‘Heaven forbid,’ Elise said sarcastically.
‘You have no reason to be jealous.’
She slid from the car as he moved out from behind the wheel, and it gave her the utmost satisfaction to slam the door.
‘I am not jealous. I simply refuse to be part of a ménage-à-trois.’
Alejandro began to chuckle, and the husky sounds of his amusement acted like flame placed too close to combustible octane.
Elise threw her evening bag at him, and followed it with one evening sandal, then the other, each of which he neatly fielded and slid into the pockets of his jacket.
‘So you want to play?’
He reached her far too easily, before she had gone more than a few steps, and she gasped in outrage as he lifted her effortlessly over one shoulder and carried her indoors.
‘Put me down!’
He walked through the foyer to the stairs, gaining the upper floor with galling ease, seemingly uncaring as she beat her hands against the broad expanse of his back.
In the bedroom he tumbled her down on to the bed, discarded his jacket, then captured her wildly scrambling form by the simple expedient of covering it with his own.
‘Damn you,’ Elise vented as she struggled impotently against his superior strength. ‘I hate you.’
‘I love the way you hate, mi mujer.’
‘Sex. Lust,’ she qualified. ‘Bought and paid for.’
He went curiously still. ‘I suggest you retract that vilifying statement.’
‘Why? Does the truth penetrate your conscience, Alejandro?’ she taunted, only to cry out in shocked surprise as his mouth closed over hers with punishing force.
What followed was a form of retribution he actively encouraged her to share, their mingling anger resulting in wild, untamed sex that gave no quarter…for either of them.
‘Elise?’
The sound of Ana’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Elise dragged her mind back to the present. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her skin was damp with the fine sheen of sweat.
‘I have just made tea. Would you like some?’
Somehow she managed a suitable response.
Dear God. This was the most explicit span she’d experienced. The memory of it was so vivid, the act so primitively savage that it was all she could do to prevent herself from being physically ill.
I don’t want to remember any more. Not if total recall means a revival of anger and dissension.
The friendship, the special closeness which she and Alejandro had shared at Palm Beach seemed part of a distant fantasy.
Instinct warned her that she was teetering on the edge of reality, and a chill feathered over her skin, raising all her fine body-hairs in protective defence.
IT RAINED most of the weekend, squally wind-driven showers that beat against the windows, bringing much-needed water to the city’s depleted dams and providing relief against the seasonal threat of bushfires.
Alejandro taught Elise the basic skills of chess, checkmating her so many times that she declined to allow him further victory as she opted to trounce him at cards. That too was a disaster, for, although she won twice, she suspected that it was only because he deliberately set out to lose.
Monday dawned bright and clear. The Bentley went in for repair, and Alejandro took the Porsche into the city.
Elise attended physiotherapy after lunch, then José drove her across town for her appointment with the obstetrician. They arrived early, and she opted to check in rather than wait in the car.
The senior nurse greeted her warmly. ‘Doctor has a patient with him, Mrs Santanas. He won’t be long.’ Elise took a seat, selected a magazine, and began leafing through the pages. An article caught her eye, and she read it with interest.
Minutes later she glanced absently at another, and froze. Two frames featuring Savannah adorned facing pages, and with a tiny gasp of shock everything suddenly fell into place, almost as if someone had depressed a camera shutter, then released it to reveal a moving photograph to view.
With horrified fascination she watched it all unfold.
Dear heaven, no. No. The negation seemed to thunder inside her brain over and over as she desperately sought to stop the images appearing one after the other like a rolling reel of Technicolor film.
It wasn’t true. None of it. There was some terrible mistake. A shocking joke played by a devilish hand.
If she sat still, perfectly still, the images would disappear, and she could walk out of here without becoming an emotional wreck.
Her stomach churned as the impact of recurring memory took effect, and she only just made it to the powder-room in time.
Afterwards, she leaned her head against the cool tiles for several minutes as she stared sightlessly at the beautifully appointed bathroom.
She didn’t feel like facing anyone, much less a skilfully perceptive medical professional who would doubtless take one look at her pale features, note her elevated pulse-rate, and begin a line of questioning she had no wish to answer.
Elise wondered what sort of reaction she would generate if she simply walked out, slid into the waiting car, and bade José take her home.
Home. Hell’s teeth, how could she go there? How could she not? she decided dully. If she requested José to take her anywhere else, it would only be a matter of minutes before José alerted Alejandro, and then what? A confrontation?
She had so much anger to expel. Such a degree of inner rage.
With deplorable ease her mind slid back to the ill-fated dinner she had shared with Alejandro Santanas only hours after launching a personal appeal for him to stave off her father’s imminent fall into bankruptcy…
Elise arrived five minutes late and was escorted to Alejandro’s table where, within minutes of ordering iced water, she immediately launched a further attempt on Joseph Hansen’s behalf.
‘What inducement do you intend to offer me?’ He lifted one well-shaped eyebrow, his expression assuming world-weary cynicism. ‘Yourself, perhaps?’
It took mere seconds for his words to sink in, a few more for her to throw the contents of her glass at his face. She rose to her feet in white-faced fury, then stormed from the restaurant…only to have to return when she discovered that she had left her evening bag on the table.
When she reached for it, his hand closed over hers.
‘Sit down.’
‘I have nothing to say to you!’
‘Walk out on me a second time, and any chance you might have will be gone.’
Every instinct screamed for her to turn away from him, and it was only the image of her father that persuaded her to resume her seat.
‘You care for your father very much.’
‘If I didn’t,’ she responded flatly, ‘I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Enough to give your personal guarantee to investment from my private funds?’ His pause was deliberate. ‘Become part of the deal?’
She felt cold, and barely in control. ‘In what capacity?’ If he said as his mistress, she would tip the soup in his lap, then walk away.