‘Good.’ Dominic sounded pleased. ‘Now that’s settled, perhaps Sam can fetch Cleo’s bags from the car?’
CLEO slept for almost twelve hours.
After that meeting with her grandfather, Serena had shown her to the rooms she was to occupy and suggested she might like her supper served there.
‘I know my father won’t approve. He can’t wait to talk to you,’ she said. ‘But I think both Dominic and I are of the opinion that you need time to get your bearings before facing any more questions.’
At the time, Cleo had demurred. The sooner she got the initial interview with her grandfather over, the sooner she could think about going home. Because whatever Jacob Montoya had said, Magnolia Hill was not her home and never would be.
But it was not to be.
After the manservant had delivered her luggage and Cleo had denied needing any help with her unpacking, she’d spent a little time exploring her apartments.
A spacious living room, simply furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas, some of which sat beneath the long windows, flowed into an even more spacious bedroom. Here, French doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked a floodlit swimming pool at the back of the house, the huge colonial bed allowing its occupant to take full advantage of the view.
It had been getting dark, so she’d been unable to see much beyond the gardens. Besides, the marble-tiled bathroom had distracted her attention.
A large marble tub was sunk into the floor, while alongside it was a jacuzzi bath, with lots of jets for massaging the body. There were twin hand basins, also in marble, and an enormous shower cubicle, its circling walls made incredibly of glass tiles.
There were mirrors everywhere, throwing back her reflection from every angle, flattering or otherwise. When she first shed her clothes, Cleo spent a little time fretting over her appearance. In her opinion, her breasts were too small and her hips were too big, and she shivered at the thought of Dominic seeing her in a swimsuit.
But, despite these inappropriate feelings towards her adopted brother, by the time Cleo had had a shower and washed her hair, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Wrapping her hair in one of the fluffy towels she found on a rack in the bathroom, she dragged her suitcase across the floor and extracted a bra and panties. Then, stretching out on the satin luxury of the bedspread, she closed her eyes.
She awakened to fingers of sunlight finding their way between the slats of the window blind. It was evidently morning, but for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Only that the bed, and most particularly the room, were unfamiliar.
Then her memory reasserted itself, and, unable to suppress a little gasp of dismay, she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked about her.
Her first realisation was that someone had been into her room while she was sleeping. The bedspread she’d been lying on had been drawn back and she was now covered with a fine Egyptian cotton sheet. Also, the blinds hadn’t been drawn when she’d lain down on the bed. So who had checked up on her?
One of the servants, perhaps? Or Serena? She wouldn’t put it past the older woman to want to satisfy herself that Cleo wasn’t going to appear again that night. But what had she told Jacob Montoya? Had she let him think that Cleo had chosen to go to bed rather than spend the evening with him?
She sighed. It was too late now to worry about such a possibility. And her grandfather—she was amazed at how easily the word came to her mind—had said to treat the place as her home. Not that she would. As she’d thought the night before, she could only ever be a visitor here. Too many things had happened to consider anything else.
Sliding her legs out of bed, Cleo got to her feet and was relieved to find she felt totally rested. If a little sticky, she conceded, aware that, despite the air conditioning, moving brought a film of moisture to her skin. Beyond the windows, the sun was evidently gaining in strength. What time was it? she wondered. And where had she left her watch?
She eventually found it in the bathroom. She’d adjusted the time on the plane and she saw now that it was barely seven o’clock. Nudging the bedroom blind aside, she peered through the French windows. It was a glorious morning and, despite herself, she felt her spirits rise.
There didn’t appear to be anyone about and, unlatching the window, she pushed it open. Warmth flooded into the room and with it came the tantalising scent of tropical blossoms and the unmistakable tang of the sea.
She saw now that beyond the gardens was the beach she’d glimpsed so briefly on her arrival. Feathery palm trees framed the blue waters of the Atlantic, a frill of foam creaming along the shore.
Slipping between the vertical blinds, she stepped out onto the balcony. Below her, the swimming pool sparkled in the sunlight, tubs of shrubs and hibiscus and oleander marking the curve of a patio that was half-hidden from her view.
A maid appeared with a watering can, evidently intent on her task, and although Cleo was inclined to step back inside she resisted the impulse. After all, her bra and panties were no more revealing than a bikini. It was amazing, she could stand here in the sunlight, when it had been wet and cloudy yesterday morning in London.
She wondered what time her grandfather got up. Whether he’d expect her to join him for breakfast. Her nerves jangled a little at the prospect, though from what she’d seen the night before, he didn’t seem a very intimidating figure. Unlike Dominic…
Her pulse quickening, she wondered if Dominic had stayed the night at Magnolia Hill. Had he ever lived here at all? He’d told her his parents had had their own house when he’d explained about Celeste—her mother. Goose pimples feathered her skin at the memory.
But still, she couldn’t stop thinking about where he might be at this moment. Perhaps he lived with his girlfriend, though that thought was less easy to engage. Whatever, it was really no concern of hers, so she should just get over it. Before she saw him again and let him guess how she felt…
A shadow moved at the far side of the pool.
For the first time, she noticed that there were cabanas there; small cabins where a person using the pool could change their clothes.
A man had emerged from one of the cabanas. A tall man, bare-chested, with a towel draped around his neck. He was wearing swimming shorts that barely skimmed his hip bones. Wet shorts that clung to every corded sinew.
As she watched, he used the towel to dry his hair, and she saw the growth of dark hair beneath his arms and arrowing down his chest. His skin was brown and sleek with muscle, his stomach flat above long, powerful legs.
Cleo’s palms were suddenly damp. She didn’t have to wonder any longer about Dominic. He’d obviously been swimming. But how long had he been there? And was he able to see her?
Her throat drying, Cleo eased herself back into her bedroom. Then, allowing the blinds to fall back into place, she took a moment to calm her racing heart. Wherever he lived he’d evidently spent the night at Magnolia Hill, she thought breathlessly. Would he be joining his grandfather for breakfast, too?
She was spending far too much time speculating about Dominic Montoya. Impatient with herself, Cleo smoothed her palms down her thighs and knelt beside her suitcase.
What to wear? That was the problem. Well, not a bikini, she assured herself, with another glance in the mirror. The tank suit Norah had persuaded her to buy was probably going to remain unworn in her case.
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