In The Spaniard's Bed. HELEN BIANCHIN

      Quite what she expected she wasn’t sure. There had been nothing overt in his greeting, and he made no attempt to touch her as he saw her seated in his stylish Aston Martin.

      During the brief drive to their hosts’ home he’d kept conversation to a minimum…presumably influenced by her monosyllabic replies.

      What did he expect? For her to smile and laugh? Act as if this was a date, for heaven’s sake?

      He’d made her part of a deal, and she hated him for it. Almost as much as she hated being thrust among a coterie of guests for several hours.

      Guests who were undoubtedly curious at Diego’s choice of partner for the evening. Or should that be curiosity at her choice of partner?

      Had whispers of Preston-Villers’ financial straits begun to circulate? And if they had, what context was placed on Cassandra Preston-Villers appearing at Diego’s side? Would gossip allude the amalgamation had moved from the boardroom to the bedroom?

      Cassandra told herself she didn’t care…and knew she lied.

      Dinner. Dear heaven, how could she eat? Her stomach felt as if it were tied in knots, and primed to reject any food she sent its way.

      ‘Relax.’

      Diego’s voice was a quiet drawl as they took their seats at the elegantly set table, and she offered a stunning smile. ‘I’m perfectly relaxed.’

      There were numerous courses, each a perfect complement served with the artistry and flair of a professional chef.

      Compliments were accorded, and Cassandra added her own, painfully aware her tastebuds had gone on strike.

      She conversed with fellow guests, almost on autopilot, playing the social game with the ease of long practice. Although afterwards she held little recollection of any discussion.

      Diego was there, a constant entity, and the buildup of tension accelerated as the evening progressed. The light brush of his hand on hers succeeded in sending her pulse into overdrive, and she almost forgot to breathe when he leaned close to refill her water glass.

      She began to pray for the evening to end, to be free from the constraints of polite society. At least when they were alone she could discard the façade and fence verbal swords with him!

      Somehow she made it through the seemingly endless meal, and it was a relief to retreat to the lounge to linger over coffee.

      Diego seemed in no hurry to leave, and it was almost eleven when he indicated they bid their hosts goodnight.

      The short drive to nearby suburban Point Piper was achieved in silence, and Cassandra felt her body stiffen as he activated the electronic gates guarding the entrance to a curved driveway illuminated by strategically placed lights leading to a large home whose architecturally designed exterior and interior had featured in one of the glossy magazines soon after its completion.