A Devilishly Dark Deal (12 page)

‘Close the shop,’ he briskly instructed her in Portuguese, nodding towards the small knot of onlookers with their cameras that stood outside—still determinedly taking pictures despite his plea. ‘As you can see,
senhora
, I have an unwanted entourage. Don’t worry—if you close the shop I will compensate you for any loss of custom.’

‘It will be my pleasure to do as you ask, Senhor Aguilar.’ Briefly turning away, the woman called out for assistance.

Within seconds, a thickset young man with cropped brown hair, dressed in a security guard’s uniform appeared. Judging by the nicks and scars on both his face and his hands, it looked as if his chosen sport was bareknuckle fighting, Marco observed wryly. Following a very brief exchange with the woman—presumably his boss—he immediately stepped outside and shut the heavy glass door behind him. Marco felt a little more able to relax when he saw the man firmly plant his feet and fold his arms across his ample chest—his intimidating stance alone transmitted a warning to anyone that dared to try and get passed him.

‘When you are ready to leave we have an exit at the back.’ The woman whose silver-grey badge on her lapel proclaimed her name as Natalie gave him an unreserved broad smile.

‘That’s good to know. Thank you.’ He turned his glance back to Grace. Some of the rosiness in her cheeks had definitely faded, he saw. He had a feeling that she was really hating what he’d hoped would turn out to be a nice experience. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, and it was hard to keep the strain from his voice.

‘I’m fine. I’m more concerned about you. You must really get fed up with all this intrusive attention.’

‘Some days it definitely bothers me more than others, but I refuse to let anyone spoil our time together. We’ve come to one of the most exclusive boutiques on the marina, so we ought to buy you a dress, no? I am sure that Natalie here will give you all the assistance you need to help you choose.’

Grace spun round on her heel to observe warily the very select display of women’s clothing that hung on wafer-thin mannequins. ‘There probably isn’t anything here above a size zero. Don’t you think that’s an insane concept? Are all the women in the world trying to disappear?’

‘Go and have a proper look,’ Marco urged, his hand lightly touching her back.

Silently he agreed with her. The attentive and perfectly made-up Natalie transmitted a sympathetic look to him that immediately rubbed him up the wrong way. Having already seen her arrow a glance straight in on Grace’s slightly rumpled red and white dress, and fail to hide her distaste, he abhorred the idea that the woman believed for even a second that she was somehow
better
than his lovely, unaffected companion.

‘Why don’t you show her what you have?’ he said tersely. ‘Presumably that’s what you are being paid for, Natalie?’

‘Of course, Senhor Aguilar … May I ask what the young lady’s name is?’

‘I’m sure you can manage just fine without it.’

‘Of course.’ The uneasy smile she gave him was visibly nervous.

‘And when my friend finds something that she likes, I would like to see her wearing it.’

‘Yes,
senhor.’

Natalie dipped her head in a short, respectful bow, and when she moved across the room to join Grace he registered with relief that her tone was far more helpful. His tension easing a little, Marco strolled across the marble floor to one of several white couches dotted round. Dropping down into one, he reached for the neatly folded newspaper that lay on the table in front of him.

Feeling uncomfortably pressured to choose a dress that she hadn’t even wanted in the first place, but at the same time wanting to please Marco and not add to the palpable tension she sensed in him, Grace took the strapless smocked dress she’d finally selected, which they thankfully had in her size, and went into the scented and luxurious changing room to try it on. When Natalie offered to come in and help her she straight away called out that she could manage just fine by herself. She’d bet her last penny that the older woman was busy wondering what a man like Marco must see in a very average sort of girl like her.

Especially when he preferred brunettes …

Unhappily she recalled the Australian photographer’s tactless jibe, and consequently derived no pleasure in trying on the pretty and feminine maxi-dress whose attached labels were festooned with a French designer’s name all over them. She was more than discomfited to discover there was no price-tag in evidence. And even though the changing room was more than adequately air-conditioned, Grace was suddenly too hot, not to mention feeling a little claustrophobic after being stalked by that intrusive little crowd waiting for them outside.

How did Marco bear it?
From what she knew of him he didn’t seem like a man who craved the constant attention of admirers
or
the press. He was essentially a very private man. She had a real yearning to be alone with him again, to ascertain if he really
was
doing all right, and to tell him that she would much prefer to spend the rest of her time with him talking and relaxing rather than going out, with him misguidedly feeling as if he needed to buy her things to keep her happy. Hadn’t he learned enough of her nature to know that that would
never
be the case where she was concerned?

Her fingers fumbling with the lavender-coloured ribbon on the ruched bodice of the dress, she almost jumped out of her skin when her mobile phone’s salsa beat ringtone broke into her reverie. Dropping down to the carpeted floor to delve inside her straw bag, she located the phone, fully expecting the call to be from her parents. She hadn’t spoken to them in over three days now, and no doubt they were getting anxious about her.

But the number that was flashing didn’t belong to her mum or dad. It belonged to Sarah, the manager of the children’s charity in London. Grace frowned, her heart bumping in alarm.

By the time the conversation came to an end she was sitting on the floor, leaning against the changing room wall, with her knees drawn up to her chest and scalding tears of grief and aching regret streaking down her face. Someone knocked on the door. When she didn’t respond, it was immediately pushed open.
It was Marco.

‘The manager told me that she heard you crying. What has happened? Are you hurt?’ Suddenly his handsome face was right in front of hers as he dropped down to the same level as Grace, his fingers concernedly squeezing her shoulder.

‘I’ve had some bad news.’ She sniffed, hastily wiping her eyes. At the same time she registered that she was probably creasing a very expensive designer dress that Marco would have to pay for. The panicked thought added to the drowning sensation of sorrow and distress that was already washing over her, breaking her heart.

‘Somebody rang you from home?’ Lifting her hand, Marco examined the slim silver mobile she was still gripping. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, I beg you. I cannot bear seeing you so upset and not knowing the reason.’

Grace lifted her sorrowful gaze to meet his, striving with all her might to gain better control over her emotions and utterly failing. ‘Remember the baby I told you about back in Africa?’

‘Azizi you said his name was?’

She was startled that he should recall that.

‘Yes. I remember. You told me that it meant beloved or precious one.’ The hooded dark eyes in front of her had deepened to almost black.

‘Well … my manager just phoned to tell me that he—that he
died.
A couple of days ago he developed a fever, and although one of the charity workers managed to get him to a hospital in the city he had a bad fit during the night and—and he didn’t make it. He was just a few weeks old …’ Pausing to wipe away another tear, Grace had tremendous difficulty in swallowing across the aching lump inside her throat. ‘It doesn’t seem fair does it? I mean … to have had such a tragic start in life and then to die just as tragically before you’d even had the chance to live. You said that Azizi would be fortunate if he lived up to his name … now he
won’t
…’

‘Não chorar, a meu amor, que o bebê e seguro com
Deus agora.’
The words were out before Marco had realised he would say them out loud. It literally made his heart ache to see Grace like this and the need to console her took precedence over everything else … even the risk of his words being overheard by the woman who ran the boutique and reported back to the press for a no doubt ludicrous sum …

The shimmering blue eyes in front of him widened as his hand tenderly stroked back her hair, then cupped her cheek. ‘What does that mean?’ she asked, her voice lowered to a mesmerised whisper.

‘I said, do not cry any more. The baby is safe with God now.’
He didn’t even know if he believed in God.
Perhaps his early programming of being raised as a Catholic in the orphanage had made him err towards believing rather than not—even though some people might regard his own start in life as tragic and not understand it. He omitted to tell Grace that he’d actually said, ‘Do not cry any more,
my love
’. Never in his life had Marco addressed a woman in such a tender way. It jolted him to realise what a different man he was around her.

‘That’s beautiful. Thank you.’

‘I will do everything I can to help you come to terms with this loss, Grace … I promise. Would you prefer to go home and have lunch rather than eat here at the marina?’

She looked relieved. ‘Can we? I’m really sorry … I didn’t mean to spoil your plans for the day.’

His throat a little tight, Marco forced a smile. ‘You have spoiled nothing, my angel.’

Helping her to her feet, he felt his senses suddenly besieged by her—by the exquisite softness of the hands he held onto—almost as if she were a lifeline, helping him out of the sea of loneliness and pain that had dogged his footsteps ever since he was a child. No matter how much worldly success he’d achieved. Knowing he was staring, he was staggered by the natural beauty and grace that seemed to define her so effortlessly …
Grace
was the perfect name for her.
How had her parents known that their daughter would grow up to embody it?

‘Marco? Don’t you like the dress?’

He gazed at her, unable to look away. The beautiful garment she wore with its riot of spring colours was lovely. But more than the dress itself, it was the bewitching girl who wore it that elevated it to something special. Caught up in the spell of her, the ability to respond with mere words deserted him.

‘Marco? What’s wrong? You’re worrying me.’

Gathering her urgently into his arms, he crushed her to him and kissed her as if he might
die
if he didn’t.

Neither he nor Grace heard the changing room door open and Natalie murmur, ‘
Desculpe me
… excuse me …’ then quietly and discreetly leave.

CHAPTER TEN

TRUE to her word, Natalie had shown them out the back way, and thankfully they’d escaped the notice of the predatory crowd waiting for them to emerge outside the front of the boutique. They’d run all the way back to the car, and had both been breathless when they arrived. Miguel had given them a bemused glance, then gunned the engine, and they’d left the glamorous marina behind to travel back to the villa.

Marco held her hand throughout the entire journey. Grace fought hard to contain her grief—lodged like a burning stone inside her chest as she recalled gazing down into Azizi’s big brown eyes and seeing the absolute trust there that she would take care of him. She had had a special bond with the baby boy since the night a co-worker had put him into her arms. At every opportunity she had held him, bathed him, sung to him if he was fractious and it cut like a knife that she would never take care of him again …

Stealing into the midst of her grief came the thought that she might have a baby of her own if Marco had made her pregnant. Instead of making her feel apprehensive, as it had done before, the idea actually started to console her. She even began to pray that it would come true. Even though he’d said that he didn’t have any good example of what it meant to be a father, Grace didn’t doubt that Marco would make a good one. She’d had too many examples of his kindness and concern for people
not
to believe it. If he could only endeavour not to keep his emotions locked up so tightly they might even have a future together, she mused.

The notion rocked her world off its axis.

Lifting her gaze to his as the car drew nearer to the villa, she became intimately aware of the hungrily burning intensity that glowed in her companion’s hooded dark eyes. It caught her in a spell that even the most powerful magic would never free her from. It was as though every unfulfilled hope, dream and desire they’d ever had had erupted inside them the moment his lips had brushed hers in the changing room back at the boutique. It had literally been like touching flame to tinder. And now they were set on a course to fulfil those dreams and desires …

As soon as they’d reached the villa and gone in, Marco waited only until they were at the foot of the grand staircase before sweeping Grace off her feet into his arms and transporting her upstairs to the bedroom. Once there, they hungrily tore at each other’s clothes, sharing each other’s breath with drugging, rapturous kisses, until they fell onto the bed in a flurry of searching hands and tangled limbs, eager and impatient to stop the world and any notion of pain or sadness—to make love until they were utterly spent and exhausted.

Lying on her front in the opulent bed, the covers in a pool of oyster silk around her, Grace turned her head to examine the lazily sexy smile of the man beside her. ‘Do you have any idea how much I like you, Marco Aguilar?’ she whispered.

Exhaling a long, slow breath, he trailed his fingertips up and down her spine, sending a cascade of delicious shivers throughout her body. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ he urged.

‘I like you more than any other man I’ve ever met … But please don’t let that scare you. It doesn’t mean I expect any more than you’ve already given me or are willing to give while we’re together.’

‘Why do you think it would scare me to hear you say that?’ His ebony brows lifted quizzically.

‘Because I get the feeling you don’t want anyone to get too attached … especially a woman.’

‘You think so?’

‘Why don’t you answer the question?
Do
you fear a woman getting too close to you, Marco?’

His fingers stopped trailing up and down her spine. His expression had a shuttered look about it, and Grace tensed apprehensively.

‘What do you think?’ he said slowly. ‘Everyone that should have been close to me … would have been close to me … I’ve lost. Maybe I associate becoming too attached to someone with loss? Can you wonder why I wouldn’t want it?’

Even though she knew he was reluctant to talk about personal things, Grace sensed a definite opening in his usual guard—perhaps brought about by their passionate and tender lovemaking? She hoped so. At any rate, she wouldn’t let the possibility of a deeper conversation go.

‘Marco …?’

‘Hmm?’

Reaching out, he manoeuvred her round into his arms, smiling wickedly and making her heart race like mad. Poignantly, she saw how he hoped to deflect her questions with humour.

‘What is it now, my angel? Think of me as your very own personal genie … your wish is my command.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘Will you talk to me …? I mean
really
talk to me?’

If her request disturbed him, there was no immediate indication that it did.

‘What is it that you want to discuss? Tell me.’

‘I’d like to talk about
you
…’

‘Ah.’

‘You just mentioned the loss in your life. Can I ask you about your childhood?’

‘What do you want to know about it?’

‘You said that your father abandoned you in the orphanage when your mother died? Did you ever find out where he went afterwards? I mean, did he never get in touch with you while you were there?’

The sudden tension in his muscles was slight, but she immediately detected it and held her breath.

‘The answer is no to both questions. My mother and father were sixteen and seventeen respectively. They were both orphans … no parents, no home. When my mother died giving birth to me my father was apparently so broken-hearted that all he could think of to do when he went back to the hospital to collect me was take me to the orphanage where he himself had been raised—in fact where he and my mother had met. At the time he was doing some casual labour to make money, and was renting a small inadequate room in the town. He pleaded with them to take me because he had neither the means nor the ability to raise me by himself … and no doubt that was true. After promising to keep in contact, he left. They never saw him again.’

Rubbing his hand across his eyes, Marco deliberately averted his gaze.

‘It’s not easy to find a seventeen-year-old youth with no forwarding address, and no family through which he might be traced either.’

Carefully, gently, Grace flattened her palm against his chest. His heartbeat was racing slightly, and he took a long breath in, then slowly blew it out again. She waited for a few moments for him to start talking again. When he didn’t, she rested her head where her hand had been. His breathing was steadier now, and his hard-muscled chest with its dusting of soft dark hair was warm and wonderful to lie against … like the safest haven she could imagine. Despite his sad upbringing he had such tenacity. She marvelled at the psychological strength it must have taken to rise above the painful start he’d had in life and—against all the odds—achieve something as remarkable as without a doubt he had.

‘Your parents would have been so proud of you if they’d seen you grow up,’ she murmured, tears filling her eyes not only for Marco, but for Azizi too—a boy that had also never known his parents. It was hard to understand why life had to be so hard and cruel sometimes.

‘Hey.’ Marco moved back so that he could study her. ‘Are you crying for me? If you are, then don’t. I don’t want you shedding tears for what happened a long time ago …
too
long. My own policy is never to look back. I’ve put it all behind me now and I have no regrets.’

Grace cupped his beard-shadowed jaw. ‘I’m crying for you
and
for Azizi. Childhood is so precious. Is it true, Marco? Is it true that you don’t ever think about yours and wish things might have been different?’

His gaze was completely unwavering as he considered her, and the sun streamed through the huge windows, illuminating the tiny flecks of light in his dark pupils. ‘Yes, it’s true. I never think about the past and wish it had been different. What on earth would be the point?’

‘Were you ever happy at all when you were growing up in the orphanage?’

‘Not particularly, no. Are your orphans in Africa happy?’

‘Sometimes they are. Their lives are challenging, of course. But they take one day at a time … Children live in the moment, don’t they? They don’t occupy themselves in regretting the past and fretting about the future. And if an adult is kind to them, pays them attention and gives them a hug, their smiles are unbelievable. They respond with so much love that it takes your breath away. It’s the most rewarding work … helping to make them happy even for just a little while.’

‘It must be for someone like
you
, Grace.’

‘Like I told you before … I’m not the only one who loves those kids. You would love them too if you met them. Wasn’t there
anyone
who looked after you when you were little that loved you, and you loved back?’

Scowling, he sat up, dragging the covers over his knees. ‘Not that I recall. Are we finished talking about me now? I think we are, because I can tell you I’ve had enough of revisiting the past for one day and I’d like you to respect that.’

‘I’m really sorry if it distresses you to talk about such things. but—’

‘No doubt you think it’s for my own good?’ His ensuing sigh was heavy, and laden with irritation. ‘You think it might help me release some of the hurt of rejection you imagine I feel inside and make me feel better about myself, is that it?
Deus!
You are like a dog with a bone when you want to get to the bottom of things aren’t you, Grace?’

‘I only want to try and help.’

‘Well, don’t. I’m not one of the coterie of orphans you’re intent on saving single-handedly. The only way you can help me is by being the companion I want you to be for the duration of this holiday and by sharing my bed—
not
by being a latter-day Mother Teresa! If I need to explore any angst about the past I’ll go to a psychologist.’

For long moments his furious tirade crushed her. Then Grace determinedly called upon the reservoir of strength she always drew from whenever she had a challenge to face. She stowed away her embarrassment at being so brutally put in her place and somehow found a smile. Something told her that Marco’s anger wasn’t about her encroaching upon his painful memories of the past, but purely because he was furious with himself that those memories still haunted him. ‘I hear you. Again, I’m really sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable in any way. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?’

Driving his fingers roughly through his burnished dark hair, he stared at her hard. ‘Good idea. How about we talk about
you
instead, hmm? For instance, who was the guy you lost your virginity to? Let’s start with that, shall we?’

She’d risked upsetting Marco and now she was paying the price. However, believing as she did that talking was good, she wouldn’t flinch from telling him what he wanted to know. Perhaps her own story would help defuse his anger and frustration with himself?

Sitting up beside him, Grace turned her head to directly meet his gaze. ‘He was just a guy I briefly dated at university. We only slept together that one time. It was hardly love’s young dream—just the opposite, in fact. Because in the morning he told me he’d made a mistake … that he preferred someone else but hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell me.’

‘So he stole your virginity just for the hell of it, then went on to some other poor, gullible woman?’

Shrugging, she folded her arms round her knees. ‘We both made a mistake. I’m not proud of it. You do some stupid things when you’re young—especially when you’re looking for acceptance and approval.’

Sliding his hand round her jaw, Marco made her turn her head so that he could intimately examine her face. ‘You’re too hard on yourself. It’s the guy who was stupid … stupid to think there was someone better than you.’

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, hoping and praying that the tenderness she heard in his voice meant he wouldn’t stay mad at her for long, for daring to quiz him about his past.

‘And what about the guy that assaulted you?’ he asked gently. ‘What was your relationship like with him?’

Her insides knotting, Grace grimaced. ‘It wasn’t anything special, if that’s what you’re asking. We just kind of fell into going out with each other because we enjoyed the same kind of movies and music … For a while he’d been a part of the group of friends I hung out with, so when he asked me out I believed I knew him—I thought he’d be okay … that he’d treat me well. Everything was fine until he started pressing me to sleep with him. I kept resisting, because I didn’t even know if I liked him enough to keep on dating him, let alone have an intimate relationship. We went to a party one night. He’d been drinking steadily throughout the evening so I drove us home. He didn’t want to be dropped off at his place, and asked if we could go back to mine for a cup of coffee, saying he would ring a cab to take him home. I agreed. It was a stupid decision, because at the time I really believed that was all he wanted. But as soon as we got inside my flat he started accusing me of flirting with some guy at the party. It wasn’t true … not
remotely
. Anyway, he started shoving me around a bit, then he pinned me to the floor and—’

She couldn’t continue. The memory made Grace feel sick and wretched, scared too that she seemed to be so hopeless at choosing the right men.

‘I shouldn’t have made you talk about it … I’m sorry’

Easing her head down onto his chest, Marco threaded his long fingers through her tousled fair hair and tenderly massaged her scalp. It had been despicable of him to make her recall the man who had hurt her, but his own anger and pain about the past—and jealousy too, at the idea of Grace being with anyone else before him—had made him temporarily and regrettably cruel.