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Just how uncomfortable her situation could become was brought home sharply to her at the end of the evening. And it hit her all the harder because of the way she had actually managed to relax in the end.
Joaquin had stuck strictly to his promise. He would follow her orders to the letter, he’d said—and that was just what he did.
As soon as she said that the meal was ready, he came to help her carry plates through into the dining room. Then he joined her at the table, ate what she put in front of him, stuck strictly to mineral water for himself, but offered to open a bottle of wine for her. An offer that Cassie decided it was more than wise to refuse. She needed all her wits about her at the moment, and, although the thought of the relaxing effects of a little alcohol were appealing, there was always the danger that, feeling as uptight as she did, she might indulge in one glass too many, relax way too much—and let slip things that she really should keep to herself.
But in the end she found that she didn’t really need the wine. Joaquin kept the conversation light, and on strictly neutral topics, never once straying into controversial or problematic territory. He managed to steer his way perfectly between the twin problems of assuming too much and behaving like the lover he had been, and that of being almost a complete stranger, so that the evening had to be spent dancing round each other mentally, not knowing how much to say, how much to reveal.
It was only later, when she had gone to bed and was lying wakeful in the darkness, that Cassie realised that the behaviour that had made her feel so much better during the evening should in fact have acted as a warning. It revealed that Joaquin was very much alert to the way she was feeling. That he had noticed her unease, and was determined, for that night at least, to ease it. As a result he had lulled her into what might well be a totally false sense of security.
But by the time that darkness had fallen and the silence of the night had gathered round them, she had just been so thankful that they had got through the evening without any more unpleasantness or a problem that she would have had trouble explaining, that such worrying thoughts hadn’t entered her head.
In fact, she’d been so relieved to find that the time had passed so pleasantly that she’d never even thought twice about saying, as she’d watched Joaquin’s eyelids grow heavy, drooping over the jet brilliance of his eyes, and his long body slump lower in his chair: ‘You’re getting tired. I think it’s time that you were in bed.’
She knew how worn out he must really be when he didn’t even rise to the provocation, but simply nodded slowly and murmured, ‘That would be a good idea.’
‘Well, then, why don’t you go on up? I’ll tidy things away here and follow.’
Again, no protest. Could it really be that easy? After the way he had behaved earlier, she very much doubted it, but she wasn’t going to question too strongly—not tonight. She was worn out too, though probably not as exhausted as Joaquin must be on his first day out of hospital. The strain of the past seventy-two hours was catching up with her, and she had spent long hours in the hospital, sitting in a chair by Joaquin’s bed, and then had barely slept when she’d got back to Ramón’s flat.
Stretching wearily and yawning so widely that she felt her jaw would crack, she switched off the lights and made her way to the stairs, plodding slowly up them, thinking longingly of sinking into her bed. Joaquin would probably be asleep already. He had looked so exhausted that he must have crashed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He hadn’t.
She reached the top of the stair and turned to go along the landing, then jumped in fright as she became aware of the tall, dark, silent figure leaning against the wall in the shadows, waiting for her.
‘Joaquin! Oh, you gave me such a fright! What is it? Why are you—is something wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ was the response, in a voice that turned her blood to ice in her veins and made her throat close up so tight that it was difficult to breathe. ‘You tell me.’
Straightening up and taking a step forward, he kicked open the nearest door. The door to a bedroom—her bedroom, she noted with a sickening lurch of her stomach. The bedroom she had chosen to sleep in tonight, knowing she could not possibly share a bed with Joaquin under the circumstances.
As the door swung open it revealed what Joaquin must have seen, the details that betrayed her, the silent evidence that revealed her plans. Her nightdress and robe lay on the bed, her wash bag on the dresser. She could only be intensely grateful that she had pushed the case she’d brought back from Ramón’s firmly to the back of the wardrobe so that he didn’t realise she had only just managed to unpack part of her luggage before he and his brother had appeared downstairs. And that all of it was in this room—not the one she had once shared with him.
‘I…’ she began but her voice failed her hopelessly.
‘You?’ Joaquin questioned cynically, his carved face just a cold mask of contempt and barely controlled cold fury. ‘So just what explanation were you planning on giving me for this? I take it you do have one?’
‘Of course I do.’
The realisation that there was nothing more revealing than her nightdress on show gave a new strength to her words, giving her the courage to face him with a touch of defiance.
‘And you’d know what it is if you were thinking straight!’
Joaquin scowled darkly, glaring at her ferociously.
‘Don’t tell me—the doctors’ orders again?’
‘Got it in one!’ Cassie retorted sharply. ‘And you’ll also have to admit that it makes sense.’
The cynically sceptical look he turned on her declared that he found that very unlikely, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to continue.
‘You’re just out of hospital. You need a good night’s sleep and for that you need to be undisturbed.’
‘And you’ll disturb me?’
‘I—I might. Or you might let yourself be disturbed by me. Oh, come on, Joaquin!’ she risked a protest. ‘You promised me that you’d do as I said.’
‘I know I did—and I have. But this—’
He broke off abruptly, glowering at her darkly. Cassie held her breath in apprehension, not knowing what on earth she would do if he flat out refused to co-operate.
But Joaquin must have been even more tired and out of sorts than she had anticipated, because just as she had drawn in a breath to argue further, to try and persuade him to understand, he gave a deep sigh and lifted his shoulders in a shrug of concession.
‘All right. If that’s what you were told, I suppose I can’t argue.’
‘It was!’ Cassie assured him, crossing her fingers against the small white lie. ‘Doctors’ orders.’
‘And I promised…’
‘Yes, you did.’
Still he held out, looking into the room, black eyes going from the bed to her taut, anxious face and back again.
‘All right, then,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll go along with this for now—because I promised. But let me make one thing plain…’
When he hesitated Cassie froze, knowing she wasn’t going to like what was coming.
‘I’ll go along with this for tonight. And only tonight. Tomorrow is another day and tomorrow I want things back to normal—or I’ll want to know why.’
CHAPTER NINE
JOAQUIN arrived back at the house in a mood that had him ready to do battle. He had had enough of messing about, not asking questions, avoiding the issues, and tonight he was going to get some answers.
It was either that or explode.
He had spent the day out at one of the vineyards, dealing with business, talking vines, blends, wine, in an effort to distract his mind from the suspicions and fears that were a constant nag inside his head, worrying and fretting at him until his thoughts were one great ache of unease. One that nothing he did seemed to improve.
He’d taken the wrong approach on the first night home, he admitted that now, if only to himself. Challenging Cassandra like that, and threatening her with confrontation, had been quite the wrong way to go. He’d known it as soon as he’d seen her head come up, the flash in her eyes, that defiant chin tilted in rebellion. And the long night in which, in spite of his exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to sleep had only confirmed his feeling even more.
Whatever had happened between himself and Cassandra during the time his mind had lost, playing the autocrat and dictating the rules was not likely to help. Continue to push her down that route, and he was heading for disaster.
So he had moved onto another tack, deciding to see just how far she would take this. And for how long.
‘I realise I was being pigheaded about things,’ he told her the next morning. You’re only acting on those doctors’ orders. And trying to do what you believe is best for me. I should appreciate your concern—I do…’
It would have sounded better if he could have projected an ounce more sincerity into his voice, but that was more than he could manage. Oh, he appreciated her concern all right, but it infuriated the hell out of him at the same time. To his mind, sleeping apart was taking things just too far.
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