His mouth curved. ‘There is no one here to impress with your beauty, mia querida,’ he drawled. Apart from him. Because when she lifted her head like that he could see the long, pure line of her neck and the perfect curve of her breasts.
‘That was not my intention.’ She carefully brushed out the fine, honey-coloured hair, which felt all sticky through the many hours of travelling. ‘I merely wanted to make myself presentable on my arrival.’ She could see distant lights. ‘Are we almost there?’
‘Yes, we are just about to pass through the vineyards.’
She looked out of the window again. The famous La Camara vineyards. The largest and most impressive in the region, with grapes yielding a rich harvest which was turned into exquisite wines exported the world over.
She had once drunk La Camara Rioja herself, at a very smart dinner party in London where the host had brought the fine wine out with a reverent air and everyone had sipped it with avid and awed appreciation.
All except for Sophie. She had managed no more than a couple of mouthfuls, feeling that the stuff might choke her as she remembered the proud, arrogant face and the mocking black eyes.
‘You aren’t drinking, Sophie?’ the host had commented.
It would have been a real party-stopper if she had explained that she was related by marriage to the owner of the vineyard, a man who made her blood sing and her temper flare in equal measure whenever she thought about him.
And she didn’t want to think about him.
Muffling a little gulp, she sat back in the seat and closed her eyes.
Luis glanced over at her, frowning a little as he saw the tension which tightened her shoulders, wondering if she was about to cry, and instinctively his voice gentled. ‘Did you eat on the plane?’
‘No. It was horrible little bits of unrecognisable food in plastic trays. And I wasn’t hungry.’
‘We will have dinner when we arrive.’
‘Surely it’s too late for dinner?’
‘But we eat very late in Spain, Sophie, did you not know that? Did you not know that the Spanish are more awake than anyone in Europe—and not only because they regard going to bed before three a.m. as a kind of personal dishonour?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve only ever been to Spain once, and that was for the weekend when Teodoro was baptised.’
‘Then you have missed very much.’ His voice had deepened now, was made almost kind with something which sounded like compassion. ‘I wish this time it could be under happier circumstances, querida. It is a pity that you will see little of my country before you return home.’
There was an expectant silence and Sophie ignored it.
But Luis did not. ‘By the way, you didn’t tell me how long you were going to be staying?’
‘No. No, I didn’t.’
‘And?’
She was glad of the darkness because the way he framed that single syllable was nothing short of intimidating.
‘I’m not sure.’ Until she had reached a position of trust which ensured that she would be able to fly Teo back to England for a short holiday to see his great-grandmother. But now was definitely not the time to tell him that.
And then she reminded herself that as his guest he was owed certain courtesies. ‘That is, I would like to stay for at least a few days, maybe longer, if that’s OK with you. I’d like to see a bit of Teo.’
Unseen, his eyes narrowed. No, it was not ‘OK with him.’ He did not want this woman in his home for a minute longer than necessary—for reasons which were both simple and highly complex. He wanted her, but he could never have her. Not now. Not ever.
‘Spaniards are famous for their hospitality, Sophie,’ he said softly. ‘And therefore my home is yours for as long as you wish it.’
Sophie nodded. Unless he made it impossible for her to remain, of course. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
‘De nada,’ he answered.
The car swept up a gravelled drive, and through the broad canopy of strange trees Sophie saw the welcoming lights of the large hacienda.
He opened the door of the car and she thought that she caught the drift of oranges and lemons, the soft night air thick with the scent of exotic blooms. She gazed at the imposing building which looked as if it had been there for ever. There was a sense of beauty, and of history, which she found impossible to ignore, despite the heartbreaking circumstances which had brought her here.
And then she was caught in the ebony glitter of those beautiful, mocking eyes.
‘Welcome to my home, Sophie,’ he said softly.
THE interior of the hacienda was cool and spacious, and their arrival must have been heard, because as soon as Luis had taken Sophie’s jacket and put her suitcase down an elderly woman appeared from further down the hall. Her face creased into a warm smile as she looked up at Luis.
‘Buenas noches, Don Luis.’
Sophie saw his hard face briefly soften with affection as he bent to kiss the woman on both cheeks.
‘Buenas noches, Salvadora.’ He said something rapidly in Spanish, and then, reverting to slow and careful English, he spoke again. ‘Sophie, this is Salvadora, Teodoro’s ninera. Salvadora, this is Sophie Mills, Miranda’s cousin.’
‘Buenas noches,’ said Sophie politely, though her doubtful thoughts in the car were borne out by the woman’s appearance. She really looked far too frail to be in charge of a boy aged just over a year.
Salvadora’s expression was wary, Sophie thought. Her old eyes narrowed as she looked her up and down, but the wariness was replaced with a slight, formal bow.
‘Buenas noches, Señorita Mills,’ she replied slowly. ‘I regret very much the sudden death of your cousin.’
Sophie bit her lip. No tears, she told herself. They could wait for later. ‘Thank you.’ And then, with an almighty effort, she gave a trembling smile. ‘You speak very good English, Salvadora.’
Salvadora nodded in solemn acknowledgement. ‘Thank you. It was always so. Don Luis had an English tutor when he was a very little boy, and so I learnt the language, too!’
Sophie tried to imagine Luis as a little boy, learning English, but it wasn’t easy to picture him with the same soft, innocent face as his son.
‘And, of course, it is essential that any ninera of Teodoro understands the language of his mother,’ said a deep voice, butting into her thoughts, and Sophie turned to Luis, a question in her eyes.
‘Why?’
‘Because otherwise the two women would have been unable to communicate, wouldn’t they?’ he offered drily, seeing the look of genuine surprise on her face, and his mouth hardened. Did she imagine that he would wish to deny his son his English heritage? Did she think him some kind of devil, then?
Not for the first time, Sophie wondered why Miranda had bothered having anyone to help her with Teo at all. She hadn’t had a job outside the home, nor had much to do inside the home, judging from her phone calls. She remembered how delighted her cousin had been on discovering the true extent of Luis’s wealth and influence.
‘He’s not just gorgeous—he’s loaded, Sophie! Absolutely loaded!’
Sophie had frowned, wondering if the financial insecurities of her childhood were blinding Miranda to reality. ‘Yes,