dog his life. He was quite happy to be unattached and free from entanglement. Especially as the one and only time he’d fallen in love it had left him bruised and angry when his lover had betrayed him with another man, as well as fuelling his belief that once trust was broken it was almost impossible to regain it. One day he would marry—because a man should have children, as his father was always telling him—but right now Leandro’s work came first. Film-making was his total passion and every day he thanked God that he was blessed with the good fortune to be able to make it his career. But that said …neither could he resist the demands of the hot Latin blood running in his veins. And, yes, beautiful intelligent woman were a potential weakness. Especially when they were as highly attractive as the sweet, dark-eyed señorita sitting opposite him …
Isabella told herself that she should be more concerned about writing up her notes and getting some rest this evening rather than talking to this surprising and fascinating film director. But she justified her staying put in her chair by telling herself she was bound to discover a wealth of useful information about the pilgrimage and the region by listening to this man. It would be absolutely invaluable for her research.
‘So …you want to know about Santiago de Compostela?’ Leandro smiled enigmatically and Isabella’s muscles tensed in excited expectation.
‘I would love to,’ she replied softly, her eyes shining.
Time passed, and, fortified by a generous glass of the local Albarino wine and the biggest dish of shellfish Isabella had ever seen served anywhere, including the national delicacy, pulpo—Octopus—she found herself becoming thoroughly and effortlessly enchanted by the history and mythology of the area that Leandro revealed to her. He reiterated for her the popular belief that the bones of the apostle St James lay interred beneath the altar of Santiago’s great Spanish Baroque Cathedral—hence the reason for the pilgrimage—and regaled her with some haunting tales of the morriña. The morriña was noted for being a particular kind of melancholic mood that could descend on people, and the wildly powerful Atlantic storms that took place in the region were regarded to be the main cause of it. It was something that the Galicians shared with the Celtic people of Ireland.
At the end of two hours, Isabella had written nothing down but had, hopefully instead, consigned most of Leandro’s powerful stories about the Camino to memory. Meeting him had been an unexpected and exciting bonus to her trip and some part of her silently acknowledged that perhaps fate had taken a hand and steered her towards this man for a very good reason. She wouldn’t be the first person to experience miracles on this pilgrimage—not by a long shot. Not once had Leandro spoken about himself, his family or his illustrious career and even though she realised he was actively guarding his privacy, Isabella was impressed that he apparently had no need to exercise his ego in that regard by heralding his triumphs. She could have listened to him for ever …His voice was like a warm, protective blanket tucked round her on a cold stormy night and was as compelling as his seriously haunting good looks and the deliciously long, slow glances he gave her that aroused and heated her blood with undeniable force. Isabella was more intoxicated by him than if she’d drunk a whole bottle of Albarino wine by herself. His exceedingly relaxed delivery of his stories was also deceptive because the passion in his voice was unmistakable. It suggested the kind of passion that a woman secretly craved and despaired of ever finding. A passion that spoke of excitement, discovery and, yes, danger too …and would undoubtedly be as strongly addictive as the most powerful opiate.
Just sitting listening to Leandro had made Isabella think about the polar opposite of feeling she had experienced with her ex-fiancé, Patrick. That was why—even though he’d let her down badly by commenting on the most intimate aspects of their relationship with a friend in a rather ribald manner that Isabella had unfortunately overheard—ultimately she’d known they had no future together. It was why, only two days before the wedding, she had finally decided against tying herself to such a disloyal man and realised she’d rather remain single for the rest of her life than risk a marriage that would leach all the joy out of her over time.
There was a sudden crash from outside as a powerful gust of wind upended a metal chair onto its side. The spell Leandro had woven around Isabella with his storytelling was abruptly broken by the harsh grating sound. As the forceful breeze roared louder and heavy rain started to pelt the cobbled streets like a downpour of small stones Isabella reluctantly reflected that she really ought to be getting back to her hotel. She was quite used to the frequent bouts of rain by now and getting drenched was not her biggest concern. At any rate she’d soon dry off when she got back to her room. Touching her napkin to her lips, she dropped it back onto her plate and reached for the canvas shoulder-bag she’d left on the floor beside her chair, willing time to stand still so that she could stay right where she was for ever and listen to Leandro relate more of his entrancing stories.
Glancing anxiously at the windows as Señor Varez hurried round closing the shutters against the noisy howl of the wind, Isabella bit down on her lip—a desperate hollow ache inside her at the thought that when she walked out of the door in a couple of minutes’ time she would never see Leandro Reyes again.
Trying to hide her regret, she offered him a brief but grateful smile. ‘I don’t know how to begin to thank you for giving me such a valuable opportunity to talk to you, Señor Reyes—’
‘Leandro,’ her companion insisted with unapologetic authority, his piercing grey-eyed gaze at that moment shredding her composure to bits as he concentrated it very intently on her. ‘You are not leaving already? Apart from the fact that it is pouring with rain, you have barely told me anything about yourself! And I still do not know why you are walking the Camino …It is not just because of your book I am sure.’
He had known for a good hour or more that he did not want her to leave. He realised that he had commandeered most of the dialogue between them and now wanted to allow her to make up for the deficit, as well as powerfully desiring to extend the time they spent together. She was an unusual woman and Leandro felt his interest in her growing. Not once had she flirted with him or cast her eyes at him in a seductive manner, as most women given the opportunity to be alone with him would have. Especially knowing who he was.
To be honest, Isabella’s lack of feminine response to him as a man had seriously started to perturb Leandro, because he was definitely experiencing some very powerful male stirrings as he continued to rest his gaze on her. At one point she had put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands as she’d listened enthralled to a story he’d told about a vision of an angel a friend of his had had whilst undertaking the pilgrimage, and her bewitching gaze had been so focused and enraptured that Leandro had almost lost the thread of his story. Privately he’d begun to examine the beguiling contours of her lovely face with increasing delight.
The wine he had imbibed had undoubtedly helped mellow his mood, but he had already decided before he’d even drunk half a glass that he would not continue on his way to his house in Pontevedra tonight. No, he would stay in Vigo and make his way home tomorrow morning instead. His plan was to take a couple of days out to read manuscripts and catch up with paperwork before travelling back to Madrid to embark on his next project.
The look Isabella gave him in return for his comment definitely seemed to demonstrate her surprise that he would want to have her talk about herself.
‘I’m not bothered about the rain …I’ve got used to it. It’s kind of you to be interested in my book, but, to tell you the truth, I’ve had a long day’s walking,’ she replied apologetically, ‘and I was intending on making an early start in the morning. But thank you again for everything …for the food and wine and wonderful stories about the Camino.’
To his amusement and surprise she offered Leandro her hand. He glanced at it for only a moment before raising it to his lips and softly kissing the exquisitely satin skin that smelt so alluringly of jasmine. The hard muscled wall of his stomach
