sign of the man whose visit she’d anticipated with such nervous excitement and trepidation. Hurt that he’d obviously come to the conclusion himself that their nocturnal assignation wasn’t a good idea, Dominique switched off her bedside lamp and lay back in the darkness, feeling slightly ill. Why hadn’t he come? Had he recognised somehow that she was too needy and been put off? God knew she had tried so hard to contain her emotions and feelings around him, tried to let him see only that her intention was to be independent and not depend upon any man again! But then she had been so eager when he had kissed her, touched her. She had hardly pushed him away! Oh, God … why couldn’t she ever get it right? Turning her face dejectedly into the pillow, Dominique reluctantly closed her eyes. As profound disappointment and an inevitable sense of rejection washed over her, she prayed she would soon escape her distress in the dreamy avenues of sleep …
‘Buenos diás, Dominique.’
Everything in her tightened at the sound of that arresting rich voice, but she did not glance round. In the large but homely kitchen, giving her daughter her breakfast, Dominique was halfway to Matilde’s mouth with a spoonful of oatmeal when Cristiano finally put in an appearance. The other members of his family had long since eaten and gone out again, leaving her with some precious time to spend alone with Matilde. She wondered that Cristiano had the nerve to wish her good morning after so casually standing her up last night, but told herself that whatever happened she mustn’t let him see how upset she was.
‘Morning.’ Dominique murmured the word beneath her breath, and was startled when Cristiano dropped down onto the bench opposite her at the long pine table, ruefully tunnelling his fingers through his midnight-black hair. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, as if he had hardly slept, but she steeled herself against feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for him.
‘I am sorry about last night,’ he ground out, the huskiness in his voice making her spine tingle.
‘Are you?’ Scooping another spoonful of cereal from the cheerful yellow bowl in front of her, Dominique briskly popped it into Matilde’s eagerly waiting mouth. ‘I’m not. With hindsight I can see that it would have been the very worst of mistakes, and you not showing up has thankfully helped me come to my senses!’
‘Please do not say that!’
When Cristiano would have reached for her hand, Dominique deliberately moved it out of his way.
‘I wanted to come to you … more than you can even imagine!’ he insisted. ‘But I asked myself if I was being entirely fair to you, Dominique. You have already had cause to doubt the integrity of one Cordova … I did not want to put you in a similar position again. I did not want you to think that I was taking advantage of you simply because you are staying in my house and we have developed an attraction for one another.’
‘Well … whatever your reasons, you did me a big favour, Cristiano! I’m obviously too damn trusting for my own good! This latest incident has only confirmed that. There’s no need for you to give it another second’s thought. Let’s just put it behind us and carry on as normal until I leave to go back to England—okay?’
‘Como? Since when did you decide that you were going back to England?’
Even as he asked the question, everything in Cristiano clamoured silently in violent protest. Fear of risking his heart and his soul had kept him out of Dominique’s bed last night, and this was the price he was to pay for it! Dios mío! He had wrestled with the twin demons of fear and desire all night, and now he realised his decision not to go to her was going to drive her away. He could see by the hurt and confusion on her lovely face that she had taken his non-appearance as nothing less than pure rejection, and he could hardly blame her.
‘Since I woke up this morning! Anyway … I told you I wasn’t sure if I would stay on after Christmas. It doesn’t mean I won’t keep in touch with Consuela and the rest of the family. I’ll come back for visits whenever I can.’
‘No! That is not good enough!’
His fist came down on the table and rattled the crockery. Matilde’s lips trembled and she stared at Cristiano in obvious trepidation. Seeing her sweet little face very close to tears, Cristiano was immediately contrite—though no less angry with Dominique for her disagreeable announcement.
‘I am sorry, mi ángel … I did not mean to frighten you,’ he murmured to the baby and, leaning towards her, tenderly stroked her cheek. Lifting his gaze to Dominique, he ruefully shook his head. ‘Do not punish my family because you are mad at me,’ he said gruffly. ‘They want you to stay … I want you to stay!’
‘Matilde needs a wash. Excuse me.’
Getting to her feet with the baby in her arms, Dominique barely glanced at Cristiano. Again he silently cursed himself for making her distance herself from him like this when secretly he craved anything but distance between them!
‘Come back and have a cup of coffee with me?’ he suggested lightly.
He could see by the look in her blue eyes that she was torn for a moment, and Cristiano felt hope flare in his heart. But then she wrenched her glance free and walked to the door.
‘I have some Christmas cards to write,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Back in the library after dinner, still brooding over what had happened the previous night, and still hurt that Cristiano had not sought her out for a private conversation for the rest of the day since their encounter at breakfast, Dominique found herself once again drawn to the group of photographs she had been going to examine yesterday.
One large colour portrait dominated all the rest. It consisted of three men in a formal family pose. In the centre was an older man, with thick greying hair and rather kind dark eyes, and on either side of him stood Ramón and Cristiano. The picture must have been taken a good seven or eight years ago at least, Dominique reflected, because Ramón looked not much more than a boy. Her heart squeezed as a shaft of pain went through it. It was hard to believe he was dead.
But, despite her sorrow at a young life taken too soon, it was Cristiano’s image that drew her gaze the most. It was almost a shock to see him apparently so relaxed and happy—happier than Dominique had ever seen him. And what caught her eye too was the glint of gold on what would be his wedding finger. Her stomach executed a dizzying somersault. What had happened to his wife? Why was she never mentioned by anyone? Were they divorced? Had she had left Cristiano for another man? Such a scenario seemed hardly conceivable!
Behind her the door creaked open, and with a frisson of surprise she saw the man she’d been contemplating in the photograph standing there in the flesh.
‘I have been looking for you,’ he told her.
‘Have you?’ Wary of letting her guard down around him again, Dominique shrugged. ‘And I thought you’d been avoiding me for most of the day!’
‘Then you thought wrong.’ He sighed. ‘That was taken about seven years ago,’ he commented as he walked towards her, his glance leaving her to settle on the photograph she’d been studying. ‘The man in the centre is my father, José. I suppose you have been looking at Ramón?’
Drawing the vivid blue shawl that Cristiano had bought her at the gypsy market more securely about her shoulders, Dominique glanced up at him, and she was certain her heart missed a beat. The pain in his voice as he’d asked the question was palpable, and her sudden need to help ease it in
