Wicked Surrender: Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride

So she’d simply collected her sunglasses, and the book she’d intended for the journey back to Paddington, and she was now struggling to lose herself in it. The reviews had been good, and it was by an author she liked, but the story was failing to hold her.

Real life seems to keep intruding, she told herself, endeavouring not to glance at the bridge, where Diaz, his shirt discarded, was seated at the controls, and thankful for the designer shades concealing the direction of her gaze.

What’s wrong with me? she demanded silently. I’ve seen plenty of men in less than he’s wearing. Come to that, I’ve seen him in far less too, only I was too young to appreciate it. Even if I’ve never been able to forget… But would the image of him emerging from the water like some dark sea god be the one she would take with her into the approaching wilderness?

Or would their encounters of a few months ago prove more potent in the end? Become the ones to be treasured?

Like the moment when she’d glanced across the crowded room at the sponsors’ party and seen him there, unchanged and unmistakable after nearly five years, chatting to the Apex chairman and his wife.

She’d never really expected to see him again, so the shock of it had held her breathless, motionless for a moment, captive to all kinds of contradictory emotions. Then, obeying an imperative she’d barely understood but had known she might regret, she’d murmured an excuse to the group around her and begun to make her way towards him.

Halfway across the room, she had almost turned back.

I don’t know what to say, she’d thought. Or even how I should behave. Surprised—that goes without saying. But should I be pleased to see him, or strictly casual? Just stopping for a quick word in passing on my way out to find a cab?

She had still been undecided when Sir John Blenkinsop had noticed her approach.

‘Ah, delightful,’ he said heartily. ‘Diaz, you must allow me to introduce you to our star—the lovely girl who keeps the ratings for Castle Pride sky-high. Rhianna, my dear, this is Diaz Penvarnon, a valued client of Apex Insurance.’

There was an instant’s silence, then Diaz said pleasantly, ‘Actually, Sir John, Miss Carlow and I have already met. And delightful is certainly the word.’ His eyes skimmed her, taking in the white brocade coat-dress, knee-length, its lapels designed to show a definite but discreet amount of cleavage. Then he took her nerveless hand in his and bent to kiss her cheek, his lips warm and firm as they brushed her face.

‘Rhianna,’ he said as he straightened. ‘It’s been a long time.’

Say something—anything…

‘It has indeed. Too long.’ Her numb lips managed to return his smile. ‘I suppose this is one of your flying visits to the UK? Is it business or pleasure this time?’

‘The usual mix,’ he said. ‘And my plans are fluid at the moment.’ He paused. ‘I’ve just come back from Polkernick.’

‘Of course,’ she said over-brightly, as guilt kicked in, reminding her of all the reasons she had to avoid him, and why she should have resisted this and every other temptation he represented to her. ‘How—how is everyone?’

His grin was rueful. ‘Wedding fever has risen to epidemic proportions,’ he returned. ‘If ever I tie the knot it’s going to be at a register office very early in the morning. Guest list limited to two witnesses.’

‘Oh, your bride will soon change your mind about that,’ said Sir John. ‘Women like these full-dress affairs, you know.’

Diaz said gently, ‘Then I shall just have to persuade her.’ He indicated the empty glass Rhianna was holding. ‘May I get you another drink?’

‘Yes, you look after her, my boy.’ Sir John turned to his wife. ‘Marjorie, my dear, I see Clement Jackson has arrived. He’s bound to want a word, so shall we leave these two to catch up with each other?’

Rhianna stood, clawed by a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, as she waited for Diaz to return with the dry white wine she’d requested. I shouldn’t be doing this, she whispered inwardly. I should be making an excuse and easing myself out. But I can’t—I can’t…

‘Apparently Lord Byron said he woke up one morning and found himself famous,’ Diaz remarked, as he handed her the glass. ‘Was it like that for you?’

‘Far from it,’ she said. ‘Although it’s got trickier since. You become public property. People see me in their living rooms and think they know me.’

‘How very optimistic of them,’ Diaz said silkily. ‘But it’s good that you’ve prospered, Rhianna, after your precipitate exit from Polkernick. I was afraid the sight of me might put you to flight again.’

But I didn’t jump—I was pushed…

Aloud, she said coolly, ‘I think I’m a little more resilient these days.’

Am I? she thought. Am I—when the memory of you saying ‘I don’t take sweets from babies’ still has the power to tear me apart? When just by standing here like this I know I could be setting up such trouble for myself?

She swallowed. ‘I think Sir John’s trying to attract your attention. He has someone he wants you to meet.’ She sent him a brilliant smile. ‘Enjoy your time in London.’

She walked away and didn’t look back, her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage.

I’ve met him, she thought. I’ve spoken to him. And that’s the end of it. There’s no point in hoping, or wishing things could be different. Because that’s never been possible.

She was halfway down the wide sweep of marble stairs that led to Apex Insurance’s main foyer and the street, when she heard him speak her name.

She paused, her hand clenched painfully on the polished brass rail, then turned reluctantly.

He said evenly, ‘Clearly we don’t share the same definition of resilience, Rhianna, because here you are—running away again.’

‘Not at all.’ She lifted her chin. ‘This evening was work, not social. So I’ve made my token appearance, kept the sponsors happy, and now I’m going home as planned. Job done.’

‘Then change the plan,’ he said softly. ‘Have dinner with me instead.’

Her heart seemed to stop. ‘Heavens,’ she said lightly. ‘What is this—some bridge-building exercise?’

‘It’s a man asking a beautiful woman to spend a couple of hours in his company,’ Diaz returned. ‘Do we really need to analyse it so closely or so soon? Why not simply see where it takes us.’

To disaster, she thought. There can be nothing else. So just utter a few polite words of regret and keep going. That’s the wise—the sensible course. The only one possible.

She said, ‘But you’re clearly the guest of honour for Sir John. Won’t he be upset if you disappear?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Nor surprised either. So will you be my guest of honour instead?’

And she heard herself say, unbelievably, ‘Yes—I—I’d like that.’

Knowing, with mingled dread and anticipation, that she was speaking no more than the truth. That wisdom and common sense had counted for nothing the moment she’d seen him again. And that she was lost.

‘I saw you as soon as I walked in tonight,’ he said, as they faced each other across the candlelit table of the small Italian trattoria. ‘There’s only one head of hair like that in the entire universe. As soon as I’d finished being polite to my host I was going to come over to you.’

Rhianna put up a self-conscious hand. ‘It’s become almost a trademark,’ she said, grimacing. ‘I’m expected to wear it loose when I’m on show, like tonight. And my contract forbids me to cut it.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It would be a crime against humanity.’ And his smile touched her like a caress.

She couldn’t remember to this day what they’d eaten, although she was sure it had been delicious. She’d simply yielded herself completely to the luxury of being with him, just for that brief time.

Much later, outside, as he’d signalled to a cab, she’d said huskily, knowing she was a fool and worse than a fool, yet unwilling, in spite of herself, to let him go, ‘Would you like some more coffee—a nightcap?’

And he said very quietly, ‘Thank you. That would be—good.’

People were just coming out of the theatres, so the streets and pavements were crowded. As the taxi nosed its way along, Rhianna sat beside him in silence, hands clenched in her lap. Waiting and wondering.

She did not have to wait for long. And when Diaz took her in his arms she yielded instantly, her lips parting under the urgency of his kiss, her body pressed against his.

As she clung to him, she rejoiced secretly that her erstwhile lodger was no longer with her, and her flat was her own again. That she would be alone with him there. Then remembered that her precious privacy had come at a price.

She thought, If Diaz ever finds out about Simon…

Then, as his kiss deepened, she stopped thinking altogether, her whole being possessed by the shock of desire. Because nothing mattered but the fact that she was with him—and the prospect, at last, of long-delayed surrender.

And she ignored the small warning voice in her mind that said, This is so dangerous, and allowed herself to be completely and passionately happy.

‘Señorita—señorita—you come here quickly, please.’ It was Juan, grinning with delight. ‘Now, señorita.’

Startled back into the present, Rhianna got up from the lounger and followed him to the side of the boat, where Diaz was waiting.

‘What’s wrong?’ She spoke curtly, her memories having left her unnerved and uncomfortable. But at least he was wearing his shirt again.

‘Nothing at all.’ He glanced at her with faint surprise. ‘Look over there.’

Rhianna looked and gasped as a long silver body rose from the waves with a joyous twist, then disappeared again with a smack of its tail fin, to be followed by several more, their faces all set in that unmistakable half-moon smile as they jumped and soared.

‘Oh, how wonderful.’ She could not pretend sophisticated boredom when this amazing show was being performed as if for her exclusive benefit. She leaned on the rail, her face alight with pleasure, watching the dolphins cavort. ‘Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?’

‘Not often,’ Diaz said quietly. ‘Except in my dreams.’ And she realised with shock that he was looking at her.

Her throat closed. Oh, God, how can you say such things after everything that’s happened? What do you want from me? Haven’t I suffered enough?

She stared at the gleaming, leaping bodies until they blurred, then with one last triumphant ‘thwack’ they were gone, and there was only the faint glimmer of them through the water as they sped away.

‘The cabaret seems to be over,’ Diaz commented. ‘Conveniently, just in time for lunch.’

‘More food?’ Back in command of herself, she sent him a challenging look. ‘I shall need a week at a health farm after this.’

‘After this,’ he said, ‘the choice will be all yours.’

‘Tell me something,’ she said as they sat down. ‘How much longer will it take to get where we’re going?’

His brows rose. ‘Is it so important to get somewhere?’

‘Of course,’ she said coldly. ‘Because the faster we arrive, the sooner I can put this nonsense behind me and go home. Only we don’t seem to be travelling very fast at all.’

She pointed to a large vessel in the distance that was steadily overhauling them. ‘What’s that, for instance?’

‘The Queen of Castile,’ Diaz said. ‘Sailing between Plymouth and Santander.’

‘Don’t you find it faintly humiliating when you have all this power, purchased no doubt at vast expense, to be beaten for speed by a car ferry?’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘This is a pleasure cruise, not a race. Anyway, I prefer to conserve fuel and have a comfortable passage.’ He paused. ‘But we should arrive at Puerto Caravejo in the early hours of tomorrow morning.’

‘I’ve never heard of it,’ she said shortly. ‘Does it have an airport?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Just a pleasant marina, with some good restaurants. But you can fly to Gatwick from Oviedo. So, now that I’ve set your mind at rest, shall we eat?’

She wanted to say she wasn’t hungry, because under the circumstances it should have been true, but once more Enrique’s offerings proved irresistible.

The first course was a creamy vegetable risotto, studded with asparagus tips, tiny peas and young broad beans, and that was followed by grilled fish, served with crisp sauté potatoes, with fresh fruit for dessert.

Diaz consulted his watch. ‘By my reckoning they’ll be back from the church now,’ he remarked. ‘And just settling down to lunch in the marquee, with all its attendant rituals. So shall we drink a toast of our own?’

‘To the happy couple?’ Rhianna asked with irony. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

He was silent for a moment, and she saw his mouth harden. ‘Naturally I can see that might not appeal,’ he said, and picked up his glass of white wine. ‘So let’s just say—to matrimony.’ And he drank.

‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘if I don’t join in that either.’

He said with sudden harshness, ‘He’s gone, Rhianna. You’ve lost him. Accept it.’

Diaz paused. ‘Coffee?’

‘No, thank you.’ Rhianna rose to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go below where it’s cooler for a while.’

And where I don’t have the nerve-racking disturbance of being in your company with all the attendant memories I can so well do without…

She added, ‘Actually, I might start packing my things, ready for going ashore.’

‘There’s no great rush.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘But—just as you wish.’ He paused. ‘Although I can recommend the old Spanish custom of siesta.’

She said unsmilingly, ‘You’re too kind. But I think I’ve already experienced enough old Spanish customs to last me a lifetime.’

Downstairs, the air-conditioning was as efficient as she’d hoped, and her stateroom was pleasantly dim too as someone—Enrique, she supposed—had closed the blinds.

Her refuge, she thought, as she sank down on the sofa. But, as she soon discovered, only a fragile sanctuary at best. Because, as she stared in front of her with eyes that saw nothing, she found there was no escape from her inner images of the past.

Or, she realised with anguish, their pain.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HER flat was on the first floor, and she and Diaz had run up the stairs, she remembered, laughing and breathless, hand in hand. Outside her door they’d paused to kiss again, all restraint gone. When they’d fallen apart, Rhianna’s fingers had been shaking so much she’d hardly been able to fit the key in the lock, and Diaz, an arm clamped round her, his lips nuzzling her neck, had done it for her.

In the hallway they’d reached hungrily for each other again. His mouth pushing aside the loosened brocade lapels, seeking the curve of her breast. Her hands inside his unbuttoned shirt, spread against the hard, heated wall of his chest, registering the thunder of his heart.

He’d said her name hoarsely, and then, like a small uncertain echo, she’d heard ‘Rhianna’ spoken by a different voice, coming from an entirely different direction.

Her life had stopped. She’d turned sharply in disbelief and seen the small, slender figure standing, fragile and woebegone, in the doorway of the sitting room. Seen the dishevelled hair, the trembling mouth and the eyes swollen with tears.

‘Donna?’ She swallowed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I had to come back. I had nowhere else to go.’ The other woman gave a little sob. ‘Oh, Rhianna, I’m so sorry. Please try to understand…’

She looked past her at Diaz, a hand straying to her mouth. ‘I—I thought you’d be alone. I didn’t realise…’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Someone was speaking in her voice, Rhianna thought. Someone who sounded controlled and capable. Who wasn’t dying inside, of disappointment and so many other things besides.

She said levelly, ‘Donna, may I introduce Diaz Penvarnon? A cousin of my friend Caroline Seymour, whom I’ve mentioned to you.’ And paused. ‘Diaz, this is Donna Winston, a fellow cast member from Castle Pride. She was my flatmate until a short while ago, when she found—somewhere else.’

‘Which clearly hasn’t worked out,’ Diaz said quietly. He didn’t have to add, Exactly like tonight. But the words were there, all the same, hanging in the air between them, in all their regret and frustration. He said, ‘I’d better go. May I call you tomorrow? Are you in the book?’

She wasn’t, so she gave him her number hurriedly, watching as he logged it into his mobile phone.

Donna said with a catch in her voice, ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ and trailed off to the kitchen.

Diaz took Rhianna in his arms, smiling ruefully down at her. ‘I see the drama continues off-screen sometimes.’ He paused. ‘Man trouble?’

‘It seems so.’ I know so. She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry…’

‘So am I.’ His lips were gentle on hers. ‘But we’ll have our time, Rhianna. That’s a promise.’

And even then, when it had all started to fall apart, she’d believed him.

He’d rung the next day. ‘How’s the friend in need?’

‘Still needy,’ she’d admitted, worn out after a night of tears, recrimination and seriously bad news, but feeling her heart lift when she heard his voice.

‘And clearly around for the foreseeable future?’ He sounded amused and resigned. ‘I shall just have to be patient.’ He paused. ‘All the same, may I see you this evening? A film, maybe?’

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling foolishly into space. ‘That would be lovely.’

Donna, having slept late, mooned tearfully round the flat most of the day. In the late afternoon she said she was going to see her agent, and departed.

Rhianna, sighing with relief, could only pray that she’d also visit a company arranging flat rentals.

Because she cannot stay here, she told herself, sinking gratefully into a deep hot bath. Not again, and not now. Things have gone too far, and she knows that.

She was still in her robe when the door buzzer went, and she looked at her watch and laughed, because he was nearly forty minutes early.

She was still smiling when she opened the door.

‘Hello, Rhianna,’ said Simon, and walked past her without waiting for an invitation. ‘Are you alone? Good. Because it’s time for a serious chat, I think.’

‘Not now,’ she said quickly. ‘It—it’s really not convenient. I’m expecting someone.’ The last person in the world who should find you here…

‘Tough.’ He went into the sitting room, straight to the corner cupboard, and found the Scotch, pouring himself a generous measure.

When he turned, there was brooding anger in his face.

‘I suppose she’s told you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Also that you’ve dumped her, accused her of getting pregnant deliberately in order to trap you, and ordered her to have an abortion. Nice work, Simon.’

‘Of course you’re on her side,’ he said. ‘All sisters together against the male oppressor. I know how it works. But don’t be taken in by the innocent big brown eyes. She didn’t need much persuading—as you must have noticed when you walked in on us that night.’

She hadn’t forgotten. One of her rare migraines had threatened, sending her home early from a supper party. She’d heard noises from the sitting room and pushed open the door, to see Donna and Simon, naked and entwined on the rug in front of the fireplace, engrossed in vigorous and uninhibited sex.

Donna had seen her first and screamed. Simon had flung himself off his partner’s body with more haste than finesse.

Rhianna had retreated to her room, sitting on the edge of the bed, fighting incipient nausea as the implications of what she’d interrupted came home to her.

She took a breath. ‘Believe me, I’m on no one’s side,’ she said bitterly. ‘But do you realise she was actually threatening suicide last night?’

‘That’s just ridiculous talk,’ he said flatly. ‘Ignore it.’ He added, ‘You do realise, I hope, that this baby simply cannot be born? I’m not going to lose all I want out of life just for one bloody stupid mistake.’

‘Don’t you mean a whole series of them?’ She faced him, chin up, angry herself as she wondered defeatedly what had happened to the Simon she’d once known and whom, briefly and long ago, she’d thought she wanted.

I used to envy Carrie so much I was ashamed to look at her, she thought. Now I’m just ashamed.

She added fiercely, ‘This is hardly a unilateral decision by you. A termination is incredibly serious for a woman.’

‘And my future is equally serious,’ he retorted, taking a gulp of whisky. ‘For God’s sake, Rhianna. You know what this would do to Carrie if she found out. That can’t be allowed to happen. Admit it, damn you.’

‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘I know. And I swear she won’t find out from me.’

‘Good. Then you’ll do whatever’s necessary? Donna trusts you, and you can persuade her to do the right thing—if not for my sake, then for Carrie’s.’ He finished the Scotch and put the glass down. ‘You’re a great girl, Rhianna,’ he went on more slowly. ‘And you look bloody amazing in that robe. I’d bet good money you’re not wearing anything underneath it. Care to prove it—for old times’ sake?’

‘There are no “old times”‘. She looked at him with steady contempt. ‘There never were. Now get out of here at once.’

He whistled. ‘Hard words, but you’re still going to help me, aren’t you? Because you don’t really have a choice.’ He paused at the front door she’d thrown open. ‘I’m relying on you, remember,’ he added. ‘So don’t let me down.’

He turned to go, and she saw his face change. Looking past him, she realised that Diaz had indeed arrived ahead of time, and was standing motionless at the top of the stairs, his brows drawn together as he watched them.

‘So this is the expected admirer,’ Simon said mockingly. ‘Well, well, you are a dark horse, Rhianna. I’ll give your love to Carrie—shall I? Hello and goodbye, Diaz. Have a pleasant evening. I guarantee you will.’ He winked at Rhianna and went, the sound of his footsteps clattering down the stairs.

Rhianna stood dry-mouthed as Diaz, still frowning, walked towards her, knowing that he would ask questions she would not be able to answer.

And felt the last remnants of hope shrivel and die inside her, as she had always somehow known they must.

As the flat door closed behind them, Diaz said abruptly, ‘Does he make a habit of calling here?’

I don’t want to lie to him. Please don’t make me lie to him…

She said, ‘He’s around from time to time.’

‘Carrie didn’t say you were seeing each other.’

‘She probably didn’t think it worth mentioning.’ Rhianna forced herself to play along and shrug lightly. ‘After all, we’re hardly strangers, he and I.’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ He paused. ‘Is that how you usually receive him—dressed—or undressed—like that?’

‘Of course not.’ Her indignation at least could be genuine. ‘And I certainly wasn’t expecting him this evening, if that’s what you think.’

‘Frankly,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what to think. After all, it was hardly the welcome I was anticipating.’

She looked away. ‘Nor the one I’d planned, believe me.’ Her voice was bleak.

He glanced around. ‘So, where’s the weeping willow?’

Rhianna bit her lip. ‘That’s neither kind nor fair.’

‘Perhaps I’m not feeling particularly charitable. And you didn’t answer my question.’

‘She’s gone out,’ Rhianna said.

His brows rose. ‘Good news at last,’ he said softly. ‘So, why don’t we forget about the cinema and stay here?’

If she took two steps forward, she thought, she’d be in his arms, all questions silenced. He wanted her. She wanted him. Simple.

Except it was nothing of the kind. Because she knew, none better, the dangers of sex without any kind of commitment. She’d heard them being paraded only a little while ago, in this very room.

She was aware of her own feelings, but not his. Diaz was still an enigma to her. He’d spoken of her running away five years before, but he’d made no attempt to follow. He’d let her leave Penvarnon alone and, as far as he knew, friendless. It had been Francis Seymour and Carrie who’d stood by her, not him.