‘You sound like a very close family.’
‘We are. Family is very important to us.’ He glanced at her again. ‘It’s important to you too, isn’t it?’
She nodded.
‘What are your children’s names?’
‘My son’s Thomas—we call him Tom; I must tell him about your car when I get home—he’ll be fascinated. What sort of car is this?’
‘A Ferrari.’
‘Goodness,’ she breathed, eyes widening. ‘I’m impressed—so will Tom be! Ferraris are racing cars, aren’t they?’
‘They race a version of this one,’ he agreed. ‘Who’s looking after your son while you’re away?’
‘Tom doesn’t need any looking after; I’ve brought him up to look after himself. He can wash and iron his own clothes, cook, tidy his room—he’s very self-sufficient. But his older sister is there too; she’s nineteen.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Vicky—short for Victoria.’
‘Does she look like you?’
Bianca’s mouth curved into a tender, reminiscent smile. ‘No, she takes after her father—she has his colouring; Rob was fair, and Vicky has blonde hair and hazel eyes, like his. She’s like him in character, too. Rob was very level-tempered, a large, fair man with a calm personality.’ Talking about Rob reminded her of their happy years together; she missed him so much... She gave a deep sigh.
Another car shot past them and Gil had to brake without warning to avoid crashing into the back of it. He muttered what sounded like furious swear words in Spanish and sounded his horn furiously, glaring after the other car.
After that he didn’t say anything at all, staring straight ahead with a dark frown on his face until they reached the hotel. He parked outside the main entrance, and insisted on walking her to her suite.
A security man was walking past; he saluted Gil who nodded to him and spoke to him in Spanish. The man, dark and swarthy, in his thirties, heavily built and wearing a dark uniform, gave Bianca a quick, searching look, then looked back at Gil and nodded, answering him in Spanish. Clearly they were talking about her, and Bianca wished she spoke their language.
She walked into the building and up the stairs to her apartment. Just before she got there Gil caught up with her. ‘What was all that about?’ she asked him.
‘I was telling him to be especially watchful around your apartment.’ He gave her a wry look. ‘Now don’t start getting agitated about that; it was just a sensible precaution.’
Her nerves had tightened up again. ‘I thought nobody could get in here!’
‘Our security is very tight. There’s a man
on the gates, and the perimeter walls are electrified. The grounds are patrolled day and night. If anyone did get through our net how would he know where to find you, anyway? He would have to wander around, or hang about, looking for you, and that would make him very conspicuous. So you have nothing to worry about.’
‘Oh, don’t I?’ she grimaced, getting out her key to unlock the front door. ‘I’m beginning to think I should go back home. This isn’t going to be much of a holiday, holed up in my apartment as if I were the criminal instead of the guy who attacked me!’
‘I’ll make sure you see something of our region,’ Gil promised, following her into the apartment. The shutters were closed over the windows and the room was dark and shadowy.
She knocked into a chair on her way to the window, and stopped dead. Gil almost cannoned into her. Her pulses went into overdrive.
‘I—I’ll p-put the light on,’ she stammered, moving to search for the light switch, but she had been here such a short time that she couldn’t remember where it was situated. Agitated, she fumbled along the wall, tripped over something that she realised a second too late was Gil’s foot, and stumbled stupidly into him, her face hitting his chest. Suddenly breathless, she was too taken aback to move away for a minute. She could hear a strange, distant thumping and thought it was her heart until it came closer and she realised it was Gil’s heart beating right below her cheek.
His hand curled round her throat, under her chin, pushing her head backwards. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark; she looked up at him dazedly, seeing his face as a pale oval glimmering above her. It came closer; she could see the brightness of his grey eyes, the black circle of his pupil in the centre. In the dark, it was like looking at a bird of prey, a hunting hawk.
‘Why are you so nervous?’ he murmured, and she watched his mouth move, her knees giving way.
‘I...’ Her voice died in her throat as she swallowed convulsively.
‘What’s wrong, Bianca?’ he asked softly, his mouth coming down closer, then closer still.
‘Oh,’ she said wildly. ‘Oh, no...’