them.’
Jacob sniffed. ‘And couldn’t young Buffett have phoned the garage and had them bail him out?’ he asked, and once again Sarah joined in.
‘He did ring the garage in San Clemente, Mr Montoya, but there’s nobody there at this time of the evening. And we couldn’t leave poor Nelson to walk home, could we?’
Jacob grimaced. ‘I suppose not,’ he said grudgingly. He looked up at Cleo. ‘I guess we’re going to have to forgive him, eh, my dear? Oh, and by the way, you haven’t met Dominic’s girlfriend, have you?’ He paused. ‘This is Sarah, Cleo. Why don’t you ask her what she’d like to drink?’
Sarah’s polite words belied the flush of irritation that stained her cheeks. ‘I’ve been here often enough to get my own drink, thank you. Or Dom can get it, can’t you, darling?’ She linked her arm with his again. ‘How do you do—er—Cleo? Are you enjoying your stay at Magnolia Hill?’
‘Very much,’ Cleo was beginning, when her grandfather caught her hand in both of his.
‘We’re hoping she might consider making her home on San Clemente,’ he said, in a voice that carried right across the terrace. ‘Isn’t that right, Dom? You’re all for it, aren’t you?’
The old devil!
Dominic’s teeth ground together for a moment. The old man knew he’d never discussed any such thing, despite his suspicions of what Jacob had in mind.
But before he could make any response, Cleo said awkwardly, ‘I don’t think we’ve ever talked about that—er—Jacob.’ She refused to call him ‘Grandfather’ in front of all these people, even if that was the way she was beginning to think of him. ‘I certainly don’t think this is the time or the place—’
‘Nonsense!’ But Jacob seemed to realise he’d embarrassed her and he patted her hand reassuringly. ‘We’ll leave it for now.’ He glanced round. ‘Now where’s Luella with the canapés? I told her I wanted them serving as soon as all the guests had arrived.’
There was a significant relaxing of the atmosphere as Jacob got determinedly to his feet. Refusing the help of either his grandson or his granddaughter, he stomped off towards the buffet tables that were set up beneath a sheltering canopy.
Catching Cleo’s eye, Dominic realised that she was more upset by what had happened than either himself or Sarah. He was used to his grandfather’s blunt way of speaking, but Cleo wasn’t, and, detaching himself from Sarah’s clinging hands, he said, ‘Come on. I’ll get us all a drink.’ He nodded towards Cleo’s glass. ‘Is that a pina colada?’
‘This?’ Cleo was taken aback. ‘Um—no. It’s just pineapple juice,’ she said, aware of Sarah’s displeasure at this turn of events. ‘And I don’t need another drink, thank you.’
‘Well, I do,’ said Dominic flatly. And before he’d given any thought to his actions, he’d gripped Cleo’s elbow with a decisive hand and turned her towards the bar set up beside the swimming pool.
He regretted it instantly. He hadn’t forgotten how soft her skin was, or erased the memory of her scent, that tonight was a mixture of musk and spice and some tropical fragrance. But he had blanked it from his mind.
Now, however, it was back, more potent than before.
The side of her breast was so warm and sexy against his suddenly moist fingers. And if she was wearing a bra, it was doing little to hide the way her nipples had peaked and were pressing unrestrainedly against the thin fabric of her dress.
Oh, God!
His arousal was as painful as it was inappropriate. With Sarah—the girl he’d brought to the party, dammit—following closely behind, he had no right to be feeling as if the ground was shifting beneath his feet.
Yet it was. And, heaven knew, he wanted to touch Cleo. Not as he was touching her now, but privately, intimately. To bury his hands in her silky hair and bury another part of his body—that was hot and hard and pulsing with life—in some place equally soft, but tight and wet as well.
He wondered if she’d heard his hoarse intake of breath, the surely audible pounding of his heart. She must have felt his fingers tightening almost involuntarily, because she turned to look at him, her eyes almost as wide and elemental as his own.
He abruptly let her go, surging ahead to where a handful of waiters tended the comprehensive array of drinks his grandfather had provided.
‘Scotch,’ he said without hesitation. ‘No. No ice. Just as it is.’ Then he raised the single malt to his lips and swallowed half of it before turning to address the two girls.
Cleo was wishing she’d accompanied her grandfather, after all. She was far too aware of Dominic, far too conscious of the fact that in other circumstances she wouldn’t have wanted him to let her go.
Everything about him disturbed her: from the lean, muscular strength of his body to the intensely masculine perfume of his skin.
When he’d taken her arm, his heat had surrounded her. The hardness of his fingers gripping her arm had felt almost possessive. She’d wanted to rub herself against him, like a cat that was wholly sensitive to his touch.
She still felt that way, she thought unsteadily, and then had to compose herself when Sarah caught her gaze. Was the other woman aware that Dominic was a fallen angel? That beneath his enigmatic exterior beat the heart of a rogue male?
‘How long do you expect to stay on the island?’
Sarah got straight to the point and Cleo told herself she was grateful.
‘I— Just a few more days,’ she said, aware that she’d lowered her voice in the hope that Dominic wouldn’t hear her.
‘Oh…’ Sarah looked slightly taken aback. But pleased, Cleo thought. Perhaps she’d expected a more aggressive kind of response.
Though why should she? She and Dominic had looked very much a couple when they’d arrived tonight.
‘So you’re not planning on making your home here?’
Sarah was persistent, and Cleo wished she could just leave her and Dominic to sort out their own problems.
‘Not at the moment,’ she replied at last, not wanting to say anything to offend her grandfather. But she was grateful when someone else attracted Sarah’s attention.
She didn’t really dislike the girl, she assured herself. It was just that they had nothing in common.
Except Dominic…
‘Here!’
She was forced to look at him again when Dominic took her drink from her and thrust another glass into her hand.
‘What is this?’ she protested, managing to instil a convincing edge of indignation in her voice. ‘I said I didn’t want another drink.’ She sniffed suspiciously. ‘Ugh—this is alcoholic!’
‘Damn right,’ agreed Dominic, finishing his own drink and turning to ask the waiter for a refill. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration. You can’t celebrate with
