Orla considered taking the day off a mistake. Duarte knew this because he’d picked her up from her hotel half an hour ago, after she’d done what needed to be done at the Quinta, and she’d already mentioned it half a dozen times. She’d cited professionalism. She’d muttered something about there being a problem with the tablecloths. She’d repeatedly asked herself what she thought she was doing. Out loud.
He, on the other hand, considered it anything other than a mistake. He’d never had a woman in his arms simply going through the motions. He didn’t like it. Either his skills were rustier than he’d imagined or Orla required a different approach. Whichever it was, he wanted to get to the bottom of what had sidetracked her. His desire for her was so strong that if something wasn’t done about it soon he could suffer permanent damage. His male pride was wounded and demanded satisfaction, and it was more than three long years since he’d last slept with anyone.
So if overthinking was her problem then he had to get inside her head and disrupt from within. He sensed there was a volcano bubbling beneath her surface that needed erupting. He also had the intriguing feeling that the sex she’d previously had, not very successfully, was involved, and that, therefore, also merited investigation.
‘Where are you taking me?’
With any luck, by the end of the day, to heaven and back. ‘The river.’
‘Why?’
‘Because while you’re here you should see more of the local area than just the Quinta. It’s beautiful off the beaten track. Nature at its most excellent.’ Not to mention far away from work and reality and ideal for his purposes. ‘And speaking of excellence, where does your need for it come from?’
‘You don’t waste time.’
He took his eyes off the road for a split second and cast her a quick glance to find that she was looking at him both shrewdly and suspiciously. ‘I don’t see the point,’ he said, totally unperturbed by this. Orla was skittish and wary and easily spooked by matters of a carnal nature, but she was also trapped in a moving car. He could afford to be direct. ‘My badly bruised ego demands answers.’
‘I’m a lost cause.’
‘How do you know? We’ve barely even begun.’
‘Experience.’
Ah.
‘Also, were you not there last night?’
‘I was very much there,’ he said, remembering how soft and warm she’d been in his arms, how divine she’d smelled and tasted, and feeling a pulse of heat low in his pelvis. ‘Even if you weren’t.’
‘I was to begin with, before getting sidetracked.’
Duarte crushed the pressing yet wildly inappropriate urge to pull over and find out if she still felt that good and reminded himself of his plan to find out what made her tick. ‘So back to my question...’
‘I’m the middle of three siblings,’ she said on a sigh. ‘My older sister is an opera singer. A contralto. She’s with the Met and lives in New York. My younger brother plays rugby for England. My parents were generally to be found either at a concert hall or on a touchline somewhere. There wasn’t a lot of time left for me, you know?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m an only child.’
‘So you got all the attention.’
He caught a note of wistfulness in her voice, guessed that she was imagining a happy family unit that was all hearts and flowers, and the cynic in him felt compelled to burst that particular bubble.
‘Not exactly,’ he said flatly, his hands flexing on the steering wheel. ‘My parents divorced when I was twelve. Acrimoniously. They were so busy hurling insults at each other, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for me either.’
That hung between them for a moment, then she said softly, ‘I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.’
‘No need,’ he replied, really not needing her pity. ‘It’s been eighteen years and they’re civil to each other now. We all rub along well enough. But for a decade I did end up seeking attention elsewhere. Everywhere, actually.’
‘You found it. In spades.’
‘I did.’ And he hadn’t regretted a minute of it. Until he’d met Calysta and lost his head.
‘I had to work for mine,’ she said, putting a stop to his turbulent thoughts before they could head down that dark and twisted path. ‘And my only option was school. I studied hard, all the time, making sure I came top of the class every term and acing every test.’
‘Did it work?’
‘It did. The first time I got a hundred per cent in a maths exam my parents took us all out for a meal to celebrate and I was allowed to choose the restaurant. I was eight and it was the best moment of my life, so I didn’t stop. I carried on aiming for the top and claiming what snippets of attention I could. Luckily, I really enjoyed studying.’
‘What about friends?’
‘What friends?’ she deadpanned.
She had high expectations of herself. She probably had high expectations of others that were hard to live up to. As he’d thought, the pressure she put on herself must be immense. ‘How did you become joint CEO of Hamilton Garrett?’
‘I didn’t bother with university,’ she said. ‘There was nothing I was interested in apart from organising and making everything just so, and there isn’t a degree for that. After I left school I became an executive assistant at a bank and worked my way up until I became the aide de camp for the bank’s president. I left there to start at what was then plain old Hamilton Concierge Services. My aim was always the top and after a lot of blood, sweat and tears I got there last year.’
‘Impressive.’
‘Just focused and determined.’
‘Is there anything you don’t excel in?’
‘Not much. But then, I tend to steer clear of things I know I won’t be good at.’
‘Such as?’
‘Opera singing and rugby,’ she said drily.
‘That’s it?’
A pause. ‘There may be other stuff,’ she said, hedging in a way that piqued his curiosity.
‘Like what?’
‘Just stuff.’
‘Sex?’
It was an educated guess, based on the last couple of nights, but he could feel her blush from all the way over here and he knew he was right. She was satisfyingly easy to read.
‘It’s complicated.’
‘So it would seem.’