Alejandro's Revenge (10 page)

With a feeling of sudden helplessness she moved across the seat and thrust her foot out onto the crushed shell drive. Her sandal sank into the surprisingly soft surface, and she guessed the humidity seldom dried out here. Then Alejandro stepped forward and took her hand, and she was powerless to stop him from raising it to his lips.

His mouth was moist, too, his breath—or was it his tongue?—dampening her skin, and she shivered again. She should never have agreed to this, she thought unsteadily. Never have come here. Talk about walking into the lion's den.

‘Bienvenido,'
he greeted her softly. ‘Welcome to my home. It is good to see you again,
cara
. I have been waiting for this moment for so long. Please.' He gestured behind him. ‘Come in.'

‘You didn't say we'd be having dinner at your house,' whispered Abby accusingly, but Alejandro only lifted enquiring eyes to the chauffeur, who was still waiting by the car.

‘You can go, Carlos,' he said without inflection. ‘I will call you if your services are required later.
Adios, amigo.
Have a good evening.'

‘Gracias, señor.'

Abby was aware that the man looked at her before leaving. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did he have any sympathy for her plight? Had he any idea how much she longed to be leaving with him? That even returning to the Esquivals would be better than this?

Safer, certainly. But it was too late to be having second thoughts. Alejandro's fingers had fastened about her upper arm and he was guiding her across the forecourt and up the steps to the porch. Leading her, irresistibly, into his house.

A polished brass chandelier cast its light over the amber and black tiles of the entry, and beyond silk rugs in jewelled shades complemented dark wood panelling and rich satin
drapes. The house was cool, but not excessively so, and Abby's skin cooled rapidly. The mingled scents of a dozen tropical blooms gave the air a heady fragrance.

A staircase wound to the upper floor of the house, but Abby averted her eyes quickly. Before she started to wonder whether Alejandro's bedroom was anything like the one in his father's house. In any case, he was guiding her into a spacious living room, and she forced herself to pay attention to that instead.

Three velvet sofas surrounded a flower-filled hearth that was richly patterned. Carved oak cabinets contained a veritable fortune in
objets d'art
. Trumpet-shaped orchids and delicate magnolias spilled from porcelain bowls and crystal vases that matched the chandelier sparkling above her head.

There were high-back chairs set against the walls, and lots of paintings, and an ornate bureau that was obviously an antique. Once again, the colours were vivid, but subtle, and Abby was reminded of her earlier notion. It was evident that the house was even older than she had thought.

But it wasn't sensible to allow herself to be overwhelmed by her surroundings, however beautiful they undoubtedly were. Alejandro hadn't brought her here to admire his house or his possessions. He'd brought her here for his own reasons, and she'd be wise to remember that.

To distract herself, she pulled away from Alejandro and moved to the long windows at the far side of the room. The sliding doors that led out to the deck were closed, but tall iron lamps set amongst the surrounding foliage illuminated the scene. The lights winked between the moving fronds of palm trees and added radiance to the bougainvillaea that tumbled from the balcony above.

There was a lizard, too, on the wooden railing. It seemed mesmerised by the light that came from the house. It waited, motionless, hoping to blend in with the vegetation, its little pulse beating rapidly in its throat.

Alejandro's shadowy reflection showed that he'd come to stand behind her, and she was as instantly aware of him as of
the faint draught of cool air from the vent above her head. At once the encroaching greenery beyond the windows seemed to trap her, between its rampant vegetation and the subtle menace of the man at her back.

B
ECAUSE
she needed to say something, anything, to break the spell he seemed to cast so effortlessly over her, Abby hurried into speech. ‘Carlos said this house is on the water,' she said, keeping her eyes on the lizard, with whom she felt a certain affinity. ‘Is—is the ocean visible from here?'

She could hear the mild amusement in his voice as he answered her. ‘No,' he said indulgently. ‘This whole coastline is honeycombed with small bays and waterways. My dock is on Turtle Creek. Biscayne Bay is about half a mile away.'

‘Oh.'

Abby was trying desperately to think of something else to say when he murmured, ‘And to answer your accusation earlier: I do not recall telling you where we were going to have dinner.'

‘No, but—' She'd turned before realising how unwise that was, and she was forced to take a backward step to keep a sensible space between them. Even so, she was intensely conscious of his nearness, and of how dark his skin looked against the whiteness of his shirt. ‘That is—you must have known what I would think when—when Carlos told me where we were going.'

‘No.' Alejandro was deliberately obtuse. ‘Why do you not tell me?'

Abby shook her head. ‘Don't play games, Alejandro. You knew I'd think we were going to the house on Old Okra Road.'

‘But the house on Old Okra Road is not my house.'

‘I know that now.' Abby was infuriated by his ability to behave as if he was incapable of any deceit when she knew
only too well he was. ‘But you didn't tell me it wasn't your house. Carlos did.'

Alejandro pushed his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. ‘Good old Carlos,' he said drily. ‘Tell me,
cara
, is this going somewhere?'

Abby pressed her lips together for a moment, controlling her impatience. ‘As I said before, you like playing games, Alejandro. But I don't.'

‘Which means…?'

‘It means you deliberately let me think the house on Old Okra Road was your house,' she retorted tensely. ‘But of course you couldn't take me to your house, could you? Your wife wouldn't have liked it. And that was something else you forgot to tell me.'

Alejandro's nostrils flared, and for a moment his dark features looked almost sinister. ‘I suppose Edward told you,' he said harshly. ‘Your dear brother, who is as culpable for keeping secrets as I am, it seems.'

Abby met his challenging gaze only briefly. It was hard to sustain her composure in the face of such blatant hostility, and she was uneasily aware of how vulnerable she was here. This was Alejandro's house, Alejandro's territory. He could say—and do—what he liked.

‘Edward did tell me you were married,' she admitted at last. ‘Do you blame him? I am his sister, after all. He was only looking out for me.'

‘That must be a first,' remarked Alejandro, swaying back on his heels before turning and walking away from her. And before she could think of a suitable retort he stopped beside a cabinet and swung open the doors to reveal a comprehensive wet bar. ‘What will you have to drink? And please do not say iced tea because I do not have any. Wine, perhaps, or a cocktail? You choose.'

Abby caught her upper lip between her teeth. Then, realising she wasn't going to get anywhere if she behaved sullenly, she shrugged. ‘Do you have a spritzer?'

Alejandro gave her a resigned look. ‘No.'

‘Wine, then,' she said tightly. ‘White wine, if you have it. Just a small glass.'

‘I was not about to give you a tumbler,' he responded drily. ‘And, yes, we have white wine. Is a Californian Chardonnay all right?'

As Abby was seldom able to tell one white wine from another, she could hardly object. But because he had been so sarcastic she said, ‘I suppose so,' and had the satisfaction of seeing the way his mouth tightened at her words.

The appearance of a white-clad steward provided a welcome diversion. The man spoke to his employer in Spanish, and because he was obliged to deal with the enquiry Abby was able to take her glass from Alejandro's outstretched hand without worrying too much about whether their fingers touched or not.

In fact, they didn't, but that didn't prevent her from feeling grateful for the interruption. The atmosphere had been getting increasingly intense and it was good to breathe normally again.

Deciding she might feel safer if she was sitting down, Abby took the initiative and seated herself in a tapestry-covered armchair. She chose the chair deliberately rather than one of the sofas. Sitting on a sofa was an invitation for him to join her, and despite her efforts to keep their association on an impersonal level Alejandro seemed determined to thwart her.

‘Your drink is all right?'

She realised abruptly that while she'd been lost in thought the servant had gone away again and Alejandro was now standing right in front of her. Unfortunately, as well as intimidating her, it put her eyes on a level with the impressive bulge of his manhood. Averting her eyes again, she took an unwary gulp of the wine in her glass and almost choked as it went down the wrong way.

Red-faced and embarrassed, she was obliged to take the napkin Alejandro offered her, and was frustratedly aware that he'd probably stood over her deliberately, knowing exactly how on edge she'd feel.

But just as she was considering how best to deal with the
threat he posed he seemed to take pity on her. Crossing the room, he sat down on one of the dark red velvet sofas she'd admired earlier. Hooking one deck-shoed foot across his knee—she noticed inconsequently that he wasn't wearing any socks—he draped one arm along the back of the sofa before raising the glass he was carrying to his lips. It was a tumbler, and she wondered if the colourless liquid in the glass was water or something stronger. Either way, it was obvious that he was perfectly at ease with himself, and it infuriated her anew that she should be such an easy mark. All the same, she was grateful for the respite that the distance gave.

‘Feeling better?' he asked now, his deep voice with its distinctive Cuban accent scraping across her raw nerves. She was instantly aware that she was achieving nothing by putting off the inevitable. She had to talk to this man; she had to find out what he wanted. But most of all she had to stop making it so easy for him to control the conversation.

‘Yes, thank you,' she answered, taking another sip of her wine just to prove that she could. Then, setting her glass down on the coaster he'd placed on a nearby table, she forced herself to look at him. ‘Have you lived here long?'

His mouth compressed, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, but he was coolly indulgent when he replied. ‘The house used to belong to my aunt. When she died, it came to me.'

Abby hesitated. ‘Was that before or after you got your divorce?' she asked crisply, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes darken with an irritation he couldn't hide.

‘After,' he said eventually. ‘My ex-wife never lived here, if that's what you want to know.' Then, with equal audacity, ‘When did you break your engagement? Was that before or after you got back from the wedding?'

Abby blinked. ‘I—' She was nonplussed. ‘Who told you I'd broken my engagement?'

‘Guess,' he said drily, and her brows drew together in total confusion.

‘But—I only got engaged two months ago,' she protested. ‘Why would I—?'

But she didn't complete the sentence. Suddenly something else he'd said came back to her, and she stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What wedding are you talking about?'

Alejandro's lips twisted. ‘How many weddings have you and I attended?'

‘Edward's wedding!' she said incredulously. And, at his curt nod, ‘I wasn't engaged when Eddie got married.'

‘So it was before,' said Alejandro harshly. ‘I should have known your brother wouldn't tell the truth.'

Abby gazed at him. ‘I don't know what you're talking about,' she declared coldly. Then, holding up her head, she added, ‘In any case, I didn't come here to talk about me. I came to talk about Eddie. I'd like to know why you persist in accusing him of—of God knows what when—when you're the—the—'

‘Villain?' he supplied mockingly, but she ignored him.

‘—the transgressor here?' she finished primly. ‘I'm glad you're not denying it.'

Alejandro's expression softened. ‘You really do not know, do you,
cara
?' he mused. ‘What has he told you, I wonder? What explanation has he given you for his—what shall I call it?—his hostility towards me?'

‘Don't pretend you don't know,' she exclaimed at once. ‘You—you can't keep your hands off his wife. Why wouldn't he be hostile towards you when you're trying to destroy his marriage?'

Alejandro made a strangled sound and she thought for a moment he was choking. But he wasn't. She quickly realised he was fighting the desire to laugh, and it infuriated her that he could find it funny. This wasn't a game. This was her brother's life, his future. But then, what could she expect from a man who'd betrayed his own wife?

Abby wanted to get up and walk out of there. But she didn't. She couldn't. Now that it was out in the open, she owed it to Edward to try and put things right. Whatever hold the Cuban
had over him, surely it could not withstand the exposure of Alejandro's treachery? He'd had it all his own way for far too long. It was up to her to level the score.

But to her dismay Alejandro had put down his glass now and got to his feet again. She steeled herself for a confrontation, but instead of coming towards her he went to stand by the windows, looking out onto the floodlit deck as she had done earlier.

‘Bien,'
he said softly. ‘So that is what he has told you. And you believed him. I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted,
cara
. What do you think?'

Abby swallowed, aware that he had turned his head and was looking at her now, but she couldn't back down. ‘I think you should be ashamed,' she said tensely. ‘I would be, in your shoes. Lauren—Lauren must be young enough to be your daughter.'

‘Or my niece,' agreed Alejandro, without expression. He shook his head incredulously. ‘I would have to be very desperate or very stupid to regard my good friend's daughter in that way.'

Abby turned her head now. ‘Are you denying that you're having an affair with her?'

‘Denying it?' Alejandro echoed the words disbelievingly. ‘
En que piensas
! What are you thinking! The question is not a serious one. I am not interested in Lauren Esquival.'

‘It's Lauren Leighton,' put in Abby quickly, and he sighed.

‘Lauren Leighten,
sí
,' he amended flatly. ‘
Por Dios
, Abigail, she is a child. A trying child at times,
a lo mejor
. But a child,
no obstante
.'

Abby got unsteadily to her feet. ‘Of course, you would say that.'

‘Yes, I would.' He turned right round now, and suddenly the space between them didn't seem half as safe. ‘
Cristo
, are you listening to me, Abigail? Lauren is charming—amusing, even. But I have never touched her. I treat her as I would a younger sister. I have never been attracted to her.'

Abby swallowed, trying to concentrate her attention on the
brown flesh rising from the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt. ‘I—I hear what you say,' she said, noticing the pulse that was beating in his throat. His heart appeared to be racing just as hers was. But in his case it was probably frustration, whereas she was fighting an awareness that was rapidly overwhelming her good sense.

Alejandro stared at her for a long moment and then, just as she'd feared, he strolled back to where she was standing.
‘Pobrecita,'
he said huskily. ‘You hear my words but you do not believe me. You know in your heart it is the truth, but for your brother's sake you tell yourself you are not convinced.'

‘Do you blame me?' She expelled a nervous breath. ‘And if you're trying to intimidate me, Alejandro, you're succeeding.'

‘Hijo de puta!'
he swore softly. ‘I am not trying to intimidate you,
cara
. I am trying to make you understand that there is more going on here than you think.'

Abby pressed her lips together. ‘I've known Eddie all his life—'

‘Which means what, exactly?'

Abby shook her head. ‘I—I would know if he was lying to me.'

‘Muy bien.'
Alejandro shrugged. ‘And what if I told you he is afraid to tell the truth? What then?'

Abby swallowed. ‘Eddie's not afraid of you,' she exclaimed unsteadily, but her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

‘I did not say he was afraid of me,' said Alejandro softly, lifting his hand almost involuntarily and drawing his knuckles along the stiff line of her jawline. ‘Must I say it again,
cara
? I am not Edward's enemy. Whatever he may have told you, it is not true.'

She jerked back from his touch, but, as if her action had achieved the opposite of what she'd intended, he didn't withdraw his hand. Instead, he allowed his fingers to trail over her throat to the low vee of her halter, sliding beneath the cloth, his nails gently scoring her skin.

Abby felt weak. In spite of everything that had happened, she was suddenly overwhelmed by needs she'd assured herself were consigned to oblivion. Memories of the night he'd made love to her came flooding into her consciousness, and his touch was unbearably real, unbearably familiar. His nearness, the warmth of his breath, his hands, were stripping away her defences, and she knew if she didn't move soon she wouldn't be able to move at all.

‘I think you'd better let me go,' she said, hearing the underlying panic in her voice and praying that he couldn't detect it. ‘This isn't going to work.'