At The Spaniard's Pleasure. JACQUELINE BAIRD

me for the rest of the weekend?’ But he knew that would go down like a lead balloon, given that she had made a point of avoiding visiting the Menendez home for years.

      No, he had to think of something else, and, confident as he was in his masculine powers of seduction, he doubted all the seductive technique in the world would convince Liza to fly off to Spain with him only a day after their meeting up again.

      Rising to her feet, Liza followed him through into the elegant living room, wondering what had caused the sudden coolness in the atmosphere. She sat down on one of the soft hide sofas, the occasional table already held the accompaniments for coffee, and a moment later Greta appeared with a pot to add to the already prepared tray.

      Liza smiled at the other woman and thanked her for a lovely meal, and then stiffened when Nick chose to sit down beside her on the sofa instead of taking the one opposite. During the meal there had been space between them and the atmosphere had been good most of the time, but now she sensed a tension in the air, and she felt distinctly crowded.

      ‘Will you be mother?’ Nick asked smoothly.

      The words hung in the air as Liza had a vivid mental image of being mother to Nick’s child, a small dark-haired angel. Her face turned scarlet at the provocative thought and hastily she bent forward and filled two small cups with the aromatic coffee. ‘Sugar, milk?’ she asked, without looking at him.

      ‘As it comes.’

      Lifting one cup, she turned slightly, her hand stilling. Nick was lounging back against the cushions, one long arm flung along the back, his jacket hanging open and his shirt pulled tight across his muscular chest, she could see the slight shading of body hair and swallowed hard.

      He gave her a long, sardonic look. ‘Are you going to give me the coffee, or simply hold it?’

      Blushing at her stupidity—she was eyeing the man like the dumb teenager she had once been—she thrust the cup at him, a little of the liquid spilling, and his long fingers curved around hers.

      ‘Steady, Liza. I want to drink it, not drown in it,’ he drawled mockingly.

      The touch of his hand sent a warmth shimmering through her, and quickly she snatched her hand back, and, grasping her own cup of coffee, forced herself to sit back against the sofa, and lift the cup to her mouth. She took one sip and almost burnt her tongue. Her lips tightened and she just prevented a yelp escaping.

      She had to get over her panic; hadn’t she decided in the hotel earlier to take a chance? Nick was just a man like any other. But that was the trouble, he was not like any other man she had ever known, she thought ruefully, casting him a sidelong glance from beneath the thick screen of her lashes. How was it, she mused, that as a young girl she had had a crush on him and was brutally cured of the illusion by the man himself? For years she thought she hated him and yet now one day in his company and all she saw was a dominant, attractive male who turned her bones to jelly.

      Feeling vulnerable in a man’s presence for the first time in years, she was not sure she trusted the feeling, and common sense told her to thank Nick for the meal and leave. With that in mind she drained her coffee-cup and replaced it on the table, and, turning slightly, she glanced at his face. He was looking down at her, his mouth a hard, taut line, and for a moment Liza felt a slight shiver of fear, or was it a shiver of sensual anticipation? She was not sure which, and quickly fixed her gaze somewhere over his left shoulder and before she could weaken.

      ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Nick. But I think it is time I got back to my hotel.’ She made to rise, only to find a large restraining hand on her forearm.

      ‘Please join me in a brandy at least,’ Nick said softly, and placed his cup on the table, his dark gaze holding her own, and his thumb caressing the underside of her arm to devastating effect.