Mistress Of His Revenge. Chantelle Shaw

on the lawn. ‘For heaven’s sake!’ she muttered as she quickly twitched the curtains shut.

      ‘Your friends are clearly enjoying themselves,’ Cruz drawled.

      ‘They’re not my friends.’ Sabrina could feel her face burning. She wasn’t a prude but the behaviour going on—not to mention the amount of clothes coming off—in the garden was unacceptable.

      ‘Are they your brother’s friends?’ Cruz was curious. ‘Is it Tristan’s party?’

      ‘Tristan is away at university.’ Thankfully her brother was nothing like Hugo Ffaulk and his ilk, Sabrina thought to herself. Tris knew that to fulfil his ambition of being an airline pilot he had to gain a first-class degree. Of course there was also the little matter of the one hundred thousand pounds required for the pilot training. The merry-go-round of worries inside her head did another circuit. Somehow, she vowed, she would find the money for her brother to train for the career that he had dreamed of since he was a small boy.

      ‘So, are those people your father’s guests?’

      Sabrina had no intention of telling Cruz that giving parties at Eversleigh Hall was a business venture. No one apart from her and the bank manager knew of the financial catastrophe that was looming over Eversleigh, and so far she had managed to keep the news that Earl Bancroft was missing out of the media.

      ‘They are my guests, who I invited to my party,’ she said stiffly. ‘Some of them are just a little over-exuberant, that’s all.’

      Cruz gave her a sardonic look. ‘I’ve heard gossip on the London social scene about the wild parties you throw at Eversleigh Hall. What does Earl Bancroft think about his stately home being overrun by upper-class yobs?’

      ‘My father isn’t here. He’s away on a trip and I don’t know when he’ll be back. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’ She tried to step past him and gave a startled cry when he caught hold of her arm.

      ‘That’s it?’ Cruz growled. ‘I see you haven’t changed in the past ten years, gatinha. You still think you can dismiss me as if I am dirt beneath your shoe.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She tried to jerk her arm out of his grip. ‘And don’t call me that. I’m not your kitten.’ Hearing him use the affectionate name he had called her when they had been lovers, in a sarcastic tone, hurt more than it had any right to.

      His gravelly, sexy accent brought her skin out in goose bumps. She wanted to stop staring at him but she could not tear her eyes from the sculpted planes of his face and his sensual mouth. ‘I never treated you like dirt,’ she muttered, startled by the accusation. Surely she had made it embarrassingly obvious ten years ago that she’d worshipped the ground he walked on?

      ‘The first time we saw each other you put your nose in the air and ignored me.’

      She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I was eighteen and painfully naïve. The nuns who taught at St Ursula’s College for Ladies never explained about handsome men who could make a girl feel...’ She broke off, flushing as Cruz’s gaze narrowed on her face.

      ‘Feel...what?’ he demanded. Sabrina recognised the predatory gleam in his eyes and she instinctively backed away from him until her spine was jammed against the desk.

      ‘You know how you made me feel.’ She silently cursed the huskiness in her voice. ‘And I didn’t ignore you for long. You made sure of that.’

      He’d had her in his bed within a week of her arrival in Brazil. Memories assailed her of blistering hot days when they’d had blisteringly exciting sex in the shade of the rubber trees, and sultry, steamy nights when Cruz had climbed up to her balcony at the ranch house and they’d made love beneath the stars.

      The rasp of Cruz’s breath warned her that he was also remembering their scorching passion. But sex was all they had shared, Sabrina thought. Their response to each other ten years ago had simply been a chemical reaction. Disturbingly, the mysterious alchemy of sexual attraction was at work again now. She could see it in the way his olive-green eyes had darkened so that they were almost black.

      Her spine would be bruised from where she was pressing against the desk. She searched her mind for something to say to break the simmering tension in the room. ‘Why do you want to see my father?’

      ‘I believe he has something that belongs to me, and I want what is mine.’

      * * *

      Cruz stared at the stunning diamond pendant Sabrina was wearing around her neck. The Estrela Vermelha—the Red Star—was one of the largest red diamonds ever to have been found in Brazil. Cruz knew that diamonds could occur in a variety of colours, with red being the rarest. When his father had found the gem, the uncut, unpolished stone had not looked as though it was worth a fortune.

      Earl Bancroft had had the stone triangular-cut, or trilliant-cut as it was known to gemologists. The red diamond had been set in a border of white diamonds and the contrast between the red and white sparkling gems was truly breathtaking. The pendant had never been for sale, but conservative estimates suggested it was worth well over a million pounds.

      When Sabrina had entered the library Cruz had been so fixated on her that he had barely noticed the Estrela Vermelha, he acknowledged grimly. Her ruby-red dress was a perfect match for the red diamond nestling between her breasts. The silk jersey dress clung to every dip and curve of her slender figure and when she walked, the side split in the skirt parted to reveal one long, lissom leg.

      The dress was overtly sexy, and with her pale blonde hair tumbling in silky, glossy waves around her shoulders Sabrina looked like every red-blooded male’s fantasy, yet she still retained an air of elegance and refinement that spoke of her aristocratic bloodline.

      A haze of jealousy clouded Cruz’s mind as he wondered who Sabrina had dressed like a vamp for. He glanced down at her left hand and saw that it was ringless. So, it was likely that she was unmarried. Not that he gave a damn, he assured himself. Had she chosen to wear the scarlet dress to impress a lover? A vision sprang into his mind of Sabrina in the arms of another man. Why the hell did that make his blood boil? he asked himself impatiently.

      He had been her first lover but he was damned sure he hadn’t been her last—not when she had the body of Venus and a luscious mouth that simply begged to be kissed. Her lips were coated in a scarlet gloss that emphasised their sensual shape and her grey eyes were enhanced by a smoky shadow on her eyelids.

      Cruz visualised the innocent girl he had known a decade ago. Sabrina had been an exceptionally pretty teenager, but now she was a stunningly beautiful woman, entirely aware of her sensuality and with the self-confidence to wear clothes that showed off her exquisite figure.

      It was still there. He had not seen her for ten years, but one look was all it had taken to make him realise that he had never desired any woman as much as Sabrina Bancroft. Thinking of her family name reminded him of why he had come to Eversleigh and the hatred he felt for Earl Bancroft.

      He reached out his hand and touched the Estrela Vermelha. The jewel was as cold and hard as his anger as he remembered his father’s excitement when Vitor had discovered the rare diamond.

      ‘It’s likely that there are more red diamonds in the part of the mine where I found the first one. If I find more, Earl Bancroft has promised I will receive a share of their value.’

      ‘Don’t go back there, Papai,’ Cruz had pleaded with his father. ‘That part of the mine is dangerous. Some of the miners say that the roof supports aren’t strong enough.’

      But Vitor had ignored him. ‘I have to go back.’

      The earl had sent Vitor to search for more diamonds and had sent him to his death. Cruz still had nightmares about when he’d heard the incredible roaring noise of the mine roof collapsing as tons of rock had crashed down on his father and buried him alive.

      He snatched his hand away from the Estrela Vermelha. ‘Red is a fitting colour for a diamond which is stained with my father’s blood.’

      A