Margaret Mayo - The Spaniard's Pleasure

Crying in earnest now, she covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes tight. The painful sound of her choked sobs filled the awful silence as it stretched.

‘Who did you lose, Fleur?’

‘I had a miscarriage…’

Antonio had never experienced a mood swing so swift or drastic. He looked at her bowed head and experienced the most overwhelming desire to make her stop hurting.

‘It was a difficult pregnancy…apparently these things happen for no reason sometimes,’ she explained, accepting the handkerchief that was pushed into her hand.

Their eyes met and she saw enormous compassion, which Fleur’s defensive mechanisms translated as pity.

Pity was the one thing she couldn’t, wouldn’t, take! She took one enormous gulping breath and tried to feign calm. Inside she was a breath away from completely losing it.

‘It was eighteen months ago, and I don’t want to talk about it.’

He studied her face in silence for a moment and then almost imperceptibly nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘then let’s get back to a subject close to both of our hearts…sex.’

‘I don’t believe you; you’re such a callous opportunist!’ she cried.

‘You didn’t want my sympathy. I’m only offering what you do want. Don’t you think it’s ever so slightly childish under the circumstances to pretend that we don’t both need to get this thing out our systems?’

‘Oh, my, the romance!’ she gushed sarcastically. ‘The old-fashioned charm that is so absent from modern life. Now I know why no woman can resist you.’ She threw him a look of total contempt and stalked out of the room.

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