of hand.’
‘They haven’t, have they?’ Ben put in quickly, his frown deepening.
As if she’d tell him! And no, they hadn’t. Diego’s kisses and caresses had sent her up in flames, the wanting a sweet wild torment inside her, but he had always pulled back at the critical moment, his voice soft and sultry as he had explained, ‘You are very young, querida. One day you will be my bride. Until then, my angel, I value your purity above all else.’
‘Is that a proposal?’ Her voice was shaky with passion, her throat thick. He was all she had ever wanted; it was like a fairy tale.
‘But of course, querida. You are my angel. I truly love you.’ A gentle forefinger traced the outline of her lush lips, making her tremble. She could hardly speak through the rip-tide of ecstatic happiness, but managed a breathless, ‘When?’
‘When the time is right, amor mio,’ he answered lightly, ‘When you graduate from university—’
‘That’s years away!’ she punched out, wriggling out of his arms. He’d offered her heaven and now she could see it slipping away like water down a plughole.
He took her hands. ‘There is no ending to our love; time won’t alter that.’ Warm, dark eyes smiled into hers. ‘I too have things to do. Time will pass quickly, I promise. You will have vacations and I shall tell you where I am and you shall come to me.’ His smile widened to a teasing grin. ‘You have a rich daddy who will pay for your air fares!’
She dragged her hands away and sulked for the rest of the day. If he loved her as much as she loved him he wouldn’t want to wait. Marrying her this minute wouldn’t be soon enough!
But lying awake that night she’d formulated the perfect plan. She’d return to England at the end of their holiday as planned, square it with her father, who was remote enough not to mind what she did as long as she didn’t bother him, and spend what was left of her gap year here with Diego. And at the end of the year they would have become so close, so loving, he wouldn’t be able to face letting her go.
‘Nothing to say for yourself?’ Ben’s question pulled her back into the farmhouse kitchen that day, almost four weeks ago. He accepted the mug of coffee she’d poured for him. ‘I suppose you’ve told him who you are.’
‘Of course he knows who I am!’
Ben’s comment made no sense until he expounded, ‘That your father is joint proprietor of a monthly glossy. That we publish Lifestyle among other less upmarket magazines. That our families are not short of cash.’
‘There speaks the accountant!’ Lisa derided gently. Ben had just finished a business accountancy course and on their return to England at the end of their holiday was to join the accounts department at Lifestyle.
‘No,’ Ben came back mildly. ‘There speaks an old friend who is concerned for your happiness. Marbella is a hot spot of wealth; it attracts con men and hangers-on like flies. Men who latch on to rich women for what they can get out of them. Has your Spanish waiter wheedled anything out of you, by any chance?’
‘Of course not!’ But Lisa was aware that her cheeks burned with guilt. He hadn’t wheedled that expensive watch out of her, she mentally defended. Far from it. He’d lost his own, explaining that the strap must have broken without him noticing it when he’d glanced at his naked wrist to check whether it was time for them to start heading back from the little secluded beach he’d taken her to.
That evening, while Sophie and Ben had been admiring the million dollar yachts in the marina, she’d slipped away and bought him a replacement, knowing he hadn’t much money to spare. A waiter’s wage wouldn’t be anything to write home about and he needed a watch. ‘And Diego doesn’t like Marbella—’ She wisely changed the subject. ‘We never go there—he says it’s too flashy, not the real Spain at all. We explore quaint little hill villages and off-the-track beaches.’
She loved Ben like a brother but was close to hating him for implying her beloved Diego was only interested in her for what he could get out of her. No way would she explain about the gift of that slim gold watch.
‘So when do we get to meet him?’ Sophie, the peace-maker, took her place at the table and reached for a crusty roll and the honey pot.
No answer, because there wasn’t one to give. She’d once suggested a foursome—she’d wanted him to meet her best friends—but Diego had asserted that he was a selfish man and wanted her all to himself.
And now they were on their way to meet him at last—at his suggestion. Ben’s comment had been a dry, ‘He picked the most expensive joint he could find. I wonder who’ll end up paying for the drinks and the meal!’
They were nearing the venue, the white futuristic hotel overlooking the gentle curve of the palm-fringed beach. Lisa’s heart swelled. It would be all right; it had to be! Ben would take back every insulting insinuation when he realised what a super guy Diego was.
In a way she could understand his reservations. Ever since they’d been children he’d looked out for her. He still did, and that probably had something to do with her tiny stature—five-two, small-boned, delicately slender and wide-eyed. If she’d been built more like Sophie, tall and big in the bosom and hip department, he might have had more confidence in her ability to look out for herself.
Not that his opinion would make any difference to the way she felt about the man she was determined to marry. But she didn’t want to quarrel with Ben; she was too fond of him.
‘Hey, you guys—come and look at this!’ Sophie cried. She’d been indulging in her favourite occupation, window-shopping, and was several yards behind them, her nose pinned to the window of a glitzy boutique. ‘Would my bum look big in this?’
Ever willing to indulge his twin, Ben turned to retrace his steps, smiling, and Lisa stood where she was, too wound up to ooh and ahh over whatever it was Sophie was coveting.
Glancing at her platinum Jaeger-Le-Coultre watch, an eighteenth birthday gift from her father who thought that material things made up for a lack of any overt signs of parental affection, she noted there were still thirty minutes to get through before they were due to meet Diego. It felt like a lifetime.
The town was beginning to gear up for the evening, more people strolling the pavements, wanting to see and be seen, more flash cars cruising. One car in particular caught her attention. A bright scarlet drop-head sports job driven by a glamorous creature who looked as if she’d just materialised from between the covers of a high fashion magazine. But it was her passenger who drew her widening eyes—Diego? Surely not!
Diego, his thick dark hair expertly groomed, wearing classy casual chinos and an open-necked sleeveless shirt in a matching cool stone colour that accentuated the warm olive tones of his skin instead of the beat-up shorts and vest tops she was used to seeing him in.
The sports car growled to a halt, parked illegally outside the sort of jeweller’s where the atmosphere would be too rarefied for ordinary mortals to breathe in, and Diego removed his arm from the back of the driver’s seat and exited.
He had obviously smartened himself up for his meeting with them at the hotel and he looked good enough to eat, the darling! Like them, he was half an hour early. The classy female must have given him a lift. She was probably resident at the hotel where he worked, had recognised him as the waiter who serviced the table she regularly used and had picked him up.
The explanations flashed with comforting swiftness through her mind, though the phrase ‘picked him up’ did have uncomfortable connotations, thanks to Ben.
About to call his name, wave to attract his attention, she was morbidly glad she hadn’t when he strolled round to the other side of the car, opened the door at the driver’s side and helped the glamorous creature out, holding her hands. And not letting them go.
She was gorgeous. In spiky high heels, she was three inches short of his six-one, the hem of her silky black dress way above her knees, the costly fabric clinging to every