She stood up. It was the shock that made her do it.
But she had said it—hadn’t she? She had lain in his arms and said yes to his marriage proposal—his proper marriage proposal, complete with—
‘Cristina, what’s wrong?’ his mother asked sharply.
‘I want to see Luis,’ she insisted tautly. ‘I demand to see Luis!’
‘Querida, he isn’t here…’
‘I am not your darling, Mrs Scott-Lee,’ Cristina replied. ‘I am viuva de Ordoniz—the woman you travelled thousands of miles to stop from marrying your son!’
‘That was yesterday.’ Maria touched Cristina’s hand in a gentle conciliatory gesture. ‘Today I could not be happier for both of you—’
‘Why should you be?’ Cristina demanded.
‘Ah, here are my two handsome young escorts.’ She smiled with relief as Luis’s two executives appeared at the kitchen door. ‘I hope this means that Anton has returned?’ she enquired hopefully.
‘He went straight to the library—’
‘My library?’ Cristina swung on them.
‘Er—yes.’ They were startled. She did not blame them. If Luis had been there to see her face he would be taking a very wary step back by now.
‘Please excuse me,’ she said, with an icy politeness that did not reflect what she was feeling inside.
Polite? she thought as she walked out of the kitchen, having to sidle past the woman from the village who was mopping the hall floor. Then she caught sight of the architect person, carefully scraping at the plaster on the walls. It was like being invaded, she thought as she stalked past him across the hall and pushed open the library door. Luis was there, all right, standing by her desk, using her telephone, dressed in a sharp dark pinstripe suit and giving off the arrogant appearance that he ruled the world!
Her world.
Cristina slammed the door shut to get his attention. He swung around and snatched her breath away, because he looked so big and lean and alive and—
‘What do you think you are playing at?’ she scythed at him.
The smile that had been about to arrive on his lips disappeared before it made it. With smooth aplomb Anton concluded his call and replaced the receiver on its rest. Then he settled his hips against the desk and just looked at her while he decided how he was going to tackle this.
The tempting way was to provoke what he could already see was erupting. The safer way was to soothe the situation down.
He went for the irresistible. ‘You’ve forgotten.’
‘Forgotten what?’
‘That in a week you and I will be getting married,’ he provided. ‘It is usual to—’
‘A week? I didn’t think it would be so soon!’
‘I moved the date up. I told you I was going to do it last night, when we—’
‘All right.’ She held up a hand. ‘We will begin this stupid conversation again!’ She took in a deep, calming breath. ‘Luis—there is a man wandering around my house, picking plaster off the walls.’
‘An architect.’ He nodded.
‘I know what he is!’ she snapped. ‘Your mother kindly informed me of it. I want to know when it was exactly that I gave my permission for him to be here!’
‘You didn’t. I did.’
‘And your permission came from where?’
He sent her one of those seductively appealing lazy grins. ‘I’m not answering that. I daren’t,’ he confided.
She frowned and crossed her arms. ‘I believe there is also a team of surveyors on my property?’
He nodded in confirmation. ‘After we marry. Santa Rosa will be placed in a trust—or have you forgotten about that too?’
‘A trust for whom?’ she almost choked out.
‘Whoever you decide will inherit it from you.’ He shrugged. ‘Since we won’t be able to spend all our time here it seemed sensible to protect Santa Rosa as much as is possible. The surveyors will also be looking at the forest. The Government frowns on deforestation these days. In fact I am amazed a protection order was not placed on it years ago.’
There was so much sense in what he was saying that he could see she was struggling to find an argument—though she did find one.
‘I would have liked to be consulted about all of this before Santa Rosa was invaded.’
‘No time,’ he said. ‘You were asleep and I needed to get things moving. My mother—’
‘Why is your mother here?’
‘She’s not welcome?’
‘Of course she’s welcome.’ Cristina frowned. ‘But I—’
‘She wants to help you choose your wedding outfit. But if you would rather she—’
‘Luis—I am not marrying you!’
‘Not that again.’ He sighed. ‘Which door would you like me to try and leave by, so you can have a running start at barring my way?’
She flushed. And so she should, Anton thought, losing enthusiasm for the provoking game. He had known she would change her mind again the moment she opened her eyes this morning. He had known that the tragic creature he’d loved in every way he could last night had only been recharging her batteries before she went on the defensive again. He’d meant to stay out of her way—had planned to do that right up until the moment he’d stood over her this morning, watching her sleep with his pillow clutched in her arms, and something had hit him.
The sense of honour that Sebastian must have instilled in him—because he sure as hell hadn’t got it from his real father. Cristina deserved to have her say, even if it did mean yet another battle.
‘I’m going to tell you something I had vowed to keep to myself. But having you continually try to make me walk away from you, I’ve changed my mind.’
Her chin came up in defensive readiness. Anton thought about going over there and just kissing her into surrender, then grimly stuck to his guns and pushed himself into speech.
‘When Ramirez tempted me out to Brazil to look for you he did it with just one clever sentence that insisted I “make reparation” to the woman I ran out on six years before, leaving her in dire straits.’
‘But you didn’t do that.’
‘Did I not?’ He looked grimly at her whitened face. ‘I thought I hadn’t. I thought that you should be making reparation to me for the way you kicked me out of your life—but look at you, Cristina.’ He indicated brutally. ‘Look at the prickly, self-defensive, half-empty shadow you’ve become of that wonderful, excitingly vital and light-hearted creature I knew six years ago.’