a waterfall of ice skittering down her backbone as he drawled, ‘If you prick a Spaniard’s pride then you sit back and wait for the inevitable vengeance.’
Lisa shuddered as a knot of something tight and hot claimed her stomach. She raised her shaky hands to cover her mouth, fighting to come to terms with what he was demanding of her. Grappling to make some sense of the situation, she seized on one solid fact and accused, ‘You said you were just a waiter. And all the time you were rotten rich! You lied!’
His mouth flat he turned away from her. ‘I didn’t lie to you. You simply made your own interpretation. You were happy to amuse yourself with what you saw as a no-account stud. You were at a loose end and looking for a cheap holiday romance. You wanted sex. I didn’t oblige so you eased your frustration by sleeping with the man I now know to be Ben Clayton.’
‘For pity’s sake!’ Hot colour swept her face. ‘I was only dancing—how dare you?’
Resuming his seat on the opposite side of the desk, he slashed his hand imperiously, cutting off any further words of self-justification. ‘You were crawling all over him, kissing him. And if you don’t recall what you said to me, I do.’
Lisa cringed away from the savage glitter of his midnight eyes. Of course she remembered. She remembered every word they had ever said to each other. And, as for the last vile words she had ever spoken to him… Well, she had no defence, certainly none that he would listen to. Prick a Spaniard’s pride…
‘The offer’s on the table,’ he said with a snap in his voice that made Lisa feel as if she’d just been pronounced terminally ill. ‘You live with me, lie with me, pleasure me until you bore me. In return I will not cancel my company’s advertising and use one of your competitors. I will even buy in, bring in new blood to gloss up Lifestyle’s dull image, bring it back to success. If you refuse, as is your right, of course, then—’ With a slight shrug of those impressive shoulders he allowed the threat to hang in the air—air that now seemed to be suffocatingly thick and heavy.
Lisa couldn’t breathe. Her brain wasn’t functioning as it should. She could only hear the words that had burned themselves into her mind—‘lie with me, pleasure me’—and only wonder with helpless self-loathing at the way the responsive heat pooled between her thighs and a piercing awareness made her whole body tremble. After all this time he could still reach her. How many times had she told herself that he wasn’t worth wasting a single thought on? Millions! And yet she only had to be near him—
‘I’ve only just got engaged,’ she pushed out between suddenly unbearably sensitised lips, knowing that he would regard the statement as irrelevant.
‘Break it.’
He got to his feet, large, lean and intimidating. But so utterly gorgeous her mouth went dry as she looked at him, searching for the man he had been, the man she had fallen so helplessly in love with.
‘I’ll call on you tomorrow morning. Early. For your decision.’
Diego strode out of the room, closing the door behind him with an emphatic snap. Lisa shuddered, wrapping her arms around a frame that seemed about to shake itself to pieces. Bereft of his presence, the room felt cold and hollow. But then, she thought shakily, he had always generated an atmosphere so vital the air around him was charged with stinging sexual energy. Unfortunately nothing had changed in that respect.
She felt sick with nervous tension. What Diego had asked—demanded—of her was impossible! Quelling the uncomfortable knowledge that he need only have used a kind word, confessed, with regret, that he had been two-timing her all those years ago, then the impossible would have turned into the opposite, she gave herself a savage mental shake.
Like the arrogant swine he obviously was he was accusing her of being in the wrong. True, she had behaved atrociously. But she had been too young to cope with his betrayal with any dignity at all. She’d had too much to drink, been borderline hysterical…
‘So, how did it go?’
Lisa nearly leapt out of her skin. She’d been drowning in her own tortured thoughts and hadn’t heard Ben enter. He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I saw Señor Raffacani leave—now, why does that name ring a bell?’ He hunched his shoulders, dismissing it as unimportant. ‘Don’t suppose you talked him out of withdrawing his advertising account with us?’ he queried defeatedly. ‘The Dads couldn’t get anywhere with him, apparently.’
At the wry resignation in his tone Lisa scrambled to her feet. His brows peaked in enquiry. He carried no sizzling sexual aura around with him. Just stolid, quietly comfortable normality. For the first time ever she wanted to fling herself into his arms and beg him to save her from the old treacherous longings Diego had woken within her. But they didn’t have the kind of passionate relationship that would make that possible. For years now she’d tried her best to appear coolly sophisticated, in control. He would hate it if she went to pieces.
Her eyes stung with tears and she bent to adjust a strap on one of her shoes to hide them. Dear practical, sensible Ben would be mortified if he thought she was even considering—for one split second—prostituting herself to save the magazine.
But she wasn’t, was she? she adjured herself silently. No way! Not ever! She straightened, willing herself to appear normal. ‘We can’t talk about it now. Later. We can stay another half an hour then you can take me home and we’ll discuss it.’
A look of incredulity spread across his pleasant features. ‘The Dads will want to know what he said to you, you know they will. We can’t just walk out of our own party. People will think it’s odd, to say the least!’
‘No, they won’t.’ Lisa sighed resignedly, pointing out, ‘They’ll think we’re like all newly engaged couples—panting to be alone together.’
‘Don’t be crude, Lise—it doesn’t suit you.’ His frown deepened. ‘And why all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? Either the guy’s going to finish with us, or he isn’t. A straight yes or no will do.’
Ignoring his reprimand—there had been no driven eagerness in their desire to be alone together so he wouldn’t understand what she’d been getting at—she tucked her hand beneath his arm and explained heavily, ‘It’s not as simple as that. Raffacani made a proposition. With strings attached. I need to tell you about them, in private, before everything comes crashing down round our heads.’
That earned her a puzzled glance but stopped him arguing and they rejoined the party. And for the entire fifteen minutes or so while they mingled and chatted Lisa’s head felt as though her brains had been scrambled, the hopelessness of the situation making her stomach cramp and her heart bang against her ribs.
She had it in her power to save her colleagues’ jobs, ensure them a brighter, more secure future. One word from her would prevent Arthur Clayton and her father from looking into the bleak face of failure. She owed them something, didn’t she?
A light hand on her shoulder had her tensing her spine but it was only Maggie Devonshire, the Picture Editor. ‘Caught you at last!’ Her kindly face beamed with pleasure. ‘I’m so happy for both of you—two young things starting out together, that’s so beautiful!’ Ready tears misted her tired hazel eyes. ‘Show me the ring.’
As Lisa put her hand into the older woman’s her own eyes stung. Maggie was one of the best; she bore her troubles with fortitude and grace. Her son had suffered brain damage at birth; Billy had the mind of a four-year-old in a young man’s body. Because Maggie’s husband had walked out on her many years ago she coped
