She was more beautiful than he remembered, the delicate, perfectly formed body still unbelievably sexy.

Five years ago he could have taken that body; it had been his for the asking. He narrowed his eyes, black gleaming through the enigmatic, heavy sweep of his lashes.

Now, one way or another, he was going to have her. Take what he wanted for as long as he wanted it, learn the secrets of her delectable body, then toss her back where she belonged.

Dropping his hands, he leaned farther back in the chair. His accent slightly more pronounced than usual, his tone smooth as cream, he said, “I have a proposition to put to you, Miss Pennington….”

There are times in a man’s life…

when only seduction will settle old scores!

Pick up our exciting series of revenge-based romances—they’re recommended and red-hot!

Available only from Harlequin Presents®

A Spanish Vengeance
Diana Hamilton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

A DEEPLY unsettling mixture of frazzled nerve ends and sizzling excitement was making Lisa Pennington feel decidedly queasy.

Long fingers fumbled in her envelope purse, searching for a tissue to mop the perspiration from her face. She was sweating like a foundry worker. She tried to convince herself it was down to the heat of the Spanish evening sun and told herself to snap out of it. She’d end up looking a real soggy mess if she didn’t pull herself together. And that mustn’t happen.

She had to look good, cool and calm, if only to counteract Ben’s reaction. So she’d pulled out all the stops, and dug out her make-up bag. The creamy foundation toned down the tan she’d acquired during the last eight weeks, while silvery eye-shadow emphasised the size and shape of her inky-blue eyes, and scarlet lipstick gave her the illusion of courage.

She’d slopped around in shorts and cool cotton tops all through this holiday but this evening she was wearing a dress in silvery-green silk, sleek and hopefully sophisticated. She couldn’t be seen in the newest, smartest hotel in the whole of Marbella wearing any old rag.

Tomorrow she, Ben and Sophie would be returning to England. By tomorrow everyone would know what Diego’s intentions were. She quivered, assailed by a fresh onslaught of nervous tension.

Diego. Oh, how she loved him—she couldn’t describe how much! In the last seven weeks he had become her whole world, the focus of every thought, of every breath she drew. And he loved her; she knew he did. The knowledge was pure magic. Tonight he would make his intentions plain. Why else would he have suggested he meet with her and her holiday companions in the disco bar of the exclusive hotel? He knew how close Ben and Sophie were to her, twin offspring of her father’s business partner. The three of them had always been mates, especially after the death of her mother four years ago when they had taken her under their loving, protective wings.

Lisa crossed her fingers, praying that the coming meeting would go smoothly, that Ben wouldn’t come out with something Diego’s Spanish pride would never let him forgive. It would be unbearable if the three people she loved best in the world were at daggers drawn.

Straightening her shoulders, feeling the long silky fall of her silver-blonde hair brush against the bare skin of her back, she risked a sideways glance. Ben, strolling at her side, was seemingly intent on watching the expensive cars cruising the elegant sea front. He wasn’t looking at her but she knew his bluntly good looking features would be clenched with displeasure if he did turn in her direction.

At twenty years of age he was only two years her senior yet he sometimes acted as if he were her grandfather! Lisa sighed, remembering his stinging comments when, in order to explain why she’d spent little time with him and Sophie, she’d had to confess that she’d met someone.

Flushed with the wonder of finding the love of her life here in Spain when she hadn’t really wanted to be here at all, when she had intended spending her gap year back-packing around Europe, she had given his name, ‘Diego Raffacani,’ adding unnecessarily, ‘He’s Spanish.’ Holding the fact that he was the most gorgeous-looking human being ever to walk the planet very close to her madly beating heart.

Ben had shot her the underbrow look that told her she was in for a lecture. ‘How old is this guy? And I presume that, as you spend every day together, he’s out of work?’

‘Then you presume wrong!’ Lisa’s pointed chin shot up defensively. ‘Diego works most evenings in one of the hotel restaurants down in Marbella—that’s why he’s free to spend his days with me! And, if you’re really interested, he’s twenty-two.’

Only four years her senior and so darkly handsome, so lithe and physically perfect that her heart ached just to look at him.

‘So you’ve been picked up by a Spanish waiter,’ Ben delivered drily. ‘What a cliché!’

Unforgivably, Lisa giggled because, technically, Ben was spot on. She’d thought back to that day over three weeks ago. She’d spent the first week here dutifully tagging along with her friends. Descending from the hills where their rented ex-farmhouse holiday home was situated in the hired four-by-four. Doing what Ben and Sophie enjoyed. Playing golf, window-shopping, sipping coffee outside one of the trendy cafés, exploring what they could of the exclusive and highly fashionable nearby Puerto Banus area.

That particular day she’d cried off, the glitz beginning to pall, preferring to spend some time exploring the surrounding hilly back country on foot, comfortably clad in shorts and a matching acid-yellow T-shirt and sensible trainers. The buzzing of a motor scooter—a Vespino, Diego called it—was a warning that came too late. They had met on a bend in the steep, narrow track. Lisa had fallen backwards on to a carpet of wild herbs and the handsome young Spaniard had braked the scooter to a stone-spitting, slithering sideways halt.

Leaping across the narrow space, he’d gently helped her to her feet. So yes, he had quite literally picked her up! Looking into the concerned dark eyes, the proud, almost unnerving, aristocratic-looking features, at the tall bronzed perfection of a sensationally honed male clad just in patched cut-off denims that clipped the hard, narrow jut of his hips and a black vest top that had faded to grey, she had been utterly transfixed, her heart jumping up into her throat then spiralling down again to play havoc in the region of her stomach.

Their eyes had held as he assured himself she was unhurt—his questions couched in soft, only slightly accented English—gleaming black fringed with heavy thick lashes sending unspoken heady messages to wide inky-blue, the strong, steadying hands that curved around her slim shoulders transmitting a sensation that was a slow, unbearably sweet aching deep inside her.

That was how it had begun. And she would never again pour scorn on the idea of falling in love at first sight.

Ben had heaved a worried sigh, watching her as she made the morning coffee and Sophie, putting freshly picked peaches on a dish precisely in the centre of the breakfast table, had said lightly, ‘Every girl’s entitled to a holiday romance once in her life—provided things don’t get out of hand.’

‘They haven’t, have they?’ Ben put in quickly, his frown deepening.

As if she’d tell him! And no, they hadn’t. Diego’s kisses and caresses had sent her up in flames, the wanting a sweet wild torment inside her, but he had always pulled back at the critical moment, his voice soft and sultry as he had explained, ‘You are very young, querida. One day you will be my bride. Until then, my angel, I value your purity above all else.’

‘Is that a proposal?’ Her voice was shaky with passion, her throat thick. He was all she had ever wanted; it was like a fairy tale.

‘But of course, querida. You are my angel. I truly love you.’ A gentle forefinger traced the outline of her lush lips, making her tremble. She could hardly speak through the rip-tide of ecstatic happiness, but managed a breathless, ‘When?’

‘When the time is right, amor mio,’ he answered lightly, ‘When you graduate from university—’

‘That’s years away!’ she punched out, wriggling out of his arms. He’d offered her heaven and now she could see it slipping away like water down a plughole.

He took her hands. ‘There is no ending to our love; time won’t alter that.’ Warm, dark eyes smiled into hers. ‘I too have things to do. Time will pass quickly, I promise. You will have vacations and I shall tell you where I am and you shall come to me.’ His smile widened to a teasing grin. ‘You have a rich daddy who will pay for your air fares!’

She dragged her hands away and sulked for the rest of the day. If he loved her as much as she loved him he wouldn’t want to wait. Marrying her this minute wouldn’t be soon enough!

But lying awake that night she’d formulated the perfect plan. She’d return to England at the end of their holiday as planned, square it with her father, who was remote enough not to mind what she did as long as she didn’t bother him, and spend what was left of her gap year here with Diego. And at the end of the year they would have become so close, so loving, he wouldn’t be able to face letting her go.

‘Nothing to say for yourself?’ Ben’s question pulled her back into the farmhouse kitchen that day, almost four weeks ago. He accepted the mug of coffee she’d poured for him. ‘I suppose you’ve told him who you are.’

‘Of course he knows who I am!’

Ben’s comment made no sense until he expounded, ‘That your father is joint proprietor of a monthly glossy. That we publish Lifestyle among other less upmarket magazines. That our families are not short of cash.’

‘There speaks the accountant!’ Lisa derided gently. Ben had just finished a business accountancy course and on their return to England at the end of their holiday was to join the accounts department at Lifestyle.

‘No,’ Ben came back mildly. ‘There speaks an old friend who is concerned for your happiness. Marbella is a hot spot of wealth; it attracts con men and hangers-on like flies. Men who latch on to rich women for what they can get out of them. Has your Spanish waiter wheedled anything out of you, by any chance?’

‘Of course not!’ But Lisa was aware that her cheeks burned with guilt. He hadn’t wheedled that expensive watch out of her, she mentally defended. Far from it. He’d lost his own, explaining that the strap must have broken without him noticing it when he’d glanced at his naked wrist to check whether it was time for them to start heading back from the little secluded beach he’d taken her to.

That evening, while Sophie and Ben had been admiring the million dollar yachts in the marina, she’d slipped away and bought him a replacement, knowing he hadn’t much money to spare. A waiter’s wage wouldn’t be anything to write home about and he needed a watch. ‘And Diego doesn’t like Marbella—’ She wisely changed the subject. ‘We never go there—he says it’s too flashy, not the real Spain at all. We explore quaint little hill villages and off-the-track beaches.’

She loved Ben like a brother but was close to hating him for implying her beloved Diego was only interested in her for what he could get out of her. No way would she explain about the gift of that slim gold watch.

‘So when do we get to meet him?’ Sophie, the peace-maker, took her place at the table and reached for a crusty roll and the honey pot.

No answer, because there wasn’t one to give. She’d once suggested a foursome—she’d wanted him to meet her best friends—but Diego had asserted that he was a selfish man and wanted her all to himself.

And now they were on their way to meet him at last—at his suggestion. Ben’s comment had been a dry, ‘He picked the most expensive joint he could find. I wonder who’ll end up paying for the drinks and the meal!’

They were nearing the venue, the white futuristic hotel overlooking the gentle curve of the palm-fringed beach. Lisa’s heart swelled. It would be all right; it had to be! Ben would take back every insulting insinuation when he realised what a super guy Diego was.

In a way she could understand his reservations. Ever since they’d been children he’d looked out for her. He still did, and that probably had something to do with her tiny stature—five-two, small-boned, delicately slender and wide-eyed. If she’d been built more like Sophie, tall and big in the bosom and hip department, he might have had more confidence in her ability to look out for herself.

Not that his opinion would make any difference to the way she felt about the man she was determined to marry. But she didn’t want to quarrel with Ben; she was too fond of him.

‘Hey, you guys—come and look at this!’ Sophie cried. She’d been indulging in her favourite occupation, window-shopping, and was several yards behind them, her nose pinned to the window of a glitzy boutique. ‘Would my bum look big in this?’

Ever willing to indulge his twin, Ben turned to retrace his steps, smiling, and Lisa stood where she was, too wound up to ooh and ahh over whatever it was Sophie was coveting.

Glancing at her platinum Jaeger-Le-Coultre watch, an eighteenth birthday gift from her father who thought that material things made up for a lack of any overt signs of parental affection, she noted there were still thirty minutes to get through before they were due to meet Diego. It felt like a lifetime.

The town was beginning to gear up for the evening, more people strolling the pavements, wanting to see and be seen, more flash cars cruising. One car in particular caught her attention. A bright scarlet drop-head sports job driven by a glamorous creature who looked as if she’d just materialised from between the covers of a high fashion magazine. But it was her passenger who drew her widening eyes—Diego? Surely not!

Diego, his thick dark hair expertly groomed, wearing classy casual chinos and an open-necked sleeveless shirt in a matching cool stone colour that accentuated the warm olive tones of his skin instead of the beat-up shorts and vest tops she was used to seeing him in.

The sports car growled to a halt, parked illegally outside the sort of jeweller’s where the atmosphere would be too rarefied for ordinary mortals to breathe in, and Diego removed his arm from the back of the driver’s seat and exited.

He had obviously smartened himself up for his meeting with them at the hotel and he looked good enough to eat, the darling! Like them, he was half an hour early. The classy female must have given him a lift. She was probably resident at the hotel where he worked, had recognised him as the waiter who serviced the table she regularly used and had picked him up.

The explanations flashed with comforting swiftness through her mind, though the phrase ‘picked him up’ did have uncomfortable connotations, thanks to Ben.

About to call his name, wave to attract his attention, she was morbidly glad she hadn’t when he strolled round to the other side of the car, opened the door at the driver’s side and helped the glamorous creature out, holding her hands. And not letting them go.

She was gorgeous. In spiky high heels, she was three inches short of his six-one, the hem of her silky black dress way above her knees, the costly fabric clinging to every curve of her eye-popping body, her bare arms glinting with, it seemed, half a ton of gold bracelets.

Jewelled hands slid from his fingers and snaked up to cup his face as he leaned towards her, saying something, his lips curved in the teasing smile Lisa knew all too well. Her heart stopped beating as the woman leaned right into him, bestowing kisses on one lean hard cheek and then the other before tipping her glossy head back, laughing up at him then leading him by the hand into the exclusive interior of the jeweller’s shop.

As her heart crashed back into action Lisa went hot all over, then cold. Icy cold. Her breathing erratic, she felt giddy. There had to be a perfectly feasible explanation for what she had just witnessed. Anything else was unthinkable. Her dazed brain tried to find one.

Instead it spitefully reminded her that classy customers didn’t go around kissing their waiters unless there was a high degree of intimacy between them. Then it made her recall her disbelief and disappointment when, the day before, he’d told her he wouldn’t be able to see her that morning.

‘Things to do,’ he’d said, ‘but we’ll be meeting up in the evening.’

If she’d been a couple of years younger she would have thrown a tantrum. As it was, she’d been very adult about being deprived of his company on what he thought was her last day in Spain. She had meant to surprise him when she returned after she’d persuaded her father that she was going to spend her entire gap year holed up in Marbella. So she’d merely nodded, ‘See you then,’ as if not seeing him during the day didn’t bother her.

Did ‘Things to do’, mean finding her replacement? If so, he’d hit the jackpot!

She shivered, swallowing down the sick feeling inside her, hating herself for thinking such a thing was possible. She rubbed a clammy hand over her forehead. It was all Ben’s fault. He had put the idea of charismatic, handsome young Spaniards sucking up to wealthy lone female holiday-makers for what they could get out of them into her head.

‘Practising being a statue?’ Sophie slipped an arm under hers. ‘You should have seen that suit! It was gorgeous but Ben said black wouldn’t suit me and I’d have to live and sleep in it for fifty years to get my money’s worth!’

‘Typical boring accountant!’ Lisa sniped, still annoyed with him for making her doubt—if only for a moment—her darling, adorable Diego.

‘Now you know you don’t mean that,’ Sophie scolded mildly as they slowly, arm in arm, approached the wide flight of steps that led up to the hotel foyer. ‘You know he can’t help being practical any more than you can help being a dreamer. And cheer up, do. Such a long face! I can’t wait to meet your Diego. It looks like he’s serious about you if he wants to see me and Ben—your minders—on your last night in Spain!’ She gave Lisa’s arm a tiny, reassuring squeeze. ‘I’ve told Ben not to say a word out of place; you know how protective he is of you. And I told him Diego probably wants to ask his permission—in the absence of your father—to visit you in England.’

Or to get a free slap-up meal and plenty to drink as a final perk. Lisa hated the disloyal thought that sprang into her head just as much as she hated her inability to prevent it forming. And loathed Ben for putting it there in the first place. She ousted it firmly. Diego wasn’t into fancy food and wines. He’d always come provisioned with a picnic lunch on their days together. Crusty bread, olives, fruit and bottled water. Simple, cheap and wholesome.

‘We’re a bit early,’ Ben commented as he caught up with them on the steps, eyeing the impressive smoked glass revolving doors.

‘So?’ Sophie shrugged. ‘So we sit in the foyer, cool down and people watch.’ She pushed through the doors and Lisa followed, wishing the dragging minutes away, desperate to ask Diego what he’d been doing with that devastatingly beautiful woman, why he’d let her kiss him, why they’d disappeared into that jeweller’s together. Desperate to hear an entirely acceptable explanation.

And time, perversely, seemed to pass even more slowly in the air-conditioned space. All cool marble floors and stately columns, chandeliers and hushed opulence. Seated in matching pale jade-green upholstered chairs around a low table, Lisa had her back to the main area but Sophie was avidly scanning the languid comings and goings of the wealthy patrons.

‘Now, how’s that for an invitation!’ Sophie giggled. ‘Over there, by Reception—turn round and take a look. It’s his lucky day!’

Lisa obliged. Anything to pass time, to stop her friends from wondering what was wrong with her, why she was wearing what they’d teasingly describe as her Tragic Face.

Diego and that woman!

Lisa shuddered with disbelief and a pain that wrapped icy fingers round her heart. What she was seeing wiped out every beautiful moment of the last weeks. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. One of his hands rested on the sexy curve of her black-silk-clad hip while the other flipped the lid of a small jeweller’s box closed and slotted it into his pocket. A gold signet ring to match the watch she had bought him? Had the fabulous dark-haired woman already kitted him out with the classy casuals he was wearing?

Stretching up on her high spiky heels, the owner of the scarlet sports car reached up to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said made him grin, that wide slashing grin that said he was happy. She knew it so well!

A slender gold-dripping arm was lifted, beringed fingers dangling a room key in invitation, just before she turned and swayed away towards the bank of lifts, sexual confidence in every movement of those endless legs and delectable body. Diego watched her, still grinning, then turned and sauntered over to Reception.

‘Steamy, or what?’ Sophie hissed and Lisa had to summon every ounce of will-power to make her face blank as she turned back to face the others.

Ben kept glancing impatiently at his watch and Lisa said, trying not to sound as if her world had just fallen into ugly little pieces, ‘Let’s go and find a drink; I’m sick of sitting here.’

She shot to her feet to stall any protests from Sophie who was clearly enjoying her people watching session. And Ben followed suit but insisted on finding the disco bar, even though Lisa was convinced that Diego wouldn’t turn up. Why would he, when he obviously had better prospects lined up? The betrayal was so immense she couldn’t bear to think about it and she couldn’t drag the others away from this place without confessing that Ben had been right about Diego.

Tapas and heavy beat music. Lisa demanded champagne. She would have asked for something strong enough to dull the piercing ache that stabbed through her heart—whisky, maybe—but she knew Ben wouldn’t oblige. Convent educated by nuns strict enough to make your eyes water, treated like a vaguely annoying house guest by a father who had never taken much interest in her when she was home, Ben still tended to regard her as a delicate flower in need of perpetual care and attention.

‘Yes, let’s let our hair down,’ Sophie put in when she noticed Ben’s eyes gravitate to the soft drinks dispenser. ‘It is our last night.’

Lisa drained her glass in two long thirsty swallows and sneaked a refill when Ben wasn’t looking. He was peering at his watch.

Already ten minutes after the appointed time. Diego wouldn’t be coming. Lisa was psyching herself up to tell them why, admit that Ben had been right about her Spanish waiter, drinking her second glass like water to dull the pain when Ben, watching her put the empty glass down on the tiny table, grinned at her. ‘Dance, Lise?’

She wanted to dance about as much as she wanted to sit in a barrel of hot tar but anything had to be better than sitting here, getting tipsy, wanting to cry and doing her best not to, wanting to get her hands on Diego and strangle him after asking him how he could be so cruel.

She took Ben’s hands and got to her feet. The floor dipped and heaved so, instead of dancing opposite him like the other couples, she clung on to his shoulders and was grateful when he clamped his hands around her waist to steady her. He raised his voice above the level of the thumping music and lectured, ‘Squiffy, Lise? That will teach you not to drink a glass of champagne in five seconds flat.’

Two glasses, did he but know it! A hysterical giggle, halfway to a sob, caught in her throat. About to bury her head on his wide shoulder and confess everything, she saw Diego arrive. He said something to his glamorous new girlfriend who gave him a conspiratorial wink before sashaying off to the bar.

How dared he? How could he? Lisa knew she was about to be horribly sick. But she mustn’t! Her fingers dug into Ben’s shoulders. The pain in her gut was unbearable. Think about something else.

Revenge.

Show him! Show him that she wasn’t a silly little girl with the smell of the schoolroom still lingering around her; that she wasn’t the type to cry for a month because she’d been conned by an expert.

He was now standing a scant three feet away, his beautiful eyes lightly hooded as he watched her. What was his intention? How did such guys operate? Would he tap her on the shoulder, wish her a pleasant flight tomorrow, then join his new prey at the bar?

Or would he simply ignore her?

Well, he wouldn’t ignore this—without giving herself time to think—her misery was too great to allow coherent thought—she lifted her hands, pulled Ben’s head down and kissed him as if she were auditioning for a part in a blue movie.

And while Ben was trying to recover, his face brick-red, she looked into Diego’s suddenly ferocious black eyes and lashed out, ‘Go away! You’re cramping my style!’ and watched him turn abruptly on his heel, his mouth hard, his shoulders rigid, as he walked over to his new woman. Lisa thrust her knuckles into her mouth and bit them. She wanted to run after him, take it all back, beg him to make everything all right again.

But she knew she couldn’t. The fairy tale romance was over, the ecstatic days when two hearts had seemed to beat as one had turned into a sordid nightmare.

She turned to Ben, her face white. ‘Take me home. He won’t be coming. I can explain. But not now. Take me home!’

CHAPTER TWO

SOMEONE was watching her. Lisa could actually and physically feel the dark power of unknown eyes on her. Nothing like the vaguely patronising glances she had endured all evening from the great and the good who were here in this glamorous setting to support and, far more importantly, be seen to support a fashionable charity.

She could feel the intensity of that look as it bored between her silk-clad shoulder blades. Feel the watchful, coldly cutting contempt.

It was unsettling, eerie.

A cold shiver flickered through her.

It was all in her imagination. It had to be!

Annoyed with herself, with the weariness that was making her prey to fanciful imagery, she did her best to dismiss it. She was overtired, that was all. It was obviously time to make tracks.

In her capacity as Sub for the Social Editor, as well as her own recently acquired title of Fashion Editor, she had noted the names and titles of those with the highest profiles and details of what the women were wearing. Neil, her snapper, had the shots. She’d dig him out from wherever he’d sloped off to and tell him to call it a day.

She was so tired her legs were having difficulty bearing her slight weight. If things at Lifestyle went on the way they were she’d find herself subbing for every department and working right round the clock eight days a week. Experienced editors were leaving in droves. Rats deserting the sinking ship, as her father said every time a letter of resignation landed on his desk.

The noise of high society at play had given her a pounding headache and she couldn’t wait to get back to the peace and quiet of her flat. Trouble was, she was a round peg in a square hole and knew it. Perhaps that was responsible for the manic sensation of despising eyes following her every movement. She was transposing her own inner feelings on to a non-existent entity.

Of course no one was watching her, despising her! Why on earth would they?

Slender in her understated black sheath dress, she straightened her wilting spine and headed for the lavish buffet. Found Neil, as she’d thought she would, scoffing canapés as if he hadn’t eaten for a fortnight.

‘I’m off,’ she said, shaking her head at his offer of wine. ‘We’ve got all we need.’ Though whether the tumbling circulation figures would be boosted by the feature in next month’s issue was highly debatable.

Neil’s brown eyes roamed her pale face. ‘You look bushed. You should find yourself a proper job!’ He abandoned the food in favour of a glass of red wine. ‘Hang on a sec and I’ll give you a lift home. I take it I’m invited to your engagement bash tomorrow night?’

‘Of course. The more the merrier.’ Lisa smiled then, her first genuine smile of the evening. A comforting warmth flooded through her, swamping out the unsettling sensation of being watched.

Dear Ben. She’d do her best to make him a good wife. No grand passion for either of them and that, they’d decided, was actually a bonus. There would be no ephemeral highs or debilitating lows in their relationship. They had discussed it, accepted it—embraced it, even. A safe marriage, a secure one, affection and respect on both sides was all either of them wanted. She didn’t know about Ben but she guessed he was too pragmatic to harbour strong emotions; and as for her, well, the events of five years ago had put her right off the concept of passionate love. She would never again feel so deeply about anyone as she once had for the Spaniard. Which was a blessing. The stronger the emotions, the greater the hurt.

Unnervingly, the feeling of being watched came back again with a vengeance. She hated it; it scared her. It swamped all those comforting thoughts of Ben and the life they planned together.

She was out of here, home to get some much needed rest before her imagination ran away with her completely! ‘I’ll pass on that lift.’ It was an effort to speak. ‘I’ll grab a taxi. See you.’

It was an even greater effort to turn. And impossible to stem her gasp of shock as she saw him. Cold black eyes watching her.

Just as she remembered him but with breath-snagging changes—a haughty elegance that made him seem older than his twenty-seven years, his dark, perfectly crafted suit adding to the intimidating effect, oozing the cool self-assurance of a man wholly at ease with himself.

The handsome features were arrogantly cold, the black eyes narrowed and intense as they raked the pallor of her face.

‘Diego!’ His name escaped her on a shaky huff of breath and everything inside her descended into chaos as he acknowledged her with a cool, dismissive dip of his dark head, turned on the heels of his immaculate, hand-crafted black leather shoes and walked away from her through the bejewelled, designer-clad chattering masses as if he didn’t care to sully himself by any verbal contact.

Sophie was sprawled out on the sitting room sofa in the shoe box flat they shared near Clapham Common, her attractive face suffused with an enviable inner radiance until she glanced up on Lisa’s arrival. ‘God, you look awful!’ She hauled herself into a sitting position. ‘What happened? Did Neil make another pass at you? Shall I phone Ben and get him to go round and slap him?’

Lisa’s mouth twitched. As usual, Sophie was completely OTT and she needed that to help her get the main event of the evening—seeing the man she had once believed to be the love of her life again—in proper perspective.

‘No, nothing like that, thank heavens!’ She lobbed her handbag to the floor and draped herself on to the armchair with the dodgy springs. ‘These high society charity bashes are a complete pain.’

‘Entirely your own fault,’ Sophie pointed out unsympathetically. ‘You should never have let yourself be talked into joining the staff. They tried to twist my arm too, remember, but I stuck out for my chosen career in physiotherapy.’

Lisa shrugged and kicked off her shoes. It was old history. She’d never got to university. On her return from Spain, joining her father in the service flat near the magazine’s head office, he’d asked her to re-think her future.

The publishing company was in difficulties. They were in the process of downsizing, selling off or closing down the stodgy middle-of-the-road titles, concentrating on the flagship Lifestyle. They all had to tighten their belts. It was all hands on deck and loads of other clichés. It was her duty to join the staff—at peanut wages—and do what she could to help turn things around.

At the time she’d been too emotionally exhausted to stand up for what she wanted, in no state to really know what she did want any more.

‘I expect you’re right.’ Lisa removed the battery of pins that kept her long blonde hair smoothly away from her face and was debating whether to tell her old friend of her sighting of Diego Raffacani when she noticed the champagne bottle and two flutes set out on the low coffee table. An arched brow tilted in Sophie’s direction.

Sophie blushed then giggled. ‘James proposed this evening. And I accepted.’

Lethargy entirely forgotten, Lisa leapt to her feet to give her friend a bear hug, settling beside her on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for longer than I can remember!’ Sophie had been dating the attractive young GP for over a year and was madly in love with him. ‘I’m so happy for you! Tell me more!’

‘He’s joining a practice in the West Country—all lovely and rural.’ She stretched over for the bottle. ‘He got called out, would you believe—so you’re going to have to celebrate with me. I don’t want to get squiffy on my own!’

The cork ricocheted all round the small room. ‘We’re going to have to house hunt down there,’ Sophie confided excitedly. ‘I can just see myself as a country doctor’s wife—I’ll have loads of babies, join the WI, put my name down for the church flower rota and wear tweed skirts and those green quilted waistcoat things. And hats! With pheasant feathers!’

‘An unlikely scenario, if ever I heard one.’ Lisa grinned, accepting a flute of bubbles, firmly dismissing the wish that she could be as excited over her own wedding plans as being well out of order. She and Ben weren’t into high romance and magical, ephemeral flights of excitement. Companionship, mutual support… ‘So when’s the big day?’ She rapidly blanked out another wholly unwelcome pang of envy.

‘Three months. I’ll be a midsummer bride.’ Her eyes opened very wide. ‘We could have a double wedding! That would be fantastic. Ben could move in here with you. It’s time he got his act together and left the parental home.’

It was a possibility, Lisa mused as she listened to Sophie chatter on about wedding dresses, bridesmaids and honeymoon destinations.

Ben had mentioned a wait of a year after the official engagement announcement tomorrow. And he shared the family home in Holland Park for purely practical reasons. The money saved on rent and his keep was accumulating nicely. But when Sophie moved out she, Lisa, would still have to find the rent for this flat, so it would be both practical and sensible for Ben to share it as her husband.

After the second glass of champagne Lisa forgot practicalities and seemingly out of nowhere found herself blurting, ‘He was at the charity bash tonight. Just as I remembered him, yet different.’

‘Who?’ Sophie, in mid flow over guest lists, refilled their glasses.

‘Diego.’

How easily the name she hadn’t mentioned since that dreadful night slipped from her tongue. How easily the sound of it brought it all back—the heartache, the anger, the sheer gut-wrenching misery, all the emotions she’d believed long dead and buried.

Fuelled by Sophie’s blank look and an unaccustomed rapid intake of alcohol, she offered, ‘Spain. You remember. That holiday you and Ben insisted on giving me?’

‘Of course!’ Sophie banged the side of her head with the heel of her hand. ‘The handsome waiter you thought you were madly in love with, the one who dumped you on that last night—the snake! What a small world—and what was he doing mixing with that lot?’

‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’ Lisa put her glass down on the table, not really knowing why she’d started this, struggling to work out why she needed to talk about him. A catharsis maybe? An emotional release, setting her free from the pain of betrayal that had been buried deep within her psyche.

‘He looked a million dollars—well, let’s say he looked as if he’d regard that amount as small change. I guess his social-climbing career must have taken off in a big way.’

She had to say it, punch what he was firmly into her brain, paint him black so that never again would she—would she what? Still remember, still yearn, still dream about him?

‘Blooming gigolo!’ Sophie snorted. ‘I hope you gave him an earful!’

‘We didn’t speak.’ Just a single word. His name spilling from her lips.

‘Probably just as well,’ Sophie conceded. ‘In your place I’d have probably walloped him and caused huge embarrassment all round. Now, let’s forget about the wretch and talk about something nice—what are you planning on wearing for your party? I thought I’d wear the green satin—James says it turns him on…’

The Holland Park house looked at its festive best. Most of the guests were waiting when Lisa arrived. Flowers everywhere, filling the elegant rooms with the perfume of spring. Until her mother’s death her parents had lived in a house similar to this, a scant five-minute walk away. She’d been at boarding school, barely fourteen years old, when the dreadful news had come.

Only after the funeral when her father had coolly informed her that he would be selling the family home, moving into a flat suitable for a man on his own, had the full enormity of her loss hit her. Her mother had loved her and now the sweet, gentle woman, who’d been completely dominated by the much stronger personality of her husband, was gone. Without consciously thinking it out she had naively believed that she and her father would now draw closer together in their mutual grief. But he was distancing himself even further, if that were possible, a fact brought home when he told her, ‘The Claytons suggested you spend your school holidays with them. You’ve always got on well with the twins and Ben and Sophie will be far better company for you than I ever could be.’

Lisa closed her eyes briefly, willing the unwanted sadness of memories to leave her. This was a happy occasion, for pity’s sake! Finding a smile, she handed her wrap to a waiting maid, who must have been hired for the evening, and went to find Ben.

The rooms were just comfortably crowded. Even so, her progress was slow, waylaid as she was by friends, colleagues and perfect strangers—invited by the elder Claytons, she guessed—who offered congratulations.

Items of furniture had been pushed to the edges of the rooms or removed entirely and a sumptuous buffet had been laid out on the long dining room table, attended by smartly uniformed waiters. Ben and his parents were grouped by one of the tall windows, seemingly in private, earnest conversation. A conversation which ended abruptly when Lisa reached Ben and touched the sleeve of his dinner jacket to claim his attention.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, her silky brows drawing together. All three of them looked strangely worried but Honor Clayton denied immediately, ‘Of course not! How nice you look, dear. Doesn’t she, Ben? Is Sophie with you? How like you two girls to be late!’

‘She’s waiting for James. He’s picking her up at the flat and bringing her here. She wanted them to arrive together.’ Lisa tucked her hand beneath Ben’s arm. ‘I gather you’ve heard her news?’ She knew Honor had. She’d been there when Sophie had put the phone down after speaking to her mother, seen the wry twist of her mobile mouth, the slight shrug accompanying the upward roll of her eyes.

Honor lifted her heavy shoulders in a gesture of resignation. ‘Of course. But do I see her as the wife of a humble country GP?’ She did her best to smile. ‘Time will tell, I suppose.’

‘She’s very happy,’ Lisa said gently. Her future mother-in-law was a snob but she meant well. She would never forget the rather self-conscious heartiness with which the older woman had received her on those long ago school holidays after her mother’s death.

Young as she’d been at the time, she had instinctively known that Honor hadn’t the words to console the motherless child of her husband’s business partner and had resorted to booming exhortations: ‘Now twins, find something jolly to do with little Lisa—no slouching about indoors and getting bored and miserable! There are plenty of things to do in London. Cinemas, parks…’

Into the edgy silence that had fallen following her last statement—though why the family should be uneasy about a guy like James being admitted to their ranks, Lisa couldn’t begin to fathom—she asked, ‘Where’s Father?’

Again the odd sensation of unease. Arthur Clayton glanced initially at his son and then his wife. He spoke for the first time since Lisa had joined them. ‘He’s with our top advertiser in the study. He shouldn’t be long. It’s not ideal—a private family celebration and all that. But apparently his time in the UK is extremely limited.’

‘And we’ve been nattering away for far too long,’ Honor said bracingly. ‘Time to circulate. Come, Arthur! You can make your speech as soon as Lisa’s father appears—and I presume he’ll want to say a few words of his own to mark the occasion. Everyone here knows, of course, but we have to make the engagement official.’ Smiling fixedly, she dragged her husband into the main reception rooms and Lisa asked, ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it, Ben? At first I thought your parents were unhappy about Sophie’s wedding plans. But it’s not that, is it?’

‘Problems over advertising revenue,’ he confessed, keeping his voice down, uneasy about being overheard. ‘But nothing for you to worry about, old thing. Is that dress new? It looks as if it cost a fortune.’ He changed the subject, not wanting to pursue it there, a slight frown pulling his brows together as glanced at the elegant creation she was wearing. A slip dress in pale coffee-tinted layered chiffon decorated with swirling patterns of toning sequins, the bodice held up by narrow sequined straps.

Her fingers slid away from his arm as she waited for the unwarranted spurt of anger to die down. He had always been ultra careful about money, she knew that and, far from irritating her, she had seen the character trait as vaguely amusing. She didn’t expect him to change, of course she didn’t, but it would have been nice if he’d complimented her on her appearance before niggling about how much the dress had cost.

Dismissing her reaction as absurd—they didn’t have the type of relationship that demanded sloppy compliments—she gave him a slight smile of conspiracy. ‘It’s hired for the evening—but don’t tell anyone!’

She accepted the reward of his grin, the warm hand that slid around her tiny waist, with a small curve of her lips, a dimpling cheek. But there was more. ‘Don’t patronise me, Ben. If we have money problems I should know about them.’ Number crunching was his department, not hers; he didn’t interfere with her editorial input, but this was different.

Ben hunched his shoulders uncomfortably and for a moment Lisa believed he wasn’t going to enlighten her. Then he shot her a wry glance. ‘We didn’t want to worry you. After all, your father might talk him round.’

‘Who?’

‘The top guy at Trading International. He’s threatening to withdraw the company’s advertising.’

‘And that’s serious?’

‘You bet your sweet life it is! High fashion leather wear, the Los Clasicos range of jewellery, wine, gourmet cheeses, luxury hotels and apartments worldwide. Withdraw that lot and we’re up the creek without a paddle.’

‘That bad.’ Lisa sucked her lower lip between her teeth. Shouldn’t she have seen this coming? What major advertiser would stick with a magazine with circulation figures in slow and seemingly unalterable decline? ‘What chance is there of Father talking him around?’

Ben shrugged. ‘God knows!’ He drew her away from the window. ‘I shouldn’t have told you—don’t let it spoil our evening, Lise. If everything goes pear-shaped and Lifestyle folds, we’ll be OK. With my qualifications and your experience we’ll find other work. Hold that thought while we mingle.’

Smiling, chatting, doing her best to act as if all was right with her world, Lisa felt hollow inside, her eyes straying continually to the study, where her father was trying to persuade a hard-nosed business mogul not to pull the plug. Many of the guests tonight were on the staff of Lifestyle. By this time next month they could all be out of work, her father and Arthur Clayton looking into the bleak face of failure.

How could Ben possibly expect her to dismiss all that from her mind and console herself with the thought that he and she would be OK?

He couldn’t be that selfish, could he? She shook her head in instinctive negation. Of course not. He’d only said that in an effort to cheer her up, not wanting their special evening to be spoiled for her.

As she accepted a flute of champagne someone put into her hand she saw her father and her heart banged against her breastbone.

It was impossible to tell from his expression whether or not he’d been successful. As always, her father kept his feelings to himself.

Silence fell, as if the sheer presence of the man had commanded it. When he spoke, talking of his happiness at the further cementing of the relationship between the two families, the words went in one ear and straight out of the other. And when Ben slid the diamond hoop on her wedding finger her face ached from smiling and the growing applause, the chorus of Ooohs and Aaahs, the glasses raised in cheerful toasts, slid past her consciousness, leaving no ripples at all.

All she was aware of was her father’s stern features, the rigid set of his shoulders. He was standing just beyond the chattering group surrounding her and Ben. One tight-jawed sideways inclination of his head had her murmuring her excuses and threading her way towards him.

Taking the champagne glass from her fingers he said, ‘You are needed in the study.’

‘Me?’ Lisa noted the impatient tightening of his thin mouth at what he would see as her idiotic questioning of his perfectly plain statement and to deflect the sarcastic comeback she knew from experience was in store for her she hurriedly asked, ‘How did it go? Ben told me there were problems.’

What could the big-shot want with her? An assurance that she had a pile of must-read, breathtakingly fascinating articles in her in-tray? The sort of stuff that would guarantee a huge upsurge in readership? As if! Anything remotely startling or contentious would be immediately scotched at editorial meetings by the partners.

Skirting her question, Gerald Pennington remarked coolly, ‘As I said, you seem to be needed. As far as I can tell, all you can do is try not to make matters worse. It shouldn’t take long and then you can enjoy the rest of your evening.’

Yeah, right, Lisa thought resignedly as she went to answer the summons. Her hand on the study door, she paused for a moment, psyching herself up to deliver the spiel of her life. If she could make the future editorial input sound really cutting edge maybe she could swing the balance in their favour. Though ‘cutting edge’ didn’t gel with anodyne accounts of boring society gatherings or fashion articles aimed solely at the seriously wealthy.

If she messed up her father would never forgive her. Not for the first time she wondered why she bothered to try to please him, why she wanted what she had never had—the warmth of his approval.

Wrinkling her neat nose, pushing her relationship with her father to the back of her mind, she straightened her spine, plastered a smile on her face and walked into the study.

And he was there, leaning against the edge of Arthur Clayton’s desk, his long, immaculately trousered legs crossed at the ankles, black eyes cold and hard, narrowed on her face.

Her stomach jumped in shock. ‘There has to be a mistake.’ Her voice sounded echoey through the buzzing in her ears. She took a step backwards, one hand outstretched as she felt for the door. Coming face to face with Diego Raffacani last night had been bad enough, stirring painful memories back to life. But here—posing as a major advertiser—

‘No mistake, I assure you. Sit down, Miss Pennington.’

He edged fully upright, feet apart, long-fingered hands resting on narrow hips, the jacket of his suit parting to reveal a matching waistcoat smoothly clinging to his powerful torso. The picture of sartorial elegance—no sign of the slightly shabby, casually dressed and ultra laid-back Spanish lover who had broken her heart.

The formality of his address helped her to pull herself together. It had been a long time. Too long to allow memories to live, festering away in the dark, rarely visited regions of her mind. If he had changed—and she only had to look into that hard, classically handsome face to know that he had—then so had she.

She watched him take Arthur’s swivel chair behind the desk, her heart thumping at the base of her throat. He still moved with the same inborn grace and she couldn’t help remembering how she had adored watching him.

Lisa took the chair opposite and sat, her hands loosely clasped together in her lap. Seeking the defence of outward composure, her voice commendably calm, she asked, ‘So you now work for Trading International?’ reining back the snide comment that it was a big step up for a humble waiter. For everyone’s sake she couldn’t afford to rub him up the wrong way, even though she still longed to wring his neck for what he had done to her!

‘Since my father’s retirement, I am Trading International.’ He placed his elbows on the arm rests of the chair he was using, steepling his fingers, the tips lightly touching his wide, sensual mouth, narrowed eyes watching the disbelief and then the obvious shock flicker across her face.

The face of an angel. The smile of a siren. And the sensitivity and morals of an alley cat!

She was more beautiful than he remembered, the delicate perfectly formed body still unbelievably sexy.

Five years ago he could have taken that body, it had been his for the asking. He narrowed his eyes, black gleaming through the enigmatic, heavy sweep of his lashes. Five years ago he had denied himself the sensual pleasure of the ultimate possession of the bewitching temptation of her. Now, one way or another, he was going to have her. Take what he wanted for as long as he wanted it, learn the secrets of her delectable body then toss her back where she belonged.

Dropping his hands, he leaned further back in the chair, idly pondering the pleasure of removing the clasp that maintained the sophisticated upsweep of her hair and seeing the silvery silky mass tumble down to the creamy skin of her naked shoulders and the gentle, inviting curve of her breasts.

His accent was slightly more pronounced than was usual, his tone smooth as cream, he imparted, ‘I have a proposition to put to you, Miss Pennington…’

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU can’t mean that!’

It was appalling, utterly crazy! As propositions went it was totally unbelievable—she must have misheard. Either that or Diego Raffacani had gone stark staring mad!

Her wildly churning emotions swept away the last fragile pretence of composure and Lisa pushed herself to her feet, then wholeheartedly wished she hadn’t. Her body was trembling so badly she was swaying on her kitten heels. Her breath shortened and her inky-blue eyes widened, darkening to black as she watched him get to his own feet and move around the desk to stand beside her.

Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the scent of him, the heat of his body. Her mouth ran dry and her heart began to pound as she stared up into the lean powerful face, watched the sinfully sensual line of his mouth as he asserted, ‘I meant every word,’ and dropped back into the chair she had vacated as her knees finally buckled beneath her.

‘Why?’ Her voice croaked as her mind skittered back and forth over everything he’d said. It was impossible to keep a sensible or decisive thought in her head for more than a nanosecond.

‘Because you owe me.’ His teeth glinted white. ‘Five years ago you were more than willing. But out of respect for your youth and what I then believed to be your inexperience I held back. You proved yourself unworthy of any man’s respect.’ His hard, beautiful face was rigid with contempt. ‘I loved you but you threw it back in my face—that was my reward for my unselfish consideration. It is now time to pay your debt to me. Six months, or maybe even three, should be enough to get you out of my system.’ There was a glint in his eyes, a twist to his mouth that sent a waterfall of ice skittering down her backbone as he drawled, ‘If you prick a Spaniard’s pride then you sit back and wait for the inevitable vengeance.’

Lisa shuddered as a knot of something tight and hot claimed her stomach. She raised her shaky hands to cover her mouth, fighting to come to terms with what he was demanding of her. Grappling to make some sense of the situation, she seized on one solid fact and accused, ‘You said you were just a waiter. And all the time you were rotten rich! You lied!’

His mouth flat he turned away from her. ‘I didn’t lie to you. You simply made your own interpretation. You were happy to amuse yourself with what you saw as a no-account stud. You were at a loose end and looking for a cheap holiday romance. You wanted sex. I didn’t oblige so you eased your frustration by sleeping with the man I now know to be Ben Clayton.’

‘For pity’s sake!’ Hot colour swept her face. ‘I was only dancing—how dare you?’

Resuming his seat on the opposite side of the desk, he slashed his hand imperiously, cutting off any further words of self-justification. ‘You were crawling all over him, kissing him. And if you don’t recall what you said to me, I do.’

Lisa cringed away from the savage glitter of his midnight eyes. Of course she remembered. She remembered every word they had ever said to each other. And, as for the last vile words she had ever spoken to him… Well, she had no defence, certainly none that he would listen to. Prick a Spaniard’s pride…

‘The offer’s on the table,’ he said with a snap in his voice that made Lisa feel as if she’d just been pronounced terminally ill. ‘You live with me, lie with me, pleasure me until you bore me. In return I will not cancel my company’s advertising and use one of your competitors. I will even buy in, bring in new blood to gloss up Lifestyle’s dull image, bring it back to success. If you refuse, as is your right, of course, then—’ With a slight shrug of those impressive shoulders he allowed the threat to hang in the air—air that now seemed to be suffocatingly thick and heavy.

Lisa couldn’t breathe. Her brain wasn’t functioning as it should. She could only hear the words that had burned themselves into her mind—‘lie with me, pleasure me’—and only wonder with helpless self-loathing at the way the responsive heat pooled between her thighs and a piercing awareness made her whole body tremble. After all this time he could still reach her. How many times had she told herself that he wasn’t worth wasting a single thought on? Millions! And yet she only had to be near him—

‘I’ve only just got engaged,’ she pushed out between suddenly unbearably sensitised lips, knowing that he would regard the statement as irrelevant.

‘Break it.’

He got to his feet, large, lean and intimidating. But so utterly gorgeous her mouth went dry as she looked at him, searching for the man he had been, the man she had fallen so helplessly in love with.

‘I’ll call on you tomorrow morning. Early. For your decision.’

Diego strode out of the room, closing the door behind him with an emphatic snap. Lisa shuddered, wrapping her arms around a frame that seemed about to shake itself to pieces. Bereft of his presence, the room felt cold and hollow. But then, she thought shakily, he had always generated an atmosphere so vital the air around him was charged with stinging sexual energy. Unfortunately nothing had changed in that respect.

She felt sick with nervous tension. What Diego had asked—demanded—of her was impossible! Quelling the uncomfortable knowledge that he need only have used a kind word, confessed, with regret, that he had been two-timing her all those years ago, then the impossible would have turned into the opposite, she gave herself a savage mental shake.

Like the arrogant swine he obviously was he was accusing her of being in the wrong. True, she had behaved atrociously. But she had been too young to cope with his betrayal with any dignity at all. She’d had too much to drink, been borderline hysterical…

‘So, how did it go?’

Lisa nearly leapt out of her skin. She’d been drowning in her own tortured thoughts and hadn’t heard Ben enter. He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I saw Señor Raffacani leave—now, why does that name ring a bell?’ He hunched his shoulders, dismissing it as unimportant. ‘Don’t suppose you talked him out of withdrawing his advertising account with us?’ he queried defeatedly. ‘The Dads couldn’t get anywhere with him, apparently.’

At the wry resignation in his tone Lisa scrambled to her feet. His brows peaked in enquiry. He carried no sizzling sexual aura around with him. Just stolid, quietly comfortable normality. For the first time ever she wanted to fling herself into his arms and beg him to save her from the old treacherous longings Diego had woken within her. But they didn’t have the kind of passionate relationship that would make that possible. For years now she’d tried her best to appear coolly sophisticated, in control. He would hate it if she went to pieces.

Her eyes stung with tears and she bent to adjust a strap on one of her shoes to hide them. Dear practical, sensible Ben would be mortified if he thought she was even considering—for one split second—prostituting herself to save the magazine.

But she wasn’t, was she? she adjured herself silently. No way! Not ever! She straightened, willing herself to appear normal. ‘We can’t talk about it now. Later. We can stay another half an hour then you can take me home and we’ll discuss it.’

A look of incredulity spread across his pleasant features. ‘The Dads will want to know what he said to you, you know they will. We can’t just walk out of our own party. People will think it’s odd, to say the least!’

‘No, they won’t.’ Lisa sighed resignedly, pointing out, ‘They’ll think we’re like all newly engaged couples—panting to be alone together.’

‘Don’t be crude, Lise—it doesn’t suit you.’ His frown deepened. ‘And why all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? Either the guy’s going to finish with us, or he isn’t. A straight yes or no will do.’

Ignoring his reprimand—there had been no driven eagerness in their desire to be alone together so he wouldn’t understand what she’d been getting at—she tucked her hand beneath his arm and explained heavily, ‘It’s not as simple as that. Raffacani made a proposition. With strings attached. I need to tell you about them, in private, before everything comes crashing down round our heads.’

That earned her a puzzled glance but stopped him arguing and they rejoined the party. And for the entire fifteen minutes or so while they mingled and chatted Lisa’s head felt as though her brains had been scrambled, the hopelessness of the situation making her stomach cramp and her heart bang against her ribs.

She had it in her power to save her colleagues’ jobs, ensure them a brighter, more secure future. One word from her would prevent Arthur Clayton and her father from looking into the bleak face of failure. She owed them something, didn’t she?

A light hand on her shoulder had her tensing her spine but it was only Maggie Devonshire, the Picture Editor. ‘Caught you at last!’ Her kindly face beamed with pleasure. ‘I’m so happy for both of you—two young things starting out together, that’s so beautiful!’ Ready tears misted her tired hazel eyes. ‘Show me the ring.’

As Lisa put her hand into the older woman’s her own eyes stung. Maggie was one of the best; she bore her troubles with fortitude and grace. Her son had suffered brain damage at birth; Billy had the mind of a four-year-old in a young man’s body. Because Maggie’s husband had walked out on her many years ago she coped on her own, delivering Billy to the day care centre on her way to work, collecting him on her way home. And never one self-pitying word. If she lost her job she would never find another. In her mid-fifties all she could hope for would be something low paid and menial—cleaning offices, maybe.

A clammy chill spread over every inch of her body as Maggie, her admiration of the diamond hoop voluble, released her hand and confided, ‘It was lovely of you to invite me but I really must be off. Billy’s spending the evening with a neighbour. I don’t want to impose on her good nature. You never know, I might need her again. A handsome millionaire might ask me out to dinner!’

As she turned away with a light self-mocking laugh Lisa put an unsteady hand on Ben’s arm. ‘Let’s go,’ she murmured thickly.

Could she barter her body for the sake of the magazine and the jobs it provided? And why did thinking about exactly what that would entail send dark heat surging through her veins?

She would have to return Ben’s ring. How hurt would he be?

Could a short affair—how long would it be before Diego decided she bored him?—leave her anything other than deeply humiliated?

Even more deeply humiliated than she felt right now, she decided, angry with herself as her skin began to flutter and her heartbeat quicken at the mere thought of making love with Diego Raffacani.

‘You will do as he asks?’

Slumped on the sofa, the coffee she’d made cold on the table in front of him, Ben had listened to all she’d had to say in heavy silence. Now he waited for an answer to his question.

Lisa, pacing back and forth, driven by a gripping inner tension, couldn’t find one and only came to an abrupt, shocked standstill when Ben stated flatly, ‘You want to. You still want him. Five years ago you swore you were madly in love with him. Sophie and I thought it was teenage infatuation. None of us knew who he really was and I put the worst possible interpretation on the whole thing. I thought he was stringing you along for what he could wheedle out of you.’ His shoulders hunched in a wry shrug. ‘When he didn’t turn up that night I assumed that was the end of it, but it obviously wasn’t.’

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