A Devilishly Dark Deal. Maggie Cox

I would be in the area for a meeting you were determined to try and talk to me?’

      ‘Yes … I was.’

      Helplessly, perhaps inevitably, Marco found himself warming to his refreshingly candid guest even more. ‘Clearly your desire to assist those less fortunate than yourself drove you to risk something you perhaps would not ordinarily do. You must be possessed of an exceptionally kind heart, Grace.’

      ‘You make it sound like it’s something unusual. There are some wonderful people who work for the charity who are equally committed and devoted.’

      Inês appeared through the elegant French doors with a tray of drinks. The plump Portuguese woman’s smile was positively beatific when Grace warmly thanked her for the tall glass of lemonade, and right then Marco thought it would take a stone-hearted soul indeed not to respond similarly to this young woman’s generous warm nature.

      When the housekeeper had left them alone again, he took a long cool sip of his drink then leant back in his chair. ‘I told you that I unexpectedly find myself with a free afternoon today? I think I would very much like you to spend the rest of it with me. We will start by going out to lunch.’

      Grace was sure that most women finding themselves in her position right now with the arresting Marco Aguilar sitting opposite and declaring they would go out to lunch, would silently jump for joy at having such good fortune. But Grace didn’t jump for joy. The situation was just too unreal to be believable, and she didn’t feel anywhere near equipped to go out to lunch with such a man. Especially when she’d probably just offended him with her passionate outburst and more or less telling him he should help the charity.

      He was a successful and wealthy man, yes. But she’d learned that he knew personally what it was like to be deprived and go without—emotionally at least—having been brought up an orphan himself. Why he wanted to be with her for even a minute longer bewildered her. And if she did agree to go to lunch with him, what could she talk about? Save helping the orphans and maybe complimenting him again on his beautiful house?

      Before leaving home she’d led a more or less uneventful life. In fact, Grace hadn’t felt as if she’d really experienced life at all until she’d stolen her freedom and permanently left home after returning from university. God knew she loved her parents … was grateful for all that they’d done for her … but in truth there were times when their protectiveness all but suffocated her. They were always so afraid she’d make the wrong choices, always wanting to protect her from the possibility of making mistakes.

      That was why she’d never felt able to tell them that she’d once briefly dated a man who had hit her in a drunken rage and tried to rape her. He’d never got the chance to hurt her a second time, but the psychological wounds he’d left her with had not easily nor quickly abated. Though she would never regret her decision to break free, that experience had made her wary of getting involved with anyone again. Even a so-called simple date seemed fraught with danger now.

      ‘It’s very kind of you to offer to take me to lunch, but … don’t you have someone else you’d rather go with?’

      Looking honestly bewildered, her companion shook his head—as if not quite believing what he’d just heard. ‘In answer to that strange question I will only say that I would rather go to lunch with you, Grace. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.’

      ‘But you hardly know me—and I hardly know you.’ Tearing her glance free from Marco’s disturbingly frank examination, she stared out at the sublime vista of shimmering verdant green that stretched out like an infinite plateau in front of them. It might as well have been a vast ocean and she a small rudderless boat lost in the middle of it, she thought. That was how vulnerable and afraid she suddenly felt.

      ‘And how will we get to know each other if we don’t spend some time together?’

      As if to prompt her into making a decision, pangs of genuine hunger registered inside Grace. She’d been so keyed up about meeting with Marco again that she hadn’t been able even to contemplate eating breakfast. What harm could it do simply to have lunch with him? In fact it would seem ill-mannered not to in light of him agreeing to help the charity.

      She proffered an uncertain smile. ‘All right, then. I accept your offer … thank you.’

      Already extracting his mobile phone from a back pocket, her host flashed a disarming grin. A grin that could melt a girl’s insides at fifty paces … ‘I know the perfect restaurant,’ he said.

      Another worrying thought seized her—one that she was nervous of drawing attention to. ‘Is it the kind of place where you have to dress up?’ she asked.

      Marco’s glance made a leisurely reconnaissance of her face, neck and shoulders. Her blood started to heat the second she drew his gaze. ‘You don’t have to worry about that when you’re with me, meu querida. Besides … your beauty would grace any establishment. It matters not what you are wearing.’ His smile became even more seductive. ‘However … what you have on is extremely becoming.’

      ‘Even if I’m not up to the standard of your usual guests?’ she quipped daringly.

      ‘I am sorry I said what I said to you yesterday about your clothes. It was not the behaviour of a gentleman.’

      ‘But now that you’ve apologised I promise I won’t hold it against you.’

      Even as he frowned thoughtfully at this response, Grace’s lips were forming an unrepentantly teasing grin …

      Marco’s chauffeur drove them to a three-storeyed restaurant that overlooked the ocean. As they walked up the winding path to the entrance a small group of staff were waiting to greet them—just as if the handsome businessman was someone whose presence lit up their day. They apologised profusely that the manager was away attending his daughter’s wedding and couldn’t be there to welcome Marco and his guest personally.

      Her companion had a friendly word with all of them, Grace noticed, acting as if he had all the time in the world to spare. As she watched him effortlessly interact, she reflected on how different he seemed from the way the press depicted him. She hadn’t read a great deal about him, but what she’d read definitely painted him as some kind of playboy, intent on enjoying the fruits his wealth and status had brought him to the maximum. But now, with the palm of his hand pressed lightly against her back, a more immediate realisation troubled her. The thin top she wore ensured that her spine was sizzling beneath his touch, just as though his fingertips had stroked over her naked skin.

      A strange sense of How on earth is this happening to me assailed her as two of the attentive young waiters led them up the stairs onto the roof terrace.

      The ambience was surprisingly intimate for what was quite a large space. As they were escorted to what was clearly the best table in the house, with a prime view of the matchless sunlit ocean, an equal fuss was made of both of them. Already in her mind Grace was calling it the Marco effect. Even if he hadn’t been as well-known as he was, she didn’t doubt he would draw attention—just like a sudden flash of dazzlingly bright light in a darkened room.

      Having ordered their drinks, they were now on their own again—apart from the inquisitive glances of nearby diners, sneaking a look at her impossibly handsome companion every now and then that was …

      Lowering the leather-bound menu he’d been given, Marco frowned. ‘The emphasis is on seafood here. I should have asked if you were okay with that … If not, I am sure the chef can prepare something you would like more.’

      Having glanced at the extensive menu herself, Grace realised again how ravenous she was. ‘I love fish … in fact, I prefer it to meat. This restaurant was a good choice,’ she reassured him.

      ‘I bask in the light of your approval.’

      ‘I wasn’t being condescending. I’m just grateful that you brought me here. Look at the view—it’s absolutely fantastic!’

      ‘You don’t