A Spanish Awakening (12 page)

M
EGAN
put down the gloss she was applying to her lips. She very much hoped to challenge, with a little bit of help from a tall Spaniard, the manufacturer’s claim that it lasted for twenty-four hours, and fished her mobile from her open bag on the floor where it was ringing stridently.

She checked the caller identity and her brows lifted in surprise. She sat down on a linen hamper, telling herself not to assume the worst—it might not be bad news.

Though experience tended to suggest it would be. The last time her brother had rung he had lost his passport and all his money; the time before he’d rung from the casualty department, where he’d ended up after coming off his motorbike.

Unless in a scrape of some sort it was rare for her brother to return a call, let alone take the initiative. Typically, she thought, her smile becoming wry, he had chosen the worst time possible to make contact.

‘Hi, Megan, and before you ask I’m fine.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Look, I’d like to chat, Phil, but this isn’t actually a very good time,’ she admitted, smiling to herself as she glanced towards the door, her stomach giving a little shimmy in anticipation as she thought of it opening any second to admit Emilio.

Her eyes half closed and her breath came a little faster
as an image of him standing in the doorway slid into her head. She was utterly powerless to control the response of her body to the mental image.

She had not seen him for three minutes tops and she already missed him. She smiled, recalling his response when she’d looked into the mirror and exclaimed, ‘I look awful!’ Privately she thought she looked pretty good for someone who had spent the best part of the day in bed.

‘Is this where I’m supposed to say, no, you look fine?’

She pursed her lips and glared at his reflection in the mirror with feigned antagonism. ‘Would it have hurt to tell a white lie? ‘

His glorious eyes smiled back at her. ‘It wouldn’t have been a white lie,
querida,
it would have been a massive lie.’

Megan struggled to adopt an indifferent expression. While she appreciated honesty as much as the next person, there was a time and a place and a limit to her new-found confidence.

‘Because you don’t look fine, you have never looked fine in your life. You are utterly breathtaking.’ The carnal glow in his stunning eyes deepened as he elaborated on this theme in a voice that trickled over her like warm honey. ‘Luscious, and incredibly sexy. The only flaw I can see is that you have too many clothes on,’ he decided, flicking the collar of a blue chambray shirt she had appropriated from his wardrobe because, while she had become a shameless version of the Megan that awoke that morning, she was not as comfortable with the entire walking-around-naked thing as Emilio was.

It was possible nobody was as comfortable as him, she decided, unable even to glance at his tall, lean, perfectly sculpted body without feeling a heat prickle across the surface of her skin in response to the raw power and sheer
animal grace he exuded. It helped slightly that he had pulled on a pair of silk boxer shorts.

He seemed massively amused when, in response to his accusation that she wasn’t listening to him, she was driven to yell, ‘What do you expect? I can’t think while you’re walking around like
that!’

She discovered it was empowering to be told you looked sexy by a man who was the definition of the word.

But before she was able to enjoy the sensation and possibly tempt him to elaborate on the theme further he took charge and pulled her up from the dressing table stool where she sat. Grabbing her overnight bag from the floor, he dropped a hand on her slender shoulder and, ignoring her half-hearted protests—God, but she was putty in his hands—he steered her towards the room she sat in now.

A bathroom, but like none Megan had ever encountered, it was a marble-floored, decadently appointed space complete with a vast shower that had more gadgets than a space shuttle, and in centre stage, raised on a pedestal, was an enormous antique copper bath.

She was unable to repress an exclamation of admiration.

‘You like, then? ‘

The way she saw it there was nothing not to like. ‘My favourite room in the place.’

‘I thought that was the bedroom.’

Megan tipped her head, intending to respond to his sly teasing remark, but was momentarily knocked off balance to discover, not the taunting amusement she had anticipated on his lean face, but a curiously intent expression.

‘It’s not the décor that made an impression in the bedroom.’

His heavy-lidded eyes darkened at the shy admission.

‘While I don’t think your looks can be improved on—’
the compliment made her flush with pleasure ‘—I could probably do with freshening up, though I admit I rather like the smell of you on my skin.’

She stared at him, her eyes enormous, quite shockingly aroused by his comment. ‘I must smell of you too.’

‘Then perhaps we should share the bath.’

Megan, her mind filled with the image of floating in that fabulous bath with him, hastily assured him that she had no strong objections to this idea. The fact was she had no objections to anything Emilio chose to do to her so long as it involved physical contact; she was already a total junkie for his touch.

Emilio excused himself, promising that the phone calls he needed to make to clear the rest of his day would only take a few minutes and suggesting she fill the tub in his absence.

The tub was filled and scented with some of the oils she had discovered, and she had been wondering whether to get into the water now or wait for Emilio to return when the phone rang, by which point she was leaning towards getting into the water, if only to see Emilio’s reaction when he walked in. Though that would mean wasting the cute matching undies set she had already slipped on in the hope of having him take them off—it was a tough choice.

Tough choice? Strip or be undressed?

God, where was Megan Armstrong, the Megan Armstrong who barely knew how to flirt?

And who was the wanton hussy who had taken her place?

‘Is Dad working you too hard?’

Megan, struggling to focus on what her brother was saying, gave a non-committal grunt.

‘Silly question, of course he is,’ her brother added, answering his own question, which suited Megan fine. If she
could get away without telling an outright lie she would prefer to.

‘Fine, I’ll make it quick, you little workaholic.’ He continued talking even faster than normal—which was very fast. ‘I just had to ring, to say thank you. You really are a good sport.’

‘I am?’ Megan said, searching her memory for something she might have done recently that would deserve her brother’s gratitude.

Nothing immediately sprang to mind. It was true she did intercede to smooth things over sometimes when hostilities flared up between Philip and their father. But things had been pretty peaceful lately. His son wearing a tie the last time he visited had put Charles Armstrong in a good mood for a month.

‘I suppose it was Emilio’s idea, and as usual,’ he observed with an admiring chuckle, ‘he was spot on the money.’

A bemused Megan shook her head, tensing at the name. ‘You think so?’ Her thoughts raced. How on earth did he know she was with Emilio?

‘Oh, God, yes. It was a brilliant idea. I mean, if Rosanna knows he’s with someone else whose name he actually knows she can move on with her life, hopefully in my direction.’

Megan’s jaw dropped as she struggled to cope with the shocks that were coming thick and fast—Philip and Rosanna. Things were getting seriously
Twilight Zone.

‘Though you and Emilio!’ He seemed unable to control his amusement any longer, and her brother’s voice became suspended by laughter.

As she listened to Philip’s incredulous laughter echoing down the line Megan sat there, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach growing.

‘I suppose it was a case of it’s so crazy it must be true. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you’d make up unless you were a brilliant strategist like Emilio.’

‘Oh, yeah, he’s brilliant.’

Oblivious to the irony in her voice, Philip continued to congratulate her. ‘Well, he had your help and however you pulled it off, little sister, I am very grateful. I suppose, when you think about it, you and Emilio wouldn’t be any more crazy than me and Rosanna, but I love her, Megan, I really do.’

Megan closed her eyes and thought, God, I hope not! She really didn’t want to see Philip get his heart broken. And if Emilio had decided he wanted his wife back that was inevitable. Emilio would let nothing stand in his way. Her brother had a great many excellent qualities; he was nice, but what woman, given the choice between nice and Emilio, was going to choose nice?

‘I had no idea,’ she said honestly. ‘What I don’t really understand is why you went to Emilio in the first place.’

‘Other than habit, you mean.’

‘You’re not teenagers any more, Philip,’ she said, a shade of irritation sliding into her voice.

‘I suppose it does seem a bit weird, and I wasn’t sure if I actually thought he could help, I just figured maybe if they talked. Closure and all that. But you know Emilio, he never lets you down, does he? Rosanna is totally convinced that you two are together and that’s what matters. You must have put on quite an act. I wish I’d been there to see it.’

‘You were about the only person that wasn’t.’

‘Well, don’t tell Rosanna you noticed. According to her you two didn’t have eyes for anyone but each other. In your own private world, she said,’ he quoted. ‘She also kept saying she didn’t know why she was surprised, because
when you thought about it it was obvious. Any idea what she meant?

‘Not that it matters,’ her brother continued. ‘The thing is she can finally let go because she thinks you two are love’s young dream. I think, Megan, that she’s finally able to put her marriage behind her, now that she thinks Emilio is happy. Anyway, cheers, I’ll let you know how things go. I’m just going to give Emilio a ring to say thanks.’

‘I can save you the bother, Phil,’ she said brightly. ‘He’s right here. Hold on a sec, I’ll get him for you.’

Emilio had just finished filling the second champagne flute and was preparing to carry them into the bathroom with him when he heard the door open. He turned, glasses in hand, as Megan walked into the room, phone pressed to her ear.

His smile was not returned. A man did not have to be particularly intuitive to see that Megan was not happy. He wondered what had occurred in the few minutes they had been apart to account for her change of mood, but only in passing—his attention was focused on admiring how sinfully sexy she looked in a pink bra and a minuscule pair of matching silk shorts trimmed with lace.

His throat dry, his body hardening in lustful appreciation, he watched her advance, each angry step making her breasts jiggle gently under the silk.

Presumably she had not hated him when she had put on that outfit, unless she had intended to give him heart failure. Now she looked as though she would have preferred a more hands-on method of murder.

When she’d walked into the room the look she’d fixed him with was icily aloof, but by the time she had stalked across the room it had moved on to full-blown fury.

She paused about a foot short of him, still appearing to listen to the person speaking on the phone.

Emilio’s lashes rested against the sharp angle of his jutting cheekbones as his heavy-lidded glance dropped down her smooth curves.

‘You really do know how to make an entrance,
querida,’
he slurred admiringly.

Megan gritted her teeth. Even reminding herself that she hated him did not prevent her body responding of its own accord to his voice.

‘Though if that’s the outfit you were thinking of wearing for dinner, I think perhaps we should order in.’

Belatedly Megan realised that she had been so eager to confront him that she had forgotten what she was wearing, or, rather, what she wasn’t!

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she snapped, adding, just in case there were any doubts, ‘For food, or you! And the only thing I need ordered is a taxi. Ask him yourself.’

Snarling the last disconnected remark in what he assumed was in response to what the person on the other end of the line was saying, she produced a saccharine-sweet smile and with no warning lobbed the phone at him—not gently.

Emilio managed to catch it in his free hand, only slopping a little champagne in the process.

‘Well caught,’ Megan admired, taking a glass. Holding his eyes, she took a deep swallow, then, wiping the moisture from her lips with the back of her hand, she made a sharp turn and walked stiff-backed towards the bathroom, resisting the temptation to run.

Just before she vanished inside she yelled over her shoulder, ‘And stop staring at my bottom!’

Emilio chuckled throatily. ‘Admit it, you’d be insulted
if I could.’ His smile faded as she closed the door with a loud click.

There was zero chance of her being offended and zero chance of him letting Megan walk away. Eyes narrowed, he weighed the possibility of scaring her off by revealing his intentions. On balance he decided it was worth the risk. After two years of wasted time Emilio wasn’t about to waste another minute.

He lifted the phone to his ear. ‘Yes, Philip, I am here. Yes, she did say bottom.’

Five minutes later Emilio let himself into the bathroom.

Megan was standing at the mirror above the washbasin using some unladylike language as the slide she was trying to secure her hair with at the nape of her neck slithered along the silky strands onto the floor.

She picked it up and continued with her task, deciding to ignore his smouldering presence. A good idea in theory, but not actually easy to follow through with when the presence you were ignoring consisted of six feet five inches of solid bone, muscle and potent masculinity.

The sexual charge of his presence scorched its way across the room towards her. It would have been easier to ignore walking into a brick wall.

She was almost relieved when he broke the charged silence and spoke.