regarded her with some suspicion. “For what?”
“For kidnapping me,” she said, keeping her eyes wide with admiration. “For saving me from Aziz.”
“Saving you? You were so desperate to marry him that you wanted to jump in the sea and swim back to Morocco.”
“That was just because I was frightened. I didn’t know what you meant to do to me. But I never wanted to marry Aziz—never. He would have stuck me away in the desert, a million miles away from shops, clubs, Harrods, everything.” She shivered prettily. “What kind of life is that for a girl to lead?”
His lip curled. “Qué lástima, you are right. It would be a tragedy.”
The only tragedy is how easily you’re buying this, she thought. She leaned forward to put her hand over his. “I’m not your enemy, Marcos. I have no love for my brother or Aziz. Perhaps we can…help each other.”
He glanced down at her hand. “What did you have in mind?”
His eyes had fallen to her mouth, and she licked her lips. Again, she had the feeling of being out of her league, out of her depth, and out of her mind. She couldn’t manipulate a man like this. Could she?
She swallowed the last of the brandy with a gulp and held up the snifter, looking at him with her best smile. “Would you get me some more brandy?” She gave a little giggle. “My head is starting to spin in such a wonderful way.”
Without a word, he took the glass and strode across the old stone floor to the wet bar. She watched him with narrowed eyes, but the moment he turned back to face her she simpered at him, dimpling.
“Tell me your plans, and I’ll tell you how I can help.” She stretched her arms above her head with a dainty yawn, well aware that it would cause her breasts to rise against the low-cut halter dress. “I still don’t understand why you think kidnapping me will hurt Aziz and my brother.”
His eyes followed the swell of her breasts against the plunging black neckline. “It’s enough that it will.”
“But why do you want to hurt us?”
“Not you, querida. Them.”
“Why do you want to hurt them?”
He shrugged. “They’ve got it coming.”
Selfish bastard, she thought, irritated that he wouldn’t explain further. I won’t let Nicole’s life be ruined because of your stupid desire for revenge.
Tamsin had already seen enough in her life, thank you, especially from her father’s example. When he’d finally died of apoplexy, he’d been friendless and un-mourned, and all Tamsin had felt was relief that he couldn’t hurt them ever again.
“Here’s your brandy.” Marcos placed it on the table next to her.
“Thank you.” She crossed her legs, trying to show them to their best advantage, then pretended to accidentally drop one of her high-heeled shoes to the floor. She leaned forward to pick it up, just to give him a nice view down her neckline.
When she sat up, he was looking at her like a hungry wolf waiting to devour a lamb.
Perhaps it had worked too well, she thought as he slowly walked around her. She could feel his hot stare move up and down her body and nearly jumped when his hands touched her bare shoulders. She hadn’t expected her own senses to have such a strong reaction. Her voice trembled. “What are you doing?”
He smiled down at her, softly brushing her hair aside, causing shivers of awareness to spread from her scalp down her body. “You’ve had a difficult day, but we have the whole night ahead of us. To eat. To drink. To…enjoy.”
Her heart gave a strange little thump as he massaged her shoulders. She felt his hands move lower on the bare skin of her upper back, rubbing the tense muscles around her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes, unable to resist leaning back.
“Qué belleza,” he whispered. His fingers lightly traced the edge of her shoulder, the crook of her neck, the curl of her hair. “You are so beautiful.”
“It’s not me,” she gasped. “It’s just the dress.”
“It’s the woman in the dress.” He bent forward to wrap his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said. “Perhaps we can help each other.”
“Tell me your plans,” she said, hardly able to believe that he was falling for her act, “and I will tell you how I can help you.”
Running his hands down her arms, he gave her an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. We shall see.”
It was working! He thought he could trust her! But, just as triumph was coursing through her, the housekeeper and two waiters entered the sala with trays of dinner, interrupting them. To her chagrin, Marcos moved away to his own chair.
“I’m serving dinner all at once, as you wanted,” the housekeeper said in Spanish, throwing a hard glare toward Tamsin. It bewildered her. Why would the housekeeper dislike her? “For your romantic night,” the woman added sourly.
“Thank you, Nelida,” Marcos replied in the same language, taking the tray from her. “I would be helpless without you.”
The plump middle-aged woman looked mollified. “You’d starve, that’s for sure. You’d live off coffee and tapas, or else forget to eat entirely. You always lose weight in Madrid.”
“But I always come back so you can fatten me up. Good night, Nelida.”
“I don’t think your housekeeper likes me,” Tamsin said after the woman and her assistants left.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said, buttering a thick slice of bread. “Nelida was my nanny when I was a child. She’s old-fashioned and possessive. She doesn’t approve of loose women.”
Loose women! Tamsin thought indignantly. She looked down at her meal. “What’s this?”
“The soup is salmorejo. Tomato soup, thickened with breadcrumbs, topped with chopped eggs and ham.”
She hesitantly took a mouthful of soup. It was cold, but delicious. “It tastes like gazpacho.”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Pato a la Sevillana. Roast duck with onion, leeks and carrots, cooked in sherry. And bread, of course. That’s Nelida’s specialty.”
Tamsin took several bites and realized two things: first, that she was starving, and second, that if she were prisoner here for long she would soon be putting on weight too.
That was, if Nelida didn’t decide to poison her for being loose.
She scowled.
“Do you like it?” Marcos’s slate-gray eyes looked into hers, as if he were asking another question entirely. For a moment, his dark gaze drew her, pulling her into a trance.
She
