The Spaniard's Love-Child (12 page)

‘I lived with Raul's brother.' The reminder made Raul frown darkly. ‘I'm here to help the children settle in.'

Why is it the truth often sounds less plausible than a lie?
Maybe because it was only part of the truth; deep down could she honestly say that her motives in moving in had been so entirely altruistic? Hadn't the fact that she would see Raul affected her decision?

‘So you two aren't…?' Roxie looked from Nell to Raul and back again. She laughed. ‘Oh, don't look so horrified, darling,' she told Nell. ‘You're not at all his type. I could see that straight off,' she confided, apparently oblivious to the antagonistic glitter that had entered Nell's blue eyes.

‘And he's not mine!' Nell said, gritting her teeth.
Except when he's nothing better to do than give me a glimpse of what I'm missing.

‘Well, honey, that makes you kind of unique,' the other woman purred, looking entertained by the younger girl's spitting declaration. ‘But be careful. That's the sort of challenge some men can't resist,' she warned playfully. She tilted her head up to Raul. ‘What do you say, darling?'

‘I say it might be a good idea if you answer that phone,
Roxie.' Raul, his face set like stone, did not respond to his companion's raillery.

The blonde, not even slightly put out by his impatient attitude, pouted prettily and obligingly pulled out a slim phone, which had been ringing intermittently for the last five minutes from her tiny, beaded evening purse.

Nell, her face still burning with mortification at being the source of their amusement, gathered up her damp towel and the paperback she had planned to read. Without even looking at Raul she prepared to take her leave. A hand on her shoulder spun her back.

She shrank away from his touch and with a dark scowl Raul dropped his hand. ‘What is wrong?' he demanded, his dark eyes raking her face.

He had not made any attempt to lower his voice and Nell, worried that he might say something that would embarrass her further in front of the other woman, glanced towards the far end of the pool where the actress had retreated to take her call. Not, if the volume of her voice was anything to go by, for privacy. Though listening in on a conversation that seemed to consist for the most part of a series of ‘darling's in varying tones did not provide excitement for even the most dedicated eavesdropper.

‘Nothing's wrong,' she hissed, clutching her belongings to her chest.

‘Then why are you running away?' he drawled. ‘And why did you almost pass out back there? Have you got a migraine?'

‘I have not got a migraine. I never pass out and I'm not running away; I'm simply going back to my room.' She took a deep breath, no longer able to contain her anger. ‘So if you want a floor show I suggest you go to a club,' she suggested, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill from her huge, accusing eyes. ‘Call me peculiar, but I hap
pen not to like being the butt of the joke for you and your friends,' she informed him coldly.

‘I am not laughing at you.'

He wasn't.

It might have been easier to bear if he were. The intensity of his regard was far harder to bear than laughter. His hooded gaze slid hungrily down the length of her body. The contraction of the muscles in his brown throat as he swallowed was visible.

She was always painfully conscious in his presence of her body and her femininity in a way that made her feel awkward and excited simultaneously. Seeing him at any time made her body react; the casual brush of his eyes as they passed could make her nipples harden with longing. But this was no casual brush of his eyes; the challenge gleaming in his eyes was overtly sexual. The look said,
I want you.

Heat flooded through her; she couldn't breathe. Literally weak with lust and longing, her knees shook. His dark face swam as her vision blurred.

If you pretended something wasn't happening, did it go away?

‘I suppose you think I'm being oversensitive?' Her voice sounded strange, as though it were coming from a long way away.

‘You are sensitive to my touch,' he rasped. ‘You tremble when I touch you.'

‘The same happens when I touch a live electric wire…at least it would do if I did, which I don't,' she added, some sense of her desperation seeping into her voice.

Raul moved his head in acknowledgement of her words. ‘Electricity would describe it, yes.' His velvet drawl was more accented than was usual, but it still sent the same shivers up her spine. He took her arm and, turning it over
between his fingers, ran his thumb along the blue-veined aspect of her wrist. Nell shivered; the fine invisible down on her skin stood on end. ‘Your skin is like satin…'

A fractured sigh of shock escaped her parted lips. His eyes lifted to her face; the darkness held a raw, needy hunger. Her stomach muscles tensed with excitement.

‘And so soft.' His sensuous whisper made the heat low in her belly spread…rapidly.

She dredged deep and discovered enough strength to pull her hand away. She rubbed it along her hip but dropped it abruptly when the action drew his attention to the soft, inviting curve of her thigh. ‘How can you talk like that?' she snapped furiously. ‘With your girlfriend standing over there?'

‘Nell—' Raul was cut off. Too self-absorbed to notice the crackling tension, Roxie, her phone conversation completed, interposed her body between them. ‘It was Tris,' she explained to Raul. ‘I sent your love.' She laughed at his pained expression and turned to Nell, her body language as lavish as her curves.

‘How would you like to come to the party with us?' she asked in the manner of someone offering a great treat.

Nell looked at the woman in horror.
‘I wouldn't!'
she declared, too repelled by the proposal to be tactful. She could see from Roxie's expression that she had been expecting the ‘nice little nanny-type person' to be grateful for this offer. ‘I mean, it's terribly kind of you but I—'

Not one to take no for an answer, however, Roxie did not let the younger woman's abhorrence put her off.

‘You'd be doing me an enormous favour,' she cajoled. ‘I'd be so grateful and so would…' she paused, prolonging the dramatic tension like the true performer she was before delivering the punchline ‘…Tristram Nichols.'

‘Who?' Nell asked with an abstracted frown. Clutching
her towel, she decided that nothing short of an act of God was going to keep her here another second.

‘Tristram Nichols,' Roxie repeated, looking at Nell as if she were from another planet. ‘He played Ben Lucas in
Tomorrow's People
…?'

‘Oh, is he an actor?'

Roxie's jaw dropped.

‘He specialised in your archetypal English upper-class twit,' Raul cut in smoothly. ‘I'm not sure how much acting is involved.'

‘Raul!' Roxie reproached. ‘Tristram is a marvellous actor. The thing is he is, or rather
was
, engaged to Laura Hill. The bitch, not satisfied with dumping him, has moved in with his best friend. She told the press before Tristram.' Her eyes narrowed. ‘She's turning up at this party tonight complete with her new love; that's so,
so
typical of her!' she fumed. ‘And poor Tristram can't
possibly
go without a partner. Not when the press are going to be there in force, and not turning up would be letting Laura win…'

It was only towards the end of this explanation, which Nell had been half listening to, that she realised what Roxie was suggesting.

She shook her head. ‘Me!'

Roxie smiled.

Nell did some even more fervent head-shaking. ‘You're joking. Oh, no,
definitely
no!'

‘But you'd be perfect, mysterious…nobody will know who you are. Nobody will be paying any attention to the awful Laura, they'll all be wondering who you are, and she'll be sick.' This prospect seemed to afford Roxie considerable delight.

The woman, Nell decided, was obviously mad. ‘I don't want people looking at me.'

Roxie misunderstood. ‘Oh, don't worry about that. Give
me half an hour and some make-up. Not that you…' she began as it dawned on her she might have given offence.

‘I'm sure your friend can find a more suitable partner for this party than me,' Nell said drily. ‘Being such a famous actor.'

‘I'm sure he knows a good escort agency.'

Roxie flashed Raul a censorious frown. ‘Not in the next half an hour he couldn't, Nell.'

‘Well, why did he wait until now?'

‘They only broke up this morning and the poor dear has had the press on his doorstep ever since.'

‘
This morning…?
And he's going to a party tonight? Isn't that a bit fast for a broken heart to heal?'

‘This isn't just any party and Tris is good at hiding his feelings…'

Raul took hold of Roxie's elbow and drew her to one side. His expression suggested he'd heard enough about Tristram. ‘In Roxie's world a marriage that lasts six months is considered remarkable, Nell,' he remarked drily. ‘Come on, Roxie, your
Tristram
will just have to take it on the chin like a man, or stay at home.'

Roxie looked at him as though he'd suggested burning books was a good idea.
‘Stay at home?'
she parroted. ‘Have you
any
idea what sort of photo opportunity this party will offer?'

‘No, or I wouldn't have agreed to go with you,' he replied bluntly.

‘Tristram's last two films have been flops and in this business you're only as good as your last box-office receipts. It's incredibly important at the moment he gets some positive press.'

Raul's expression softened. ‘You really care for the rat, don't you?'

‘Well, I was married to the man.'

‘Married?'

Neither responded to Nell's startled exclamation.

‘I know you want to help, Roxie, but there's just no way Nell here could carry this thing off.' He took hold of her narrow shoulders and turned her around to face Nell. ‘Look at her,' he commanded.

‘I'll do it,' Nell heard herself say.

‘You angel!' Roxie exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight and grabbing Nell before she had a chance to change her mind.

The last thing Nell saw as she was shepherded out of the room was Raul's dark features set in a furious mask.

H
AVING
enrolled the help of a maid, Roxie set about transforming Nell with single-minded determination that made Nell's head spin. Having first explained that there was no time for debate and Nell would just have to trust her, she went through Nell's wardrobe.

Her decision-making process was effective but brutal. She cut down the choice by emptying the contents onto the floor and flinging every item she stigmatised ‘hopeless' over her shoulder. From those items left—a very small pile—she had chosen the black dress that Nell was now wearing.

Nell had bought the little bias-cut number in a moment of weakness at last year's sales, but had not had an opportunity to wear it since.

And probably never would have if she hadn't volunteered herself for this stunt. The dress actually couldn't have been simpler. It skimmed her slender figure but still managed to hug the tight swell of her firm breasts and draw attention to the feminine sway of her hips. It was much shorter than anything she usually wore—so short that Nell was concerned that it would expose the lacy bits on the top of her nude-coloured hold-ups. She had expressed her concern to Roxie, who had looked at her and said, ‘That would be a bad thing because…?'

How could you reason with someone like that?

Nell caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror as they hurried past.

Oh, God!

Raul was right; I can't do this. And more to the point I don't even want to! He just shouldn't have said I couldn't do, and then I wouldn't have got mad and I wouldn't be here about to make a total fool of myself. So basically it's all his fault,
she concluded with flawless logic.

‘It's far too short,' Nell complained, tugging fretfully at the hem.

Roxie laughed. ‘The dress looks terrific; so do you and you know it,' she accused. ‘You know, I'm glad I went with the natural look—your skin's so good it's a shame to cover it up and that colour really works on your lips. Subtle but sexy,' she decided, summing up the effect of her work. ‘My only regret,' she admitted with a sigh, ‘is that we didn't have time to straighten your hair.' Her glance rested on the soft waves that rested on Nell's shoulders.

Nell, who had always wanted a swishing curtain of river-straight hair, wished they had had too.

‘Now let's get the male reaction from Raul.'

The suggestion increased the sick churning in Nell's stomach.

‘Do we have to?' she asked in a small voice.

‘Ready?' Roxie asked, then without waiting for Nell to respond she grabbed her arm and unceremonially yanked her into the library, where Raul had retreated to wait for them, with a flourish.

‘Well?' she demanded. ‘What do you think?'

Raul unhurriedly closed the laptop on the desk in front of him and raised his head. His dark eyes swept over Nell's slim figure.

‘Very nice.'

The anticlimax was intense. All that anticipation was for what?
Serve you right,
she told herself,
for wanting to impress him.
If the rest of the male reaction she got was as
tepid as that she received from Raul she might just as well be invisible.

‘Very nice?'
Roxie echoed, looking annoyed. ‘She looks bloody marvellous and you know it,' she accused.

An enigmatic smile touched Raul's mouth. ‘She is beautiful, so nothing has changed.' Without waiting for the two women to respond he shrugged his way back into his jacket. ‘If we are going to this party, hadn't we better go before the photographers go home?'

Nell walked out to the waiting car in a daze.
He thinks I'm beautiful…?

 

‘You've got to be very nice to Nell, Tris, because you have no idea how difficult it was to persuade her to do this. Also she hasn't the faintest idea who you are. Get in the back seat and get to know one another,' Roxie told her ex-husband. ‘Though not in the biblical sense,' she added laughingly.

In the rear-view mirror Nell caught sight of Raul's eyes. If it wasn't a trick of the light she put down the fury she briefly saw reflected in his those still dark depths to the fact he didn't like Roxie's ex-husband. Perhaps he found the fact that she openly admitted to still being fond of her ex difficult?

Tristram, who was blond and smoothly good-looking, turned out to be an undemanding sort of companion with a refreshingly dry sense of humour. If he was emotionally devastated he was hiding it well, but then maybe he was just very good at acting? Nell, who had been expecting to spend the evening propping up the bruised ego of some narcissistic actor, was pleasantly surprised.

While the conversation in the back seat became more animated and the laughter more frequent as the journey
progressed, a heavy silence reigned in the front seat; even animated Roxie lost her sparkle.

The flash bulbs were popping before they even got out of the car. Nell blinked, blinded by the sea of lights. People were shouting Tristram's name and inundating him with questions; he smiled and waved, totally unfazed.

It was only when she stumbled that Tristram noticed how alarmed she was. He steadied her, smiled into her dazed face and tucked her hand in his.

‘Don't worry, I'll take care of you.'

This caring comment earned him a murderous glare from Raul, who much to Roxie's visible frustration stalked past the phalanx of photographers without pausing and without once taking advantage of the photo opportunities.

‘What's bitten him?' Tristram muttered, nodding his head towards Raul who, along with Roxie, had reached the relative sanctuary of the hotel, which had been taken over for the party to promote the latest blockbuster film, just in front of them. Nell assumed it was a historical drama because all the staff were dressed in eighteenth-century costume.

‘I know he's got moody and broody off to a fine art, but even for him that was something else.'

Nell shrugged and accepted a glass of champagne from a boy in tight breeches. If she hadn't been so stressed she might even have been amused that Raul's antipathy was fully returned by the actor. The Roxie factor raising its head?

‘Mind you, maybe I should try it—they do say treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen. It works for him. Did you see how the flash bulbs were after him?'

‘I didn't see anything; I was blinded,' Nell confessed.

Tristram patted her hand and looked solicitous. ‘I keep
forgetting you're not used to this. You did great, a little trouper. Have the drink, it'll make you feel better.'

Nell followed his advice and downed the drink. ‘I was thirsty,' she explained.

‘So I see.'

‘Listen, if you have to…work the room, I'll be fine on my own.'

At her earnest words Tristram, whose attention had drifted towards his ex-wife, who was hanging on Raul's arm with an adoring expression, switched his focus back to Nell. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘You're very sweet.'

A dissatisfied look settled on Nell's face. In her book ‘sweet' was only a step away from ‘homely'. ‘I'd much prefer to be sexy,' she confessed wryly.

There was a moment's startled silence before Tristram threw back his head and laughed. The attractive warm bass boom drew a number of interested looks. When he had stopped laughing Tristram took Nell's chin in his hand and tilted her face up to him.

She had quite a long way to look. He was tall, but not as tall as Raul…
God! I've got to stop comparing every man I meet with Raul.

‘You are sexy,' he promised. ‘
Very
sexy. That hair is
incredible
,' he breathed, lightly brushing a burnished strand from her brow.

‘And real, apparently,' observed a voice from behind him.

Nell couldn't be sure, but was Roxie's smile a little dimmer than earlier? Roxie placed a hand on her ex-husband's shoulder. ‘Rafe Barrett is over there,' she told him, indicating the famous director with a nod of her head. ‘He's still not cast the lead in his new film.'

‘Later,' Tristram said. ‘Right now I feel the urge to dance. Nell?' He held out his hand to Nell.

‘I don't dance very well,' she warned him.

‘But I do,' he replied as his fingers closed around hers.

Nell had not expected to enjoy the evening, but she did. Normally quiet at social occasions, preferring to watch and listen, she became quite animated. The champagne might have had something to do with it, or maybe the attentive company of a handsome man? Either way everything went swimmingly and she was being very witty and having a marvellous time until she emerged from the powder room and walked straight into Raul.

‘Were you waiting for me?' she demanded—now that
was
the champagne. Under normal circumstances she would never have voiced her suspicions out loud.

‘Just how much of that have you had?' he asked as she snatched a glass off the tray of a passing waiter.

‘I haven't been counting.'

Raul examined her overbright defiant eyes and flushed cheeks. ‘You are drunk,' he accused.

‘I am not!' she gasped, outraged. ‘And even if I was,' she added mutinously, ‘it's got nothing whatever to do with you!'

Anger flared in his eyes. ‘It has everything to do with me,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘You are living under my roof.'

‘But not sleeping in your bed,' she cut back loudly enough for several people close by to hear.

Raul, all too aware that several conversations around them dropped in volume as people strained to hear their argument, bit back his response. ‘I'm taking you home.'

This announcement succeeded in breaking Nell's enraptured contemplation of the muscle that was clenching and
unclenching in his lean brown cheek. She blinked up at him, then gave a scornful laugh.

‘I don't think so, and I really don't see how you can make me,' she mused. ‘What are you going to do, Raul, fling me over your shoulder kicking and screaming?'

His nostrils flared; their eyes clashed. ‘Do not think I would not.'

Feeling an unfamiliar recklessness flow through her veins—or was that wine?—Nell let her eyes linger deliberately on the sensual contours of his mouth before she lifted her eyes to his. ‘Dare you,' she challenged languidly.

Raul's hands clenched into fists at his side as he fought the impulse to call her bluff. ‘You are making a fool of yourself,' he condemned finally between clenched teeth.'

Nell shrugged. ‘My privilege,' she sniffed.

‘Do not turn your back on me,' Raul said with gritted teeth.

Nell swung gracefully back, one hand on her hip, her head thrown back. ‘Why, do you want to dance?' she mocked, lifting her eyes to his strained profile. She saw something move behind his eyes and knew that her recklessness had made her go too far. She placed her glass down on a table-top. ‘You're right, I have had too much…'

‘Yes,' he cut in.

She shook her head and looked confused.

‘I will dance with you.' He laid a hand into the small of her back and drew her hard against him. ‘Why should I be the only one not to?' he murmured grimly into her fragrant hair.

After the first few stumbling steps Raul felt the resistance leave her body. Her slim body moulded to him like a second skin as they flowed together. As one unit they moved, not to the slow beat of the music, but to the throb of desire that coursed through their veins. Her head was tucked under
his chin; he could smell her hair and the perfume she was wearing. Through the thin fabric of her dress Raul could feel the heat of her skin.

He felt her gasp and sigh as he allowed her to feel his erection.

The punitive anger that had made him drag her onto the dance floor was leaving him, but the desire he felt was not. The control he prided himself on was slipping. He half closed his eyes and imagined sliding his hands under the skirt of that sexy little dress. He would run his fingers along the soft velvety skin on the inside of her thighs right up to…
Right here on the dance floor in front of everyone—nice move, Raul!

He had to cool things down. She was drunk and he was insane.

Breathing hard, he pulled back slightly from her, but she immediately pressed herself against him, her supple curves slotting into his harder contours as if they were two halves of a whole.

Nell was dimly conscious of the music stopping. There was air between them and her brain started functioning again.

‘I don't dance very well,' she heard herself say stupidly.

That hadn't been dancing, that had been…that had been the most mind-blowingly erotic experience of her life and probably could have got them arrested in any number of places!

She looked around, amazed that people weren't pointing and staring. Had they not realised what had been happening?

She looked up at Raul, saw the dark scores of colour high along his slanting cheekbones and the restive glitter in his heavy-lidded eyes. He had, she thought.

‘You don't need to,' he replied cryptically before turning
on his heel and leaving her standing there in the middle of the dance floor feeling like an idiot.

 

‘Are you all right?'

Nell smiled; Tristram had found her in her dark corner. He looked so normal and, more importantly,
she
could look at him and not feel like some sex-obsessed love slave.

‘Not especially,' she admitted with a tight smile.

‘Do you feel like getting out of here?' he asked impulsively.

‘Out where to?'

‘Wherever you like.'

They ended up in a small smoke-filled jazz club where Tristram spent the entire time talking about his ex-wife and Nell, who was getting soberer by the second, contemplated her behaviour at the party with growing horror.

Later in the taxi home Tristram recalled some amusing anecdote and surprise, surprise the main character in the amusing tale was Roxie.