Chapter Twenty
Casa Escondida
James came towards us as if the devil were on his tail. In one glance he took in Greg’s naked torso, my shoeless dishevelment and the way my hand was frozen halfway to Greg’s dick.
Greg winked at James. “Not interrupting, James, we’ve just finished. I’m heading back to my room for some extra fun.”
He sauntered down the corridor as if he’d just had the best lay of his life.
James looked me up and down, his accusing face immediately fanning my anger.
“What was Greg doing in your bedroom?”
I matched his tone. “He was enjoying lawyer-secretary relations, what else?”
His answer was to walk into my room, forcing me to follow. He slid the bolt shut and crossed his arms. No way! I was not going to listen to a lecture about professionalism. And besides, when did my room become a free-for-all? I made a move to show him the door but James swung me around by the shoulders.
His fingers burned into my skin. “I was told you left the party with a man.”
“If you mean the sex maniac whose dick I yanked halfway to the Costa Brava, then yes. Not that I owe you any explanations.”
His grip relaxed. Then he caught a whiff of my dress. “Have you been drinking?”
I wrenched away from him, hurt and angry—and just a little bit loca.
“Who the hell do you think you are barging in here and demanding explanations? I’m an alcoholic, a drug-addicted slut, right? So of course I downed a bottle of rum, had a few rounds of powdery bliss and spread my legs for every guy who’d have me! It’s been a long time and I really enjoyed it, especially the stud in black leather with the massive penis.”
James’s brows knitted together, making him look like a Neanderthal throwback. In fact, he looked as if he might club me over the head and drag me into his cave. Words zinged in his eyes too quickly to catch them all but what I did see—Greg, bedroom, sex—made me want to go iron-age and whack him with a pole.
I pointed to the door. “You need to leave, Scott-Thomas.”
He leaned back on his heels.
“Hey, time to beam out, Scotty.”
He cleared his throat. “I apologise for jumping to conclusions.”
I crossed my arms. “You have no right to question me.”
He crossed his. “I beg to differ.”
He’s right, my mind agreed.
As Ryan’s dad he had every right to know if I was using or drinking. I shut my eyes and rubbed my throbbing forehead.
“I had a hard time down there, okay?”
“No drugs or alcohol?”
I sighed and looked him in the eyes. He would either believe me or not. “No, but I won’t tell you I didn’t want them. Badly.”
James scowled. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”
“What?” I gasped. “Did you dine on crazy in Valencia? Number thirty-three on the menu was the non compos mentis special? It’s past eleven and you’ve made three trips today.”
He looked at me like he did at the office when he expected me to jump at his command. I ran my eyes up and down his tall, be-suited body. Dark and broody? Check. Angry and arrogant? Of course. But he didn’t look as though he’d had an attack of the crazies, unless—
“Have you been drinking?”
James glanced at his watch and headed to the door. “If you want to see Ryan next weekend you’ll be ready in five minutes.”
It took me two minutes to put my shoes on and grab my case.
* * *
A full moon kept us company as we sped along the coast. It cast its light on a glittering black sea, keeping just ahead of us as we drove to wherever James was taking me. I knew it wasn’t Valencia; we’d passed the turn-off a few minutes back. I ate a bit of my hair and spat it out.
“Where are we going?” I shouted.
I didn’t get an answer and from James’s tense profile I understood I wasn’t going to. Was the tightness in his shoulders due to the missing money I wasn’t supposed to know he’d found out about? Another time I might’ve asked him but I was in no mood for confrontation. As I gazed at the dark, mysterious waters, the moon’s reflection lulled me to sleep.
I woke up when we pulled into a single-track dirt road with no lighting. The air was more humid and it smelled of salt and seaweed. Had we turned towards the coast? The sound of crashing waves got louder as we approached a looming shadow ahead.
“Where are we?”
“Nowhere.”
Nowhere looked like the base of a large cliff. The closer we got the slower James drove, until we were approaching at snail’s pace. Then we drove into the rock face. Well, that’s what it seemed like anyway. James maneuvered the MG through a tiny gap in the cliff, the fit tight enough to reach my hand out and touch the rock. Seconds later we emerged onto a beach, with nothing except sand and sea to keep us company.
I looked around, bemused. “Is this where you strangle me and dump the body? Because I’m not dressed for death.”
“Dressed to kill,” he muttered.
I turned in my seat. “Are you going to tell me where we are?”
“Puerto Escondido.”
“You mean the Puerto Escondido you have on your desktop?” He looked at me sharply. “I saw the folder when I used your Mac. I wasn’t snooping,” I added hastily.
“The content is password protected.”
He got out of the car and took his shoes off, clearly expecting me to do the same. I followed suit, hoping it wasn’t one of those beaches with bits of debris or glass in the sand. It would be just my luck to step on something painful. The sand proved immaculate. Soft and cool, and soothing after my high heels.
James waited for me at the shoreline. I’d scoffed at many a corny film where the lovebirds walk down a moonlit beach holding hands. Kissy-kissy and lovey-dovey, sick-inducing sweetness. Now I wished we’d do the same, minus the sick part.
There was nothing loverlike about James’s posture though. I sighed, grabbed my handbag and went to meet him. He was looking at the sea as I approached. The summer heat hadn’t fled with the night and in the moonlight a thin sheen of sweat shone on his face and in the little hollow between his collarbones.
I made my voice light. “I’m not skinny dipping with you.”
James didn’t crack a smile. Like I said, I’m not good at being funny. We walked in silence and I focused on the crashing waves, enjoying the spray on my legs. It made me remember the stories of my early childhood, when only mermaids and silkies were waiting for me in the deep dark sea.
A few minutes later James veered inland to the base of the cliff. There was a small metal plaque nailed straight into it. I squinted and James took out a small flashlight and lit it for me to see.
Casa Escondida.
Hidden house.
I didn’t need the flashlight to see the wooden steps jammed between the narrow gaps in the cliff. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, gawping at the climb.
“Follow where I lead,” James warned. “It’s steep and potentially dangerous.”
Understatement of the year.
He slung my shoes and handbag over his shoulder and started climbing. I groaned. This had to be my punishment for every petty thought I’d ever had about him. I held on to the rope rail and followed where James stepped, hoping I wouldn’t fall onto the jagged cliff underneath. I lost count after one hundred and twenty-seven steps, but there were at least the same again.
My thighs ached and I was out of breath. James seemed barely winded, damn it, but it was clear my so-called exercise regime sucked. The first thing I saw when I reached the top was a small dirt parking area.
“What the—?”
I couldn’t see James’s face but his voice sounded amused. “I thought you’d enjoy the walk. It’s the best way to reach Casa Escondida.”
He gestured at the large two-story building behind him. It was in need of TLC but even shrouded in semi-darkness I could see it was beautiful. A typical Spanish hacienda with wooden shutters on the windows, and a wide outdoor porch that ran the length of the ground floor.
“So...when in Valencia you disappear to Casa Escondida?” I asked, flitting my eyes between the house and James.
“I’m going to run it as a rustic getaway.”
“And being a lawyer?”
“I’d had enough a long time ago. I put off my dream because of Ryan but he’s older now and he loves it here. I’ve turned down an offer of partnership and will be leaving Flintfire at the end of the year.”
“Greg will be pleased,” I murmured, and James chuckled.
I followed him into the house and we walked straight into a large sitting room. The walls were painted in terracotta, washed out and stained in some places and darker where pictures used to hang. A faded sofa and a few mismatched pieces of rustic furniture vied for attention with a fraying rug. It wasn’t the sort of place I would have imagined James taking a liking to and I told him as much.
“And why’s that?” he asked.
I snorted. “Duh...’cause you’re a posh snob, innit?”
He looked affronted. “No I’m not.”
“News to me. But besides that, this place is bohemian and relaxed.”
“I can be relaxed.”
“Yeah, like when you’re sleeping?”
“You tell me.”
Okay, it was official: James was doing my head in. I did a rewind to the first day at Flintfire and then fast-forwarded to now, sifting through the images and picking out clues like little lumps of sugar. His attitude was cold but his looks were steamy. He’d danced with me at the office, almost beat Manuel up to protect me and let me sob all over him in Brighton.
Today he’d flirted at the hotel and been angry at finding me with Greg. Then he’d brought me to his hidden lair and from the look on his face and the blast of heat he was throwing my way, he was gearing up to ravish me.
Oh for fudge’s sake! I mean he was gearing up to screw my brains out, damn it, not ravish me. My body went on alert and little tremors of anticipation coursed through me, silencing the voice screaming “danger!”
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked huskily.
And just like that all traces of warmth disappeared from James’s face. “Funds have been embezzled from Flintfire’s client accounts.”
Translation: James thought I was a thief, just as Greg had said. That he would believe me guilty after his tender compassion in Brighton felt worse than one of my father’s punches. I stuck my hands on my hips.
“Did you hide the loot in that trunk over there, Scott-Thomas? Because I get it now—it’s Montecristo meets Bond and the baddies are after you, right? But what do you need me for?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I brought you here to ask you a few questions.”
Of course. How stupid to think he wanted to show me Casa Escondida because I was important to him. He didn’t want to interrogate me at Sr Doria’s villa in case I needed cuffed and hauled off to jail. A recurring theme where he and I were concerned, and I would have laughed had I not felt weighted by his suspicion.
I guess you can’t destroy people’s lives and expect them to trust you. I didn’t bother telling myself I shouldn’t care what James thought. I was too miserable, too frazzled from the party to attempt the lie. The fact was I cared deeply and I always had. But James would only ever think the worst of me and nothing I ever did would change his opinion.
Why had I thought he cared about me? Wanted me?
Disappointment sank into my pores, saturating me with its heaviness. I tried to rise above it but it clung to my skin like quicksand, threatening to drag me under. I had to get out of there, run straight into the sea and wash it off. Maybe I would shed my human skin while I was at it, become a silkie and swim away.
James blocked me at the door. “Did you appropriate the funds from our client accounts?”
His tone was the one I hated most from him—dry, cold and hard as steel—but it was exactly what I needed.
“You should’ve joined Greg in my bedroom,” I said. “Then both of you could’ve dropped your pants and I would’ve seen who’s the bigger prick.”
He inhaled sharply. “Did you indulge your physical needs with Greg?”
“Indulge my physical needs?” I mimicked derisively. “Like drinking water or going to the bathroom?”
“I’m waiting, Ms Benítez.”
“Oh, so we’re back to Ms Benítez, are we? If you must know, Greg and I bonked like rabbits on speed. He’s got a huge dick. I barely managed to fit my mouth around it. It was like a watermelon, red and juicy and...”
Crap. Why hadn’t I said it was as big as a cricket bat or as long as a police truncheon? James’s face looked oddly severe, as though he was caught between anger and laughter.
“A watermelon?” he asked.
“That’s right!”
“Awfully big for a rabbit.”
I rubbed my abdomen salaciously. “I’m still sore.”
“Did you take the money?” he said, all traces of humour gone.
“No!”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. “I believe you.”
“But Greg said—”
“Did you sleep with him?”
I stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
Of all the bloody—
“What is it with you, anyway? You accuse me of drinking, then you drag me down a beach and up a death trap so you can accuse me of stealing. And now you want to butt into my sex life?”
“I didn’t accuse you. I asked, like I’m asking you now. Did you have sex with Greg or anybody else tonight?”
One-track mind or what? I threw my hands in the air.
“You obviously need to get laid, James. Go back to that orgy you told me nothing about and find a willing partner or three. Or if that doesn’t suit... Just. Screw. Yourself.”
“Answer me.”
“What do you care? And don’t give me that bull about unprofessional conduct.”
“I want to know because of Ryan.”
“No way, that is not your reason. I could still be a mother to Ryan even if I’d channelled Don Juan at the orgy. I know what you’re after. You want to judge me and feel superior. You want to compare me to women like Caroline and congratulate yourself for your discerning tastes.”
“You’re wrong.”
I made a disgusted noise. “Sure I am. Just like I’m wrong about what you think of me.”
“You are.”
“Oh yeah? What if I told you I had sex tonight? I’m a free agent and I don’t see what the problem would be. But you’d tell me I’m a low-class slut, wouldn’t you? Because you think I’m below your standards of perfection and you always have. A ‘common glass of water’ was the way you put it, remember? But you know what? Your opinion would blow past me because you’re still the same arrogant prick you were when I first met you.”
“And you’re still—!”
“Go ahead and say it James. I won’t break!”
We were shouting. He was in front of me and the tension in him was aimed straight at me, coiled so tightly I thought he’d explode and I wouldn’t escape the burn. I was too wound up to care.
“I knew it! You love taking the moral high ground yet you can’t be honest and—”
“You’re still the woman I want to fuck the second she comes into a room!” he shouted over me. “The woman who occupies my thoughts and my dreams. I want you more than I did when I first met you, more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman. Is that honest enough for you, Paisley?”
I gaped at him, my breathing on hold while his words roared in my ears. He stared right back, face flushed and eyes hot.
I had once been empowered by rage, a vengeful tsunami who destroyed everything in her path. Now I was at the receiving end of another kind of wave, one that was even more powerful. One that was pushing me to the edge of the cliff. I teetered over craggy rocks and deep crevasses. Fragile and afraid. Unsure if I should jump or run as fast as I could.
I didn’t get to decide. The wave crashed into me, knocking me off my feet and hurtling me into the sea. No lifeboat or safety jacket to keep me afloat. Only James, his hand outstretched as it had been the day we met, reaching out across a sea of difference. His eyes caught and held mine, a forest of dark green lit with fires of gold.
<<Mine.>>
No confusion and no denial.
The air between us charged and thickened. It shimmered over my skin like a whisper. A benediction, a sparkling current of desire that flowed to every angle and curve in my body.
Oh no, this was bad, bad, bad.
The warning bells, they were a-ringing, but so was my body and its chimes were much louder. I was wired, still reeling from the party and our shouting match, and now he’d turned me upside down with his passionate, unexpected declaration.
Maybe I was confused by his wonky temperature gauge. I’d had no other inkling he cared about me, wanted me or—
Liar! my mind shrieked. You knew he wanted you. You’ve always known he wants you even without being able to read him. And you suspected he’d started caring for you more deeply but you preferred to play stupid. You didn’t want to see it because then you’d feel worse about lying to him. You’re a fucking coward who refuses to tell him the truth about his own son!
My eyes widened in panic. James was coming closer and I didn’t know what to do or how to respond. I had to rewind, go back to somewhere and something I could handle.
Like sex in a dark room? That’s more your comfort zone, isn’t it? my mind sneered.
Oh crap!
I edged backward and James followed, tracking my every step until my back reached the wall. I held my hands up in surrender. “Okay counsellor, you win the heated outburst competition,” I said, desperate for him to forget his reluctant attraction.
He flattened his hands against the wall on either side of my body. “Neither forgettable nor reluctant,” he said, reading my thoughts.
Overpowered and drenched in James’s potent masculinity I needed to say something, anything to push him away. “I ruined your wedding, remember? Had sex with you in Caroline’s bed and—” Oh crap, bad move. James lowered his head to mine.
“I remember,” he said thickly. “Every night.”
Oh, God. “You’re overbearing, arrogant and—” I dropped my eyes to his mouth, “—you don’t like me.”
His sexy smile hiked my internal mercury up a few more notches. “I like you, Paisley, very much.”
“But I ruined your life and I’m in your face all the time, a walking, talking reminder of the past. I’m impulsive and impatient and—”
“And you’re smart and funny and frank,” he said. “And for the record, you didn’t ruin my life. You made me a father, gave me the person I love most in the world and enhanced my life in a way I’d never imagined possible.”
By lying to him! my mind shouted.
James’s deep voice sent its low vibration across my trembling body. “I like the way you blush,” he said, low in his throat.
Not a single centimetre of our skin was touching and yet I was so turned on I could barely think straight, unlike James. His brain sprinted down a linear path that ended with naked and bed and sex.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” I tried to ignore the animal heat from his body, the smell of testosterone and musk that enveloped me like a mantle. “You’re tired from driving and you’re confused...or just plain horny.”
“I’m not confused but I’m definitely horny.”
Two hot hands rested on my hips, keeping them in place. Oh yes, I recognised this James, seductive and determined. For a second I thought he was going to kiss me and I tensed, inhaling sharply when his lips brushed the soft spot behind my ear. Then he was telling me exactly how horny he was and what he wanted to do about it and my head was arching back to accept the heated kiss on my throbbing pulse.
Tiny tremors of arousal made my skin tingle and my nipples ache for his mouth. Weakly, I pushed at his hard, muscular chest—a mistake in the “ignore virile man bent on sex” plan, let me tell you, because the next thing I knew his firm, confident lips were on mine.
Pleasure spread through me like acid bliss, erasing everything except the feel of James’s lips and his arms around my body. He tasted of heat and longing, a powerful elixir shooting straight into my veins, overcoming my efforts to resist. I sank into him, my hands threading through thick, silky hair to pull him closer.
How many lonely nights had I dreamed of the time we’d spent together, thinking it would never happen again? But this was no dream; this was James showing me he wanted me, crushing my soft curves against his hard ridges until I was dizzy, drunk on his taste and high on his touch. I had no right to his passion but I craved it all the same. This was the one addiction I didn’t want to deny myself tonight.
James fed me his breath, saturated me with his desire. We were connected, entrenched, flowing into each other effortlessly. I gasped, seeing myself in his mind: a belligerent teenager he wanted to strangle and kiss; a bitter woman he wanted to berate and make love to.
I didn’t want to see myself through his eyes. I felt like a voyeur but I was fascinated. There I was one night after work, staring at the view, my profile limned by the city lights. I looked immeasurably sad, too absorbed in my thoughts to notice James at the doorway watching me. He wanted to erase my pain.
And he thought I was beautiful, inside and out.
There were too many snapshots of me to count until, finally, I came upon the memory that had haunted him for years: my tearful, bruised face in the bridal suite, looking up at him as if my world were ending.
Why did I still feel the same?
I had to break off our kiss; I was dizzy and drowning, getting swept away by the force of his desire. I tensed but James held me prisoner, kissing me more deeply and demanding my response. His erection pressed into me, so close and so hot.
I jumped away, trying to hold on to my sanity. “Wait...time out.”
His response was half guttural, half gasp. “Seven years isn’t enough?”
“Not for what I have to tell you.”