Afterwards she had managed to dress herself, and on descending the stairs a startled Ana had immediately led her out on to the terrace to join Alejandro for breakfast.
‘The car I was driving…was it badly damaged?’
Alejandro slowed the Bentley to a halt at a set of traffic-lights, then turned to slant her a probing glance.
‘You are more important to me than any vehicle.’
Was she? ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
‘It will be several weeks before you gain medical clearance to get behind the wheel of a car. And, when you do, it won’t be a fashionable sports model. Meantime, José can drive you wherever you need to go.’
She looked at him in stunned silence for several seconds before venturing in protest, ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Unequivocally.’
Elise added another quality to his character. Inflexibility. ‘Are you usually this…overbearing?’
‘Protective,’ he corrected. ‘You could have lost the child. Worse, I could have lost you.’
The lights changed, and his attention returned to the road ahead. As the Bentley gathered speed Elise evinced an interest in the passing scenery.
There were many coves and inlets, picturesque beaches, crisp sand, softly waving tree-branches stirring beneath a gentle breeze, and an expanse of glorious blue sea that stretched out to the horizon to merge with the sky.
‘How long before we reach Palm Beach?’
‘About forty minutes, depending on traffic.’
It was just after midday when Alejandro swung the car into a driveway leading to an imposing double-storeyed house overlooking the ocean.
It was the antithesis of what she had imagined a beach-house to be, and once inside there was a sense of unreality as he led her through several rooms on the lower floor. Beautifully furnished, it was almost as magnificent as the Point Piper mansion. There was even a swimming-pool adjacent to the terracealmost a decadent addition, given the accessibility of the ocean a few short steps distant.
The upper floor held four bedrooms with en suite facilities, and as she followed Alejandro into the largest suite Elise couldn’t help but wonder how frequently he made use of the house.
‘Do you come here often?’ she queried, watching as he deposited their bags.
‘Whenever I can manage a few days away.’
Crossing to the large picture window, she moved the curtain fractionally to admire the view. Sundappled water, a few cruisers anchored offshore, young children, supervised by their mothers, playing happily in the sand. ‘It looks so peaceful.’
She sensed rather than heard him move to stand behind her, and sensation stirred deep within, lending an awareness that made her feel acutely vulnerable. His body warmth seemed to enfold her, and all the fine hairs on her skin rose up in instinctive self-defence.
‘The precise reason why I bought the place,’ he told her.
‘An escape from the wheeling and dealing of high-powered executive city living?’
Was that why she felt such an empathy with the house? Because it represented a refuge? From what…whom? The man who owned it?
She gave a sudden start as his hands rested lightly at her waist, and there was no way she could disguise the frisson that shook her slim frame as his lips settled against the curve of her neck.
‘Alejandro…’ Her voice faltered, then regained a measure of strength. ‘I’d like to go downstairs,’ she said, on a note of desperation. He was too close, much too close. It bothered her, and she couldn’t reason why. ‘Lunch,’ she elaborated, and felt immeasurably relieved when he disengaged his clasp and moved fractionally away.
‘Then we shall eat. The fridge and pantry are well-stocked.’
Elise turned slowly to face him. ‘You’re going to play cook?’
He lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers across her cheek, letting them slide down the edge of her jaw to tilt her chin.
She gazed at him in mesmerised silence, taking in the hard planes and angles of his broad facial structure, the vertical crease that slashed each cheek, the powerful sweep of his jaw, the wide mouth.
‘You find the prospect of being alone with me so daunting?’
He was teasing her, and suddenly it seemed so unfair that he had the advantage while she had none.
Indecision and a fleeting sense of mild panic coursed through her veins, visible in the dilation of her eyes as she gazed at him.
His eyes darkened and became almost black. ‘Little fool,’ he growled gently. ‘You look at me as if you are struggling with fear. What manner of man do you imagine I am?’
‘I don’t know,’ she was forced to own, aware that it was nothing less than the truth. Of all the details she had been made aware of, few had given a hint of his character.
‘Come,’ Alejandro directed, releasing her chin. ‘We’ll go down to the kitchen and find something to eat.’ He bent down and brushed his lips against her own with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. ‘In a few days you will become accustomed to having me around.’
Somehow she doubted it. Yet she accepted that she had no choice but to try.
In the kitchen he retrieved cooked chicken from the refrigerator, divided it into portions, and placed several on a platter to heat in the microwave. Then he prepared a wholesome salad with a deftness Elise found surprising. Within a matter of minutes there was food on the table.
‘Please,’ she protested as Alejandro began filling her plate. ‘That’s too much.’
‘Eat what you can,’ he bade easily, employing his cutlery to divide her food into bite-sized segments which she could manage with a fork.
There was a studied intimacy in his actions, a familiarity she tried desperately to recognise, yet she could recall nothing that gave a hint of the many meals they must have shared together.
‘Why the slight frown?’
‘Did we socialise much?’ she ventured, quickly qualifying the question. ‘Both your homes are large.’
‘It is all too easy to gather a coterie of acquaintances who are active on the social circuit,’ he answered. ‘Unless you become selective, it is possible to spend three nights out of every seven at one dinner party or another.’ His eyes assumed a teasing warmth. ‘Since our marriage, I have chosen to entertain only when necessary, and much prefer dining à deux with my beautiful wife.’
Yet a man of his calibre would be in demand, his friends many and varied. Her position as his social hostess seemed a foregone conclusion.
‘Why not eat?’ he suggested quietly. ‘The chicken will become cold.’
It looked appetising and, aware of her own hunger, she picked up her fork and speared some chicken, then salad, repeating the action until she felt replete.
‘Some