His Forbidden Passion

‘Yeah, well, that’s the way it is.’ He shrugged dismissively. ‘Get used to it.’

‘It can’t be true—’

‘Cleo?’

She had never been more relieved to hear Eric Morgan’s voice. The young man from the apartment on the floor above was coming down the stairs just along the hall from her door.

‘Is everything OK?’ he asked, coming to join them, and Cleo could tell from his tone that he’d heard at least some of what they’d been saying.

His eyes flickered suspiciously over the man standing by her door, but Cleo had to admit his words had more bluster than substance. In his navy duffel coat and club scarf, Eric was at least half a foot shorter than Dominic Montoya, and in any physical contest she doubted he’d stand a chance. Nevertheless…

‘It’s fine, Eric,’ she said now, grateful for his concern. She gestured towards her visitor. ‘Mr Montoya was just leaving.’

Dominic knew a momentary sense of irritation. Serena had been right, he thought impatiently. Cleopatra—Cleo—whatever she called herself, was arrogant. And stubborn. It would serve her right if he and his aunt abandoned the whole business.

But she was labouring under a misapprehension if she thought his grandfather would give up. Jacob Montoya was not that kind of man.

‘Are you ready, Cleo?’

The little man was annoying, inserting himself between them as if he had a right to be there, and Dominic had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from making a foolish mistake. If he wanted to speak to her again, he had to keep this civil. But the temptation to blow them both off was incredibly appealing.

‘OK,’ he said now, taking a step back from the door, his eyes holding hers with a narrowed insistence. ‘Enjoy your evening—uh—Cleo. We’ll talk again, when you have more time.’

He strode away, descending the stairs without a backward glance, and Cleo expelled a breath that was neither relieved nor convincing. She’d wanted him to go, she told herself. So why did she feel this sense of frustration? Why did she care that she’d been less than polite?

‘You OK, Cleo?’

Eric was obviously aware that something wasn’t quite right, but Cleo was in no mood to explain things to him now.

‘Just a misunderstanding,’ she said, pulling out her woolly hat again and putting it on. ‘Shall we go?’

‘But who was that man?’ Eric asked, as she turned out the light and locked her door. ‘Does he work for the education authority?’

As if, thought Cleo bitterly, and then wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to pass Dominic Montoya off as someone she’d met at work.

But no, she was no good at lying. ‘He’s not important,’ she said, starting down the stairs so that Eric was compelled to follow her. ‘I hope it doesn’t rain. I haven’t brought an umbrella.’

Cleo noticed the car as soon as she came out of school the following afternoon.

It was already getting dark. A slight drizzle was falling and the huge black SUV idling at the kerb just outside the playground entrance did look slightly sinister.

The children had long gone, so she knew she didn’t have to worry about infant predators. Just an adult one, perhaps, with his quarry already in his sights.

Putting up her umbrella, she angled it so that she couldn’t see the SUV any more and, stepping onto the pavement, turned determinedly towards the bus stop. She’d timed her exit to coincide with the bus’s timetable. A woman alone didn’t linger long in this area, particularly after dark.

The SUV was facing in the opposite direction, so she reckoned that if her bus was on time she ought to be able to board it before the car turned round.

But she hadn’t accounted for the fact that the vehicle might simply use its reverse gear. And the road was quiet enough, so it presented no danger.

Even so, the main thoroughfare frequented by the city’s buses was just ahead and she quickened her pace. She didn’t want to run, even though every nerve in her body was urging her to do so.

Then the car stopped just ahead of her, the driver’s door was pushed open and a man got out. A tall man, wearing jeans and a sports jacket over a black T-shirt. He was at once familiar and unfamiliar, and Cleo found she was clutching her shoulder bag to her chest, as if for protection.

‘Hi,’ he said, apparently indifferent to the weather, rain sparkling on his dark hair in the light from the street lamp. He came round the bonnet of the car to block her path. ‘I’m sorry. Did I scare you?’

Cleo expelled a nervous breath. ‘No. Why would you think that?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘I’m often stalked by strange men after school.’

Dominic sighed. ‘I wasn’t stalking you.’

‘What would you call it, then?’

‘I was waiting for you,’ he said mildly. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.’

‘That’s not necessary.’

‘Dammit, I know it’s not necessary!’ exclaimed Dominic tersely. He blew out a breath, calming himself. ‘OK. What would you rather do? Go to a pub and have a drink? Or come back to the hotel and speak to Serena? It’s all the same to me.’

‘And what if I don’t want to do any of those things?’ Cleo asked, aware that the words sounded childish even to her ears.

‘Oh, please…’ Dominic counted to five before continuing, ‘This isn’t going to go away, Cleo. Your grandfather has terminal cancer. Do you want him to go to his grave knowing his only granddaughter was too stubborn—or too proud—to admit that she might be wrong?’

Cleo met his gaze defiantly for a moment, and then she looked away. ‘No,’ she mumbled reluctantly.

‘So what’s it to be?’

‘What do you mean?’ She was wary.

‘Your place, a bar, or the hotel? It’s your call.’ Dominic glanced about him. ‘Make up your mind. I’m getting wet.’ Cleo hesitated.

If she took him back to the apartment, there was a risk that Norah might come home early. And so far she hadn’t had a chance to tell her friend about his visit the night before.

But equally, she had no desire to go to his hotel room. What if Serena wasn’t there? That troubled her, too, more than she wanted to admit.

‘Um—perhaps we could have a drink,’ she murmured at last, and Dominic breathed a sigh of relief.

‘OK,’ he said, ‘where? Is there somewhere near here?’

‘No, not here,’ said Cleo quickly, and Dominic arched a quizzical brow.

‘No?’

‘You wouldn’t like any of the pubs around here,’ Cleo assured him firmly, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder again, almost poking him in the eye with her umbrella as she did so.

But she didn’t want to have to explain to any of her colleagues, who might be lurking in the saloon bar of the King’s Head, what she was doing having a drink with a—well, sexy stranger, who was evidently far out of her usual sphere of escorts.

‘Where, then?’

He sounded impatient and Cleo licked dry lips before saying awkwardly, ‘There’s a hotel at the next crossroads. Could we go there?’