with
me when I leave Granada."
"You'll have plenty of opportunity to do that later since
you won't be leaving for quite some time," Raul declared flatly, rising
lithely to his feet to walk to the sideboard again. He didn't elaborate
on his imperious statement; he didn't need to and a couple of minutes
later, he came back to the table again, placing a small plate
containing two hot rolls and curls of butter on the table before
Juliet. Then, he sat down again with his own plate of shirred eggs and
thin strips of aromatic bacon.
Juliet stared at the rolls, a somewhat per-verse
rebelliousness rising in her. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway," he commanded blithely. "You're thinner than
you were last year."
As his frankly appraising gaze passed over her, Juliet
tensed. "Despite spending most of your life in England, you're still
very Spanish, aren't you? Now you've even adopted the Spanish penchant
for plump women."
Raul laughed softly at her indignant tone. "Few men of any
nationality want to hold women shaped like broom handles in their arms."
"I have considerably more shape than a broom handle,"
Juliet muttered defensively, then blushed as she belatedly recognized
the intimation in his statement. "Besides, I don't see that my shape is
any of your concern anyhow. You won't be holding me in your arms."
"You think not? We'll see," he answered, his tone
evocatively soft. "But we'll settle that difference of opinion some
other time. For now, just eat."
Although Juliet felt like refusing flatly to take one
bite, the aroma of Rosita's freshly baked rolls was tempting. She
stared at the plate before her but at last, the demand for nourishment
made by her healthy young body overcame her stubbornness. Buttering a
roll, she glanced at Raul out of the corner of her eye then willed
herself to ignore the slight triumphant smile that tugged at the
corners of his strong yet sensuously shaped mouth. By the time she had
nibbled her way through one roll, Raul had finished his meal. He leaned
back in his chair and lit a cigarette without asking her permission,
probably remembering that she had never minded his occasional smoking
last year. Knowing he was watching her, feeling almost adolescently
self-conscious because of it, Juliet folded her fine linen napkin, then
clasped her hands together in her lap. The silence in the room was more
than a little disconcerting and she wished he would say something,
anything, to ease her tension.
Finally, he did speak. "You'll be needing a car while
you're here and I remember how you disliked driving Will's old Bentley.
So I'll have the Lotus Esprit driven into town for you to use."
"That's not necessary, thank you," she responded stiffly,
wanting no favors from him. "I don't mind driving the Bentley all that
much."
"The Bentley is too unwieldy; you'll be much more at ease
driving the Esprit so I'll call out to Casa Valaquez today and have it
brought here," Raul repeated firmly. "It's useless to argue, Juliet.
I've decided."
Juliet sniffed. His attempts to seem friendly weren't very
convincing after the insults he had heaped on her last night and she
wondered exactly what he was up to. If he thought offering her the use
of his car would lull her into believing he suddenly wanted to be
chummy, then he had better think again. She wasn't quite that gullible,
even if he did possess a certain charm that was very nearly
irresistible. Besides, he couldn't tell her it was useless to argue.
She'd argue if she wanted to and her eyes issued a challenge as they
met his.
"You're issuing your royal decrees again and I told you
last night that I won't tolerate being bossed around," she declared
recklessly. "So I won't borrow your car and that's final. I might bang
it up and I don't want that responsibility. At least with Uncle Will's
heavy old Bentley, I could probably drive into a brick wall and never even put
a dent in it."
Raul's hand came out but even as Juliet flinched and drew
away, his fingertips feathered
me when I leave Granada."
"You'll have plenty of opportunity to do that later since
you won't be leaving for quite some time," Raul declared flatly, rising
lithely to his feet to walk to the sideboard again. He didn't elaborate
on his imperious statement; he didn't need to and a couple of minutes
later, he came back to the table again, placing a small plate
containing two hot rolls and curls of butter on the table before
Juliet. Then, he sat down again with his own plate of shirred eggs and
thin strips of aromatic bacon.
Juliet stared at the rolls, a somewhat per-verse
rebelliousness rising in her. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway," he commanded blithely. "You're thinner than
you were last year."
As his frankly appraising gaze passed over her, Juliet
tensed. "Despite spending most of your life in England, you're still
very Spanish, aren't you? Now you've even adopted the Spanish penchant
for plump women."
Raul laughed softly at her indignant tone. "Few men of any
nationality want to hold women shaped like broom handles in their arms."
"I have considerably more shape than a broom handle,"
Juliet muttered defensively, then blushed as she belatedly recognized
the intimation in his statement. "Besides, I don't see that my shape is
any of your concern anyhow. You won't be holding me in your arms."
"You think not? We'll see," he answered, his tone
evocatively soft. "But we'll settle that difference of opinion some
other time. For now, just eat."
Although Juliet felt like refusing flatly to take one
bite, the aroma of Rosita's freshly baked rolls was tempting. She
stared at the plate before her but at last, the demand for nourishment
made by her healthy young body overcame her stubbornness. Buttering a
roll, she glanced at Raul out of the corner of her eye then willed
herself to ignore the slight triumphant smile that tugged at the
corners of his strong yet sensuously shaped mouth. By the time she had
nibbled her way through one roll, Raul had finished his meal. He leaned
back in his chair and lit a cigarette without asking her permission,
probably remembering that she had never minded his occasional smoking
last year. Knowing he was watching her, feeling almost adolescently
self-conscious because of it, Juliet folded her fine linen napkin, then
clasped her hands together in her lap. The silence in the room was more
than a little disconcerting and she wished he would say something,
anything, to ease her tension.
Finally, he did speak. "You'll be needing a car while
you're here and I remember how you disliked driving Will's old Bentley.
So I'll have the Lotus Esprit driven into town for you to use."
"That's not necessary, thank you," she responded stiffly,
wanting no favors from him. "I don't mind driving the Bentley all that
much."
"The Bentley is too unwieldy; you'll be much more at ease
driving the Esprit so I'll call out to Casa Valaquez today and have it
brought here," Raul repeated firmly. "It's useless to argue, Juliet.
I've decided."
Juliet sniffed. His attempts to seem friendly weren't very
convincing after the insults he had heaped on her last night and she
wondered exactly what he was up to. If he thought offering her the use
of his car would lull her into believing he suddenly wanted to be
chummy, then he had better think again. She wasn't quite that gullible,
even if he did possess a certain charm that was very nearly
irresistible. Besides, he couldn't tell her it was useless to argue.
She'd argue if she wanted to and her eyes issued a challenge as they
met his.
"You're issuing your royal decrees again and I told you
last night that I won't tolerate being bossed around," she declared
recklessly. "So I won't borrow your car and that's final. I might bang
it up and I don't want that responsibility. At least with Uncle Will's
heavy old Bentley, I could probably drive into a brick wall and never even put
a dent in it."
Raul's hand came out but even as Juliet flinched and drew
away, his fingertips feathered
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