Seduced By The Billionaire

CHAPTER NINE

EXPERT hands moved slowly, firmly, over Alejandro’s aching back and stiff shoulders, smoothing out the taut muscles, pressing away the tension.

Or that was the idea.

Lying on his stomach in the low, bluish light of the steamroom, he shifted restlessly, moving his head to the other side where he could see the smooth curve of Madalena’s pretty behind as she leaned over him, massaging his back with long, firm strokes.

The steam closed around him, seeping into his tight muscles. He needed this, he told himself grimly. The Barbarians rugby match had cost him a lot of time away from polo, and he’d spent the last three days in the saddle, working obsessively on his technique and getting to know the new horses ahead of tomorrow’s match.

‘You’re very tense, señor,’ Madalena said softly.

Making a huge effort, Alejandro flexed his fisted fingers and tried to relax, tried to focus his mind on the game. The new palomino was a dream to ride, and he was looking forward to trying her out tomorrow. She had an energy and a responsiveness that told him that whatever he asked of her she would give—quicker, better, more bravely than he would ever have expected. With her gleaming golden colouring and silver-blonde mane, she was also beautiful.

Now who did that remind him of?

‘Please, you must try to relax, señor.’

Madalena’s fingers pressed into his tense, aching shoulders and Alejandro gritted his teeth.

Mind on the game. Concentrate.

Tomorrow’s game was an important one. San Silvana and La Maya were old rivals, and the eight players on the field would be some of Argentina’s highest ranking and most respected, himself included. That was why he’d been practising for twelve hours at a stretch for the last three days. Of course it was. It was to ensure that they got back the title taken from them by La Maya last year, and had nothing at all to do with trying to avoid…

‘That will be enough, Madalena,’ he snapped, sitting up abruptly.

The masseuse stepped backwards in surprise, her oiled hands held out in front of her. ‘But, Señor D’Arienzo, I’ve only just begun. There’s a lot of tension in your lower back and your thighs—’

‘I said enough.’

Skilled and professional though it was, tonight her touch did nothing but set his teeth on edge. There was no way he could endure the feel of her hands working down his body, over his heated skin, while his mind refused to concentrate on tactics for tomorrow’s match, and instead insisted on returning to the same dangerous territory.

Tamsin bloody Calthorpe.

Madalena slipped quietly away and he threw himself down onto a mosaic-tiled bench, breathing in the dense, pine-and-lavender-scented steam. The heat seared down inside him, scouring his throat and lungs, and he ran a hand over his sweat-slicked face.

She really was incredible. He’d thought that at least she’d make some pretence of working on the commission, but Giselle had informed him that apart from a couple of hours on the first day she hadn’t even seen Lady Calthorpe. This afternoon, seeing her sitting outside, it had become abundantly clear why. She could hardly get her London contacts to send through designs for her to pass off as her own with Giselle sitting only a few feet away, could she? No wonder she’d looked so terrified when he’d come across her. She’d even tried to hide.

He sighed, letting his head fall back onto the warm tiles, and staring into the clouds of steam that billowed and swirled in the subdued lighting. She’d be here any minute to show him what she’d supposedly been working on. Maybe then he’d be able to cut through the deception and the pretence and expose her once and for all for the fraud she was.

And after that he would deal with the other bit of unfinished business that lay between them like an unexploded bomb.

For six years he’d berated himself bitterly for letting lust overcome judgement that night. However, what was starting to bother him more was not what he’d done, but what he hadn’t done. If he’d been carrying condoms, as he usually did, if he hadn’t left her, if he’d had her then on the cool, stone bench, he wouldn’t be so tortured now by what he’d missed out on.

Back then he’d been punished for a sin he hadn’t even had the chance to commit, he mused darkly. And, since he’d already paid the price, wasn’t it only fair that now he got to taste the fruit?

The sun was beginning to slide down a sky the colour of watermelon as Tamsin made her way down to the pool house, her laptop under her arm.

She was early by at least half an hour, but it was quite deliberate. She wanted to make sure she had the laptop set up and all the information ready to be accessed in a couple of clicks before Alejandro got there. She knew that, the moment he came within a couple of metres of her, efficiency, competence and clearheaded professionalism were likely to be the first casualties.

She couldn’t afford to let that happen. Having just spent the last hour in her room trying on every single combination of all the clothes that she’d brought, her confidence was at a low enough ebb already, and it wouldn’t take much to get her well and truly flustered now.

If only she’d brought her red Temperley dress. That always made her feel strong and in control. Or the little lime-green shift that she’d designed herself for Coronet, with the tiny black cardigan that slipped over her shoulders…That would be perfect for a warm evening like this. Cool and slightly sassy, but still professional.

Grimly she looked down at the pink and gold Indian-silk tunic she’d finally chosen in desperation. Usually she wore it over jeans, but she’d decided that that would send out a message that was way too casual, so she’d left her legs bare. At least they were brown from three days outside, she thought bleakly, stepping into the cool gloom beneath some eucalyptus trees. It was unfortunate that she looked like she was dressed for the beach rather than a professional presentation, but that was his fault. If he hadn’t been so…so…there while she’d been packing she might—

Tamsin started as a woman in a short white dress, like a nurse’s uniform, appeared from behind the row of trees. She walked with a languid grace, her treacle-dark gaze barely flickering in Tamsin’s direction as she murmured, ‘Buenas tardes,’ and passed her, going back in the direction of the house.

She might not have felt so out of place here among all these beautiful women.

Although maybe she would. Maybe she was kidding herself that clothes and fashion and this season’s colours made the slightest damned bit of difference, because underneath she just wasn’t sexy enough. That was why he’d walked out on her six years ago, leaving her with her dress around her ankles and her pride in bleeding ribbons.

The pool house, like the rest of San Silvana, had an atmosphere of grand European colonialism. A tall, square building, with white pillars and arched cloisters, from a distance it looked like an ancient Spanish church, but as Tamsin drew closer she could see that the old building was combined with elements of startling modernity. One wall had been completely removed and replaced with sliding-glass panels, which opened out onto an area decked in smooth, dark wooden boards.

Tamsin put her computer down on the big, square table in the centre of the deck and sat down in front of it, stubbornly refusing to be impressed by the stunning surroundings.

Cool and professional, she thought, squinting down at the screen. Cool and professional, that was how she needed to play this. Briskly she clicked open the files containing the designs, and the technical specifications and rough costings for each, and checked that all the information was there. And then she checked again. And then she sat back, chewing on her lip and glancing at her watch.

Still twenty minutes to go before he arrived. Her stomach gave a nervous lurch that was neither cool nor professional and yet again her gaze flicked towards the house, looking for him. Maybe it had been a mistake to be so early after all. She’d be a nervous wreck by the time he finally showed up.

Pushing back her chair with a harsh, scraping sound, she stood up. Now that the rosy sun had slipped down below the trees it was much cooler, and, rubbing her arms through the thin silk of her dress, she strode crossly into the pool house. The cold; that was what it was. The sudden drop in temperature was responsible for the goosebumps on her skin, not nervous anticipation of his arrival.

Inside the building the swimming pool itself only took up about half of the space, with the rest of it being given over to a sunny seating area, where wicker armchairs arranged beside an old wooden bar-area gave an impression of colonial elegance. There was also a smaller spa-pool, and a wet area, where water cascaded down from a lion’s head shower, and in the wall at the far end were two frosted-glass doors. Tamsin found herself walking towards them, as curiosity fought with cynical indifference, and won.

The first door opened into a changing room. Two huge antique-looking porcelain basins stood side by side beneath a big-carved wooden mirror, and a kingfisher-blue wrap hung on a hook on the wall beside them. Hesitantly she walked over and ran a hand down its slippery folds. It was made of exquisitely fine silk, which shimmered and changed colour beneath her reve rential fingers as she held it, at one moment appearing blue, the next changing to dark, shiny green.

It was lovely.

She took a sharp step backwards, letting the fabric fall from her hand, and watching it slither back into its shiny, secretive folds. Oh yes, it was certainly lovely. And Giselle no doubt looked great in it. Stiffly, Tamsin turned and left the room, rubbing her hand down her thigh as if the sumptuous fabric had contaminated it.

She pulled open the second door.

Instantly she was enveloped in a warm billow of pine-scented steam that curled itself around her and drew her forward. The room in front of her was dark and cave-like, lit by tiny blue lights set into the tiled floor, and in the thick swirl of steam it felt like she was stepping into a cloud on a hot summer’s night. She took a couple of steps forward, tipping her head back and inhaling deeply as the door swung shut and the warmth embraced her.

Oh, this was good.

This was more than good.

The vaguely astringent fragrance of pine and lavender soothed her frazzled nerves as the heat eased the tension from her rigid shoulders. Pushing both hands through her hair, she closed her eyes, tipped her head back and breathed in again. And out, with a low sigh of pleasure.

There was nothing to see but blue-lit whiteness, shifting and melting into the darkness beyond. Blindly, Tamsin moved backward, groping for the seats she guessed would run along the wall. Her fingers brushed something hard and warm, and for the briefest fraction of a second a frown passed across her forehead as she tried to make sense of what she was feeling. She moved the flat of her hand further downward…

She froze.

‘What the…? Oh, my…!’

Then her heart, which seemed to have stopped for a few beats, went into painful overdrive as she felt a lazy hand caressing the back of her leg. ‘No, please, don’t feel you have to stop,’ said the all-too-familiar drawl. ‘That was just getting interesting.’

She should move. Of course she should. Away from the fingers that were tracing languorous circles of bliss on her thigh. Away from the sense of menace that was now enfolding her along with the steam. But…

‘I had no idea you were here. I thought…’

She felt the back of Alejandro’s hand brush her inner thigh. She heard him sigh softly and felt him lever himself upright. The movement caused the steam to eddy and whirl, enabling her to see him in the gloom.

Her breath hitched in her burning throat.

God, he was magnificent. Naked apart from a pair of dark swimming trunks, he was sitting with his head thrown back in an attitude of dangerous ease. His skin gleamed like burnished copper in the low, bluish light, and her eyes travelled automatically to the sun tattoo that blazed on his chest. The steam thickened again, like drawing a veil between them.

‘If you’ve come for our meeting, you’re early.’

Low-pitched and languid, his voice seemed to curl around her like the steam. She could still feel the sensation of his fingers on her skin, almost as if they’d left a pattern etched into her flesh, and had to force her mind back to what he was saying.

‘I know. I came to prepare.’

The haze of steam made everything sound sensuous. Even her own voice, in the dark and quiet and the obliterating mist, sounded husky and intimate.

He laughed softly, and the sound was like a kiss. ‘Of course. I should have guessed you would. I’m looking forward to the rest of your presentation. But…’ Tamsin could detect a sinister edge to his honeyed voice that made her spine stiffen. ‘I warn you, my expectations are high.’

‘If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work.’

‘No? And yet you sound nervous.’

She heard him move, sensed him coming towards her. Her body was hot and damp, the silk of her tunic was clinging to it like a second skin, but as he got closer she felt another, secret surge of moisture inside her. Desperately hoping for nonchalance, she let her head fall back against the wall she was leaning against and raised her knee, placing her foot flat against the wall.

‘Nervous?’ she said carelessly, ‘Not in the slightest. Why would I be—?’

She broke off with a gasp as she felt his hand slip beneath her damp dress, against her heart. Her treacherous, thundering heart.

‘You tell me.’

He was close enough now for her to see his smile and the dull, triumphant gleam in his eyes. ‘Ah, but I forgot,’ he went on quietly, his thumb very lightly stroking the sweat-beaded valley between her breasts. ‘You can’t, can you?’

Her whole body seemed to harden, throbbing in time to the painful beating of her heart beneath his hand. Her nipples were tight buds of concentrated longing. She wanted to move away but a terrible, silken languor had stolen over her, brought on by the caress of his voice and his gentle, insistent touch.

‘You can’t,’ he breathed, ‘Because honesty isn’t exactly your strong point, is it, Tamsin?’

The words were like sharpened spurs on tender flesh. Pain tore through her, instantly bringing her back to her senses. Viciously she knocked his hand away and made to move past him to the door. But, with the lightning reactions that made him such a success on both the rugby pitch and the polo field, Alejandro reached out and grabbed her right wrist, pulling her back so she almost fell against him.

Tamsin went very still. Everything in her was telling her to pull back from him, but his grip on her wrist was like steel, and an instinct born of years of habit warned her not to make any sudden movement. Her arm was very slightly twisted, and bitter experience had taught her that it would take only the slightest movement now for the fragile set of the bones in her elbow to shatter again.

Slowly she tipped her head and met his gaze. His eyes were shadowed, impossible to read in the gloom. ‘You know nothing about me,’ she hissed, as adrenalin pulsed through her in waves and her breath came in shallow gasps. She frowned, desperately tensing her body against the urge to press itself against him.

‘Wishful thinking, sweetheart,’ he murmured.

And then—Tamsin wasn’t sure afterwards how it had happened—some slight movement or change in their position caused red-hot daggers of agony to shoot up her arm. Momentarily distracted she went completely weak, falling against him as her lips parted to let out a small cry of shock, pain and misery. He let go of her wrist, his arms closing round her to support her, his mouth coming down on hers.

And she kissed him back. She didn’t want to, but she could no longer hold back the tidal wave of annihilating desire crashing through her. Raising her hands, she gripped his face, feeling the stubble rasp against her palms as she slid her fingers into his damp, tangled hair. His skin was hot and wet.

Just like her. Just like she was.

The moist heat of the steamroom was nothing compared to the liquid fire that was building inside her as he stood in front of her, hard and strong and beautiful. His hands moved down from her waist, slipping beneath the flimsy fabric of her dress and then sliding up again, over the moist skin of her midriff, her ribs, up to her breasts. The high note of yearning that came from her mouth as he pushed down the lacy cups of her bra and her hard nipples brushed his palms was lost in his kiss.

His knee came between her legs and automatically she parted them, feeling herself pushing her hips downward, forward, against the rock-hardness of his thigh. Inside her head there was nothing but darkness and space.

And heat. So much heat.

Their mouths tore at each other, tongues clashing, probing, retreating, in the same primitive rhythm as the movement of her hips. It was as old as time, and yet it was making Tamsin feel things that she’d never felt before.

Not since the first time.

The first and only time.