The Spaniard's Pleasure. Margaret Mayo

had lessened.

      ‘Tamara,’ the tall Spaniard supplied huskily. ‘My daughter.’

      ‘That’s a nice name,’ Fleur said, rubbing the girl’s cold hands in between her own. Either he was a lot older than he looked or he had started a family when he was very young. She had never heard a wife mentioned so she assumed that this girl was a child from a previous relationship.

      He shook his head, sending silver water droplets spraying everywhere. ‘And I am Antonio Rochas…’ He ran a hand over his wet face and managed to look more vital than any man who had just had a near-death experience had a right to.

      Did he really think she didn’t know who he was?

      ‘Fleur Stewart.’

      She looked at him through the mesh of her wet lashes. Like hers his body was shaken by intermittent tremors, which became more obvious as he shrugged his way out of his drenched jacket.

      His shirt and jeans clung like a second skin to his chest and belly, delineating his superb physique. If he had been carrying even an ounce of surplus flesh on his long, lean frame it would have shown, but it didn’t and he wasn’t. He was grey-hound-lean six feet five of hard male muscle. A flash of heat washed over the surface of her chilled body.

      Dragging her eyes clear of the spectacle of male beauty, Fleur turned back to the distressed girl, appalled and deeply ashamed that she could notice something like lean, muscle-packed contours at a moment like this, let alone react to it. The dog beside her whined and as she absently patted him. Fleur experienced a flash of inspiration.

      ‘Come here, Sandy,’ she encouraged, holding out her hand.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘That’s it, good boy,’ she crooned approvingly to the dog as he curled up beside the girl. ‘Sandy’s warm and she’s cold. I’d offer her my body heat but I don’t think I have any.’

      ‘Good dog,’ he said.

      ‘Be careful!’ Fleur stopped as to her amazement her man-hating pet licked the male fingers that tickled his ears. ‘Fickle animal.’

      The complaint made his lips twitch, but a moment later his forehead was creased with worry as he looked down at Tamara. ‘Perhaps I should take her back to the house. When you rang you told the emergency services our location…?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      His eyes narrowed as he visualised the route they would take. ‘They’ll come along the track from the house,’ he predicted, looking with a frown around the tree-fringed clearing. ‘We should get out of here and meet them there.’

      Fleur nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ she admitted. The change in his manner now that he had a purpose was noticeable.

      It was obvious to Fleur that Antonio Rochas was not the type of person who enjoyed sitting back waiting for things to happen. He was the sort of man who made things happen and relished being in charge of a situation…definitely not a relaxing person to be around.

      But then maybe not relaxing worked. She had never read a financial page in her life and even Fleur knew that people who knew about such things spoke his name with awe and envy.

      The Rochas family name had already been synonymous with the international hotel group of the same name, but after this man had taken over the firm after his father’s death it had broadened its scope, acquiring amongst other things an airline and a newspaper.

      All were now incredibly successful.

      ‘I don’t want…’ the girl began fretfully as her father scooped her up into his arms.

      ‘Right now I don’t much care what you want, Tamara. Madre mía, what were you doing going out in that boat anyway when you can’t swim?’

      ‘I c…can swim. I lost the oar and I was trying to reach it when I fell in. There were reeds and stuff in the bottom—my leg got stuck.’

      ‘She’s upset; there’s no need to be so brutal,’ Fleur admonished. ‘After an experience like that—’

      ‘After an experience like that,’ he cut in grimly. ‘it’s to be hoped she has learnt her lesson. But based on past experience I don’t think I’ll hold my breath.’

      ‘You poor thing…it’s all right now,’ Fleur soothed as the girl started weeping. Noticing for the first time the lines of strain bracketing her father’s overtly sensual mouth, Fleur realised that the girl wasn’t the only one who had had a bad experience.

      It didn’t take long for them to exit the wooded area. The only problem with being in the open was that it was more exposed to the elements. The wind was light but it cut through Fleur’s wet clothes with the viciousness of a sharp blade.

      The minutes ticked by and Antonio began to pace up and down pausing intermittently in order to stare impatiently up the track. He reminded Fleur irresistibly of a sleek caged jungle cat, so graceful to watch that it almost hurt.

      ‘Where are they…?’ He angled an accusing glare at Fleur.

      ‘Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,’ she soothed, tolerant of being spoken to as if it were her fault only because she recognised his aggression for what it was. He was worried sick about his daughter.

      ‘Don’t worry!’ he echoed. ‘This is my daughter lying here! Do you have any idea—’ He broke off and, jamming both hands into his saturated hair, let his head fall forward.

      Fleur listened to the harsh sound of his laboured breathing and her throat ached with sympathy.

      Frowning, Antonio lifted his head and scanned her face. The indentation above his masterful nose deepened. ‘Do you have a child?’

      The unexpected question made Fleur stiffen. She made a mental note that his perception was uncomfortably acute and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

      Before Antonio had an opportunity to wonder about the stricken expression he had glimpsed in her wide-spaced eyes he heard the sound of an engine. Relief swept over him. A moment later the ambulance came into view.

      ‘I’m c-cold.’

      Fleur, who could readily identify with the girl’s complaint, watched as her father dropped gracefully down on his knees beside her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he soothed, taking her hands between his. ‘The ambulance is here. You’ll be fine now.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch.

      The ambulance team were smooth and efficient. Fleur stood back to let them get on with their job. Antonio joined her, his expression grave as he watched the men strap his daughter to a stretcher.

      After they had loaded their patient the paramedic stood to one side to let Antonio enter the ambulance.

      ‘No! I don’t want him in here.’ The youthful voice rose as she added in obvious agitation, ‘Make him go away! I won’t have him near me. He’s not my father.’

      ‘I am her father.’

      Nobody argued with him.

      ‘No, he’s kidnapped me! I want to go home, I want my real dad!’

      A tense silence followed this startling and vitriolic outburst.

      Fleur watched the medic direct a cautious look at Antonio, who stood there looking as flexible as a rock face. The man then exchanged a look with his partner. A look that seemed to say, If he wants to get in, there’s not a lot we can do to stop him.

      He cleared his throat and offered a tactful smile. ‘It might be better not to…she’s—’ he began.

      ‘I understand,’ Antonio cut in. ‘I will follow.’ His expression was blank as he stepped away from the door.

      The other man looked relieved.

      Antonio’s expression remained inscrutable as they closed