Maid for Montero(31)

As she was lifted unceremoniously out of the water she continued to kick feebly, right up to the moment she was hauled over and left utterly disorientated in an inelegant heap in the bottom of what seemed to be a small motorboat.

She grunted as the boat swerved, sharply throwing her against a wooden seat. The locker underneath was open and a child’s inflatable vest spilled out. Oh, God, the children were out there somewhere!

She began to cry great silent, gulping sobs that racked her entire body.

Once the boat was away from the immediate danger of hitting the rocks and in the relative safety of open water, Isandro cut back on the throttle and turned his attention to the sodden bundle of misery sitting in the bottom of the boat.

He experienced a gripping sensation in his chest almost as strong as the one he had felt when he had seen her head vanish under the grey water—though without the soul-destroying terror.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he blasted.

She recognised the voice but was convinced she was dreaming. Except in her dreams he hadn’t sounded angry…Zoe dragged her hair back from her face. My God, it was him!

It was Isandro! Looking furious, very wet and not dressed for sailing!

‘Isandro…how…?’ She stopped. It didn’t matter how he came to be here. ‘No,’ she croaked, grabbing at his leg and tugging. ‘I’ve got to go back.’

‘You want me to throw you back in the water? Do not tempt me,’ he growled, seeing her vanish beneath the grey water again and feeling the visceral kick of fear in his gut again. He never wanted to relive the moment when he saw her go under.

‘No, Isandro, you don’t understand! I think the twins…’

Some of the anger died from his face as he placed his hands on her shoulders and dragged her up onto the wooden bench seat beside him. Shaking so hard that her teeth chattered, she transferred her desperate grip to his jacket. Frantic to communicate the urgency of the situation, she grabbed his lapels and pulled.

‘The twins—’

‘No, Zoe—’

‘Listen, will you?’

He caught hold of her hands. ‘The twins are with Alex, who is not, I admit, the most likely child-minder. In fact it is highly likely that he is even now teaching them to play poker. But they are safe.’

Zoe blinked as she shook her head, trying to clear the fog in her brain. Why couldn’t she think straight?

‘The twins are all right?’ Without waiting for a reply, she pushed her head into his chest and began to cry in earnest.

His arms went out wide as he looked down at the head of tangled hair. His anger had vanished and he refused to recognise the feelings that had rushed in to fill the vacuum as tenderness. Her cries tore at him; finally the mewling sounds as she burrowed in deeper snapped his resistance and his arms closed around her. He lifted her body into the warmth of his.

‘Madre di Dios, you’re an imbecile, a raving…You make me want, you make me feel—’ He stopped and thought, you make me feel…too much. Digging his fingers into her wet hair, he stroked her scalp and let her cry herself out.

He had stopped resisting the sexual desire he felt for her. Physical desire was normal, not complicated. It was something that he understood and accepted, not a weakness. It did not require that he surrender any control; it was not about trusting. He wanted her on his terms—he would have her on his terms. He would not fall into the trap of allowing emotions to cloud his judgement.

He was not his father.

Finally peeling herself away, Zoe straightened up, blinking like someone waking up.

‘I’m…’ She gulped and shook her head again as he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

‘It’s wet but better than nothing.’

The lining was still warm. ‘Sorry,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. She was too embarrassed by her total meltdown. Why did she always make a total fool of herself around him?

He kept one hand on her shoulder, the other on the tiller, guiding the boat towards the mooring.

‘Sorry…I…I thought…’ Her lips quivered as she struggled for composure. ‘I thought they’d gone on the river…’ She gave a frown, trying to remember the sequence of events as much for her own benefit as for his. ‘We’d been to the craft fair in the park. When we started back it was late and I thought they were with me. I was running—they were going to clamp the car…’ Wrong tense, she realised, they probably already had clamped the car. But having faced what she had thought was a real disaster, car clamping faded into insignificance.

She pushed the wet strands of hair from her eyes and pressed the heels of both hands to her temples before slowly turning her head to stare at him.