Slowly, her eyes filling with tears, Talia bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. Only two words sounded in her head.
Too late.
Desolation filled her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUKE SAT OUTSIDE the hospital in the car he’d hired, his eyes peeled for Talia. He knew she was visiting her mother because he’d checked at Reception. In his head burned the one desperate question he must ask her. Only one—and he had to get an answer to it. However many times she told him to leave her alone, he needed to know why.
His expression was stark, his eyes focussed only on the brightly lit hospital entrance. And then suddenly she was there, head bowed, shoulders hunched, walking away. He gunned the engine, drew up alongside her and vaulted from the car.
She started in shock.
‘Let me give you a lift. Talia—please. You look dead on your feet!’
She made to walk on, but he took her arm, feeling her tense instantly. He yanked open the passenger door and for a moment thought she would resist. Then, as if running out of energy, she sank down inside with a weary sigh.
Luke resumed his seat, moving the car off into the traffic. ‘How is your mother?’ he asked.
He kept his voice neutral. It was an effort, but he did it. To have her so close again, to catch her scent, to feel her presence pressing upon him, was torment.
She sighed, not looking at him. ‘Improving, but still weak.’ She swallowed, taking a difficult breath. ‘I...I told her about my father.’
Luke’s expression tightened. ‘It will be hard for her—hard for you, too.’ He didn’t say any more.
Talia didn’t answer, only closed her eyes. A weariness so profound she could not fight it any longer was sweeping over her.
‘Why are you still here, Luke?’ she heard herself ask tightly. ‘I told you I didn’t want to see you again.’
She heard the engine change gear and felt the car swing round to the left, heading inland. Her eyes flew open. ‘This isn’t the way to the café!’
‘I know.’ Luke’s voice was grim. ‘I need to talk to you, Talia.’
‘There’s nothing to say!’ she cried. ‘Nothing I want to hear from you!’
In the intermittent lights of the street, his expression was as grim as his voice. ‘But there’s a lot I want to hear from you, Talia. And I am not leaving Spain until I have answers.’
He pressed the accelerator and the car shot forward, picking up speed. Talia realised they were leaving town, heading up into the hills inland. A knot was forming inside her, but there was nothing she could do. Wearily, she sank back into torpor. The desolation she had felt at her mother’s warning twisted inside her like snakes writhing.
The road started to wind, gaining height, and the outline of a mirador opened up before them. Luke slewed the car towards it, cut the engine. Far below the lights of the town pierced the night. Far beyond the sea glimmered beneath the rising moon.
He turned towards Talia. She wasn’t looking at him, only straight ahead, her face unreadable in the dim light.
‘I need to know, Talia, the answer to a very simple question.’ His breath incised into his lungs. ‘And you owe me an answer.’ His jaw tightened and in his chest he felt his heart starting to thud heavily. ‘Why did you leave me?’
Her head slewed round. Her face was expressionless. ‘I didn’t care for your offer, Luke.’
A frown flashed across his eyes. ‘You prefer skivvying in a café?’ There was open derision in his voice.
She gave no answer, and his expression twisted. Emotions were churning in him and he was fighting to keep them under control. He must not let them out—not until he had the answers he needed.
‘I didn’t care for your offer.’
Her words mocked him, echoing in his head.
So what offer did she want?
‘And why waitressing?’ he pushed. ‘Why not interior design?’ He paused, then said what he knew he had to say. ‘You’re good, Talia. Really good. I was wrong to think otherwise—your designs for the hotel are stunning, and I want to use them for the refurb.’