Why did she still feel this way about him?
For a start, it wasn’t logical or dignified. How could she feel anything but contempt and loathing for someone who had treated her as he had? It wasn’t as though it had been a mistake. He had stripped her naked and kissed her until her body had felt as though it was going to combust, and then he’d got up, got dressed and never come back.
And the worst part was that she had waited for him. She had lain there in his four-poster bed like some stupid sacrificial virgin and waited.
She could still remember how it had felt. That dizzy, disbelieving euphoria. And then, as the minutes passed—first five, then ten, then twenty—her happiness had started to ooze away like air from a punctured football. Uncertainty and panic had begun to creep in, until finally she’d been able to bear it no more and she’d found her clothes and got dressed.
Her heart began to thump. Even then she hadn’t really taken his disappearance at face value. Incredibly, she’d actually been worried about him—she’d thought something must have happened for him not to return. But of course nothing had happened.
He’d been standing in the ballroom, talking on his phone, and then he’d turned towards her. And this was the worst part—this was the part that had finally made her understand what had happened. Not by the slightest curve of his mouth or tilt of his head had he acknowledged her. He’d looked straight through her as if she wasn’t there or he didn’t know who she was.
Maybe if she’d been older, or more experienced, she might have felt and behaved differently. But she’d been young and desperately in love and so unsure of herself, and her self-doubt had flared beneath his dark, blank-eyed gaze. All she’d wanted to do was crawl into a dark hole and lick her wounds.
And then she had seen Alicia there, dancing and laughing, and that was when she’d turned and walked away from the ballroom, begged a lift back to London. She’d known she couldn’t face her friend, for if she had she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from telling Alicia everything. Having lost so much in her life already, she hadn’t felt able to risk having that conversation and losing her best friend too.
She shivered. Sometimes she felt as if she was jinxed. What other explanation could there be for the way her world so frequently and effortlessly imploded? She was the common denominator in all of it. Her father leaving, Charlie and Raymond creating the wrong kind of headlines, and now her film, idling in some lawyer’s office.
She felt the car begin to slow, and as it did so her pulse began to accelerate. For the last few minutes she’d been distracted by thoughts of Basa, so she hadn’t really been paying attention to what was happening outside the window, but as she looked nervously through the glass she realised that they were driving down a wide, tree-lined boulevard. Set back from the road, some concealed by decorative walls, others by perfectly trimmed hedges, were several houses the size of hotels.
Oh, my goodness, this must be it.
Through the window she watched nervously as wrought-iron gates as tall as they were wide swung open smoothly. The car slid between them and a moment later stopped in front of one of the most beautiful houses Mimi had ever seen—and the biggest. The cream-coloured building seemed to stretch endlessly i
n both directions, and she had to tip back her head to see the rooftop.
She stepped out of the car, feeling horribly underdressed in her cargo pants and faded sweatshirt, just as a beautiful middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. She had shining dark hair, and eyes the same colour and shape as Marcona almonds, and she was clearly expecting Mimi.
‘Buenos días, Señorita Miller. I hope you have had a pleasant trip. My name is Antonia and I’m the housekeeper here at Palacio Figueroa.’
Mimi felt her breath catch. Great, Basa owns a palace. No wonder his housekeeper looked like a movie star.
Inside, there was no point in pretending she was anything but dazzled. The house was gorgeously over the top, with cornices and swags everywhere, and a rich, vibrant colour scheme that perfectly complemented the opulent velvet furniture and Savonnerie rugs.
‘I’m sure you want to freshen up, so let me show you to your rooms,’ said Antonia, and smiled. ‘I gather this is your first visit to Buenos Aires? I hope you enjoy your stay in our beautiful city.’
Mimi managed to smile back at the other woman, but inside she was thinking that it would be a lot easier to enjoy her stay if she didn’t have to spend it twitching inwardly beneath Basa’s dark, critical gaze.
Thank goodness he wasn’t arriving until this evening. With luck, she might even be able to plead exhaustion and turn in early, and then she wouldn’t have to see him until the next morning.
Antonia stopped beside her. ‘These are your rooms.’
Smiling politely, Mimi stepped through the door—and stopped. Her heart began to thump against her ribs. Mid-morning sunlight and a warm breeze were seeping through the open windows. The walls were painted ballet-slipper-pink, and there were several sofas and armchairs all covered in gold and pink striped silk.
‘This is your sitting room. Your bedroom is through that door, and then you have a bathroom and dressing room next door. I’ll let you settle in. Please treat the house as your own, and if you need anything at all, just ask.’
Clearly Antonia hadn’t received the memo about Mimi being the enemy within, she thought as she tiptoed into the bedroom and gazed in delight at the vast, ornate four-poster bed.
After ten minutes of wandering from room to room, she decided that she liked the dressing room best. It was just so indulgent. A huge gilt-edged mirror ran the length and width of one wall, and opposite there were two beautiful chaises-longue—presumably so someone could sit and watch you get dressed.
Or undressed.
Without warning, an image of Basa lolling on that sofa, his dark gaze intent on her body as she slowly stripped in front of him, slid into her head and, gazing at her reflection, she felt her skin start to tingle.
Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Her heart beating out of time, she turned away from the mirror and stalked out of the dressing room, cursing herself for being every kind of idiot and then some. This weekend was going to be challenging enough without her fantasising about a man who had made it perfectly clear that his attraction to her had been brief, and based on nothing more flattering than opportunity.
A slight breeze lifted the curtains and, crossing the room, she gazed down at a beautiful rectangular pool of perfect turquoise water. It looked so tempting, and it was exactly what she needed to cool off her overheated body and imagination.