‘A leave of absence wasn’t possible?’ he queried.
‘No. I didn’t know how long I’d need. I couldn’t expect the hospital to hold my job open indefinitely. And I thought I might need a break afterwards, anyway. Time to sort out a few practical things.’
Like the family house, which she’d spent a few weeks clearing and tidying but hadn’t yet decided whether to sell or keep.
‘Before Camila got sick we used to talk about doing a trip to Spain, but we never did. After she died, I decided to come on my own.’
She stopped short of telling him that she’d brought Camila with her. That her stepmom’s ashes were upstairs in a small urn and she planned to scatter them into the vast blue of the Mediterranean Sea as soon as she found the perfect spot. Or that—before she had met him—she’d entertained the possibility of inviting him to join her in that act.
She sipped her wine, put the glass down and pushed it slightly away. Too much alcohol would dull her brain. And there was something niggling in her head, floating at the periphery of her thoughts. Something not quite right...
Suddenly icy fingers of realisation gripped her insides. She looked at Xavier. ‘How did you know I’m a trauma nurse?’
The widening of his eyes was so slight she almost missed it. Then his expression became inscrutable. He put his cutlery down. Slowly.
A sinking sensation slid through Jordan’s stomach. ‘I told Rosa I’m a nurse—I didn’t mention I specialised in trauma,’ she added, the words scraping her throat like coarse sandpaper.
His gaze locked with hers and the look in his grey eyes was unflinching. Unyielding. Unapologetic.
‘You had me investigated,’ she choked out, and he didn’t deny it. ‘Why?’ she demanded—but then she raised her palm in a ‘stop’ gesture. ‘You know what? Scratch that. I already know the answer.’
‘Calm down,’ he said smoothly. Condescendingly.
Which only fanned the flames of her ire.
‘Don’t tell me to calm down. From the second we met you’ve questioned my motives. My integrity. Do you honestly expect me not to feel offended?’ She straightened her shoulders and channelled her indignation into a lofty glare. ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘Precisely, Ms Walsh.’ A hint of steel underpinned his voice. ‘I do not know you. And I will not apologise for taking precautions to safeguard the interests of myself and my family.’
She let out a humourless huff of a laugh. ‘You’re unbelievable.’ She slapped her napkin onto the table, pushed back her chair and stood.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded. ‘We’re not finished.’
She balled her hands into fists. She could feel her anger building now, pushing at the walls of her chest, searing her veins with heat. It strengthened her backbone. Diminished the likelihood of her embarrassing herself with stupid tears.
‘We are finished, Mr de la Vega. Or at least I am.’
She glanced down at her unfinished meal, at the food Rosa had so beautifully prepared and served. With a pang of regret, she turned away and strode into the house.
CHAPTER FOUR
XAV MANAGED TO restrain himself for a full minute before he flung down his napkin with a muttered oath and went after her.
He scowled at his own idiocy. He rarely made mistakes, but he’d blundered right into that one.
Where the hell had his head been at?
He climbed the stairs, trying to recall which guest suite he’d told Rosa to put her in, and then remembered. The suite at the south end of the villa—as far from his o
wn sleeping quarters as possible.
Finding the door shut, he rapped his knuckles twice on the wood and waited.
Nothing.
‘Ms Walsh,’ he called out.
He could hear faint sounds of movement from inside the room, but the door remained closed.