Casa Escondida.
Hidden house.
I didn’t need the flashlight to see the wooden steps jammed between the narrow gaps in the cliff. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, gawping at the climb.
“Follow where I lead,” James warned. “It’s steep and potentially dangerous.”
Understatement of the year.
He slung my shoes and handbag over his shoulder and started climbing. I groaned. This had to be my punishment for every petty thought I’d ever had about him. I held on to the rope rail and followed where James stepped, hoping I wouldn’t fall onto the jagged cliff underneath. I lost count after one hundred and twenty-seven steps, but there were at least the same again.
My thighs ached and I was out of breath. James seemed barely winded, damn it, but it was clear my so-called exercise regime sucked. The first thing I saw when I reached the top was a small dirt parking area.
“What the—?”
I couldn’t see James’s face but his voice sounded amused. “I thought you’d enjoy the walk. It’s the best way to reach Casa Escondida.”
He gestured at the large two-story building behind him. It was in need of TLC but even shrouded in semi-darkness I could see it was beautiful. A typical Spanish hacienda with wooden shutters on the windows, and a wide outdoor porch that ran the length of the ground floor.
“So...when in Valencia you disappear to Casa Escondida?” I asked, flitting my eyes between the house and James.
“I’m going to run it as a rustic getaway.”
“And being a lawyer?”
“I’d had enough a long time ago. I put off my dream because of Ryan but he’s older now and he loves it here. I’ve turned down an offer of partnership and will be leaving Flintfire at the end of the year.”
“Greg will be pleased,” I murmured, and James chuckled.
I followed him into the house and we walked straight into a large sitting room. The walls were painted in terracotta, washed out and stained in some places and darker where pictures used to hang. A faded sofa and a few mismatched pieces of rustic furniture vied for attention with a fraying rug. It wasn’t the sort of place I would have imagined James taking a liking to and I told him as much.
“And why’s that?” he asked.
I snorted. “Duh...’cause you’re a posh snob, innit?”
He looked affronted. “No I’m not.”
“News to me. But besides that, this place is bohemian and relaxed.”#p#分页标题#e#
“I can be relaxed.”
“Yeah, like when you’re sleeping?”
“You tell me.”
Okay, it was official: James was doing my head in. I did a rewind to the first day at Flintfire and then fast-forwarded to now, sifting through the images and picking out clues like little lumps of sugar. His attitude was cold but his looks were steamy. He’d danced with me at the office, almost beat Manuel up to protect me and let me sob all over him in Brighton.
Today he’d flirted at the hotel and been angry at finding me with Greg. Then he’d brought me to his hidden lair and from the look on his face and the blast of heat he was throwing my way, he was gearing up to ravish me.
Oh for fudge’s sake! I mean he was gearing up to screw my brains out, damn it, not ravish me. My body went on alert and little tremors of anticipation coursed through me, silencing the voice screaming “danger!”
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked huskily.
And just like that all traces of warmth disappeared from James’s face. “Funds have been embezzled from Flintfire’s client accounts.”
Translation: James thought I was a thief, just as Greg had said. That he would believe me guilty after his tender compassion in Brighton felt worse than one of my father’s punches. I stuck my hands on my hips.
“Did you hide the loot in that trunk over there, Scott-Thomas? Because I get it now—it’s Montecristo meets Bond and the baddies are after you, right? But what do you need me for?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I brought you here to ask you a few questions.”
Of course. How stupid to think he wanted to show me Casa Escondida because I was important to him. He didn’t want to interrogate me at Sr Doria’s villa in case I needed cuffed and hauled off to jail. A recurring theme where he and I were concerned, and I would have laughed had I not felt weighted by his suspicion.
I guess you can’t destroy people’s lives and expect them to trust you. I didn’t bother telling myself I shouldn’t care what James thought. I was too miserable, too frazzled from the party to attempt the lie. The fact was I cared deeply and I always had. But James would only ever think the worst of me and nothing I ever did would change his opinion.