Alejandro's Revenge (9 page)

Lauren proved to be surprisingly enthusiastic about returning to the apartment. ‘It is our home,' she said, showing Abby into the master bedroom with its impressive king-sized divan. She pointed out the damage that had been done when the entertainment centre had been ripped from the fitted armoire at the foot of the bed. ‘This can easily be repaired,' she added, paling a little at the sight of such blatant savagery. Then, determinedly, ‘And I know Edward does not like living at my parents' estate.'

Abby agreed with her, although she could quite see why Lauren's mother felt so apprehensive about their return. And Dolores, bustling into the room at that moment, clicked her tongue at the shattered cabinet and splintered wood lying about the floor.

‘You cannot think of coming back here, Lauren,' she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Imagine what might have happened if you had been here alone when these men broke in. You could have been murdered in your bed!'

‘They might not have attempted the break-in if we had been here,' declared her daughter practically. ‘It probably only happened because the apartment was unoccupied. You never know, someone at the restaurant may have mentioned that Edward had had an accident and that for the time being we were staying with you and Papá.'

Dolores widened her eyes impatiently and then looked at Abby, almost as if she blamed her for her daughter's words.
‘Well, I think your
Papá
should find you another apartment,' she stated tersely. ‘Somewhere in Coral Gables, nearer to where we live.'

‘I am not a child, Mamá.' Lauren drifted back into the living room, running a possessive hand over the back of a printed silk sofa. ‘Besides, apart from a few dirty footmarks, the rest of the apartment is hardly touched. It's obvious they were in a hurry and only took what they could easily sell.'

Abby had been inclined to agree with her—until she saw the expensive laptop lying on a shelf beside the long windows. A thief surely would not have left the portable computer behind. Unless it had been overlooked. She supposed that was possible. But it was curious, and she intended to ask Edward what the police had said about it.

‘I do not think we should talk about this right now,' said Dolores shortly, following them back into the living room. ‘It's much too soon to be making any plans. Edward is unlikely to be able to walk unaided for several weeks yet.' She turned to Abby, evidently expecting her support. ‘A man needs to be fit enough to defend himself and his family. Especially after what has happened. Do you not agree?'

Abby looked at her sister-in-law and then made a helpless gesture. ‘I suppose,' she said awkwardly. ‘But it's up to Edward and Lauren to decide when they want to return home. I understand your concerns. But if the police are satisfied…'

‘The
policia
know no more than we do,' retorted Lauren's mother impatiently. ‘It may be that someone is conducting a vendetta against Edward. How do we know?'

Abby felt a chill run down her spine at these words. And almost without her volition the memory of Alejandro's taunting arrogance caused a prickling to feather her skin. Was he behind this? Did he have some hold over her brother? Oh, God, she was going to have to have dinner with him, whatever her feelings. She had find out once and for all what was going on.

T
O
A
BBY'S
dismay, Alejandro was waiting for them when they got back to the villa.

He and Luis were sitting on the terrace, enjoying a cold beer, and both men rose politely to their feet when the three women appeared.

Lauren and her mother greeted Alejandro with great enthusiasm, a circumstance Abby was getting used to. And if they, like she, noticed that Edward was absent, they were too busy welcoming their guest to comment.

‘Are you staying for lunch?' asked Lauren eagerly, clearly reluctant to let go of his hands, and, meeting Alejandro's gaze over the younger woman's shoulder, Abby saw the familiar mockery glinting in his eyes. Why was he here? she wondered. Was it just because he and Luis had business to discuss? Or had he some other motive? Making sure she didn't turn down his invitation, perhaps?

‘Regrettably, no,' he replied now, using the ruse of ushering her into the chair he had been occupying to release himself. Reaching for his beer, he emptied the bottle in one swift swallow and set it back on the table. ‘As a matter of fact I came to ask Abigail if she would care to come and see my boat this evening. It cannot have been much fun for her to learn that her brother had been injured. And now, with the break-in and all, I thought she might appreciate a diversion.'

Abby's lips compressed, and she was aware that both Dolores and her daughter had turned to give her a considering look. What were they thinking? she wondered. That they would all appreciate a diversion? And why had she ever thought that Alejandro might leave the decision of whether she accepted his invitation or not to her? He was a determined
man. She knew that already. And an unscrupulous one, she added tensely. But the most frustrating thing of all was that she didn't dare refuse.

‘Well, I—' she began, groping for words. Lauren interrupted her. ‘I think we'd all enjoy an evening on the water,' she said, voicing the thought Abby had had. ‘I assume we are invited, too. I don't know about my husband, but I'd certainly like to go.'

‘You forget,
cara
, we are already committed to staying in this evening,' remarked Edward suddenly.

Abby swung round to find her brother propped against one of the vine-covered pillars that supported the colonnade. He was evidently enjoying their surprise, and he smiled at his wife disarmingly. Then, hooking the crutches beneath his arms, he moved jerkily towards them.

With a sideways glance at Abby, he went on smoothly, ‘I believe your mother told me that your aunt and uncle are joining us for dinner, Lauren. I know Tia Rosa would be terribly upset if her favourite niece was absent.'

Lauren's mouth pursed. ‘I had forgotten that,' she said, looking disappointed. She turned to her mother. ‘Couldn't we possibly postpone Tia Rosa and Tio Ernesto's visit? After all, Abigail will be leaving soon. It seems a shame to deprive her of this opportunity to see Alejandro's yacht.'

‘I'm sure Alejandro can be trusted to look after my sister without a chaperon,' said Edward at once, and Abby wished she had the nerve to tell him to butt out of her affairs. The trouble was, she knew she had to go. She had to find out what Alejandro wanted. She had to know what was really going on.

‘Perhaps Abigail would prefer to spend the evening with the family,' put in Dolores, making her sympathies known, but Luis chose to come down on Edward's side.

‘We were not invited,
cara
,' he said, the smile he gave Alejandro salving any offence. ‘I am sure my friend would prefer it if Abigail was allowed to make her own decision.'

Abby wished she didn't have to make any choice at all, but that was not an option. ‘I—it sounds delightful,' she said, hop
ing both Alejandro and Edward could hear the irony in her voice.

‘It will be; I can assure you,' murmured the Cuban suavely. ‘Shall we say—seven o'clock this evening? I will send a car to pick you up.'

 

Abby spent ages trying to decide what to wear. She wished now that she'd taken advantage of her trip to the mall with Dolores to buy something suitable for herself. But then she hadn't known Alejandro was going to take her sailing. Was she a good sailor? Her experiences with boats had been confined to pleasure steamers and cross-channel ferries.

She would have preferred to wear one of the two dresses she'd brought with her. But they were hardly appropriate for climbing on and off a yacht. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she'd chosen glamour over practicality, even if deep down inside her she wanted to look good.

Telling herself it didn't matter what he thought of her, she chose her one remaining pair of shorts. She'd bought them the previous summer in Rimini, and although when she'd got them she'd doubted she'd ever get the chance to wear them, they seemed appropriate tonight.

They had been extremely expensive, she remembered, and Ross had balked a little at her extravagance. Made of a rich emerald-green silk, with a gold-plated chain belt to hang loosely about her hips, they were obviously far too formal for casual wear. But probably ideal for what she wanted tonight.

Teamed with a black crêpe halter-top, she couldn't deny they suited her. She looked pretty good, she thought, turning sideways in front of the long mirrors, trying to see herself from behind. Too good, in fact, for going out with a man she purported to despise, she conceded. Her mouth compressed into a thin line. What was she thinking of?

She was crazy, she thought. Worse than that, she was betraying everything she had ever believed about herself. Not to mention her fiancé. Dear Lord, she could imagine how he'd react if he could see her now.

With an exclamation of distaste, she took hold of the two sides of the halter, ready to pull it over her head again when someone knocked at her door. She faltered. What now? It was barely a quarter to seven. She still had to apply her lipstick and put the finishing touches to her hair.

‘Who is it?' she called, standing irresolutely in front of the mirror. Then closed her eyes in frustration when the maid opened the door.

‘Carlos is waiting,
señora
,' she said, her eyes widening in both surprise and admiration. ‘
Por favor
, will you come?'

Abby expelled a resigned sigh. ‘Just give me a couple of minutes,' she replied, realising there was no time to change her clothes now. ‘I won't be long.'

‘Sî, señora.'

With another lingering stare, the maid departed, and Abby turned back to the vanity, stifling a curse. Well, she was committed now. For her sins, she had to accept her fate.

Predictably, Edward was in the hall when she went downstairs. Probably ensuring that she didn't duck out of the date, she thought irritably. She just wished she could have been wearing jeans and a tee shirt, or something equally casual. Instead of which she could practically feel the satisfaction oozing out of his pores.

‘Hey, way to go, Abbs!' he exclaimed approvingly. ‘Varga's not going to know what's hit him.'

‘Oh, grow up, Eddie,' retorted Abby, in no mood to humour him. ‘I just hope there's not more to this than you've told me.'

Edward scowled. ‘I don't know what you mean,' he said defensively. ‘All I came to say was that I hoped you'd have a pleasant evening. I'm sure you will. If there's one thing Varga's good at, it's giving a woman a good time.'

‘And you'd know all about that, would you?' Abby arched her brows sardonically. ‘Just don't say anything else, Eddie. I may just decide to develop a migraine instead.'

Of course, she knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. And he knew that, too. But that didn't stop her from enjoying his
uncertainty and the automatic look of anxiety that crossed his face.

She was glad none of the Esquivals appeared as she crossed the hall to the open doors. She'd had to wear her sandals again, in the absence of any alternative, and her high heels clattered on the marble floor. But, happily, no one seemed to notice. She was able to descend the steps without attracting attention.

Outside, the air was like a moist blanket. Heat, soft and palpable, coated her bare arms, and the scents of a dozen flowering shrubs filled the night with promise. If only she'd been going out with Ross, or even Edward, she thought ruefully. She would have enjoyed this so much more.

Or would she?

The traitorous thought was quickly squashed as she greeted Carlos, who was standing holding the door of the limousine. ‘Evenin', ma'am,' he responded politely, his expression impassive. Then, after closing the rear door behind her and sliding in behind the wheel, ‘You okay?'

‘As I'll ever be,' murmured Abby to herself, before saying brightly, ‘Yes, thanks. Are you?'

‘Hey, I'm always okay,' said Carlos good-humouredly. He met her eyes in the rearview mirror and grinned. ‘You sure look good tonight, Ms Leighton.'

Abby couldn't help feeling pleased. Even if he was confirming her fears that Alejandro would think she'd gone to all this trouble for him. Which she supposed she had, she admitted unwillingly. But there were limits to what even a designer outfit could do.

‘Um—I hope my outfit is suitable for sailing,' she ventured, aware that it probably wasn't wise to question the chauffeur. ‘I understand Mr Varga owns—a boat.'

‘That he does, ma'am,' Carlos agreed. ‘His daddy was into shipping in quite a big way. Mr Varga—he's into all sorts of things. But I expect you know that for yourself.'

Abby sighed, not prepared to admit how little she did know. ‘So where are we going?' she asked, glancing out of the win
dows. At night everything looked different, and she had no idea where they were now.

‘Well, not to the shipyard, ma'am,' he drawled wryly. ‘Mr Varga, he wants me to bring you to his house. 'Course, he does have a cruiser in his backyard,' he added thoughtfully. ‘I'd say that's what he has in mind.'

Abby hardly heard a word beyond the fact that they were on their way to Alejandro's house. She sank back in the seat and blew out an indignant breath. How dared he? she asked herself furiously. He must know what going to his house would mean to her. But then, when had he ever considered her feelings? She should have known better than to put herself into his hands.

But then something else Carlos had said impinged on her consciousness. ‘What did you mean about him having a cruiser in his backyard?'

Carlos's eyes moved briefly to the mirror. ‘I guess you've never been to Mr Varga's house,' he drawled easily. ‘It's on the water. He keeps the cruiser at his dock.'

Abby blinked. ‘But I thought—' She stopped herself and began again, ‘Isn't his house on Old Okra Road?'

‘No way. Mr Varga's daddy used to have a house on Old Okra, but he moved into a retirement community a couple years ago. I guess that's how you got the wrong address.'

‘I guess it is.'

Abby frowned, not sure whether she was glad or sorry. Either way, Alejandro hadn't mentioned dining at his house.

She realised now that they were driving south of the city. Away to her left she could see the lights of Key Biscayne, and she seemed to remember Edward telling her that this road ran all the way to the Keys. Surely that wasn't where they were heading? There were over a hundred miles of causeway between the mainland and Key West, which was geographically closer to Havana than Miami. But then, Alejandro's origins did lie with the Cuban community, too. Perhaps he felt more at home with his father's people.

But before she could begin to panic Carlos turned off the
main highway into the quieter streets of the suburbs. They crossed Old Cutler Road, bypassed the tropical gardens, and headed towards the coast. Carlos opened his window a crack and she smelled the tang of the ocean. The breeze that invaded the car was refreshingly cool.

Alejandro's house was at the end of a narrow lane, where palms and rioting hibiscus hung over every wall. Unlike at the Esquivals' estate, the iron gates that led into the property stood wide, and in the lights of the car's headlights Abby saw that only a pair of stone griffins guarded the entrance.

Carlos turned skilfully between the gates and brought the big car to a halt before a rambling two-storeyed residence that was almost completely covered with flowering vines. It was evidently a much older property than the house on Old Okra Road, with a slightly Twenties appearance. It reminded Abby of Norma Desmond's house in
Sunset Boulevard
, and she wouldn't have been at all surprised to see a vintage Studebaker parked in the shade of the ancient oaks that cast their shadows over the already sombre driveway.

It wasn't at all what she'd expected. The other house had had a much grander appearance, with a soaring roofline and glass everywhere. This house was totally different, and although carriage lamps provided some illumination, its appeal lay in the air of mystery that surrounded it like a cloak.

Carlos barely had time to get out of the car and swing open her door before the porch door opened and a shaft of golden light speared out from within. Alejandro stood in its brilliance, his expression hidden by the halo of light behind him. But in a wide-sleeved white shirt and tight-fitting black pants, his open collar just hinting at the darkness of the flesh beneath, his identity was unmistakeable.

Abby quivered. She couldn't help it. This was so much the way she remembered him. She had to fight back the urge she had to step out of the car and walk into his arms.

But that was crazy;
she
was crazy. Whatever Alejandro wanted, it wasn't her body. He had invited her here to talk about Edward and perhaps about Lauren. He was obviously
as fond of his cousin as she was of him. So why was she sitting here wishing things—wishing life—could have been different?
Get over it, Abby,
she told herself.
Alejandro Varga was never meant for you.