‘I love them!’ Bella flung at him, losing her head. ‘I also want a large fluffy dog and a cat and a pony for them. So take yourself off, Rico! Go find a bimbo to audition for the honour of sharing your precious bed! And if she amuses herself on the side with your gardener or one of your security men you will only be getting what you deserve!’
‘Por Dios…you may have an IQ higher than my credit rating but you are unhinged.’ Rico swore furiously. ‘No normal woman would speak like this to me!’
‘I’m ashamed I ever let you touch me. I’ll be scrubbing myself clean for a month!’ she shouted back. ‘How dare you come here into my home and talk to me as if I’m some sort of glorified whore? Was I going to get a Porsche as well?’
‘Driving lessons,’ he raked down at her, his dark head lowering. ‘Putting you behind the wheel of a Porsche would be like putting an arsonist in a barn!’
‘Don’t you dare!’ she warned, shaking like a leaf as the scent of him washed over her, as the taut, muscular angles of his hard body met in direct collision with hers.
‘You’re gasping for it too.’
He kissed her and the world fell away and everything else soared to an ungovernable height of excitement. He closed his arms around her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t want to breathe. Dizzy and disorientated, she clung to him, lost in the devastating plunge into passion, her heart racing, her pulses throbbing, every muscle taut with a hunger that dominated and controlled. Heat surged into her loins, making her thighs tremble against the aroused thrust of his manhood. He swept her up in his arms and then dropped her on the ancient feather mattress from a height.
‘You’re a pushover, querida.’ He stared down at her, his hard-boned features grim and derisive. ‘And you will crawl for that month’s trial before I am finished with you!’ he stated chillingly.
‘Push off, you bastard!’ Bella shrieked, her voice cracking.
‘And you will stop using language like that,’ he hissed in outrage. ‘If you want me to treat you like a lady, talk like one!’
‘You wouldn’t recognise a lady if you fell over one!’ she sobbed, out of control with rage and self-loathing. ‘I hate you, Rico!’
The door closed. She thumped the pillow with clenched fists. She hadn’t buckled. She had been tempted but she hadn’t buckled, hadn’t surrendered. Why then didn’t she feel better? Why had the sound of that door closing filled her with dread? But she knew why, didn’t she? He had left her alone again and, for a charged instant, she didn’t believe that she could bear the emptiness that stretched ahead without him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘“A COMPLETE gentleman”,’ the journalist repeated woodenly, disappointment emanating from her in waves. It might have been an exclusive interview but the content was not of the salacious variety guaranteed to titillate.
‘Absolutely,’ Bella stressed.
The woman coughed. ‘I understand there was only one bed—’
‘Mr da Silva slept on the floor.’
‘Mr? You mean you didn’t even get on first-name terms?’
‘I think of him as Mr da Silva,’ Bella muttered.
The brunette sighed. ‘He’s so gorgeous… He looks so… sexy.’
‘Looks can be deceptive.’
‘He sounds about as exciting as cold porridge.’
‘He did take his jacket off and give it to me to keep me warm when we were escaping!’ Bella rushed to assert, fearful that she had overdone her efforts to silence press speculation.
Hector was sitting in the kitchen over a cup of tea.
‘The paparazzi will vanish tomorrow when that interview is published,’ Bella told him with forced cheer. ‘The phone will stop ringing and the doorstep will be clear again. Our lives will return to normal.’
‘You should never talk to journalists. They twist things,’ he warned her.
Bella cleared her throat and surveyed him reflectively. ‘Rico said you were stinking rich…’
Hector choked on his tea. She had to bang him on the back. It was five minutes before he stopped spluttering.
‘Absolute rubbish!’ he swore weakly.
‘But maybe you have a few savings…just for a rainy day?’