The Secret Mistress. Emma DarcyЧитать онлайн книгу.
pump of blood kicked reason into her mind, clearing it of the dark cloud of memories.
“What did he want?” she asked. It was obvious from the conversation that Luis had at least considered procuring the bus. It was certainly possible for him to do so. The Martinez family had fingers in many pies right across the continent; agriculture, mining, cement works, oil and gas, transport...
“Forget it!” Alan’s hand sliced the air with negative vehemence. “I’ll try something else.”
There was nothing else. Shontelle shook her head over the mess of notes on the table. They’d already been down every other avenue. The usual help Alan could tap into was not forthcoming.
She watched him steam around the sitting room of the suite they were sharing, a big man chopping up the space around her, making it feel claustrophobic with the sense of failure. Getting accommodation in The Europa, a relatively new five-star hotel, had been a coup for this tour. Now it seemed like a prison. Everyone in the tour group had lost their pleasure in its luxury, anxieties building with being trapped here. More bad news could make soothing fears and frayed tempers a very difficult, if not impossible exercise.
Alan always fought against imparting bad news to his tour groups, especially when there was no good news to make it more palatable. Normally he was a very cool operator, highly skilled at lateral thinking whenever a crisis arose, as it frequently did in South America. The ability to be flexible was paramount to bringing off a successful tour and Alan was always prepared to come up with an alternative schedule. But this time he’d found himself blocked at every turn.
He was the kind of man who hated being thwarted.
Or found wanting in any way.
So was Luis Angel Martinez, Shontelle remembered.
The two men were very alike in that respect. Kindred spirits. They’d been friends...the type of friendship where time and distance and social standing had no relevance. They might not meet for long intervals but such separations hadn’t made any difference, not over the nine years before...
Guilt wormed through Shontelle.
She had ruined it. For both of them. Blindly, wantonly, foolishly. Alan had warned her it wouldn’t work between her and Luis. Couldn’t. But she had refused to listen, refused to see...until Elvira Rosa Martinez had so very forcefully opened her ears and eyes. Then she’d been too wrapped up in her pride to realise how her exit from Luis’ life might have a bitter fallout on his friendship with her brother.
Not that Alan had told her of the consequences of her decisions. She had overheard Vicki, his wife, dryly informing an office associate they were no longer welcome on Martinez territory. The popular day trip from Buenos Aires to the ranch run by Luis’ younger brother, Patricio, had been struck from the tour.
When she’d tackled Vicki about it, the forthcoming explanation had been devastating. “Shontelle, did you really expect Luis Martinez to keep up the connection? You and Alan are not only of the same family, you even look alike.”
It was true. Alan was ten years older than her but the family likeness was unmistakable. The bone structure of their faces was the same; wide brow, high cheekbones, straight nose, clearcut chin. Alan’s top lip was thinner than hers and his eyes were not a clear green—more hazel in colour. The streaky blonde hair of his youth had darkened over the years but the variation in shade was still there. Either one of them was a physical reminder of the other, and that reminder would not be welcome to Luis Angel Martinez.
In her pride, Shontelle knew she had wounded his. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. But it did. She had the strong conviction it especially mattered now.
“You were talking to Luis about me,” she said, drawing Alan’s attention.
He flashed her a pained look. “He asked about you,” he answered dismissively.
“No. It was more than that.” She frowned, trying to recall what she’d heard. The call had ended abruptly, just after Alan had said it was too dangerous for a woman to be out during curfew. “Tell me what he wanted, Alan.”
“I said, forget it!” he snapped impatiently.
“I want to know. I have a right to know,” she argued. “I’m just as responsible for this tour group as you are.”
He paused in his pacing but aggression still pumped from him. His eyes glittered with a fury of frustration. “I will not have my little sister grovel to Luis Martinez for anyone!” he bit out.
More pride.
It was heart-thumpingly obvious that Luis had turned the deal for the bus into something personal. Very personal. Which again was her fault. Shontelle took a deep breath to calm a host of skittish nerves. She couldn’t let this pass. It wasn’t fair to Alan. Besides which, the tour group was depending on them to rescue them from the situation.
“I’m not little,” she pointed out determinedly. “I’m twenty-six years old and I can take care of myself.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “Sure you can! Like you did two years ago when you talked me into leaving you with Luis.”
“I’m over that. I can deal with him,” she insisted hotly.
Too much personal knowledge sliced back at her. “You didn’t want to come back to South America. You wouldn’t be on this trip but for Vicki getting glandular fever. And you were as nervy as hell while we were in Buenos Aires.”
Her cheeks burned. “I came to assist you. That’s my job.” She pushed her chair back from the table which was littered with the evidence of failed attempts at solutions. Resolution drove her to her feet. “I’ll go and talk to him.”
“No, you won’t!”
“Luis Martinez was your last resort, Alan. Two years ago he would have got you the bus, no problem. I caused the problem and I’ll deal with it.”
He argued.
Shontelle stood firm.
Nothing was going to stop her; not the curfew, not the danger—which she considered very limited with the Plaza Hotel being virtually next door—not any of Alan’s big-brotherly concerns. She’d lived with guilt and shame too long. She’d spent two years being eaten up by memories she couldn’t change or bury. Luis Martinez wanted a face-to-face meeting with her. Then let it be. Let it be.
Maybe something good would come out of it
The bus, if nothing else.
She owed Alan that.
CHAPTER THREE
GOOD intentions were all very fine when made from a safe distance. Shontelle stared at the door which led into the suite occupied by Luis Angel Martinez and her heart quailed. A suite contained a bed...
She wasn’t over him. She doubted she ever would be. Luis Angel... She’d even been besotted with his name. Dark angel, she thought now, barely suppressing a shiver. It took all her willpower to raise her hand and knock on the door.
In the next few stomach-knotting moments, Shontelle tried to steel herself against revealing the vulnerability she felt. This meeting would only be a matter of pride to the man she had to face. He undoubtedly wanted to rub in that she was the loser, not him.
Somehow she had to let that wash over her, do a bit of grovelling if need be. Remember the bus, she fiercely told herself. She had to get the bus.
At least Luis couldn’t mistake the fact she was dressed for business. Her dark red T-shirt was printed with the Amigos Tours logo and her khaki trousers with pockets running down both legs were plainly practical, as were her sturdy shoes. This was strictly a business visit.
The door opened.
And there he was, hot flesh and blood, simmering in front of her. His thick, wavy black hair was brushed away from the beautifully sculpted features of his face, as always, framing them with