a bar, intensely aware of him beside her. She cast a nervous glance behind her. ‘I wonder where your grandfather is. I think I ought to go and find him.’
Dominic sucked in a breath. Her bare arm had brushed along his midriff as she deposited the glass and he felt as if someone had scorched him with a burning knife.
‘Don’t,’ he said barely audibly, his voice rough with emotion. ‘The old man knows what he’s doing.’ He blew out a tortured breath that seared along her hairline. ‘God knows, I wish I did.’
Startled eyes lifted to his, liquid dark eyes that Dominic felt he could have happily drowned in.
‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, a catch in her breathing, and his hard-on threatened to drag him to his knees.
You do, his eyes accused her. But then Sarah was beside them, and Cleo hurriedly made good her escape.
CLEO walked along the shoreline in the coolness of early morning.
It was barely light and, apart from a few seabirds, she was alone on the beach.
All the guests had left in the early hours. They’d stayed much longer than she’d expected, particularly as her grandfather had retired soon after midnight.
In his absence, Serena had done her best to provide entertainment for their guests. Earlier in the evening, a group of West Indian musicians had arrived, and although Cleo had anticipated a lot of noisy percussion, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
These musicians used their steel drums to produce melodic liquid sounds that played on the senses as well as the mind. Rippling chords of magic that filled any awkward silences with rhythm and enchantment.
The area around the pool had been cleared and there’d been some dancing. But, even though Cleo had danced with a couple of Jacob’s friends, she’d avoided the younger men like the plague.
The last thing she needed was for these people—who probably neither liked her nor trusted her—to get the idea that she was like her mother. She didn’t know much about Celeste, of course. Only what her grandfather had told her. But nothing could alter the fact that she’d had an affair with a married man.
Her employer, no less.
She supposed, from the Montoyas’ point of view, the evening had been a success. She’d been introduced to San Clemente society, and Jacob’s intentions towards her had been made plain for all to see.
But they were wrong.
There’d been a subtle change in the atmosphere after her grandfather had retired. No one had been rude, but their questions about her life in England had seemed more pointed somehow. She’d got the feeling they regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and blame.
But it wasn’t her fault that her father had seduced her mother, she told herself fiercely. And if they had fallen in love…
She had made sure she’d kept out of Dominic’s way. And with Sarah constantly at his side, it hadn’t been too difficult. Besides, with talk of a possible wedding on everyone’s lips, she’d had little to contribute.
She’d wondered a couple of times if Sarah was speaking more loudly for her benefit. She was obviously suspicious of Cleo, and she and Dominic’s mother seemed to have a lot in common.
Whatever, Cleo had been glad to leave the party herself at about 2 a.m. She hadn’t been tired, exactly, but she’d definitely had enough of being treated like the skeleton at the feast.
Now it was a little before six, and she’d left the house with a feeling of deliverance. She’d wanted to get away; not just from Magnolia Hill, but from her thoughts.
The tide was coming in. The cool water brushed against her toes, and Cleo kicked off her sandals and allowed the waves to swirl about her feet.
She’d been mad to come down to the beach in high-heeled wedges anyway. But then, she was still wearing the dress she’d worn the evening before. Having spent the last three hours lying sleepless on her bed, it had seemed like too much trouble to change.
She’d stopped to examine the pearly spiral of a conch shell when she felt the distinct vibration of footsteps on the sand.
Lifting her head, she saw a man approaching, his profile still in distinct in the morning half-light. He was some distance away, but he was running in her direction. Long legs pumping rhythmically, arms swinging to match his muscular pace.
It looked like Dominic, but it couldn’t be him. He had brought Sarah to the party. It was a cinch he’d taken her home. To his home, if she was any judge of the other girl’s intentions, thought Cleo ruefully. There was no way he’d have stayed at Magnolia Hill.
But it was Dominic!
As he drew nearer, Cleo recognised his height and his muscular build. Broad shoulders, narrow hips and a tight butt, she conceded reluctantly. Outlined to perfection in black Lycra shorts.
He obviously enjoyed running, judging by the damp patches on his black cotton vest, and the streams of perspiration running down his chest. Despite the fact that she’d had no sleep, her adrenalin kicked up another notch.
‘Hi.’ Dominic slowed as he reached her, his eyes taking in the fact that she hadn’t changed from what she’d been wearing the night before. ‘Going somewhere special?’
Cleo’s chin jutted. She wouldn’t allow him to make fun of her. ‘I haven’t been to bed,’ she said, as if that wasn’t already obvious. ‘I’m sorry. Is that a problem for you?’
Privately Dominic thought it was one hell of a problem, judging from the way he reacted to her. But after last evening’s fiasco, he was determined to keep things simple.
‘Not for me,’ he said, bending forward and bracing himself with his hands on his knees to avoid looking at her. He was uncomfortably aware that his quickened heartbeat was as much mentally as physically induced.
But eventually, he had to straighten. ‘So,’ he said evenly, ‘did you enjoy the party? I seem to remember the guest of honour disappeared.’
Cleo forced herself to look at the horizon. The faintest trace of pink was brushing the ocean and she pretended an interest in the view. ‘I wasn’t the guest of honour,’ she said tensely. ‘Or if I was, your guests didn’t know it.’
Dominic scowled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? What did they say to you?’
‘Oh—nothing.’
Cleo wished she hadn’t started this. Not when he was standing so close that the heat of his body enveloped her in its spell. She could smell his sweat; smell him; and her mouth was suddenly as dry as parchment. Even her legs felt unsteady as she met his accusing gaze.
‘Forget it,’ she said, trying to behave naturally. ‘Why aren’t you at—what was it you called your house—Pelican Bay?’ She paused, and then added brightly, ‘Did Sarah stay over as well?’
Dominic
