One Night in Madrid. Kate Walker

lift came to a halt as she spoke, metal door sliding open, and she walked out into the corridor.

      ‘That used to be where I lived …’

      Another wave of her hand indicated a door to her left.

      ‘But now I’m down here …’

      If she expected a response she didn’t get one, other than a quick, inarticulate sound that might have been agreement. From the moment that she had turned to walk away from him, Raul had found that his attention was momentarily distracted. Following Alannah down the blue-carpeted corridor towards the door of her apartment was a sensual experience strong enough to draw his attention completely. The fall of her red-gold hair mirrored the straight line of her back in contrast to the rounded curves of her hips. Long, slender legs in the tight-fitting jeans added to the delight.

      He welcomed the sensations, the warmth that flooded his body. It was something to fill the black, empty spaces that seemed to have invaded his heart and his mind ever since he had answered the phone in the middle of the night and heard the news about Lorena’s accident. From that moment he felt as if he had been barely moving, speaking, functioning. Even the discovery of Alannah’s presence in the hospital room had hardly touched him.

      Even when he had held her as she sobbed in his arms, he had felt as if his head was flooded with dark, icy water so that he couldn’t feel, couldn’t think. He had responded as he would do to any human being who was in pain and distress, and in the same way he had offered her a lift to her flat, taken her out to the car. Because it was the only thing that he could do.

      But then there had come that moment in the car, in the darkness of the night, when, looking down into her upturned face as he saw it in the light of the street lamps as they flashed by, he had seen not just another human being but a woman. A living, breathing, beautiful woman.

      And that was when he had first felt the stirring of something else, something warmer, something more like a feeling. Something that made him feel as if the black, icy water that filled his thoughts might actually be shot through with tiny rays of light, warming it faintly. But that was when the car had come to a halt, bringing him back to the reality of a cold, dark, wet night in England instead of the warmth of the sun he had left behind in Spain, reminding him of why he was here. And it had brought all the emptiness rushing back.

      And when she had got out of the car, paused to look back in, he had seen the same emptiness in her face. And he had known that at least he shared this with her. They might never be close again—hell, they had never truly been close—but right here, tonight, they shared this terrible sense of loss. That was when he had decided that for just half an hour, thirty short minutes, they could hold back the darkness together and then go on their way, like ships that passed in the night. ‘Come in …’

      Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t been aware of the fact that Alannah had opened the door and was now standing with it wide open, waiting for him to walk into her flat.

      In an almost colourless face, the deep green eyes were like dark, mossy pools, bottomless and unfathomable, and the pallor of her skin was heightened by the rich fall of her hair, darkened by the rain outside. The same rain that had made the black T-shirt cling to the firm swell of her breasts under the damp cotton.

      ‘You should get out of those wet clothes,’ he said, hearing his voice rasp on the words as the bleakness of his thoughts showed in his speech.

      He saw the shock that widened her eyes, the deep green flaring suddenly, gold burning in the darkness, and carefully adjusted his tone a degree or two.

      ‘Or at least dry your hair.’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      As if to prove it she tossed back the damp strands of her hair and shrugged out of her jacket, dropping it on a nearby chair before heading across the room to where a door stood open into the kitchen.

      ‘And I should make you that coffee.’

      Raul’s dismissal in his native Spanish was terse and to the point. There was a tension about her slender body that reminded him of a suspicion that had flashed through his mind in the moment she had first invited him in. She was edgy and uneasy, her mood communicating that there was more to this than met the eye. She didn’t really think that he believed she had brought him up here for coffee?

      Just coffee wouldn’t put the ragged edge to her voice, make some unreadable emotion darken her eyes.

      But she was obviously going to ignore him as she turned and headed through the door into the kitchen.

      ‘Bathroom,’ he said sharply, making her stop so abruptly that it was almost as if she had been expecting him to speak.

      But obviously not what he had said, he realised as she frowned faintly in some confusion.

      ‘Where is your bathroom?’ he repeated.

      ‘Oh—down the corridor …’ She pointed in the right direction. ‘First door on the left.’

      It took him just moments to stride down the corridor, enter the bathroom and snatch up the towel that was hanging on a rail against the wall. With the soft white cotton dangling from his fingers, he was back in the kitchen while she was still filling the kettle at the tap.

      ‘Here …’

      With one hand he removed the still dripping kettle from her grip and set it down on the worktop. With the other, he draped the towel over her head and began to gently blot the soaking strands of her hair.

      Alannah froze. Every inch of her slim frame became stiff with tension and rejection.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded from under the towel.

      ‘I should have thought that was obvious. I’m drying your hair.’ ‘Then stop!’

      It came from between gritted teeth, venom in every word. Enough to freeze his hands, still holding the towel.

      ‘I never asked you to do that—or anything like it. I said I was fine.’

      ‘You don’t look fine—’

      ‘I’m fine—so take your hands off me.’

      ‘Sure!’

      Raul’s tone was clipped and hard. He dropped the towel on the floor and took a step backwards, hands coming up between them, bronzed fingers splayed wide in what looked like a defensive gesture.

      But the expression in his eyes made a nonsense of any thought of defensiveness. There was nothing wary or unsure in the gaze that clashed with her. Instead a cold anger turned those burning bronze eyes translucent and challenge blazed out of them, defying her to take this further.

      ‘But in the terms of strict accuracy, my hands were never on you. So it seems that you, Alannah querida, are exaggerating just a little. More than a little.’

      ‘I’m …’ Alannah began but Raul ignored her attempt to protest, or apologise—she wasn’t quite sure which—and when he ploughed straight on, talking right over what she had been about to say, she found she was grateful that she hadn’t got so far as the apology.

      ‘If I had touched you then you might have something to complain about. Or if I’d kissed you …’

      Alannah saw his intent in those devastating eyes, saw the way his head tilted, his gaze going to her partly open mouth.

      ‘You wouldn’t …’

      She wanted to run—to get away—but even as the thought came into her mind she knew that he had got there first. Any chance of escape was cut off as one strong hand came down on the edge of the sink on either side of her body, enclosing her, trapping her and holding her unable to move.

      He was so close—too close—and all the disturbing, worrying sensations that had sprung to life in the car now flared through her again but this time more sharply, more intensely, making her shift uncomfortably in the confined space of his imprisoning arms. But