At the Spaniard's Pleasure (12 page)

Nick Menendez was an arrogant, unfeeling devil. He had told her years ago he liked extreme sports for the instant thrill, and kept looking for harder and harder challenges because he was easily bored. She had been a prize idiot for falling for his charismatic charm, and with a new determination in her eyes she scrubbed at her skin, determined to wash any memory of the man from her body and her thoughts.

L
IZA
finally gave up trying to sleep when she heard the muffled chimes of the clock in the hall strike six. At eight she was ready to leave, with her bag packed, her long hair divided into two neat braids and wearing denim jeans with a red shirt and denim jacket—she was dressed for travelling.

With one last look around the blue interior, she unlocked the bedroom door and, suitcase in hand, she left. Unable to resist, she glanced at the door to Nick's bedroom as she walked along the hall. It was wide open, and the bed was undisturbed. She closed her eyes briefly against the pain squeezing her heart, and quickly looked away.

Using her to make Sophia jealous had obviously worked for Nick, Liza thought bitterly. The hurt and humiliation were crushing, and she couldn't get out of the place fast enough. She was going to get the first plane back to Lanzarote; at least there she would be alone for a while, and free to lick her wounds in the privacy of her hotel suite. She wished like hell she had never left it and she didn't care if she had to sit all day at the airport; anything was better than staying here. She was angry at her own feeble-mindedness in wanting Nick. He had used her, and she despised the man…

With that thought in mind she marched into the kitchen and dumped her suitcase on the floor. Straightening up, she focused on Manuel busily preparing a coffee tray.

Manuel turned around. ‘Señorita Liza, I was just about to bring you coffee.'

‘Thank you, Manuel, but I am leaving as soon as possible. Would you please call me a taxi to take me to Malaga
Airport?' She walked past the kitchen table to where Manuel stood beside the preparation bench.

‘But I will have a coffee while I wait.' Manuel filled a cup and handed it to her, and then stood hovering, as if he did not know what to do next. Spooning a big dollop of sugar in her cup—she needed the energy—Liza reminded him, ‘The taxi, please, Manuel; I am in a hurry.'

‘Yes, yes, of course.' He moved to where the telephone was suspended on the wall. ‘For Malaga, you say.' He looked back at her with a frown. ‘You are sure.'

‘Yes, Manuel.'

‘No, Manuel,' a deep voice commanded, ‘a taxi will not be necessary. I will drive Liza into Malaga.'

Liza stiffened, anger and resentment simmering inside her along with a hollow feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. So much for Nick's statement she was a welcome guest, she thought bitterly. He couldn't wait to see her leave, probably frightened in case she told Sophia what a love-rat he was.

With slow deliberation Liza sipped her cup of coffee to the dregs. Now all she had to do was face the dregs of her relationship with Nick. Placing the cup carefully down on the bench, she composed her features into a bland, socially acceptable mask.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned around. ‘Good morning, Nick; that is very kind of you,' she said with determined brightness. ‘But I would prefer a taxi.'

He was standing in the middle of the room, his magnificent body clad in black jeans and a white cashmere sweater, his legs slightly splayed and his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his trousers. He was all bristling male attitude, and the hard dark eyes that stared back at her held no hint of the intimacy they had shared, only a flash of irritation that she had declined his offer.

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

Not only was she a slut but she was also ridiculous in his estimation. ‘Thank you for that.' Her attempt at social
politeness sank as the crushing weight of his betrayal sparked her anger. ‘But I was trying to be reasonable. I would not dream of putting
you out
in any way,' she drawled sarcastically. She jerked her chin up, refusing to let him see how he had hurt her, and met his aloof gaze with stony eyes, at the same time thinking, what she would really like to do was knock the arrogant, deceitful devil
out flat
! But instead she added coolly, ‘I'm sure you have much more important things to do with your time.' Sophia for one, she thought bitterly.

‘But I insist, Liza. I brought you here; it is only good manners I assist you to depart, and I know what a stickler you are for good manners.'

A cold hand closed around her heart as she searched his handsome face. She saw his strong jawline harden, and the arrogant cynicism in his expression that said clearer than words that it was over. Pride alone made her step forward.

‘In that case you won't mind getting my luggage,' she said with saccharine-sweetness and indicated her suitcase with a wave of her hand. ‘I am in a hurry.'

‘Not so great a hurry we can't have breakfast first, surely,' Nick prompted silkily. ‘What time is your flight?'

She noticed there was no offer of the private jet. Why was she not surprised? He probably knew damn fine she had not booked a flight, he was simply being his usual sarcastic, superior self. ‘I have no idea,' she said airily. ‘I intend to wait on standby; the sooner I get back to Lanzarote the better.'

‘Well, if you're sure I can't tempt you,' he drawled, the mockery in his eyes clear for Liza to see, ‘to eat…' and scarlet colour stained her cheeks and she just knew the pig was laughing at her.

Five minutes later, seated in the passenger seat of a Land-Rover, Liza glanced at Nick as he started the motor. He was whistling! Whistling a catchy tune as if he had not a care in the world. But then, why would he? He was probably recalling his night in Sophia's bed.

The anger and resentment that had sustained her from the moment he walked into the kitchen this morning gave way to a gut-wrenching pain as an image of Nick naked with Sophia filled her mind, touching the other woman, kissing as he had kissed her… Turning her head, she looked out of the window at the countryside flying by without even seeing it.

What kind of idiot had she been to imagine that Nick would have the slightest interest in her, other than a quick roll in the hay? Maybe not so quick! But not much more than a one-night stand nevertheless.

Nick had hurt her at sixteen, his scathing comments had cut deep into her psyche, and she had deliberately denied her own sexuality for years. She had finally woken up to the fact after her broken engagement. She had realised she had dated Bob because he was no sexual threat; it wasn't surprising their one attempt at sex was a disaster, and she blamed herself for it. But the real blame lay with Nick, and, fool that she was, she had let him hurt her again almost a decade later. Was she never going to learn? He was Nick Menendez, a famously successful captain of industry, and an equally renowned womaniser.

In the sophisticated society he belonged to she had simply been a pleasant diversion for him, she realised bitterly. He had said he wanted her, but he did not trust or respect her, never had. Sex was all he wanted, to pass the time during a boring night flight, and until his long-time girlfriend turned up the next evening.

What on earth had she been thinking? Liza shook her head and slanted a glance at him with puzzled eyes, trying to fathom how one man could have so easily persuaded her to act so out of character. His handsome features were granite-hard and totally concentrated on the road ahead as he drove the Land-Rover way above the speed limit.

She had served her purpose, to make Sophia jealous and to provide a bit of casual sex on the side. She swallowed hard against the acid taste of shame that filled her mouth.
Her bitter gaze slid down to his hand on the gear stick, lean and strong, and she experienced a sudden rush of
déjàvu
.

Forty-eight hours ago she had been in the exact same position, but now she knew exactly what his hand felt like on every pore of her skin. She shuddered inwardly, her eyes misting with tears, and hastily she turned in her seat and looked out of the window again. Liza was emotionally exhausted, bone-deep tired—she had hardly slept in two nights—but she knew she had to get a grip on herself before they reached Malaga.

No way was she letting him see how much he had hurt her again…

 

As the road wound up high into the sierras Nick cast a sidelong glance at the sleeping Liza; her head had fallen against his arm, and a golden rope of hair lay on his chest.
Dios,
she looked about fifteen. What the hell was he doing? And he quickly turned his attention back to the twisting road.

Last night kidnapping Liza had seemed like a great idea. He was definitely losing his marbles… But not enough to turn around and head back towards Malaga Airport…

He had already lied to his friend Carl, and for a man who took pride in his honour he had behaved outrageously. He was a brilliant entrepreneur because he never invested in anything without a thorough investigation of the company and weighing up all the costs. He was good at dangerous sports, but only because he had the sense to take every reasonable safety precaution. His relationships with women were successful because he was generous, laid down the rules at the beginning and never got emotionally involved. He never acted on impulse…

Nick shook his dark head in bemusement. He had broken every one of his own tenets of behaviour, and why? Because of Liza; the sight, the feel, the touch of her affected him like no other woman. She turned his brilliant, decisive mind into mush.

‘Dios!'
He was halfway up a mountainside on his way to a secluded ski-chalet, with a sexy woman who might or might not be a criminal. Had he finally lost his mind? But a sidelong glance at the sleeping Liza and he had his answer. She was exquisite, and so innocent in sleep. His gaze moved over her beautiful face, her softly parted lips, and his chest heaved with a scarcely remembered emotion, a throwback to the past.

She looked just as she had at fifteen when they had taken the horses and gone on a picnic. Liza had been thrown from her horse, and he had jumped from his and cradled her head in his arms; her eyes were closed and for one terrible second he had thought she was dead. The same fear he had felt then Nick had felt again last night when Carl had told him two of the gang were still on the loose and could possibly target Liza.

It did not matter what she was or what she did, for some bizarre reason he was automatically programmed to protect her.

He manoeuvred the four-wheel-drive between a narrow cut in the cliff and brought it to a halt outside a log cabin. He leant back in the seat and glanced down as the golden head slipped forward, and Liza wriggled back against the constraints of the seat belt, and flung a hand across his lap.

Nick dragged in a sharp breath as his body tightened at her casual touch. She was going to wake up any second, and she was going to blow her top when she did. The thought was oddly exciting, but then everything about the mature Liza excited him, he wryly acknowledged. Even so, he was in no hurry to have the argument with her he knew must follow.

He looked out at the picturesque chalet nestled in the small clearing between the magnificent snow-covered mountains, and back to the sleeping woman. With Liza's head on his shoulder and hand on his thigh, the only sound in the silence was their own breathing. It was a moment to feed the soul…a moment of perfect peace…

 

Slowly Liza's eyes fluttered open; her hand was curved around a hard male thigh and her head pillowed against a comforting shoulder. She glanced sleepily up through the thick fringe of her lashes and blushed scarlet. Oh, my God! She had fallen asleep against Nick. Jerking up in the seat and avoiding looking at him, she blurted, ‘Oh, good, we have arrived.'

‘Glad you like it.' Nick unfastened his seat belt, pocketed the car keys and leapt to the ground. Any second now she was going to realise where she was, or wasn't! he thought with black humour quirking the corners of his mobile mouth, and he was taking no chances on her trying to drive off in a rage.

Glad!
What was to like about an airport? And only then did Liza become aware of her surroundings. Her head swivelled ninety degrees each side, and, still not believing what she was seeing, she unfastened her seat belt and turned to look behind her; perhaps the airport… In the distance was a collection of buildings, and a ski lift! She turned back, her eyes widening to their fullest extent in shocked amazement.

Towering snow-clad mountains surrounded her, and a timber cabin and a couple of pine trees were directly in front of the Land-Rover. A sudden rush of air made her shiver and, as she glanced sideways, her stunned blue gaze clashed with narrowed black. Nick was holding open the door, his hand outstretched.

‘Jump down and let's get the gear unloaded.'

‘Jump down—are you mad? Have you taken leave of your senses? This isn't the airport. Where the hell are we?' She shot the questions in quick-fire succession, unable to believe her own eyes.

‘Now, Liza, calm down,' Nick said smoothly, reaching for her.

Slapping his hands away, she yelled, ‘Get your hands off me, you…you…crazy…' she yelled, shaking her head; she
could not find an expletive bad enough to describe the sheer arrogance of the man. ‘Calm down?' she screeched like a parrot. ‘I will calm down when you get yourself back in this damn Land-Rover and drive me to the airport.'

Suddenly she was flying through the air and deposited on her feet, but held hard against Nick's mighty frame. She lashed out with fists and feet, anything she could use. ‘Let go of me.' She struggled violently. ‘I don't know what your game is but I am not playing it any more…I am going back,' she declared vehemently while her pulse rate accelerated off the scale in a mixture of fury and fatal attraction to the proximity of Nick's hard body.

‘You aren't going anywhere,' Nick snarled as a rather good right landed on his jaw, and, swinging her off her feet, his arms tightened savagely around her, pinning hers to her side, his mouth crushing the furious retaliation she was about to utter back down her throat.

She tried to resist, tried to bite him, but in seconds, to her shame, she was succumbing to the burning excitement of his kiss, even as a tiny voice of reason told her she was courting pain by giving in to his powerful passion. ‘Put me down,' she gasped when he allowed her to speak. ‘I'm leaving.'