Kyra flushed. “I am not a criminal,” she said stiffly.
“You ran away from the manager of the hotel.”
“Did you expect me to wait while he called the police?”
“Why not?” Antonio said, his eyes on the road. “You could have reported the theft of your things.”
“Yes, but—but I had the feeling the police might not have believed me any more than the manager did.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That I’d been a passenger on a ship, that a thief snatched my pocketbook—”
“What he saw,” Antonio said coldly, “is a woman who looks as if she’d slept in her clothes.”
Kyra flushed. Her hand went to her hair in a defensive gesture.
“I know I’m a mess, but…”
She wasn’t a mess. She was disheveled-looking, yes, but she was still beautiful. More beautiful than the first time he’d seen her. She looked like a real woman now, not some designer’s mannequin.
Antonio frowned. What did he care how she looked? His problem now was what to do with her.
“Anyway,” she said, her tone frigid, “you didn’t have to aid and abet me, if you think I’m lying.”
He sighed. “I never said you were lying. What I said was—”
“I know what you said. Do me a favor and don’t go through that again.” She looked at him. “Why’d you come back anyway?”
“Because it occurred to me that precisely what did happen might happen.”
She hesitated. “I suppose I should thank you…”
“I have seen you in action, Kyra. I would not willingly inflict you on anyone, even the police.”
It was a moment for a clever response, but suddenly she was fresh out. She was tired, she was hungry, and she was feeling more and more desperate.
“Let’s make a deal,” she said wearily. “I won’t snipe at you if you won’t snipe at me, okay?”
Antonio started to respond, then thought better of it. She must be exhausted, he decided, and with a shrug, he gave in.
“All right,” he said, “I agree.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes and then she sighed.
“I should go to the embassy…” To her horror, she heard a sudden tremor in her voice. She cleared her throat and started over. “I have to do something.”
Antonio lifted his eyebrows. “Are you asking my advice?”
She hesitated. “I’m open to ideas,” she admitted.
And, just that readily, it came to him. It probably would have sooner if the woman hadn’t gotten him so angry.
He could solve her problem with just a couple of phone calls. He knew at least half a dozen officials, American and Venezuelan, who would be happy to win his favor. He smiled, thinking of how they’d fall all over themselves in their eagerness to please him by helping someone he vouched for. He could make things right in no time.
“Why are you smiling?”
Antonio looked at her. “I’ve thought of a way to help you.”
“Have you really?” She smiled, too. “Tell me.”
He shook his head. “First, we’ll have dinner. And then I will explain.”
“Dinner! But—”
He pulled to the curb and shut off the ignition. “Dinner first,” he said sternly.
Actually, he thought as he stepped from the car, there was no reason not to tell her about his plan now but there were a few last details to think through; he wanted to be certain there were no kinks before he explained it.
“Antonio, I don’t want dinner first! I want to know—”
Kyra gritted her teeth. He wasn’t listening, not that that was anything new He’d already shut his door and now he was opening hers.
“Come,” he said in that imperious tone she’d come to hate.
“Dammit, Antonio—”
“Is it impossible for you to do as you’re told?” He could feel his good mood fading as she went on sitting there, glaring at him. Finally he muttered something, bent down, undid her seat belt, and drew her on to the sidewalk.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“To a restaurant,” he said as he clasped her elbow and hustled her along beside him. “It is late, and I am tired and hungry. I want a meal and some wine, and then we will talk.”
“You might have asked what I wanted!”
Antonio swung toward her. “Very well,” he said curtly. “I am asking you now. Do you wish to join me for dinner, or would you prefer to sit in the car and sulk?”
She glared at him. Was he trying to make her feel like a fool?
“Make up your mind quickly, quenda. I told you, I am hungry.”
“Don’t call me that! I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like women who argue about everything.” His hand closed on her arm again and he all but dragged her into the recesses of what was obviously an expensive restaurant.
A fawning headwaiter led them to a booth. Kyra’s temper smoldered like a lit fuse. She flounced into her seat, opened her menu, and buried her nose in it.
The audacity of the man! Did he go through life bullying everyone, or was it women who brought out the dictator in him?
“…prefer, Kyra?”
She looked up from the menu. “Pardon me?” she said, her tone frigid.
“I asked if you preferred a Burgundy or a Pinot Noir.”
“How nice that you should condescend to ask.” She snapped the menu shut and put it down. “I don’t want wine at all.”
Antonio decided to ignore the display of temper. She had to be as hungry and as out of sorts as he was, which would make her all the happier to hear his plan.
He closed his menu, too, and looked at the waiter. “We will have red, Carlos, a Chateauneuf-Du-Pape, the same as I had last time, sí? And steaks. And—”
“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want wine. And I don’t want steak. I’d rather have—”
“It is the specialty here, Kyra.” He smiled. “The only question is, do you wish your steak rare or well-done?”
Color swept into her cheeks. The waiter was taking in every bit of this routine with a faint but contemptuous smile. Were all men members of the same universal club?
Kyra leaned forward. “Listen here, Antonio. For the last time, I don’t want—”
“Rare, then, Carlos. And baked potatoes and green salads, sí?”
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Antonio sat back as the waiter hurried off. “You will feel better after you have eaten, Kyra, and then I shall offer you the solution to your problem.”
How she despised his handsome face! He would come up with a solution to her problem? Well, why not? He had dragged her in here, he had ordered her meal…hell, he was taking over her life! Well, she’d put a stop to that!
“Carlos,” she called.
The waiter was halfway across the room, but Kyra’s voice carried. He turned—actually, half the diners nearby turned, but she was beyond caring—and came scurrying back. He paused beside the table and looked at Antonio.
”Señor? Is there a problem?”
“The señor didn’t call you,” Kyra said coldly. “I did. And yes, there is a problem. I don’t like being ignored.”
Antonio’s eyes narrowed. He watched in silence as Kyra ordered Carlos to bring her broiled fish, sliced tomatoes, and a glass of iced tea. Her tone was sharp and imperious.
It was an unpleasant performance for him to watch and for the hapless waiter to endure, but it was illuminating. This, after all, was the real Kyra Landon.
Antonio’s mouth thinned. He remembered what he had thought this afternoon, that she needed a man to bring her to heel. He recalled what he had thought only a little while ago, that a night in the purgatory of a jail might do the same thing.
Perhaps he had been right on both counts, he thought coldly. And in that instant, with a dark thrill of anticipation, he knew exactly what offer he would make her.
The waiter shot Antonio a questioning glance when Kyra finally fell silent. Antonio nodded.
“That’s all right, Carlos,” he said quietly. “Do as the señorita says.”
Kyra’s heart was thudding. She’d never behaved so badly in her life, but it had been worth it just to see the look on Antonio’s face.
“I have changed my mind,” he said. “I have decided to tell you my plan now, instead of waiting until we finish eating.”
Kyra smiled. Her show of independence had had the desired effect after all.