I paid for.’
Ally’s lips parted. ‘Are you implying I can’t buy my own drinks?’
‘Of course not.’ He was evidently growing weary of her argument. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, right? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted us to get to know one another better, and I foolishly thought that teasing you might do it.’ He held up his hands, palm outward. ‘Obviously, I was wrong.’
Now Ally felt sorry. She hadn’t wanted to offend him, and it wasn’t his fault that she was out of date when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. If anyone was to blame, she was. She had allowed Jeff to control her life for so long that she’d forgotten how to have fun.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, half surprised that he hadn’t moved away to try his luck with someone else. There was certainly no shortage of younger—and apparently unattached—women in the bar, and from the looks she’d been getting, Ally guessed they were speculating about why a man like Raul should have hooked himself up with her. ‘I guess I’m too old for this.’
His dark eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You’re not old,’ he argued. Then, his lips twitching at her tongue-in-cheek expression, ‘I mean it. You can’t be more than what? Thirty-two, thirty-three? That is not old, believe me.’
Ally gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If that’s a sneaky way of getting me to tell you how old I am, you needn’t have bothered. I’m not ashamed of my age. I’m thirty-eight; almost thirty-nine, in fact. Comfortably middle-aged.’
He shook his head. ‘Why do you persist in putting yourself down?’ he exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t exaggerating. You don’t look your age, however much you might like to believe you do.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Raul regarded her with a disturbingly sensual gaze. ‘Who told you you were—what was it you said?—comfortably middle-aged? Some man?’
‘Isn’t it always?’ Ally was sardonic. Then, because that was one thing she couldn’t blame Jeff for, she added, ‘No, actually, it was Sam. My daughter. I think she thought it was a compliment.’
‘You have a daughter?’ He was polite, but wary, she thought, and she wondered if he was speculating about her husband. ‘Well, children can be very—very—’
‘Honest?’
‘No.’ His smile returned. ‘I was going to say cruel. And short-sighted. They see what they want to see. How old is—Sam?’
Too late, Ally realised she had told him Sam’s real name. ‘She’s twenty,’ she admitted, with some reluctance. And then, because anything she told him was unlikely to go any further, she added. ‘She’s getting married next year. I think she wants to make me a grandmother.’ Her expression grew unknowingly wistful. ‘I suppose she assumes I’ve got nothing else to look forward to.’
Raul shook his head. ‘That’s some opinion you’ve got of yourself, isn’t it?’ He paused before continuing, ‘Does your husband agree with her?’
Ally’s lips tightened. ‘Her father and I are divorced.’
‘Ah.’
His response was typical and Ally felt a sudden resurgence of the determination that had got her to buy her ticket to San Cristobál in the first place. ‘What do you mean—ah?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Does the fact that I’m divorced explain everything? Is that what you’re thinking? A woman scorned and all that guff? Well, let me tell you, I’m glad to be out of that relationship.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so.’ Ally resented having to defend herself to him. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me—’
‘Wait!’ As she would have slid off her stool, his lean brown fingers closed about her wrist, and her heart pounded wildly through her veins. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded, his dark eyes warm and appealing. ‘If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. That was not my intention.’
‘Which begs the question, what was your intention in approaching me?’ retorted Ally tersely. And then, becoming aware that their heated exchange was attracting the attention of other people around them, she lowered her tone. ‘Please let me go. I have a table booked in the restaurant.’
Raul sighed. ‘So do I.’
Ally was not impressed. ‘So?’
Raul’s thumb pressed insistently against the network of veins that marked the inner side of her wrist. ‘We could have dinner together—’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’ Despite her obvious opposition, he held on to her arm. ‘We’re both on our own, aren’t we? Why shouldn’t we share a table?’
‘It doesn’t occur to you that I might not want to, does it?’ she exclaimed. ‘And why should you be so certain that I’m on my own? I could be with—with someone else. Just because I’m divorced—’
‘Are you?’
‘I told you I was.’
‘No, I mean, are you with someone?’ he asked softly, and, meeting his disturbing eyes, Ally felt her resistance falter.
‘I—could be.’
He conceded the point. ‘But are you?’
Ally’s breath came out with a resigned gulp. ‘No.’
‘So?’ His thumb softened on her wrist, finding her pulse and massaging its erratic beat with gentle insistence. ‘Will you let me buy you dinner?’
Ally shook her head. ‘I don’t know why you should want to.’
His lips twisted. ‘Put it down to my idiosyncrasy,’ he said drily. ‘Shall we go?’
THE restaurant was busy and the head waiter was more than happy to free up one of his smaller tables by seating them together. The table he gave them was against the far wall, with a trellis of ornamental greenery giving an added touch of privacy. Ally wasn’t at all sure she appreciated being made to feel as if they were indulging in some kind of squalid assignation, and although she allowed herself to be seated, she couldn’t help glancing about her, sure that their unlikely liaison must be the cynosure of all eyes.
But nobody seemed interested in them. The other diners were too busy getting on with their own lives to pay any attention to the two people who were sharing the table that was half hidden by the trellis. Forcing herself to calm down, she smoothed her moist palms over the skirt of her dress.
‘Stop looking as if you’d rather be any place than here,’ said Raul mildly, after the waiter had placed two folded menus on the table. ‘You’re beginning to give me a complex.’
Ally pulled a wry face. ‘Oh, right.’
‘I mean it.’ His
