Chapter Two #2
Her soft words broke into his reverie, her expression criss-crossed with anxiety.
Perhaps she’d seen the tension on his face and had interpreted it as disapproval.
Maybe that was why she was looking as if she regretted her decision to invite him here.
Had he appeared to be judging her, when he had no right to judge anyone?
Except maybe himself.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Get yourself dry first. The coffee can wait.’
‘But—’
‘Just do it,’ he reaffirmed harshly.
Unable—or unwilling—to ignore the deep mastery in the Spaniard’s voice, Hollie nodded and ran upstairs, her heart pounding with excitement, and started stripping off her sodden clothes, bundling her damp tights into the laundry basket and searching around for something suitable to wear.
As her fingertips halted on her best woollen dress, she thought how weird it was to think of Maximo Diaz downstairs, because the only men who ever stepped over the threshold were tradespeople commissioned by her landlord to repair the aging and rather dodgy appliances.
She knew her self-contained behaviour meant she was often regarded as something of an oddity and there were a million reasons she gave to herself and others when asked why she didn’t socialise much.
She didn’t have a lot of spare cash, because she was saving up to start her own business.
She hadn’t lived here very long, so she didn’t know many people.
These things were true, but weren’t the whole story.
The real reason was that her solitary life made her feel safe and protected.
It didn’t leave her open to pain or deception, or having her life messed up by somebody else.
Yet she had broken the habit of a lifetime and invited Maximo Diaz into her home, hadn’t she?
A world-famous billionaire financier. She was surprised she’d had the nerve and even more surprised when he’d accepted.
And now she had to go down and face him and say.
.. what ? What on earth did she have in common with the Spanish billionaire?
Yet even though part of her was regretting her impulsiveness, she couldn’t deny the slow curl of excitement which was unfurling somewhere low in her stomach.
Was it wrong to feel this way about someone she barely knew?
She stared in the mirror, her hand automatically reaching for something to tie her hair up, but at the last minute her hand fell back and she left it loose and streaming down her back as she closed her bedroom door behind her.
The creak of the stairs should have warned him she was on her way back down but Maximo didn’t appear to have heard her and for a moment Hollie stood immobile on the foot of the stairs.
And suddenly it was as though someone had waved a magic wand and filled her ordinary little sitting room with unexpected life and colour, and Maximo Diaz was at the blazing heart of it.
He had lit the fire. Removed his smart suit jacket and put it on the sofa to coax a blaze from the sometimes stubborn little wood-burning stove.
Behind the small glass doors, orange flames were licking upwards from the applewood logs and already a blanket of heat was beginning to seep out into the room.
Had she thought that a man so rich and so privileged would be unwilling to get his hands dirty?
Yes, she had. But it was his stance which surprised her most, for he was sitting back on his heels on the old hearthrug as if he were perfectly comfortable to find himself there.
He seemed lost in thought as the flames flickered shadows over his aristocratic profile.
Hollie felt another ripple of excitement whispering over her skin—a sensation as unsettling as that low clench of heat unfurling inside her.
She knew she ought to say something but she didn’t want to break the spell.
At least, not yet. Because surely any minute now he would come to his senses.
He would suddenly realise that his driver was waiting in the car outside and it was time to excuse himself.
Silently, she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, which she carried back into the sitting room, and when he glanced up and saw her, something unrecognisable gleamed in the ebony abyss of his eyes.
Something which made her feel as shivery as before, as if she were standing outside in the rain again.
Was she imagining it?
Was she imagining the glint of approval as he ran his narrow-eyed gaze over her?
‘Come and sit by the fire,’ he said.
His rich voice washed over her like dark silk, as Hollie acknowledged what sounded like a direct order.
Did he always assume such an air of rightful dominance, she wondered—and was it wrong to find that more than a little exciting?
She put the tray down and sank onto the floor beside him and wondered if she was getting herself into something outside her experience, which a sensible person should steer clear of.
But she was cold, the fire was hot and the coffee smelt unbearably good.
And surely she wasn’t misguided enough to think that Maximo Diaz was actually going to make a pass at her!
‘Maybe I should have offered you wine,’ she ventured.
‘Is that what you want?’
She shook her head. She was already distracted by his proximity—wine was the last thing she needed. ‘Good heavens, no,’ she said briskly. ‘This will be fine. Just so long as it doesn’t keep you awake.’
His lips curved into a mocking smile. He looked as if he was about to make a comment, then seemed to change his mind, leaning back against the old armchair behind him and spreading his long legs out in front of him.
For a moment everything in the room became very still—like the preternatural calm which sometimes comes before a storm. The crackle of the fire and the pounding of her heart were the only sounds Hollie could hear and, in the soft light, his eyes looked ebony-dark as he turned his head to study her.
‘Have you lived here long?’ he questioned.
‘Just over a year now. I lived in London before that.’
‘Where you didn’t have a car.’
She beamed, pleased he’d remembered. ‘That’s right.’
‘So what was the lure of a place like Trescombe?’
Hollie wondered how to answer him. No need to tell him she’d been ripped off.
Or that a supposed good friendship had hit the skids as a result.
Nobody wanted to hear that kind of downbeat detail and she certainly didn’t want to start re-evaluating whether she’d been a hopeless judge of character.
And wasn’t her new-found motto that she was going to look forward, not back?
‘My dream has always been to run a traditional English tea shop,’ she told him.
‘And when London didn’t work out, I heard about an opportunity opening up down here.
There’s a great site in the town but it won’t be available until springtime and until that happens I need regular work so I can save up as much as possible.
That’s why I’m working for Janette. I’m sorry, I should have asked you before—would you like anything to eat to go with that? ’
Reluctantly, Maximo smiled in response to her question.
He could sense her eagerness to keep him entertained and knew he ought to cut the visit short rather than get her hopes up, yet he stayed exactly where he was.
For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable .
Uncharacteristically comfortable. The simply furnished room and warm fire were strangely seductive and so too was her undemanding company.
In fact, for someone who was notoriously restless, he might have been able to relax completely—were it not for the undeniable tension which had begun to build in the air between them.
His senses seemed heightened. He could see the thrust of her breasts against the soft jersey of her dress and the pebbled outline of her nipples.
He swallowed. It might have been a while since he’d been intimate with a woman but the subliminal message of desire which Little Miss Christmas was sending his way was unmistakable.
And it was driving him crazy.
Was she aware that her eyes grew dark whenever she looked his way, or that she kept trailing the tip of her tongue over her mouth, like an unobserved cat contemplating where its next meal was coming from?
And didn’t he want to pull her into his arms, to test if those lips tasted as sweet as they looked?
‘Why don’t you wear your hair down more often?’ he said suddenly.
His question seemed to startle her, for she touched her fingers to the silky waves which rippled almost to her waist. ‘Because it isn’t...’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Practical, I guess.’
‘And do you always have to be practical?’
‘As much as possible, yes. Life is easier that way,’ she asserted, when he continued to look at her. ‘You know, more dependable.’
‘Really?’ he pondered reflectively, the pad of his thumb brushing over the beard-shadowed jut of his jaw—a movement which seemed to fascinate her. ‘But surely dependability can get a little boring sometimes. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-six,’ she said, a little defiantly.
‘Don’t you ever want to throw caution to the wind and do something unpredictable?’
‘I’ve never really thought about it much, to be honest.’
He noticed that her fingers were trembling, making her coffee cup rattle against the saucer as she quickly put it down on the hearth.
‘Well, think about it now,’ he said. ‘What would you do, for example, if I were to acknowledge the unspoken desire in your eyes and touch you? If I were to brush my fingers against your hair, to discover whether it feels as soft as it looks in the firelight?’
‘I can’t...’ Her words sounded husky and he could see the swallowing movement of her throat. ‘I can’t imagine you doing something like that.’
‘No?’ He heard the note of repressed hope in her voice and silently, he answered it, reaching out to imprison a single lock of hair and stroking it between his thumb and forefinger, like a merchant examining a piece of valuable cloth.
‘The funny thing is neither can I. But I am. And it does. Like silk, I mean. Rich, dark golden silk.’
‘Mr Diaz.’
‘I’ve been thinking about touching you all night long,’ he husked unsteadily, skating his palm down over the abundant waves. ‘And you like it, don’t you? You like me stroking your hair.’
Her shuddered word was barely audible. ‘Y-yes.’
For a while he listened to her uneven breathing and felt his own corresponding leap of desire. ‘And you know what comes next, don’t you?’
She shook her head and gazed at him in silence.
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Tell me,’ she whispered, like a child asking to be told a story.
‘I kiss you,’ he said, a note of urgency deepening his voice to a growl.
Their eyes met. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, nodding her head with eager assent. ‘Yes, please.’
It was the most innocent yet the most provocative thing he’d ever heard.
And suddenly her hair was a rope and Maximo was using it to guide him towards her waiting lips and he felt his body tense with a sweet and tantalising hunger.