The plump middle-aged woman looked mollified. “You’d starve, that’s for sure. You’d live off coffee and tapas, or else forget to eat entirely. You always lose weight in Madrid.”
“But I always come back so you can fatten me up. Good night, Nelida.”
“I don’t think your housekeeper likes me,” Tamsin said after the woman and her assistants left.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said, buttering a thick slice of bread. “Nelida was my nanny when I was a child. She’s old-fashioned and possessive. She doesn’t approve of loose women.”
Loose women! Tamsin thought indignantly. She looked down at her meal. “What’s this?”
“The soup is salmorejo. Tomato soup, thickened with breadcrumbs, topped with chopped eggs and ham.”
She hesitantly took a mouthful of soup. It was cold, but delicious. “It tastes like gazpacho.”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Pato a la Sevillana. Roast duck with onion, leeks and carrots, cooked in sherry. And bread, of course. That’s Nelida’s specialty.”
Tamsin took several bites and realized two things: first, that she was starving, and second, that if she were prisoner here for long she would soon be putting on weight too.
That was, if Nelida didn’t decide to poison her for being loose.
She scowled.
“Do you like it?” Marcos’s slate-gray eyes looked into hers, as if he were asking another question entirely. For a moment, his dark gaze drew her, pulling her into a trance.
She shook herself out of it. Maybe I really am as stupid and shallow as he thinks, she considered grimly. Why else would she be attracted to such a cold, cruel, heartless man?
She forced herself to turn her attention back to the food.
“It’s delicious,” she replied and quickly ate more.
“Your housekeeper is a treasure.”
Over the next hour, she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled, trying her hardest to get him to reveal why he’d kidnapped her, what his plans were, what her brother and Aziz had done to make him desire revenge. But, in spite of his hint earlier that he’d share his plans, he spoke little and revealed nothing. It was like talking to a brick wall. She continued to try, skimming her mind desperately for any topic that might make him open up—travel, business, even football. Finally, she gave up.
She’d never met such a brooding, unhelpful man in her life. Either that or she was losing her touch.
Fine, she thought resentfully. If that’s how you want to be, let’s see how you like it. She ate the rest of her meal in determined silence.
It seemed not to bother him a whit.
“You were hungry,” Marcos observed when her plate was empty.
“Being kidnapped will do that to a person,” she muttered, then gave a little laugh, as if it were a joke.
“Would you like more roast duck? Some dessert, perhaps?”
It was the most he’d spoken during their whole meal. But, unfortunately, any more roast duck and she’d burst out of her chic little dress. Another reason to wish she was wearing a track suit. “Thank you, but no. But there is something I do want.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your freedom, plus a quick flight to Morocco?”
She gave a nervous laugh, since that was exactly what she wanted. But she wasn’t going to let him catch her so easily. Shaking her head, she folded her arms, resting them on the table with what she hoped was an earnest look. “I just want to know what my brother and Aziz did to you that made you so angry.”
For a moment he looked as if he might tell her. Then he held out his hand. “Come out and see the view.”
Reluctantly, she set down her napkin and let him draw her towards the open doors of the veranda. “You can see the valley all the way to the sea,” he said. “See those lights? That’s El Puerto de las Estrellas. The village used to be known for smugglers, pirates, thieves.”
“Apparently it still is,” she muttered.
His dark eyebrows lowered. “Perhaps so, now that you are here. The Winters are liars and thieves, and your fiancé is worse.”
She bit back a tart retort, knowing it wouldn’t help her cause to argue. Besides…well, his accusation was true.
Sheldon had lied about many things. Particularly when he’d promised to watch out for Nicole. And, though she didn’t know Aziz very well, she was reasonably sure he was keeping a mistress and intended to keep doing so after their marriage. Plus there was that other small matter of murdering his first wife.
As they stood on the wide stone balcony a cool breeze blew through the valley, making her shiver in her tiny cocktail dress. Without hesitation, he put his arm around her.
“I am glad you are here with me,” he said softly.
Tamsin involuntarily leaned back into the warmth of his arms. Perhaps she had misjudged him, she thought suddenly. For all she knew, he had good reason to hate her family. Her brother and fiancé had certainly made enemies—even Tamsin despised them. Maybe trying to trick him and escape was a mistake. Maybe if she told Marcos the truth about why she was being forced to marry Aziz, he could truly help her…
“You are the pin in my grenade,” he said, giving her a hard smile. “Without you, I could not destroy Aziz al-Maghrib and your brother so easily.”
He was deliberately trying to bait her. She kept her expression bland, but inside she simmered. She wanted to kick him in the shins. Or maybe just kick herself for thinking well of him, if only for a moment.
What was it about him that kept luring her in? He was as relentless as the sea. The darkness of his beautiful eyes held a dangerous riptide that tempted her to drown in the murky depths…
“Getting warmer?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking at him. The moon was covered with gray clouds. The only light came from candles in the dining room behind them. They cast a glow around the edges of Marcos’s black hair, like a halo, leaving his face in shadow.
Dark angel, she thought again.
His gaze rested on her. “The cool air comes off the Atlantic at night.”
From the height of the castle, she thought she could see a glimpse of moonlight on the distant ocean. Something square and hard rubbed against her hip and she glanced down beneath her lashes. She saw a glimpse of silver in his pocket.
His mobile phone!
If she had his phone, she could call Aziz. He could pick her up with his uncle’s helicopter. Or she could call Bianca and Daisy, her two best friends from boarding school, who’d been her roommates over the summer. Bianca’s wealthy family kept private jets in New York and London. Whether by Aziz’s helicopter or Bianca’s plane, she could be back in Morocco tonight.
She had to get Marcos’s phone.
But how?
Kiss him, an inner voice whispered. If she could get him to put his arms around her, she could slip the phone out of his pocket. She would tuck it down her dress and make an excuse to leave. Then she could call Aziz and tell him where to find her. It was the perfect plan.
A shame she wasn’t sure she could do it.
Kiss Marcos? She licked her lips nervously. She was accustomed to being the recipient of kisses, not the initiator. And Marcos seemed like the kind of man who would have a great deal of experience. Unlike her.
Feeling