Cathy Williams - Latin Lovers - Passionate Spaniards

‘And I was the very inconsiderate man who kept you awake most of the night because I could not keep my hands off of you! You should not be endowed with so many beguiling qualities to tempt me so much!’ He laughed huskily. Isabella wanted to say, I’ll miss you, but then she remembered that Leandro Reyes was a very well known and respected film director and once he had returned to his busy and demanding life her memory would be relegated very firmly to his past. She knew she wasn’t special. Working in the film industry as he did, he would have every opportunity to bed the most alluring women and probably did. She would be just one of many. Her stomach protested with a sickening twist at the thought …

‘I should get up and get dressed,’ she murmured, deliberately averting her gaze away from the cynosure of his piercing silvery eyes …the eyes that seemed to see into her soul. She’d best just start to forget him right now if that were possible and focus on the pilgrimage instead. ‘I’ve got to get back to my hotel and get some breakfast and fill my water bottle before I get going again.’

‘Benito’s driver will drop us both back when we are ready,’ Leandro responded immediately, ‘but we can breakfast here first.’

‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind? I have to make up quite a bit of time today.’ Moving away from him, she sat up, using some of the sheet to hide her nakedness. For some reason, a strong wave of protectiveness for the vulnerability the gesture exposed washed over Leandro. Once again he had cause to admonish himself for his uncharacteristic reaction. Isabella and he had had a good time in bed …an unbelievable time, in fact …but at the end of the day she was just another beautiful girl passing through and in a few days’ time, when she had completed the pilgrimage, she would be going home again to England. End of story …So long as she did not relate any of what had occurred between them to her sister or anyone else associated with the media, Leandro would relegate their time together to a very pleasurable and warm memory.

‘So?’ He sat up too, the warm skin on his thigh brushing up against hers. He sensed her answering shiver and felt a strong leap of desire. He quelled it. ‘When you go back to England …where is home?’ he asked casually.

A quizzical little crease appeared between Isabella’s fine dark brows, as though she was surprised he should ask such a question.

‘I live in Islington in London …the least posh part. Do you know it?’

‘I have heard of it.’ Leandro smiled. ‘And you work nearby?’

‘In Highgate. It’s not far away.’

‘And you will be busy working on your book when you return, sí ?’

Isabella shrugged self-consciously, the movement dislodging the sheet and suddenly exposing her bare breasts. She quickly grabbed it back again and covered herself. ‘That’s the plan. And you …you’ll be working on a film I guess?’

Immediately the shutters came down over Leandro’s eyes and Isabella could have kicked herself. She’d hate to think that he might believe she would tell anybody anything that he’d told her … especially about his work or his private life. Considering that both were topics he’d deliberately avoided discussing during their time together, he must know he had nothing to fear?

‘I will be getting back to work, sí. Isabella?’

‘Yes?’ Her dark eyes widened as she watched his hand scrape through his tousled hair.

‘I would give you my phone number but it is not something that I do readily or easily. In my position, I have to be careful …you understand?’ His words confirmed she was not important to him in any way as well as reiterating his intense need to guard his privacy. Fielding the immense wave of hurt and disappointment that washed over her, Isabella briefly inclined her head. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Why don’t you use the shower first?’ he suggested smoothly and she could easily sense his withdrawal from her. ‘I have a couple of phone calls to make before we leave.’

‘Okay.’ She felt as if she’d been somehow dismissed from his life as though she were nothing but an afterthought, and Isabella’s heart was sickeningly heavy as she turned her back to get out of bed …

Eighteen Months Later …London, England.

‘I’M SORRY I’m back a little late, Natasha, but Chris and I went for coffee after the film. Is Raphael asleep?’

‘He’s sound as anything. I don’t even think an earthquake would wake him! And you’re not late at all …I told you not to rush. You could have gone for a meal or something instead of just a coffee. How was it?’

The petite blonde stood back from the door to allow Isabella entry, watching her friend unbutton her long black coat, then unwind her cerise knitted scarf and hang them both on the pine-wood coat-stand inside the hall.

‘How was what?’ she asked distractedly, blowing briefly down onto her chilled hands. The November weather was icy tonight, with the wind as lethal as a sharpened razor. The past few winters had been almost strangely mild but this one was kicking in with a vengeance, it seemed. Northern Spain and those sun-drenched mesas seemed a million miles away.

Mockingly lifting her pale, perfectly shaped brows, Natasha put her hands on her almost stick-thin hips. ‘The film, of course! What did you think I meant?’

Isabella almost didn’t want to discuss the film. Instead she wanted to stow the memory of it away and savour the details later when she was alone—like a treat she wanted to keep for herself and didn’t want to share. The story had touched her deeply. It had been about a mother’s relationship with her son …a son who, when he was grown, had rejected his simple country background in every sense because he had been so thoroughly seduced by the apparent ‘glamour’ of western culture. So seduced that he’d turned his back even on the woman who’d raised him. The director had been one Leandro Reyes. Even if Isabella had never had the good fortune to meet the man, she would have instantly been a fan after seeing this movie. It had been done exquisitely sensitively and, although emotions had unquestioningly been stirred, never at any time had Leandro’s sublime direction allowed the audience to be manipulated by them. He’d simply let the story and the consummate skill of the actors playing the parts speak for themselves—yet the guiding hand he’d wielded was unmistakable. Leaving the cinema afterwards with her friend Chris, Isabella had been in silent awe at what she’d witnessed.

‘The film was wonderful! You should try and get to see it some time. I couldn’t recommend it highly enough.’

Both women turned automatically towards the kitchen. Isabella because she was in dire need of a soothing cup of chamomile tea to calm emotions that had been charged quite unremittingly by Leandro’s film, and Natasha because she was eager to hear any titbits of gossip that Isabella and Chris had shared in her absence.

‘You know me. I don’t really go for those intellectual art-house films. Give me a nice uncomplicated romantic comedy any day!’

‘But it wasn’t trying to be intellectual at all.’

Reaching the kitchen, Isabella filled the electric kettle with water, then plugged it in at the socket next to the toaster. Opening an overhead cupboard, she retrieved a chamomile teabag and dropped it into her favourite patterned pottery mug. ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked her friend.

‘Neither, thanks. I had a coffee just before you got back and I really should go home, to be honest. I’ve got to be up early to open the nursery at eight.’

‘Okay …but like I was saying …’ Isabella folded her arms across the black ribbed sweater she wore with her red corduroy skirt, a slight frown between her dark brows ‘ …the film wasn’t coming from the intellect at all …It was coming from the heart.’