine. “She asked me to give you a message.”
“Did she indeed?” He started moving then, through the apartment, around me, slowly, lazily. It was unnerving, and I wanted to tell him to stand still, but Ian had always been restless and prowling.
“She said she never thanked you for saving her life. Back in the caves. You remember...”
I expected him to glance at his arm, but he didn’t. He simply nodded, saying nothing, forcing me to continue babbling.
“Anyway, she said she never told you how much she appreciated what you did, and she needed to make amends.”
“Is she an alcoholic?” he asked mildly.
“No!” I said, startled. “Why would you think that? She barely drinks.”
“Because it’s usually recovering alcoholics or dying people who feel the need to make amends. I assume she’s not dying.” It wasn’t even a question, damn him.
“No, she’s healthy and happy and doesn’t miss this place or any of you in the slightest,” I snapped, goaded.
“Glad to hear it. When you see her again, you can tell her that her conscience is now clear. At least as far as I’m concerned.” He let his dark eyes run over me, an enigmatic expression on his face. “Is that all? Or did you have other old times you wanted to discuss? Perhaps your own amends that you need to make?”
She probably did, I thought darkly. Then again, apologies came easily to Bella, so easily it was hard to stay mad at her. I’d forgiven her for abandoning me in the caves within a week, and we’d been best friends again, with Bella waiting on me and plying me with little treats and presents to cheer me up and entertain me as I convalesced.
“Hardly,” I said. “I’ll leave you to your plans.”
In his prowling, he’d managed to box me in, so that I had to move around him or bump into furniture to leave. And he had stopped moving, deliberately blocking the way. “Will you really?” His voice was low, unnerving, and I felt a sudden uneasiness. Bella had said she was in danger. Was Ian part of that danger?
I would be a fool to underestimate him, and apart from agreeing to this stupid game, I was no fool. I took an involuntary step back. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your evening.”
“Bella, you don’t have the ability to interfere with anything in my life. Show me your hands.”
He’d managed to surprise me even further. “What?”
“Show me your hands. I want to make sure you didn’t lift anything. You’ve always had such sticky fingers.”
Immediately I shot my hands out, defiant. I was wearing Bella’s rings: a fat Canary diamond that had once belonged to Granda’s wife, an ornate sapphire beside it, the world’s most expensive manicure on my nails. Unfortunately, my hands trembled slightly, and I quickly stuffed them back in my pockets again. “You are such a bastard,” I said.
I had only one physical advantage over Bella. I had better hands. Her fingers were short, squarish, and her original nails equally short. My fingers were long, graceful, the palms narrow and delicate. They were my only vanity, and I’d decided on my own to keep them out of sight. I didn’t think they would give me away, but I couldn’t afford to risk it.
Fortunately, he didn’t appear to have taken any notice. “Fair enough,” he said, stepping out of my way. “You can go. For now.”
“Oh, may I?” I mocked him. “At least I’ve done what I promised. We don’t need to repeat this, do we?”
I was almost past him, reaching for the door, when his hand shot out, capturing my wrist and swinging me around to face him. His eyes were dark, unreadable in his tanned face, and for a moment I was afraid he’d look at my hands again, then loudly declare me an imposter.
What he did was even worse. “I just want to check something,” he murmured in an offhand voice. And in the next moment he’d pulled me hard against him, his mouth covering mine.
I was shocked. Horrified. I fought, pushing at him, trying to dislodge him and the hard pressure of his mouth. He caught my flailing hands with one of his as the other held me firmly against him, and I was going to stomp on his foot with the heavy leather clogs when something stopped me. Something changed.
He was warm, all hard muscle and bone, big against me. I stilled in his arms, not fighting anymore, trembling slightly. In a moment of complete insanity, I wanted to see what would happen, what he would taste like, how it would feel to be held, to be kissed by a man whose strong body came from hard work and not a gym. I wanted the reality of his kiss, the dream of it. His grip loosened around my wrists, then released me, coming up to cup my chin, and he slowly, carefully pushed my mouth open with his, deepening the kiss.
The touch of his tongue surprised me. The men I had known didn’t use their tongues when they kissed, but Ian did, pushing into my mouth, tasting me, and my trembling grew stronger, until I felt his hand on my back, gently stroking me, up and down, soothing me as his kiss shattered me, and I wanted to kiss him back, to tell him I was sorry I was lying, to tell him I wanted him.
Because I did. Trapped in the confusing shelter of his arms, I could feel my breasts growing tight and hot, could feel the unexpected clenching low between my legs. Desire. Lust. Feelings I had thought weren’t part of me.
But they were. Ian was arousing them, as his hand slid up and down my back, calming me, seducing me, and oh, God, I wanted to be seduced.
And then, unexpectedly, he set me away from him, and I blinked, confused, swaying slightly. “Don’t tell me my kisses make you faint, Bella-Beast?” his sarcastic voice came to my ears, and my knees straightened, my eyes shot open, and all that erotic lassitude vanished.
I rubbed my hand across my mouth to wipe away the taste of him, giving him my most powerful glower. “What was that for?” My voice came out very husky and Bella-like without even trying.
His face was absolutely blank. I would have expected mockery, amusement, triumph, but instead, he had the same inscrutable expression he always did. “I just thought I’d see what you tasted like. Turns out it’s nothing special.”
If I’d been a wild animal I would have curled my lip in a snarl. As it was, I kept my face as neutral as his. “Well, now that you’re satisfied, I don’t see any need to do it again. One kiss is one too many.”
This time the smile was so faint it was almost a mirage, but it lingered in his dark eyes. “Oh, I’m far from satisfied. But we’ll talk about that later. In the meantime, I’m expecting someone, and I don’t think she’d like running into you.”
“And who is she?” I said haughtily.
“None of your damned business, Bella. Go back to the house.”
“When I’m good and ready,” I shot back.
He took a step closer, when he was already too close, and his body was vibrating with menacing grace. “Are you sure you want to tempt me?”
“I’m ready,” I said hastily, hating myself for my cowardice. But he made no attempt to stop me, and I was across the courtyard, opening the kitchen door when I saw the car drive up.
I didn’t know cars, but I recognized hers as something sleek and obscenely expensive. She climbed out, and I watched her from the shadows, honestly curious, I told myself. What kind of woman would waste her time with someone like Ian?
She was gorgeous. Voluptuous, sensual, with flowing black hair and a generous mouth, and she moved into the stables with a fluid grace I could never hope to master. So she was a paragon. With lousy taste in men. It meant nothing to me.
No, I had more important things to concentrate on. Saying goodnight to my dying grandfather. Getting the hell out of Dodge as soon as I could.
And facing the long-lost love of my life, Marcus Whitehead, when he walked back in.
God help me.