but she knew better than to argue that it wasn’t her job to serve meals when she’d already offered to get him fresh coffee.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said tersely, her hands dropping to her sides as she marched away, and Cleo hoped she hadn’t made another enemy.
Meanwhile, Dominic was trying to master his own frustration. Dammit, Cleo probably thought he exercised some medieval droit de seigneur over the female members of the household staff and it irritated the hell out of him.
Not that it mattered what Cleo thought, he reminded himself.
Only it did.
‘Did you sleep well?’
Dominic gestured for her to come and join him and, although she would have preferred to make her own way, Cleo had little choice but to obey him.
‘Very well,’ she responded, making sure she didn’t brush against him as she preceded him into the room behind him. ‘I’m sorry if your grandfather expected me to join him yesterday evening, but I’m afraid I just flaked out.’
‘I know.’
Dominic was far too sure of himself, and Cleo gave him a wary look.
‘You know?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Serena had one of the maids check up on you.’ He grimaced. ‘You could have fallen asleep in the bath. We wouldn’t want you to drown yourself before you had a chance to get to know us.’
Cleo pressed her lips together. ‘I wasn’t likely to do that,’ she said, but Dominic only gave her a wry smile.
‘All the same…’ he murmured lightly. ‘The old man would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to you.’
‘Just the old man?’ Cleo found herself saying provocatively, and saw the way Dominic’s expression darkened.
‘Don’t play games with me, Cleo,’ he said warningly. ‘You’re not equipped to deal with the fallout.’
Cleo’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything more. Her face flaming, she turned away, grateful to transfer her attention to less disquieting subjects.
But he was right, she thought. She wasn’t used to provoking anyone, least of all a man who always seemed to bring out the worst—or was it the bitch?—in her.
It was quite a relief to study her surroundings.
Darkly upholstered sofas and chairs stood out in elegant contrast to the backdrop of pale walls and even paler wooden floors.
Long windows, some of them open to admit the delicious breeze off the ocean, boasted filmy drapes that moved seductively in the morning air.
‘We’ll go outside,’ said Dominic after a moment, and Cleo realised he had crossed the room and was now standing by French doors that opened onto a stone terrace.
She followed, as slowly as she dared, taking in the exquisite appointments of the room. Low tables; cut-glass vases filled with flowers; thick candles in chunky silver holders.
There was even a grand piano, its lid lifted, hidden away in one corner of the enormous apartment. And dramatic oil paintings in vivid colours that added their own particular beauty to the walls.
‘You have a beautiful home,’ she said a little stiffly, wanting to restore some semblance of normality, but Dominic’s lips only twisted rather mockingly at her words.
‘It’s not my home,’ he reminded her carelessly, stepping aside to let her pass him. ‘But I’m sure your grandfather is hoping you’ll make it yours.’
Cleo’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re not serious!’
‘What about?’ Dominic ignored her startled expression. ‘I assure you, I do have my own house a couple of miles from here on Pelican Bay.’
‘No—’ Cleo was almost sure he was deliberately misunderstanding her ‘—that’s not what I meant.’
They’d emerged onto the terrace now and Cleo could see where a tumble of pink and white bougainvillea hid the low wall that separated the paved patio from the pool.
She was briefly silenced by the view. By the pool, shimmering invitingly; by the rampant vegetation and flowering trees that surrounded it; by the ever-constant movement of the ocean beyond the rolling dunes.
Aware of Dominic’s silence, she turned to him and said, ‘About my grandfather—he doesn’t really expect me to stay here, does he?’
Dominic shrugged, his compassion reluctantly stirred by her obvious confusion. ‘It’s what he wants,’ he said simply. ‘I think he’s hoping to make up for all those years when he didn’t know you.’
Cleo chewed on her lower lip. ‘But why now?’
Dominic sauntered towards a circular table set in the shade of a brown and cream striped canopy. Then, picking up his coffee, he glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Why do you think?’
Cleo groped for a convincing answer. ‘Because he’s ill?’
‘Because he’s dying,’ Dominic amended flatly. ‘Because he’s been forced to face the fact of his own mortality.’ He paused. ‘According to his lawyer, he’s been looking for you for some time.’
Cleo frowned. ‘And did—did my mother and father know this?’
‘The Novaks?’ Dominic shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t think so.’
He raised his cup to his lips and swallowed the remainder of his coffee, his dark head tilted back, the brown column of his throat moving rhythmically.
Cleo was unwillingly fascinated, but she managed to drag her eyes away and say, ‘So—he waited until they were dead?’
Dominic lowered his cup to its saucer and regarded her resignedly. ‘What are you saying? You think the old man had something to do with their deaths?’
‘Heavens, no.’ Cleo was horrified. ‘They died in a train crash, you know that.’ She hesitated, and then went on a little emotionally, ‘They’d been to visit some friends who’d relocated to North Wales and were on their way back. Apparently the train became derailed at a crossing. It was an accident. A terrible accident.’ Her voice broke then. ‘I miss them so much.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
The sympathy in Dominic’s voice was almost her undoing, but she managed to hold herself together.
Dominic, meanwhile, was having a hard time controlling the urge he had to comfort her. But he hadn’t forgotten what happened when he touched her. How uncontrollable his own reaction could be.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, unaware of his agitation, ‘your aunt said that was when—when he decided to contact me.’
‘Yeah.’ Dominic sucked in a breath. ‘He’d known the Novaks wouldn’t take kindly to any intervention from him. But after—well, after the funeral, he had
