stared down into her hazy green eyes, his own a cloudy black. He reached out and brushed a stray curl from her flushed cheek.
‘Skinny little Jules,’ he drawled softly. ‘Who would have thought you would develop into such a sexy lady? And that beneath that beautiful pale exterior lurked so much passion.’ And he eased her away from him.
Jules blinked, her mind beginning to clear. ‘No,’ she denied, and felt a shaming surge of colour sweep up her face, mortified by her own response. ‘You caught me unawares.’
Rand’s hooded lids dropped over his black eyes, masking his expression, and for a long moment he studied the scarlet-faced beautiful girl before him. You and I both, he almost confessed, shocked rigid in more ways than one by the powerful rush of desire and the overwhelming need to possess her… It was years, if ever, since a woman had turned him on so hard, so fast and so achingly… For a man who took pride in his ability to control everything and everyone, he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.
Finally taking a deep breath and with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he said, ‘If you say so.’ And, avoiding looking at the bewitching Jules, he pushed back his sleeve and glanced at the fine platinum watch on his wrist. ‘If you will excuse me for a while, I have some business to discuss with Sanchez. Donna will show you to your room, and you can get changed.’ It wasn’t in his nature to run away, but in this instant he had to, or he was in real danger of taking Jules where she stood, and losing himself in the incredible splendour of her lush body.
‘Changed.’ Jules, in her confused state of mind, only managed to focus properly on his last word. ‘I can’t—I have no clothes.’ They were all at the hotel in Santiago.
A naked Jules… That was an image he could do without right at the moment. But even so he couldn’t help himself. His gaze roamed with heated masculine appreciation down the length of her body to her feet. Noting the high-heeled sandals that accentuated the long shapeliness of her legs, then travelling upwards again in a slow, lingering appraisal of the smooth curve of her hips, and the upper swell of her high proud breasts, revealed by the lapels of her jacket.
‘A little larger in the breast, I think…no?’ He lifted one black brow in mocking query.
If that was a question Jules had no intention of answering, and, red with embarrassment, she stared mutely at him.
‘But as for the rest,’ Rand continued quickly,’ you are still the long-limbed girl I remember. I think you will find the trousers you left behind will fit. I’ll collect you in about an hour. Sanchez will saddle up the horses and we can take a ride to your father’s grave, before the light goes.’
Jules opened her mouth to object, but Rand was already exiting the room, the click of the door as he shut it behind him finally registering in her churning mind that she was alone.
She was still staring at the closed door a long moment later. What had happened? Where was her cool reserve? Her businesslike attitude? Taking a few slow, deep breaths, she felt marginally better. So Rand had kissed her! So what? She was not a complete novice, she had been kissed before, she told herself sternly. But never like that and never with such devastating results, a tiny devilish voice prompted in her head… But more importantly, she realised as she made her way upstairs, Rand had expertly deflected her from pursuing the subject of her inheritance yet again…
‘I was right, a perfect fit,’ Rand opined as she walked down the stairs slightly less than an hour later.
‘Clever you,’ Jules snapped, her temper fraying at the edges. It had been a shock to discover, on being shown to her old room, that the few clothes she had left behind at eighteen, mainly trousers and tops, were all cleaned and pressed and hanging in the wardrobe. There wasn’t much as her mother had been going to bring her carefully chosen trousseau with her when she arrived the day before the wedding. Jules had naturally assumed her father would have got rid of everything belonging to her so it was a terrible shock to see the wedding dress still in Cellophane hanging in the closet. That he had kept everything somehow saddened her; perhaps he had cared for her in his own way…
After a quick shower, she had dressed in a pair of well-washed jeans, and teamed them with a white knit cotton shirt, and to her amazement even her old riding boots had been cleaned and polished.
It didn’t help her temper that Rand had been right, and seeing him lounging against the door waiting for her simply made her feel worse.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs her eyes skimmed over his tall, impressive figure. Her heart skipped a beat, and it took all her self-control to walk towards him. Gone was the business suit, and in its place the three top buttons of his black checked shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned chest and dark curling hair. Black denim jeans clung to his long legs like a second skin, and the hair on the back of her neck began to prickle as she walked forward.
He looked dark and somehow dangerous. Perhaps it was his very stillness or the cool arrogance of his expression as he waited for her to approach him that gave her the weird notion he resembled a large, sleek panther. A predator that had stalked her all day and he was now ready to pounce.
With a brief shake of her head she stopped in front of him and glanced up into his hard face. ‘Let’s go, my time is limited and I do want to get back to Santiago tonight,’ she said firmly, and strolled on past him through the open front door and into the courtyard.
‘I am at your command.’ His husky chuckle followed her out into the brilliant light of the afternoon sun.
Jules blinked, and then gasped, and ran across to where Sanchez stood holding the bridles of two horses. ‘You still have her.’ She sent a beaming smile Sanchez’s way, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Polly, my pony.’ She rubbed the neck of the small piebald mare with a gentle hand and pressed her lips to the silky coat. ‘I can’t believe she is still here.’
Sanchez’s sombre face broke into a broad grin.’ Your father insisted we kept her in peak condition—’ he spoke in Spanish ‘—just in case you returned.’
Jules blinked back tears, and nodded. ‘Thank you, Sanchez.’
Rand watched the little scene played out and, with a cynical smile twisting his firm mouth, he took the bridle of his horse, a large black stallion, and swung himself into the saddle. Jules showed more emotion over a horse than she did over her own father.
‘I thought you were in a hurry, Jules,’ he prompted curtly, watching her cuddling the pony’s neck, and for a second he remembered the feel of those same slender arms around his own and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. ‘Mount up,’ he commanded gruffly.
Jules did as she was told, and, gripping the reins in one hand, she took the small posy of flowers Sanchez held up for her with the other.
‘For your father.’
Carlos Diez had been laid to rest in a small private burial plot situated in the lee of a small hill to protect against the elements. Jules stood over his grave while Rand held the horses off to one side, in the shade of a solitary old pine tree.
Jules stared down at the polished marble headstone. It saddened her to think of her father dying alone without family, and the tears formed in her eyes and slid silently down her pale cheeks. Jules had never really known her father, not the inner man, what made him function, his hopes and fears. All she had seen in the few short months she had actually spent with him was a handsome old man, who had kindly given her Polly and encouraged her to learn to ride.
