The Acostas Box Set. Susan Stephens

relaxation.

      Right on cue the muscles in his leg stabbed a warning that he was more likely to grind his jaw in pain than soften his lips to seduce Maxie.

      ‘I love your house,’ she commented as they walked downstairs.

      ‘It isn’t strictly mine,’ he said, putting her straight. ‘The family shares it.’

      ‘Don’t you think that’s why it’s so lovely?’ she said, pausing to examine an old oil painting of some disreputable-looking ancestor.

      The Acosta men hadn’t changed that much, he reflected, then, realising Maxie was waiting for him, wondered if she was taking it slowly on purpose—making allowances for him?

      ‘I think it’s a real family home,’ she said, oblivious to his blackening mood.

      ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, waiting for her to go first before he tackled the last flight of stairs.

      ‘Don’t you love this hallway?’ she said, trailing her slender fingers down the mahogany banister as she reached the hall ahead of him.

      He concentrated on her naked shoulders and the cascade of silky black hair tumbling in luxuriant waves to her waist. This led him on the shortest of journeys to the neat curve of her buttocks, clearly visible beneath the clinging fabric of her dress.

      ‘Well, I think it’s perfect!’ she said, turning to look at him.

      ‘I can’t see much wrong with it,’ he agreed.

      ‘How wonderful to have holidayed here when you were children. I love visiting houses like this.’

      The last girl he had brought to the palacio had asked for the ‘powder room’ in order to touch up her make-up. Then she’d told him she hated the house. It was so dated, she said, proceeding to give him a list of requirements for her next visit. Fortunately the sea had been calm that day. He’d shipped her out on the next boat.

      Maria was in the kitchen with an array of dishes that would have fed an army of gourmands. He ate in silence, while Maxie and Maria chatted away like old friends. Maxie handed him an agenda of things she wanted to cover, and he might have been surprised by her approach if he hadn’t seen her dressed for business as she was tonight. He accepted the paper from her, glanced at it, and got on with his meal, wondering again about the tomboy who could transform herself so convincingly into a sophisticated businesswoman in no time flat. Did she have a boyfriend—a lover? Maybe she had children? He didn’t know anything about her. Maybe she was married? That thought made him tense.

      When they had finished the meal and the dishes were being cleared away—a duty Maxie had insisted on sharing with Maria—she tossed him a cloth. ‘Wipe the table down, will you?’ she asked him casually. ‘While I load the dishwasher?’

      He stared at the cloth in his hands while Maria, clearly in shock, bustled across the room to take it from him. His grip on the cloth tightened. ‘Take the rest of the evening off,’ he told Maria. ‘You deserve it. And thank you for a delicious supper.’

      ‘Gracias, Señor…’ Maria said, backing out of the kitchen as if she never wanted to forget the sight of him holding a cleaning cloth.

      Maxie had her back turned to him as she continued clearing up. When she’d switched the dishwasher on, she straightened up and turned round. ‘Would you like to see the shots I’ve taken so far?’

      Remembering the quicker Maxie got what she’d come for, the quicker he could be alone again, he said, ‘Why not?’

      He had to admit Maxie surprised him yet again. She might be an excellent wedding planner, but her photographs were also out of the ordinary. She had shown the island in a way he’d never seen it before, highlighting aspects which transformed it from a forbidding prison into a treasure trove of possibilities. Seeing Isla del Fuego through Maxie’s eyes was a revelation to him.

      ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked when he grimaced.

      ‘No. Everything’s good.’ Except his leg, which was cramping again. ‘Your photographs are very good.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She turned to go. ‘An early night for me, I think,’ she advised him as she headed for the door.

      Animal instincts battled with his common sense, while his leg screamed in protest. ‘Buenas noches, señorita,’ he ground out as she left the room.