Hollie beamed. ‘Thank goodness for that.’
‘And congratulations on your engagement.’ Carmen shot a brief smile in the direction of the knuckleduster diamond. ‘The staff are all delighted for you and Señor Diaz.’
‘I appreciate that, Carmen. And it’s wonderful to be here.’
Carmen inclined her head. ‘Welcome to your new home.’
‘Thank you.’ Hollie slid her tongue over her lips. Her new home—a huge and contemporary penthouse apartment overlooking Madrid’s beautiful Retiro Park. It was terrifyingly immaculate, with not a single thing out of place, and as she shook the middle-aged housekeeper’s hand she wondered if it would ever actually feel like home for her. But at least she was feeling calmer than she had done on the journey here. Their one-night stay at the Granchester Hotel had been unforgettable. Hollie had never stayed anywhere quite so luxurious and they’d been given an incredible suite with reputedly the best view over the London skyline, because Maximo was friends with the owner.
But butterfly nerves had been fluttering in her stomach as her fiancé’s jet had touched down in Spain and they had been driven straight from the airfield to his apartment. It had been daunting at first, meeting his staff—Carmen, and a permanent cook as well as a daily cleaner. But they’d seemed very open and friendly, and genuinely pleased to meet her, and that gave Hollie a flare of hope.
I can do this, she thought.
I will do this.
‘Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?’ asked Maximo softly, once they were out of Carmen’s earshot.
‘Yes, please,’ she said.
‘And then, after lunch, I think it is time to introduce you to the very important Spanish tradition of the siesta.’
‘Maximo!’
‘You do realise that every time you whisper my name like that, it only turns me on some more, so you must never stop doing it? Now follow me and I will show you your new home.’
Hollie nodded, trying to concentrate on her surroundings, wanting to like them more than first impressions had suggested she might. Because although she was aware that she was in one of the most prestigious parts of Madrid, her initial reaction to Maximo’s apartment had been one of disappointment. It was so modern and so functional. The spaces were vast and curiously impersonal, even thought they housed some pretty stunning furniture and artworks. Huge canvases adorned the giant walls and most of the furniture was dark, soft leather and almost tauntingly masculine. In fact, dark was the theme which predominated—apart from an illuminated wine cellar, which looked more like an art installation, a dining room which overlooked the city lights and a floodlit rectangular lap pool on the sprawling terrace, where Maximo informed her he liked to swim every morning before breakfast.
She tried to find the right words to say. Tried to imagine herself living here with a baby, with all these hard and gleaming surfaces. She thought about smudged little fingerprints clouding the acres of polished glass. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said politely.
‘There are plenty of good restaurants nearby and an interesting mix of people.’
‘Gorgeous,’ she said obediently, using the same tone she used to project in the office when a prospective vendor would canvas her opinion about the house they were just about to market. It wasn’t a question of not being honest, it was simply showing consideration for other people’s feelings. Because Hollie knew how a person could form a huge emotional attachment to their home. What right did she have to tell Maximo that she thought his apartment was a hideous monument to brutalism, when clearly he loved it? In England they often said an Englishman’s home was his castle, well, maybe it was the same for Spanish men.
Yet all she could think about was a real castle, back in Trescombe, where they had shared that magical Christmas and candlelight had flickered intriguing shadows across the bare stone walls. Yes, Kastelloes could be chilly and, yes, the grounds were untamed and some of the interiors were crumbling away. But at least it had heart and soul and an artistic symmetry which took her breath away. Perhaps Maximo would capitalise on all those assets when he turned it into a luxury hotel to add to his existing group. She couldn’t wait to see what he would do with it.
‘Hollie?’
Maximo’s voice interrupted her reverie.
‘Mmm...?’ she said absently.
‘Weren’t we talking about a siesta?’
She looked up, meeting the narrowed glint in his black eyes, and her heart turned over and melted. Who cared about bricks and mortar when a man looked at you that way? Who cared about anything when he could make her senses sing without even touching her?
‘I believe we were,’ she agreed and her answering smile seemed to spur him into instant and very masterful action. But she liked it when he made that soft roaring sound at the back of his throat and then carried her into their bedroom like a victor, carrying his spoils.
She liked it a lot.
Maximo watched Hollie’s breasts rise and fall in time with her steady, even breathing. Her gleaming golden-brown hair was spread out over the pillow, her cheeks were lightly brushed with roses and she looked...
He swallowed.
Not beautiful, no. Her nose was a little too big and her lips not quite full enough ever to fit that imprecise and elusive definition which women craved and most men sought.
She looked sexy and serene. In fact, very serene and very sexy.
Once again he felt the tightening of desire low in his belly.
She had just flicked her tongue over his body and made his large frame convulse with spasms of delight he’d thought were never going to end. And afterwards he had done the same to her. Given swift featherlight licks against the hidden honey at the top of her legs, until she had clutched his bare shoulders with flailing fingertips and cried out his name.
But his remembered satisfaction was tempered by a sudden flicker of apprehension. She was the most perfect lover he could have ever imagined, and there had been a fair number during his thirty-four years of bachelorhood. But Hollie was like no other woman he’d ever known before. She was sweet and uncomplicated and innocent.
And she was having his baby.
His baby.
Didn’t that give her a particular power—the kind of power he had vowed no woman would ever wield over him again? He could feel a sudden tightness in his throat. He had never wanted a child of his own, reasoning that someone who had never experienced parental love would be incapable of demonstrating any himself. He’d been scared of falling short and hadn’t wanted another child to endure what he had endured. Plus, he’d liked his freedom and the ability to do what he wanted, when he wanted.
But now?
Suddenly he felt the winds of change upon him, and a feeling of inevitability blowing in their wake. He could sense a very different world opening up before him and simple, straightforward Hollie at the beating centre of it.