JACQUELINE BAIRD - Mediterranean Tycoons - Dark & Demanding - At The Spaniard's Pleasure / A Most Passionate Revenge / The Italian Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge

‘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.