‘Where’s your stick?’ she hissed, but Jacob only gave her an impatient look.
‘I’m not an invalid, Rena,’ he muttered. ‘Leave me be.’
Cleo went up the steps rather timidly, which annoyed her a little, but she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t help being intimidated by this man who was, incredibly, her grandfather.
She was also aware that both Serena and Lily Montoya were watching her. Probably hoping she’d fall flat on her face, she thought bitterly. It was becoming more and more obvious that neither of them really wanted her here.
Jacob was still holding out his hand and, with a feeling of trepidation, Cleo put her hand into it and felt the dry brown fingers close about her moist skin.
‘My granddaughter,’ Jacob said, and she was almost sure there was a lump in his throat as he spoke the words. ‘My God, girl, you’re beautiful!’
Cleo didn’t know what to say. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dominic propped against one of the pillars. He’d taken off his jacket and folded his arms, watching their exchange with narrowed green eyes.
What was he thinking? she wondered. And why, at this most significant moment in her life, did she feel as if he was the only friend she had?
Which was ridiculous really. She hardly knew him, for heaven’s sake. Oh, sure, there’d been that moment in the cocktail lounge of the hotel back in England when she’d sensed he was attracted to her. But that had just been a brief aberration, brought on, no doubt, by the fact that he hadn’t seen his girlfriend for a week at least.
Nevertheless, almost unconsciously, she’d begun to depend on him, and it was only now that she realised she didn’t even know where he lived. She knew he didn’t live at Magnolia Hill.
Serena had said as much. But was he going to leave her here at the mercy of his aunt and his mother?
‘This must all be very strange for you.’ Jacob was speaking again and Cleo had to concentrate hard to understand what he was saying. ‘I want you to know, I’ve anticipated this day with great excitement and emotion.’
Cleo didn’t know how to answer him. How did you speak to a man you’d never met before, but who was as closely related to you as any man alive?
‘I—I didn’t believe it,’ she offered at last, flashing Dominic a glance of pure desperation.
This had been such an incredibly long and nerve-racking day, and exhaustion was causing a tension headache to tighten all the skin at her temples.
‘But Dominic must have told you what happened?’ Jacob persisted, drawing her hand through his arm and turning towards the door into the house. ‘I’m sure he explained—’
‘Give her a break, old man.’
Dominic himself had stepped into their path, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, and Cleo felt an immense sense of relief that he’d understood her panic.
‘What do you mean?’
Jacob’s tone was confrontational, but Dominic only exchanged a challenging look with Serena before saying smoothly, ‘Can’t you see she’s tired? This has been a long day for her and I dare say what she’d really appreciate is a little time to herself. Why don’t you let Serena show her to her room? Then she can have a shower and rest. She’ll feel far more like answering your questions when she’s not dropping on her feet.’
Jacob scowled, but he turned to Cleo with reluctant concern. ‘Is this true, my dear?’ he asked, and Cleo wet her lips before replying.
‘I would like a chance to freshen up,’ she agreed weakly. ‘If you don’t mind?’
‘If I don’t mind?’ Jacob snorted. ‘You must do whatever you feel like doing, my dear. I’m hoping you’ll consider Magnolia
Hill your home; that you’ll regard Dominic, Serena and myself as your family.’ His lips tightened as he glanced back along the veranda. ‘And Lily, of course.’
Dominic’s mother looked as if the last thing she wanted to do was welcome her husband’s illegitimate daughter into the family. But it was obvious from the tight smile that touched her lips, and from the fact that she didn’t contradict him, that even she didn’t fly in the face of her father-in-law’s commands.
‘Good.’ Dominic sounded pleased. ‘Now that’s settled, perhaps Sam can fetch Cleo’s bags from the car?’
C
LEO
slept for almost twelve hours.
After that meeting with her grandfather, Serena had shown her to the rooms she was to occupy and suggested she might like her supper served there.
‘I know my father won’t approve. He can’t wait to talk to you,’ she said. ‘But I think both Dominic and I are of the opinion that you need time to get your bearings before facing any more questions.’
At the time, Cleo had demurred. The sooner she got the initial interview with her grandfather over, the sooner she could think about going home. Because whatever Jacob Montoya had said, Magnolia Hill was not her home and never would be.
But it was not to be.
After the manservant had delivered her luggage and Cleo had denied needing any help with her unpacking, she’d spent a little time exploring her apartments.
A spacious living room, simply furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas, some of which sat beneath the long windows, flowed into an even more spacious bedroom. Here, French doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked a floodlit swimming pool at the back of the house, the huge colonial bed allowing its occupant to take full advantage of the view.
It had been getting dark, so she’d been unable to see much beyond the gardens. Besides, the marble-tiled bathroom had distracted her attention.
A large marble tub was sunk into the floor, while alongside it was a jacuzzi bath, with lots of jets for massaging the body. There were twin hand basins, also in marble, and an enormous shower cubicle, its circling walls made incredibly of glass tiles.
There were mirrors everywhere, throwing back her reflection from every angle, flattering or otherwise. When she first shed her clothes, Cleo spent a little time fretting over her appearance. In her opinion, her breasts were too small and her hips were too big, and she shivered at the thought of Dominic seeing her in a swimsuit.
But, despite these inappropriate feelings towards her adopted brother, by the time Cleo had had a shower and washed her hair, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Wrapping her hair in one of the fluffy towels she found on a rack in the bathroom, she dragged her suitcase across the floor and extracted a bra and panties. Then, stretching out on the satin luxury of the bedspread, she closed her eyes.
She awakened to fingers of sunlight finding their way between the slats of the window blind. It was evidently morning, but for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Only that the bed, and most particularly the room, were unfamiliar.
Then her memory reasserted itself, and, unable to suppress a little gasp of dismay, she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked about her.
Her first realisation was that someone had been into her room while she was sleeping. The bedspread she’d been lying on had been drawn back and she was now covered with a fine Egyptian cotton sheet. Also, the blinds hadn’t been drawn when she’d lain down on the bed. So who had checked up on her?
One of the servants, perhaps? Or Serena? She wouldn’t put it past the older woman to want to satisfy herself that Cleo wasn’t going to appear again that night. But what had she told Jacob Montoya? Had she let him think that Cleo had chosen to go to bed rather than spend the evening with him?
She sighed. It was too late now to worry about such a pos
sibility. And her grandfather—she was amazed at how easily the word came to her mind—had said to treat the place as her home. Not that she would. As she’d thought the night before, she could only ever be a visitor here. Too many things had happened to consider anything else.
Sliding her legs out of bed, Cleo got to her feet and was relieved to find she felt totally rested. If a little sticky, she conceded, aware that, despite the air conditioning, moving brought a film of moisture to her skin. Beyond the windows, the sun was evidently gaining in strength. What time was it? she wondered. And where had she left her watch?
She eventually found it in the bathroom. She’d adjusted the time on the plane and she saw now that it was barely seven o’clock. Nudging the bedroom blind aside, she peered through the French windows. It was a glorious morning and, despite herself, she felt her spirits rise.
There didn’t appear to be anyone about and, unlatching the window, she pushed it open. Warmth flooded into the room and with it came the tantalising scent of tropical blossoms and the unmistakable tang of the sea.
She saw now that beyond the gardens was the beach she’d glimpsed so briefly on her arrival. Feathery palm trees framed the blue waters of the Atlantic, a frill of foam creaming along the shore.
Slipping between the vertical blinds, she stepped out onto the balcony. Below her, the swimming pool sparkled in the sunlight, tubs of shrubs and hibiscus and oleander marking the curve of a patio that was half-hidden from her view.
A maid appeared with a watering can, evidently intent on her task, and although Cleo was inclined to step back inside she resisted the impulse. After all, her bra and panties were no more revealing than a bikini. It was amazing, she could stand here in the sunlight, when it had been wet and cloudy yesterday morning in London.
She wondered what time her grandfather got up. Whether he’d expect her to join him for breakfast. Her nerves jangled a
little at the prospect, though from what she’d seen the night before, he didn’t seem a very intimidating figure.
Unlike Dominic…
Her pulse quickening, she wondered if Dominic had stayed the night at Magnolia Hill. Had he ever lived here at all? He’d told her his parents had had their own house when he’d explained about Celeste—her mother. Goose pimples feathered her skin at the memory.
But still, she couldn’t stop thinking about where he might be at this moment. Perhaps he lived with his girlfriend, though that thought was less easy to engage. Whatever, it was really no concern of hers, so she should just get over it. Before she saw him again and let him guess how she felt…
A shadow moved at the far side of the pool.
For the first time, she noticed that there were cabanas there; small cabins where a person using the pool could change their clothes.
A man had emerged from one of the cabanas. A tall man, bare-chested, with a towel draped around his neck. He was wearing swimming shorts that barely skimmed his hip bones. Wet shorts that clung to every corded sinew.
As she watched, he used the towel to dry his hair, and she saw the growth of dark hair beneath his arms and arrowing down his chest. His skin was brown and sleek with muscle, his stomach flat above long, powerful legs.
Cleo’s palms were suddenly damp. She didn’t have to wonder any longer about Dominic. He’d obviously been swimming. But how long had he been there? And was he able to see her?
Her throat drying, Cleo eased herself back into her bedroom. Then, allowing the blinds to fall back into place, she took a moment to calm her racing heart. Wherever he lived he’d evidently spent the night at Magnolia Hill, she thought breathlessly. Would he be joining his grandfather for breakfast, too?
She was spending far too much time speculating about
Dominic Montoya. Impatient with herself, Cleo smoothed her palms down her thighs and knelt beside her suitcase.
What to wear? That was the problem. Well, not a bikini, she assured herself, with another glance in the mirror. The tank suit Norah had persuaded her to buy was probably going to remain unworn in her case.
Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom in narrow-legged lemon shorts and a white cotton T-shirt. Smart, but casual, she thought, remembering something else Norah had told her. It wasn’t cool to look overdressed.
Besides, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get the impression that she was looking for admiration. Or sex, she added grimly, abruptly recalling the last months of her mother’s life.
She decided she could hardly blame Lily Montoya for being hostile. After all, her husband had had an affair with Celeste. But as for her being attracted to her adopted brother…Cleo sucked in a breath. There was no way history was going to repeat itself.
Her hair was still a little wet, so she found an elasticated band in her bag and looped it up in a ponytail. Then, stepping into thonged sandals, she checked her appearance once more before opening her door.
The place seemed very quiet. Without the knowledge that there were at least half a dozen servants working in the house, she might have thought she and Dominic were its only occupants.
She blew out a breath, inwardly chiding herself. She had to stop punctuating every thought with Dominic. He meant nothing to her. How could he? She hardly knew him. And it went without saying that she meant nothing to him.
A long hallway with a window at the end led to the staircase. However, before reaching the downward curve of a scrolled iron banister, the landing opened out into a pleasant sitting area. From here, it was possible to overlook the lower
foyer, circular leaded windows allowing sunlight to stream into the stairwell.
As Cleo started down, she saw the huge potted fern that filled the turn of the staircase. Tendrils of greenery clung to the iron and brushed her fingers as she passed. There was something almost sensual about its twining fronds, she mused ruefully. Or perhaps she was just extra-sensitive this morning.
Certainly, she had climbed this staircase the night before. But then, exhaustion, and a certain amount of tension, had clouded her view. Not that she was any less tense this morning, she thought, pausing to admire the view from an arching window. Even the sight of the alluring shoreline couldn’t quite rid her of the feeling that she shouldn’t be here.
A West Indian maid appeared below her. She looked up at her with expectant eyes, and Cleo wondered what she was thinking. ‘Can I help you, Ms Novak?’ she asked, and Cleo was relieved to find she hadn’t been introduced to the staff as Cleo Montoya.
‘Um—you could tell me if Mr Montoya is up yet,’ she said, deciding she might as well be proactive. If her grandfather wanted to see her, there was no point in her dragging her heels.
The maid gestured across the delicately patterned tiles of the foyer. ‘Mr Dominic is having breakfast on the terrace,’ she said politely. ‘You like I should show you the way?’
‘Oh—no.’ Cleo had no desire to spend any more time with Dominic than she had to. ‘I meant—Mr Montoya Senior. What time does he usually get up?’
‘Your grandfather has breakfast in his room at about seven a.m.,’ remarked a disturbingly familiar voice from behind her. Cleo turned to find Dominic standing in the arched entry to the adjoining room. ‘He’ll be down later.’
Thankfully, he was dressed now. Albeit in khaki cargo shorts and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that exposed taut muscles and a wedge of brown flesh at his waist.
Which seemed far too casual to her way of thinking. It was easier to keep him at arm’s length in a formal suit and tie.
He had evidently heard their voices and come to investigate. The acoustics in the foyer must have allowed the sound to circulate around the ground-floor rooms. Cleo realised belatedly that she should have thought of that.
However, the maid turned towards him with evident enthusiasm. ‘Ms Novak was just lookin’ for Mr Jacob, sir,’ she said, sashaying towards him, hips swinging, arms akimbo. ‘You want more coffee, Mr Dominic? You do, just say the word and Susie’ll get it for you.’
Dominic’s lips tightened as he saw Cleo’s reaction to the implied intimacy of the girl’s words, and there was an edge to his voice when he said, ‘You can get Ms Novak some breakfast instead. Fruit, cereal, rolls, coffee.’ He arched his brows at Cleo. ‘Does that about cover it?’
‘I…’ Cleo had hardly heard what he’d said and now she struggled to answer him. ‘I—I guess so,’ she muttered. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ Dominic turned once more to the maid. ‘On the terrace, Susie. As quick as you can, right?’
Susie pursed sulky lips, but she knew better than to argue that it wasn’t her job to serve meals when she’d already offered to get him fresh coffee.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said tersely, her hands dropping to her sides as she marched away, and Cleo hoped she hadn’t made another enemy.
Meanwhile, Dominic was trying to master his own frustration. Dammit, Cleo probably thought he exercised some medieval droit de seigneur over the female members of the household staff and it irritated the hell out of him.
Not that it mattered what Cleo thought, he reminded himself.
Only it did.
‘Did you sleep well?’
Dominic gestured for her to come and join him and, although she would have preferred to make her own way, Cleo had little choice but to obey him.
‘Very well,’ she responded, making sure she didn’t brush
against him as she preceded him into the room behind him. ‘I’m sorry if your grandfather expected me to join him yesterday evening, but I’m afraid I just flaked out.’
‘I know.’
Dominic was far too sure of himself, and Cleo gave him a wary look.
‘You know?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Serena had one of the maids check up on you.’ He grimaced. ‘You could have fallen asleep in the bath. We wouldn’t want you to drown yourself before you had a chance to get to know us.’
Cleo pressed her lips together. ‘I wasn’t likely to do that,’ she said, but Dominic only gave her a wry smile.
‘All the same…’ he murmured lightly. ‘The old man would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to you.’
‘Just the old man?’ Cleo found herself saying provocatively, and saw the way Dominic’s expression darkened.
‘Don’t play games with me, Cleo,’ he said warningly. ‘You’re not equipped to deal with the fallout.’
Cleo’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything more. Her face flaming, she turned away, grateful to transfer her attention to less disquieting subjects.
But he was right, she thought. She wasn’t used to provoking anyone, least of all a man who always seemed to bring out the worst—or was it the bitch?—in her.
It was quite a relief to study her surroundings.
Darkly upholstered sofas and chairs stood out in elegant contrast to the backdrop of pale walls and even paler wooden floors.