The Rodrigues Pregnancy. Anne Mather

you would be happy to visit him there?’ he persisted and she shrugged.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Indeed.’ He was thoughtful. ‘So the reason you’ve abandoned your home and taken refuge on some primitive island has nothing to do with what happened between us?’

      Olivia was taken aback. ‘I—of course not.’

      ‘No?’ Christian regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘You are sure about that?’

      Olivia struggled to remain calm. He knew nothing, she reminded herself. This was just another attempt to bait her, that was all. ‘San Gimeno is not a primitive island,’ she declared obliquely, avoiding his question. ‘It’s not commercialised, I admit, but that doesn’t mean it lacks the necessary amenities.’

      ‘I get the feeling you find our situation hard to handle,’ he said softly, just as if she hadn’t spoken.

      ‘That’s why you turned down my offer of the helicopter, is it not? It is also why you persuaded Mike Delano not to let me know what you were doing. Come on, Olivia, that’s the truth, no?’ He made a derisive sound. ‘Dios, what did you expect me to do? Jump your bones?’

      Olivia had heard enough. She stood up. Ignoring him, she turned purposefully towards the door, but before she could reach it Christian’s hand caught her arm.

      ‘Wait!’

      ‘Why should I?’

      Yet Olivia knew better than to try and get away from him. His fingers were long and narrow, it was true, but they were also immensely strong. No amount of useless struggle on her part would free her until he was ready to let her go.

      All the same, it was hard to remain still under his searching appraisal. She was acutely aware that he was breathing heavily now and she guessed her sudden dash for the door had caught him unawares. She doubted he appreciated having to reason with her, either, and his expression mirrored the ambivalence he felt.

      Even so, when he spoke it was an apology. ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ he said, his nostrils flaring with the effort to control the anger that was riding him. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Are you?’

      Her answer was hardly original, but in the circumstances it was impossible to think of anything unique. Her treacherous senses were registering other things, like his heat and his nearness, and the predatory magnetism that exuded from his pores.