скачать книгу бесплатно
She drew in a frustrated breath. “I’m well aware of that. But I’m not dressed—”
He dismissed her objection with a careless flick of his hand. “What you’re wearing is of no consequence.”
Not to him, perhaps, but the knowledge that the thin cotton fabric of her robe and nightgown were more revealing than she cared for, left her feeling at a decided disadvantage. “Then what is? I presume you’re here for more than the pleasure of my company?”
“We must talk.”
“Now?” She glanced pointedly at the carriage clock on the desk. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I really am very tired.”
“But you did ask to be served a snack, did you not?”
“You know very well that I did.” She indicated the lavish spread. “Although I wouldn’t rate this a ‘snack’ exactly.”
“Nevertheless, now that it’s here, you do plan to eat it?”
“Of course! I’d hardly have put your kitchen staff to the trouble of preparing it, otherwise.”
“Then since I also have yet to eat, doesn’t it make good sense that we do so together, and learn a little more about one another at the same time?”
He wasn’t going to back down. That wasn’t his style. Rather, he dealt in silent intimidation cloaked in verbal reason, somehow moving in on a person so thoroughly that he stole the air she breathed. Overwhelming her with his size—a big, strong man, both physically and mentally, and well aware that, on his turf, his was the last word.
Eve was a guest in his house by default, an understudy for his daughter’s mother. As such, she had few rights. And even if that weren’t the case, just then she was too worn down to fight him. “Whatever!” she muttered, parking herself in a corner of the sofa, and attempting to tug her robe down far enough to cover her knees.
But he didn’t care that she was behaving less than graciously; he only cared about winning. “That’s better,” he said, taking a seat next to her, and touched the rim of his glass lightly against hers, causing the crystal to chime like tiny bells. “Welcome to Malta, Signorina Caldwell. May your visit prove pleasant for everyone involved.”
“If bulldozing your way into your guests’ private quarters against their wishes is your idea of being a good host, I can’t imagine either of us finding it pleasant.”
He shrugged his massive shoulders and plunged a serving spoon into the crayfish salad. “Time will tell. May I help you to some of this?”
“No, thank you. I can take care of myself.”
“As you wish, signorina.”
“There’s one other thing I wish,” she said irritably. “I wish you’d stop with these annoying ‘signorinas’ every other breath. Since I have no intention of spending the next several weeks standing on ceremony, and plan to call you Gabriel, you might as well get used to calling me Eve.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll call you Gabriel regardless—to your face, at least. What I call you behind your back rather depends on how well we do, or don’t, get along.”
Surprisingly he laughed at that, and the change it brought to his face was quite startling. Warmth invaded his cool blue eyes and left flames of amusement dancing there. His mouth softened in a beguiling curve to reveal his white, perfect teeth. She wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to become more beautiful, but he put paid to that supposition in devastating fashion. If his scowl put thunder heads to shame, his laughter outdazzled the sun.
No wonder Marcia had been smitten enough to marry him, even if the magic had been short-lived. Looks aside, he possessed a subtle, seductive charm which, should he choose to exercise it, could wreak irreparable damage on a woman’s heart.
Shaken by the realization, and disturbingly aware of how close to her he sat, Eve concentrated on the food, helping herself to a small serving of the crayfish salad and a sliver of cheese.
Eyeing the size of the portions on her plate, he said, “There’s not enough there to keep a sparrow alive. Don’t tell me you’re one of those women so obsessed with her weight that she counts every calorie she puts in her mouth.”
“I won’t, if you’ll tell me you’re not one of those men who thinks it’s his God-given right to dish out unsolicited advice every time he opens his mouth!”
Smothering another burst of laughter, he allowed his gaze to tour her face with the refined appreciation of a connoisseur. “No. But I am a man who admires a woman with spirit,” he purred, the words caressing her as intimately as a kiss.
If he’d leaned over and touched his mouth to hers, she couldn’t have responded more shockingly. Her pulse leaped, her throat constricted until she could barely swallow, and her mouth ran dry. More dismaying still, a piercing quiver of sensation shot from her heart to the pit of her stomach.
To pretend such a response was anything other than purely sexual made no more sense than pretending the sun didn’t rise every morning. Furious by her body’s betrayal, she said, “Then why didn’t you stay married to my cousin? She’s got more spirit than any other ten women combined.”
“I beg to differ. Beneath that very shallow air of mature sophistication she projects so well when it suits her to do so, Marcia is little more than a charming but spoiled, and very manipulative child. Sadly, the spoiled too soon overcomes the charming, and one is left to deal with the child and her machinations.”
That he was as astute as he was handsome didn’t come as any great surprise. But it did serve to remind Eve that she’d be a fool to underestimate him. “It takes two to make or break a marriage, surely?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “I certainly don’t pretend to be blameless in the failure of mine. I freely admit I grew tired of being cast in the role of guardian to a supposedly grown woman, and utterly bored by her attempts to bamboozle me with her little schemes. I never should have married her in the first place.”
“Why did you?”
“Because even I sometimes give in to moments of madness. Marcia arrived on Valletta’s social scene and took it by storm. For a while, I was as captivated as everyone else by her foreign ways. I should have known they’d eventually become obstacles neither of us was able to overcome. How is your salad?”
“Excellent, thank you. What do you mean by her foreign ways?”
“Our different tastes made it impossible to find a common ground.”
“Which is your polite way of saying she wasn’t refined enough for you.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, signorina. I meant nothing of the kind, merely that she could not, or would not, recognize that things are done differently here. Malta is a culturally mixed bag, regarded by many as the place where east meets west. Initially Marcia claimed to be fascinated by this aspect of our society, but she soon tired of it and complained we weren’t Americanized enough.”
“Perhaps because she was homesick.”
“Quite possibly. And if so, it was undoubtedly made worse by the fact that her infatuation for me died as quickly as her infatuation with everything else Maltese.” He topped up their wineglasses. “You look somewhat dismayed. Have I offended you?”
“No,” Eve had to admit. “That’s the trouble. Everything you’ve said so much fits the Marcia I know that I can’t begin to defend her.”
“Then since we’re of the same mind, tell me something.” He inched closer. Close enough that his body heat reached out to embrace her. He’d used a faintly spicy soap or shampoo that made her senses swim. Made her want to reach out her hand and touch his skin, his hair.
“Yes?” To her ears at least, her voice emerged in an embarrassing near-whisper thick with expectation.
“Why are you here, instead of her?”
Reality smashed aside her brief fantasy with such a vengeance that the succulent morsel of crayfish Eve had popped into her mouth came dangerously close to popping out again. “I already told you,” she said, swallowing hastily. “We’re cousins.”
“I know what you told me, Eve,” he replied levelly. “Now I want to know the true reason. What’s Marcia really up to?”
“Nothing.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “She just doesn’t want to see you again, that’s all.”
“Is it?” he said, the inflection in his tone clearly voicing his disbelief. “I very much doubt that.”
“I don’t know why! You’ve as good as admitted you can’t stand to be around her for more than five minutes at a stretch, so why wouldn’t the reverse be true? It’s a perfectly normal response. Divorced people aren’t usually the best of friends.”
“Yet if they happen also to be parents, they frequently set aside their differences and put the interests of their children ahead of their own.”
“Which is what Marcia was doing when she agreed to have Nicola spend the summer with you.” Stifling a yawn, she set aside her unfinished meal and made a move to get up from the couch. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really am exhausted, so—”
“There’s just one flaw in that argument,” he said, closing his long, tanned fingers around her wrist to prevent her from moving. “Marcia’s not one to share the limelight unless there’s something in it for her, so why would she designate you to show off her baby, when she’d much rather reap all the attention?”
His touch scalded her. Sent the blood boiling through her veins and bolts of sensation shooting up her arm. “In this case,” she said breathlessly, “I think it had more to do with the length of time you expected her to stay here. She’s married again, as you know, and—”
“I didn’t know.”
“Oh, dear!” Eve realized the news had come as a complete and unpleasant shock. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed she’d have told you.” She stared at him incredulously. “She really didn’t mention it?”
“Not a word.”
“I can’t imagine why not.”
“I can. Now that she’s found herself a new husband, she’d like to cut me out of the picture altogether and have my daughter call another man ‘Papa.’
His grip tightened painfully. Wincing, Eve said, “You’re hurting me, Gabriel. Please let go.”
He glanced down, seeming almost surprised to find his fingers still locked around wrist. “Dio!” he exclaimed ruefully, releasing her at once. “I didn’t realize…forgive me.” Then, seeing the mark he’d left behind, he touched her again, stroking the pad of his thumb over the redness. “Your skin is so fine, so translucent,” he murmured. “Like mother-of-pearl. I’m a brute to have handled you so carelessly.”
“You were caught offguard,” she said, knowing she’d have to be the most naive fool in the world to believe he meant anything by his words. But although her brain recognized the logic of such reasoning, her pulse operated on a different wavelength and thundered like a runaway locomotive bent on destruction. Striving to control the resulting havoc to her breathing, she went on, “If I’d known Marcia hadn’t told you about Jason, I’d have broken the news more tactfully.”
His hand drifted down to unfold her fingers and lay bare her palm. “So Marcia fancies herself in love again, does she?”
“It would appear so.”
“And when did this marriage take place?”
“The beginning of last month, I believe.”
“You believe? You mean to say you weren’t invited to the wedding?”
“No. I gather it was a very simple civil ceremony, with just two close friends as witnesses. I live in Chicago, and it was hardly worth my making the trip to New York for something which lasted no more than twenty minutes.”
“What’s your impression of the new husband?”
“I’ve never actually met him. He was out of town when I picked up Nicola. The closest we’ve come is talking on the phone. He seemed nice enough.”
“He must be extraordinary, that Marcia would choose to remain at his side, instead of being with her child.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that clear cut. He’s on tour with a play he’s written, and since she’s both his wife and his agent, she wanted to be with him.”
“Just when I insisted on meeting my daughter? How very convenient!”
“As a matter of fact, it was. It spared Marcia having to take Nicola on the road.”
“So that she could devote herself to representing the undiscovered genius she married, without being hampered by the demands of a four-month-old baby, you mean?”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She snatched her hand away from his encroaching fingers. “Stop twisting my words. She couldn’t be in two places at once and had to make a choice. If anything, you should give her credit for trying a bit harder to make this second marriage work.”
“At the expense of our child?”
“Oh, come on, Gabriel! You make it sound as if she abandoned Nicola to a stranger. I assure you I’m well qualified to look after your daughter, and given the way you’re spoiling for a fight, it’s just as well I’m here and not Marcia. It’ll save you arguing about who’s the better parent.”
“You have a point,” he said, the glimmer of a smile curling his mouth, “and you certainly seem comfortable handling Nicola.”
“I ought to be. I’ve dealt with enough babies over the years.”
“Ah! You have children of your own?”
“No. I’ve never been married.”
“The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand these days.”
“They do for me,” she informed him flatly. “I’m the old-fashioned kind who believes in two-parent families.”
“How refreshing!” His smile would have charmed apples off a tree, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes that made Eve wary. “Do you and Marcia have anything in common?”
“Yes,” she said. “We both love Nicola and want what’s best for her.”
“Well, I can hardly take issue with that, can I?” He took her hands and drew her up to stand beside him. Her head barely reached his shoulder. “I’d like to look in on my daughter before I leave. Will you come with me?”
Together, they went through to the nursery. A lamp glowed on the dresser, filling the room with soft light. Nicola lay on her back in the crib, with her little arms spread-eagled and her tiny fists curled.
Bracing his hands on the crib rail, Gabriel watched her, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable. “Will she sleep through until morning?”
“No. She’ll need to be fed again around midnight, and again between two and three.”
“Then I should be shot for keeping you up so late.” He touched her arm. “Tomorrow, you must rest. I’ll spend an hour with her after breakfast, before I leave for my office, and another in the late afternoon when I return home. Otherwise, Beryl will look after her.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I’m used to shift work.”
They were standing close together, speaking in whispers, the way parents might, and the intimacy of it all shimmered between them like a live thing. “I suspect,” he said, his gaze burning into hers, “that you’re also used to picking up the slack for others, regardless of what it might cost you.”
“I do what has to be done, but I’m no saint.”
“Nor am I,” he said, and the way he looked at her made her stomach turn over. “Nor am I. You’d do well to remember that.”
CHAPTER THREE
WASHED by moonlight, the villa lay at peace. Even the faint cry of the infant upstairs had at last dwindled into sleepy silence. Only he, plagued by misgivings, paced the length of his ground floor study and watched the night slip toward morning.
A three-quarter full bottle of Jack Daniels, something he’d cultivated a taste for during his years at Harvard, stood on the desk, an empty glass beside it. Not even the bourbon could soothe his uneasiness tonight. After the evening just past, his suspicion that Marcia was up to no good had crystallized into certainty.
Their marriage might have lasted less than a year but in that time he’d come to know her well. She was secretive and sly and selfish; a bold-faced liar unhindered by scruples, and completely dedicated to furthering her own interests. And the cousin, Eve, knew it, even though she played her part well, turning her wide-eyed gaze on him and feigning ignorance of the true state of affairs.
She was lying, too, albeit by omission, but exposing her deception would be easy. Under that spirited front she put on, she was vulnerable—and very, very susceptible. He’d noticed how her pulse had raced, how she’d flushed, when he touched her. When they’d stood close together by the baby’s crib, he’d seen the agitated rise and fall of her breasts under her robe, and the way his gaze had held her hypnotized.
Unlike her cousin, Eve Caldwell’s experience of men was limited. He wouldn’t have to work too hard to uncover her secrets and seduce her into becoming his ally.
The realization should have calmed his restlessness and made sleep possible at last. Instead, it left a burning distaste in his mouth which the bourbon couldn’t begin to combat. To have to sink to his ex-wife’s contemptible level of subterfuge in order to ensure his daughter’s welfare offended his sense of decency.
