Indiscretion Read online

  With one arm still around her waist, he took her other hand and raised it up above their heads. ‘Yes, you can. Follow me, and your instincts.’

  Her instincts were telling her that nothing felt so natural and perfect than his body so close to her.

  ‘Look at me, niña, sólo a mi. This is a subtle dance, Alexandra … sensuous, passionate but strictly controlled.’ His eyes seemed to burn even brighter. ‘First, lift your arms, like an eagle …’

  He stepped away from her slightly and she began to mirror his movements, her arms arched above her, head held high to one side.

  ‘Sólo sólo a mi, niña.’ Salvador swooped back close to her and his hand moved down the side of her body, making her shudder as an almost angry desire flashed between them, electric and heated.

  She could see the pleasure and surprise reflected on Salvador’s face when she began to move in perfect accord with him. With proud stamping steps they surrendered themselves to the mounting urgency of the rhythm and the precise evolution of the dance like a thin veil suspended above smouldering fires, threatening to erupt into flames at any moment. The same feeling of intoxication that had gripped Alexandra at the restaurant in Seville was now taking over her whole body as she flung herself wholeheartedly into the passionate canto hondo and canto grande, the traditional dances of Andalucía. Salvador’s dexterous long fingers spun Alexandra away from him and pulled her back, curving her arm high over her head.

  From time to time, a sudden drawn-out cry of wild, pure notes filled the atmosphere, and a thrill ran through Alexandra from head to toe. It was an indescribable sensation, enhanced by Salvador’s intense blue gaze that never left her face, urging her on, faster and faster. She was acutely aware of his nearness, of his superb physique, of his magnetism. From time to time, his eyes flickered with an odd expression — it was as much arrogance as desire, this innate part of his proud people, which Salvador personified more than ever when he danced, and which seemed all at once to add to his powerful allure.

  And then his expression changed. One moment, he was spinning her round; the next, he held her to him, searching her face as if struggling to say something. Then he was gone, swift and silent, swallowed up by the crowd of shouting, stamping dancers around them.

  Alexandra stared ahead of her, disorientated. What had happened? She thought about going after him but at that moment an arm caught her.

  ‘I lost you in the dancing, Doña Alexandra. Where did you get to?’ It was Don Felipe. He was studying her face keenly with a look of concern. His hand still gripped her arm firmly. Something that made her uncomfortable gleamed in his eyes, making her want to pull away, but then it vanished. He released his grip and stepped back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Don Felipe … As you say, I got lost in the dancing,’ Alexandra managed to stammer, still breathless from her unexpected sensual interlude.

  ‘Flamenco can have an overpowering effect on the uninitiated.’ He regarded her pensively.

  She added hurriedly, ‘Shall we watch the rest of show? I’m rather hot now and could do with a rest.’

  His attentive warmth returned: ‘Of course, Doña Alexandra. You must get your breath back. We cannot have Aphrodite wilting before the evening is through.’

  She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile and allowed Don Felipe to guide her back to the front of the audience.

  Soon, among the jubilant shouts and stamping of the crowd, a third dancer languidly stirred from the shadows. Then all at once, springing into life, she took up her position in the centre of the dancefloor. Noble, proud and insolent, she strutted around the stage, just like an exotic bird showing off its plumage. The cascading flounces of her dress moulded the shapely line of her body to perfection and emphasized the curving flow of the dance. Every muscle of her young limbs throbbed, vibrating to the hypnotic magnetism of the rhythm. She kept her eyes closed and in the wan moonlight, her skin, usually a golden copper, seemed to have turned the colour of alabaster. Her movements were composed of sudden transitions, of spasmodic and syncopated gestures. Now and then, she would punctuate them with a long, plaintive cry that cut in piercingly and then continued in a yet more poignant tone.

  The dancer’s face was not yet in full view, but already Alexandra had guessed that she was the gypsy, Marujita. Instinctively, she looked for Salvador again but he was still nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Is anything the matter?’ enquired Don Felipe, sensing the abrupt change that had come over her.

  ‘No, not at all.’ She was trying to relax and concentrate on the show, but the spell was broken. Her head was spinning in confusion. She didn’t know what to think any more. Preoccupied with the predatory Marquesa, she had forgotten the equally threatening presence of the gypsy girl in this complicated situation with Salvador. Right now she felt drained, and she wanted to go home.

  Marujita ended her dance to enthusiastic cheers from the audience and, with great relief, Alexandra saw Ramón reappear.

  ‘Wonderful party, eh, mi primita?’ From the twinkle in his eye as he grinned at a couple of young women, who were giggling and waving goodbye, Alexandra could see that Ramón had clearly enjoyed his evening.

  After they had thanked their hosts and bade them goodnight, Don Felipe accompanied his guests to their car.

  ‘Will I have the honour of seeing you again?’ he asked as he folded Alexandra’s hands in his, scanning her face intently through his thick lashes.

  She turned to her cousin. ‘I think we’re returning to Jerez tomorrow, are we not, Ramón?’ she said quickly. Where the intensity of the torero’s attentions had enchanted her before, now it made her uneasy and she felt pressured.

  ‘Yes, we leave tomorrow at first light.’

  ‘Then may I call on you at El Pavón, one day next week? Perhaps you’d be interested in visiting our bodegas.’ But she ignored his insistence and simply smiled demurely as he put her hand to his lips. ‘Thank you for this marvellous evening, beautiful goddess,’ Don Felipe whispered, helping her into the car and closing the door after her. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon,’ he called out as they drove off.

  Ramón eyed her mischievously. ‘You certainly have made a conquest, Cousin. Quite the charmer, isn’t he?’

  ‘Do I look charmed?’ she retorted, nettled by the young man’s insinuation.

  ‘No, you look grumpy, though I can’t think why.’ He grinned to himself, unperturbed by her mood. ‘But you know what they say … A diplomat should always think twice before saying nothing, so my lips are sealed.’

  He raised his eyebrows with a smirk and they drove in silence for a while. Alexandra had not yet recovered her sense of humour and wasn’t ready to be teased. She felt quite irritated with the whole world, but mostly with herself.

  ‘Where are the others?’ she asked finally, trying to sound casual.

  ‘They left before the show finished. I’m afraid it didn’t go down well with our hostess, but for once Salvador behaved sensibly. Things could have become rather complicated with that young gypsy hanging around. I’m sure her presence wasn’t a coincidence. Did you have a nice time?’ His voice softened with sincerity this time. Without waiting for a reply, he added, ‘When I last looked at you, you seemed to have entered the party mood and were enjoying yourself thoroughly.’

  ‘Yes, it was a good show,’ she admitted, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice, but her heart was not in it. The euphoria that had swept over her during the evening had evaporated, leaving her weary and depressed.

  * * *

  Set in ten acres of beautiful terraced gardens, the Parador de la Luna was perched on a lush hillside overlooking whitewashed hill towns and the dark El Tajo ravine that cut through the town of Ronda. At the bottom of the gorge, over five hundred feet below, the Guadalevín was a distant slender stream. The ground-floor rooms of the picturesque posada opened on to a broad terrace supported by porticoes. A large veranda, shaded by awnings, led off the upper-floor bedrooms; designed to give shelter from the scorchi
ng heat, it boasted an intimidating, precipitous view of the surrounding countryside.

  The night was hot; a heavy and oppressive Spanish heat. Not a breath of air came down from the Sierras to relieve the atmosphere, and Alexandra was unable to sleep. She felt edgy. Thoughts of Salvador and the young gypsy girl pushed themselves to the forefront of her mind even though she had promised herself to keep them at bay. The prospect of the Marquesa’s wily designs on Salvador were almost eclipsed by what she knew he had already shared with the gitana. Her stomach lurched. Did he care for the gypsy girl? She shook her head as if to rid herself of such a taunting notion.

  In the few magical hours they had spent together in Seville, a small, naïve part of Alexandra had thought that she and Salvador would be able to see past their differences, overcome whatever it was that forced him to be so guarded. Now that she knew more about him, she was still no nearer to figuring him out — or understanding what was happening between them.

  Salvador had ignored her most of the evening and then swept her off her feet with such barely suppressed, heated passion that her senses were still reeling from the encounter. Feelings that were strange, exciting and dangerous had taken root in her, body and soul, as they danced together. And then, as quickly as he had pulled her into his arms, he had abandoned her. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted.

  Forcing herself to think of something other than the mercurial young man, Alexandra recalled the flamboyant matador who had entertained her so delightfully. Don Felipe was gallant, attentive, and obviously quite taken with her. She had openly flirted with him, encouraging his advances, even enjoying them. The sangria had helped, admittedly, providing the necessary haze.

  It occurred to her that the earlier part of the evening had seemed perfectly pleasant. Then Salvador had disappeared and flirting with Don Felipe hadn’t seemed half as exciting with her audience gone. All through dinner, she’d been conscious of those steel-grey eyes of Salvador, following her everywhere, cold and impassable. No doubt disapproving of her behaviour. He had only spoken to her once throughout the whole evening, before the music began, and that was to express his obvious displeasure at her enjoyment. Still, she had enjoyed niggling at him, with the distinct impression she was inciting his jealousy. She wanted to hurt him as he had her. Instead, he had taken his revenge on her emotions and senses again; made her feel on fire when he placed his hands on her body and forced her to drown in silent, seething desire.

  Damn him! Who did he think he was, storming into her life and making her feel this way? He was playing with her as if she were a puppet on strings. She would not stand for it; she didn’t need a man like that in her life … But what was this hollow feeling that tugged at her stomach? She was miserable and wretched, no denying it. Would she be forced to admit she was falling in love with a man who, right from the start, had made it quite clear that they should not become involved? She quickly banished that thought from her head; it only made her increasingly restless.

  Her mouth was dry; she felt suffocated and needed some air.

  Alexandra slipped a dressing gown over her flimsy raw-silk nightdress and went out on to the terrace. Earlier that day, when they had booked into their rooms, she had looked over the parapet at the groves and whitewashed villages which seemed to shimmer haphazardly in the misty rays of the midday sun; she had suffered a sudden wave of vertigo as she stared down at them in the sunlight. Now, there was nothing but the bottomless void, the vast darkness spreading outwards, and above, a vaulted midnight-blue sky strewn with myriad stars.

  A livid moon was up. In the vast shadows of the landscape, she could just discern the outlines of the arena on the edge of Ronda. Further off stretched the town centre; the windows of its houses were small, twinkling pools of yellow light scattered in an otherwise velvety blackness. From somewhere far away, the echo of a sobbing guitar floated through the sultry night air, like a whisper caressing her ear.

  Alexandra sensed his presence even before seeing him. She wondered how long he had been there, leaning against the wall, the tiny glow of his cigarette a single, luminous point in the shadows.

  The strains of the guitar mingled with the undulating hum of crickets in the night air.

  ‘Is that you, Salvador?’ Her voice was barely audible.

  ‘Buenas tardes, niña.’ Salvador approached the three-foot apology for a balustrade barely separating the two balconies. A pair of arresting blue eyes appraised her coolly and thoroughly, making her heart beat a little faster.

  ‘Did you enjoy the party?’

  Alexandra deliberately looked away. ‘Why did you leave so suddenly?’ she asked, ignoring his question. ‘I hardly saw you all evening, and then—’ but she couldn’t bring herself to go on.

  Salvador raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t need to explain my actions to anyone. Still, before that, you seemed to be having such a good time, I’m surprised you missed me after I left,’ he remarked sarcastically.

  ‘Yes,’ Alexandra snapped. ‘I was having a wonderful time!’ She glared at him, then added, ‘Don Felipe made a charming partner, not only courteous, but considerate too. I had an excellent evening, thank you.’

  His gaze was direct and needle sharp. ‘Are appearances that important to you, Alexandra?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  Salvador’s mouth hardened. ‘Don’t give me that!’ His eyes blazed as they flitted over her. ‘You were swept off your feet by the dazzling façade of your host. Admit it,’ he said harshly.

  She flushed and jerked her head up. Unwilling to acknowledge his accusation, she tried to deflect it. ‘What do you have against Don Felipe?’

  ‘This conversation is not about Don Felipe.’ His tone cooled as he looked at her broodingly.

  Anger was beginning to build up inside her. Who was he to make pronouncements on the way she behaved? Green eyes glittered with indignation. ‘How dare you interfere in my life!’ she said vehemently. ‘What entitles you to—’

  ‘I agree, I have no right to interfere in your life,’ he interrupted calmly, suddenly sounding tired, ‘but I care about you, and would be sad if the slightest harm came to you.’

  ‘Are you warning me off Don Felipe?’

  He nodded gravely. ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘I really don’t understand what you’re driving at.’

  Salvador shook his head and sighed. ‘You do make things difficult, Alexandra.’

  He was making her feel like a capricious schoolgirl, and a swift rush of heat flushed her cheeks. She glared at him furiously, searching for some wounding retort.

  ‘You know nothing of Don Felipe’s reputation as a womanizer,’ he went on, before she had time to answer. ‘You’ve been taken in by the smooth affectation and the glossy, rather obvious charm, all of which I’m afraid are designed to conceal his true character. He looked at her reproachfully. ‘Your encouragement of his attentions was unwise. Despite your twenty-five years, niña, you’re still very naïve.’

  Alexandra’s face was now burning with hot indignation. Without giving herself time to think she looked fiercely at him.

  ‘How dare you patronize me! How dare you judge me?’ Her voice shook a little. ‘I wouldn’t start pointing fingers had I been credited with an affair as sordid as the one you’ve been having with that gypsy girl.’

  Alexandra caught her breath, suddenly aware of what she’d said. Salvador had mortified her and she’d wanted to hurt his pride, to make him feel some of the humiliation she herself was feeling at his allegations, but instantly she regretted the harshness of her words.

  Salvador’s mouth twisted contemptuously. Alexandra had seen that expression before; he was holding his emotions in check. There would be no outburst of anger but an arctic comeback. He did not disappoint her.

  ‘Again, Alexandra, this is not about me.’ His face was in shadow, but she could see the steel in his blue eyes flash in the darkness. ‘Are you still so ignorant of our ways?’

  �
��I have done nothing wrong,’ she insisted stubbornly.

  His brows drew together in an exasperated frown. ‘Dios en el cielo!’ he swore under his breath. ‘Maybe, but you’re playing with fire.’

  Alexandra decided not to argue. Salvador appeared to be in a foul mood and, though her instinct was to protest against his unfounded accusations, his chilly contempt forced her into silence. He turned away from her, wordless too. It was a silence that contained so much for neither was willing to acknowledge what had passed between them during their electrifying dance. A hostility that she had never sensed before had crept in and made her feel uneasy. Suddenly they were unable to talk like rational human beings.

  Tension vibrated in the air. Both had said enough for one night. The last thing Alexandra wanted now was to provoke a fight. She was tired and her brain did not feel that sharp, certainly not enough to say what she truly felt. Perhaps it was the fruity punch making her head feel fuzzy; in fact, it had been more alcoholic than fruity and she was not in the habit of drinking much alcohol.

  Salvador stared distantly over the darkness of the ravine to the horizon, where one after another the twinkling lights had faded into oblivion. Alexandra watched him and yearned for those rare moments when they had been close and he’d seemed so relaxed and happy.

  An owl hooted, breaking the heavy silence that hung between them. Salvador moved his head to look at her. He scanned her face, his eyes glowing like torches, searching Alexandra’s shadowed features as though suddenly reaching out to her. When he spoke, his voice was calm and gentle.

  ‘I was wrong to interfere in your affairs. I’m neither your father nor your brother and, though I can’t help but regard myself as a little responsible for you, I had no right to intrude into your private life. I can only apologize for my irrational behaviour. It was meant with good intentions.’

  Her heart rose to her mouth; the caressing tone of his voice stroked down the angry hackles urging her to hurt him.