tomato juice for me, please,’ she said, uncomfortably aware of his arm, and walking just a little quicker so that he had to drop it.
However when he handed her a drink a few moments later it was certainly not tomato juice. ‘Heavens, what’s this?’ she gasped at the tall glass of liquid.
‘My own recipe. Taste it!’
She did so, and found it was delicious. It seemed to be lime and perhaps lemon, with something else added, something that certainly gave it a lift. Deciding that one drink couldn’t possibly harm her, she accepted a cigarette and they walked into the room where a cabaret was taking place on the dance floor.
There was a Brazilian fire-eater followed by a Portuguese guitarist who sang quite appealingly. Dominique sipped her drink, smoked her cigarette, and listened to the cacophony of sound around her. There was a mixture of accents, from Portuguese and Spanish to pure North American. She heard the guttural sound of a German voice, followed by a very British accent, and she glanced at Vincente Santos. He was watching her. He seemed to be constantly watching her, she thought, and it embarrassed her. She had never experienced such intense appraisal before.
‘Must you?’ she asked.
‘Must I what?’
‘Stare at me.’
‘Why not? I like staring at you.’
Faced with such candour, Dominique was at a loss for a reply, and he said: ‘Leave your drink here. Let’s dance.’
The cabaret was over and the band was beginning to play. The music from guitars, organs and drums was vibrant and pulsating with rhythm, and the lights were lowered as couples gathered on the dance floor.
‘I don’t. That is—’ she began, as he took her hand and drew her through the tables where people were sitting to the far end of the room.
‘You don’t what?’ he asked softly, as he turned and slid his arms around her, pulling her close against the hard muscular strength of his body.
Dominique shook her head. With Vincente’s eyes upon her, so near now, she found it difficult to think coherently.
‘I’ve never danced to beat music before,’ she confessed. ‘I’m quite a square really.’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Miss Mallory, whatever gave you that idea?’
They moved slowly, and Dominique found after all that it was easy to follow Vincente’s movements. Besides, the dancing seemed of secondary importance to their actual situation. If John could see me now, she thought, a trifle wildly. He would be absolutely astounded! And with good reason, she added silently. She had known what kind of a man Vincente Santos was from the moment she saw him watching her in the airport bar. Why then had she succumbed to the temptation of going out with him? Was it because all her life she had thought before acting, never doing anything on impulse? Or was it simply because the strength of his personality and the way he had taunted her had aroused her indignation, and she had wanted to prove she could be as impulsive as anyone else? Certainly he made the men she had met back in England seem a trifle tame by comparison, and there was an addictive sense of excitement in taking such risks. After all, tonight would soon be over and then she would be with John again, and Vincente Santos would fade into obscurity.
Once, while they danced, she glanced up at him, her hair brushing his cheek, and he looked down at her with his tawny eyes, eyes that seemed too penetrating, and his mouth was very close to hers. Hastily, she looked down again, endeavouring to control the fast beating of her heart. So far and no further, she told herself firmly.
The dance was soon over, and as they were leaving the floor they were halted by an excited cry from a woman who was also leaving the dance floor with her escort. Tall and slender, with jet black hair piled high with jewelled combs into a French knot, she was easily the most beautiful and exotic creature that Dominique had ever seen. Her gown, a long clinging affair of heavy crêpe which moulded her perfect body, was in a brilliant shade of red, and it contrasted vividly with her magnolia colouring and dark hair.
‘Vincente!’ she exclaimed, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him rapidly on both cheeks and then lingeringly on his mouth. ‘But I did not know you were in Rio! Why did you not let me know? I have been back two weeks from Europe, and I am desolate. You have not been to see me!’
Vincente glanced at Dominique over the woman’s head, seeing her embarrassment, and then disentangling himself firmly.
‘I have been busy, Sophia,’ he said, his voice cool, so that the woman looked at Dominique and gave her a studious glance.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said questioningly. ‘I can see you have. I would have thought she was a little young and unsophisticated for your tastes, my sweet!’
Vincente’s eyes darkened. ‘Did I ask for your opinion, Sophia?’ he remarked icily.
‘No. But then I feel I have the right to voice my inmost thoughts to you. After all, you invariably come back, chéri!’
Dominique turned away, sickened by this exchange. She made her way back to their table, and re-seated herself, wishing she had the courage to walk out of the night club. But outside was a strange alien city and she didn’t much fancy trying to get a taxi alone at this time of night.
A few moments later a shadow fell across the table and she looked up into Vincente’s dark face. ‘Do not do that again,’ he snapped.
‘Do what? Leave you to your mistress?’ she exclaimed, stung by his assumption that he had the right to dictate her affairs.
He caught her wrist and wrenched her up out of her seat. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We will go somewhere else.’
Dominique struggled uselessly. ‘I want to go home, Mr. Santos,’ she said coldly. ‘At least – back to my hotel!’
He did not reply, but merely turned and walked out of the restaurant, practically dragging her along behind him.
Outside the night air was warm and velvety, and millions of stars twinkled overhead, vying with the myriad strings of lights that edged the promenade adjacent to Copacabana beach. The sound of the ceaseless surf was like thunder in their ears, and Dominique took several deep breaths to rid her lungs of the smoky atmosphere of the club.
They reached the car, and he put her inside firmly, and then walked round to get in beside her. He flicked the ignition, and the powerful engine roared to life, and they drove out of the parking area and along the sea front. Presently he turned off into the winding side streets, steep thoroughfares that wound round the older buildings of the city. Dominique wanted to ask where he was taking her, but his expression brooked no interference and she kept silent, wishing with all her heart she had never been foolish enough to come out with him.
Eventually they emerged from the side streets into a wide avenue of trees, and he drove along this towards a park at the far end. Near the park were several blocks of luxury apartments, and it was into the forecourt of one of these apartment buildings that he drove. He halted the car, pocketed the keys, and helped Dominique out. She looked up at the block fearfully, and then at Vincente.
‘Come,’ he said, and she had no choice but to follow him.
Inside several lifts transported the tenants to their
