Chronus is taking good care of her.” Rafe
laughed;
He rested his hand lightly against her waist as they
went in to the dining room.
Two hours later Javier pulled the blankets up round
Beatriz’s chin and kissed her gently on the forehead. Sitting on the edge of
the colourful bed covered with an assortment of fluffy toys he watched his
daughter’s sleeping face. Almost four months had passed since he had brought
her to the Island to live with him. After Charlotte’s death he had left her with
his parents in Spain; he had barely been capable of looking after himself let
alone a two year old child. He had visited whenever he could. It had been Hera
who had suggested he bring her to the Island to live and it had been the best
thing he had done for years. She filled him with happiness and it was good for
her to have the company of other children.
Moving quietly into his adjoining bedroom he went
through the usual motions of getting ready for bed then stretched out between
the cool sheets trying to relax his body. He felt tense and wired up. He was
stuck with babysitting Cassia Mathrafal and he was sure she wasn’t going to
make life easy for him. The sooner he could send her packing back to her very
dubious lifestyle the better.
He turned restlessly onto his stomach and buried his
head in the pillow. He could hear Cassia’s voice in his head singing to young
Rose and the image of her face, gentle and tender flashed into his mind; so
different from her usual wary combative glare. Rafe had certainly made her
laugh; he had watched the two of them together all through dinner as that low
hum inside him seemed to grow louder and louder.
Javier threw himself onto his back again and stared up
at the ceiling as he touched his hand to his mouth. Sweet and rich like wine;
he had no idea why he had taken her wrist and closed up those wounds, tasting
her blood. It had felt as though he was being drawn across the room to her side
without any conscious thought. The scent of her filled his senses every time
she was near him; exotic and sensuous like frankincense.
With an exasperated curse he got out of bed, switched
on a lamp and uncapping the bottle of single malt sitting on the chest of
drawers poured himself a generous measure. His eyes fell on the framed
photograph of Charlotte and he picked it up and stood looking at it as he
sipped.
He felt guilty; as though he was being unfaithful.
Cassia was not his type, she was not. If he shut his eyes he could see her
standing in LaSalle’s study; tall and long legged in her black clothes and
biker boots with those flashing deep blue eyes and silky raven black hair
sweeping down past her waist. She reminded him of the heroine from LaSalle’s
son’s favourite film about the tomb raider. Yes, she would have been perfect
for that role. Yet he sensed a vulnerability and softness about her that she
hid behind an outward show that was all aggressive sharp edges and attitude.
Javier sighed and returned the photograph to its
place, running his forefinger gently over Charlotte’s image. No, Cassia was
definitely not his type and it was obvious he wasn’t her type either. She was
awkward, prickly and skittish around him whereas she’d laughed and flirted with
Rafe as though she’d known him for years. She had obviously fallen for his
brand of worldly urbane sophisticated charm. Tossing back the last of the
whisky he got back into bed where sleep eluded him for hours until he finally
fell into a restless troubled doze.
CHAPTER 8
Cassia sat moodily on the bottom step of the great
staircase waiting for Beatriz. She had only exchanged a few words with Javier
after dinner; he was going to accompany her to London to meet up with one of
her contacts. She wished she could go on her own but she had given LaSalle her
word. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that it would be a sensible
precaution to have Javier as back-up but she had lied to LaSalle and she didn’t
know how Javier would
laughed;
He rested his hand lightly against her waist as they
went in to the dining room.
Two hours later Javier pulled the blankets up round
Beatriz’s chin and kissed her gently on the forehead. Sitting on the edge of
the colourful bed covered with an assortment of fluffy toys he watched his
daughter’s sleeping face. Almost four months had passed since he had brought
her to the Island to live with him. After Charlotte’s death he had left her with
his parents in Spain; he had barely been capable of looking after himself let
alone a two year old child. He had visited whenever he could. It had been Hera
who had suggested he bring her to the Island to live and it had been the best
thing he had done for years. She filled him with happiness and it was good for
her to have the company of other children.
Moving quietly into his adjoining bedroom he went
through the usual motions of getting ready for bed then stretched out between
the cool sheets trying to relax his body. He felt tense and wired up. He was
stuck with babysitting Cassia Mathrafal and he was sure she wasn’t going to
make life easy for him. The sooner he could send her packing back to her very
dubious lifestyle the better.
He turned restlessly onto his stomach and buried his
head in the pillow. He could hear Cassia’s voice in his head singing to young
Rose and the image of her face, gentle and tender flashed into his mind; so
different from her usual wary combative glare. Rafe had certainly made her
laugh; he had watched the two of them together all through dinner as that low
hum inside him seemed to grow louder and louder.
Javier threw himself onto his back again and stared up
at the ceiling as he touched his hand to his mouth. Sweet and rich like wine;
he had no idea why he had taken her wrist and closed up those wounds, tasting
her blood. It had felt as though he was being drawn across the room to her side
without any conscious thought. The scent of her filled his senses every time
she was near him; exotic and sensuous like frankincense.
With an exasperated curse he got out of bed, switched
on a lamp and uncapping the bottle of single malt sitting on the chest of
drawers poured himself a generous measure. His eyes fell on the framed
photograph of Charlotte and he picked it up and stood looking at it as he
sipped.
He felt guilty; as though he was being unfaithful.
Cassia was not his type, she was not. If he shut his eyes he could see her
standing in LaSalle’s study; tall and long legged in her black clothes and
biker boots with those flashing deep blue eyes and silky raven black hair
sweeping down past her waist. She reminded him of the heroine from LaSalle’s
son’s favourite film about the tomb raider. Yes, she would have been perfect
for that role. Yet he sensed a vulnerability and softness about her that she
hid behind an outward show that was all aggressive sharp edges and attitude.
Javier sighed and returned the photograph to its
place, running his forefinger gently over Charlotte’s image. No, Cassia was
definitely not his type and it was obvious he wasn’t her type either. She was
awkward, prickly and skittish around him whereas she’d laughed and flirted with
Rafe as though she’d known him for years. She had obviously fallen for his
brand of worldly urbane sophisticated charm. Tossing back the last of the
whisky he got back into bed where sleep eluded him for hours until he finally
fell into a restless troubled doze.
CHAPTER 8
Cassia sat moodily on the bottom step of the great
staircase waiting for Beatriz. She had only exchanged a few words with Javier
after dinner; he was going to accompany her to London to meet up with one of
her contacts. She wished she could go on her own but she had given LaSalle her
word. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that it would be a sensible
precaution to have Javier as back-up but she had lied to LaSalle and she didn’t
know how Javier would
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