The Spaniard's Pleasure: The Spaniard's Pregnancy Proposal / At the Spaniard's Convenience / Taken: the Spaniard's Virgin

‘Not even a little bit.’ Sometimes lies were not only justified, they were essential. ‘I hate to break it to you, Antonio, but one kiss is really very much like another. You know what your problem is—’

‘My kissing technique needs polish?’

Of course, he could sound smug—anyone who kissed like an angel, the fallen variety, could afford to sound so confident. Suddenly Fleur was so mad with him she wanted to hit him. Instead she clenched her hands and tucked them behind her back.

‘Your problem is your priorities. We were talking about Tamara. While you carry on preventing her seeing this man she’s going to resent you and I for one don’t blame her.’

Antonio hissed something that sounded angry under his breath and dragged a hand through the gleaming strands of his dark hair.

Fleur was dismayed to recognise that her reaction to the lessening of screaming sexual tension in the air was ambiguous.

‘Do you imagine,’ he demanded, rounding on her with a furious scowl, ‘that this is a situation of my choosing?’

‘Aren’t you the one who’s just been preaching on about taking responsibility for your own actions?’ she countered crossly. ‘I think what you’ve done is positively inhuman.’

‘You’re a sanctimonious little…’ The rest of his sentence was completed in rapid, angry Spanish.

Well, at least he’s not thinking about kissing me anymore. Throttling, possibly, she mused, responding to his hostile glare with a smile that visibly raised his aggravation levels.

Antonio took a deep breath and held his hands in front of him, his long fingers extended as he revealed in a flat monotone that obviously masked strong feelings, ‘Charles Finch, the man Miranda married before Tamara was born, has made it very clear he does not want to see Tamara. So there it is,’ he said, snapping his fingers and pacing restlessly as far as the edge of the paved area.

Fleur, her brow furrowed, watched him walk back. ‘I don’t understand—?’

A nerve in his strong jaw clenched as he cut across her. ‘He wants no contact with Tamara at all. How much clearer can I make it?’ His voice grim, he elaborated. ‘Finch arrived at my office, told me that Miranda was dead and I had a daughter who was waiting for me in the car. And, before you ask, no, I did not misunderstand his motives. No, he was not giving us time to get to know one another. I say this because I know that you like to imagine everyone, with the exception of myself, has virtuous motives.’

Fleur blinked and went pale; she just couldn’t imagine anyone doing something so…so…vicious. ‘Seriously…?’

Though there was absolutely no trace of emotion in Antonio’s face, she never doubted that inside he must feel…well, actually, she didn’t have a clue. How, she reflected, could you possibly imagine what it would feel like to learn that the love of your life had died and you had fathered a child who was now thirteen in the space of a few minutes?

She had no doubt that Antonio Rochas had nerves of steel and reserves that lesser mortals could only dream of, but coping with all that must have been a big ask even for him!

‘Well, it’s hardly something I would joke about, is it?’

Fleur felt angry on Tamara’s behalf. Antonio might have his faults, but he had to be an improvement on someone like that. ‘But that’s so cruel—what an awful man!’ she exclaimed. ‘He doesn’t deserve a daughter like Tamara.’ She lifted her eyes and saw that Antonio was watching her with a strange expression.

‘Do you think I’m an improvement?’ he asked.

Fleur thought, You’re an improvement on perfect, and flushed. Out loud she admitted gruffly, ‘I suppose you have potential.’

His eyes not leaving hers, he inclined his sable head in acknowledgement to her gruff concession.

‘Have you told Tamara?’

‘What purpose would that serve?’ he wanted to know.

‘Well, she might not hate you so much.’

Antonio looked at the narrow section of smooth midriff exposed by the skimpy tee shirt she wore and wondered if her skin was as warm and silky as it looked. ‘She needs someone to hate and,’ he added with a shrug, ‘I can take it.’

‘Because you’re such a tough macho man,’ she taunted gently.

‘Because I am her father, and I wasn’t there when I should have been. I think that Tamara is a little too fragile…emotionally speaking…for the unvarnished truth just now.’

‘So you’ll play the bad guy?’

A wolfish grin split his lean face. ‘I am the bad guy, haven’t you heard?’ He was surprised to hear himself add, ‘Come with us to London for the afternoon.’

‘Why?’

Good question. ‘The women I know don’t need a reason to shop.’

‘I’m not the women you know.’

Something moved at the back of his eyes, but before she could put a name to the elusive emotion it was gone and he was smiling, not with his mouth, but with his eyes. It was a disturbing smile that made her already erratic heart rate quicken.

‘No, you’re not, are you?’

It was hard to decide from his enigmatic tone whether this was a good thing from his point of view or not.

‘You want a reason?’

She nodded, thinking that with some things there was no reason. I mean, what reason could there be for her to fall for a man who was only ever going to break her heart?

My God, we don’t even live in the same world!

‘Well, you’ve seen us together. You have to admit an umpire would be a good thing.’

‘And here was me thinking you liked the idea of my company.’

Her sarcastic smile guttered as his eyes met hers in a long disturbing stare. Tearing her eyes free of the level blue gaze a moment later than she should have left Fleur feeling slightly breathless. Slightly? No, actually a lot breathless.

She patted the head of the dog who had wandered sleepily out to see what was going on.

‘Hello, boy,’ Antonio said, clicking his fingers. The dog, his tail wagging, trotted obediently over. ‘Sorry I couldn’t deliver him personally as I promised,’ he said, patting the animal’s head. ‘I was called away unexpectedly.’

He had been about to leave when his sister had rung to say her youngest had been rushed into hospital with suspected appendicitis. She had three other children to care for, and with their mother on a world cruise and her husband in New York it had been time to call in a favour.

Sophia always had had perfect timing.

‘Were you?’ Fleur said, doing everything but yawn to silently signal her total lack of interest.

‘Will you come?’

‘So that you two won’t have to talk to each other? I don’t think so.’

‘I’m not a woman.’

This comment brought Fleur’s eyes back to his face. ‘I’d noticed.’