to staying on for several more days when she hadnât intended to. Either that or run the risk of Ross believing heâd got his own way again.
A glance at her watch reminded her that it was almost eight oâclock. She didnât know where, or even if, the Esquivals had breakfast, but she was desperate now to get out of her room. Sheâd go downstairs, she decided. Maybe Lauren would join her. Sheâd welcome the chance to speak to the other girl. Anything was better than staying here at the mercy of her thoughts.
It was already hot. She could feel the heat pouring into the room from outside now, and after closing the balcony doors she turned the air-conditioning up again. Immediately a draught of deliciously cool air swept over her shoulders as she shed the robe and rummaged in her suitcase for something to wear.
By the time sheâd found a sleeveless shirt and denim shorts her hair was practically dry. But it was unruly, and snatching up her brush, she quickly plaited the damp curling strands into a single braid. It wasnât very long. It barely reached to the top of her shoulderblades. But at least it was tidy, even if a few wispy curls persisted in escaping to cling to her flushed cheeks.
She didnât bother with make-up. In this heat it wouldnât last, and her face was glowing as it was. Probably due to her rising temperature, she reflected. Unlike many redheads, she did tan, so her skin still retained some of the colour sheâd acquired in southern Italy the summer before. Perhaps no one would notice, she hoped optimistically. At least she didnât look as anaemic as she felt.
Her legs looked very pale, though, she conceded, as she went out onto the gallery that circled the hall below. But it was still winter back home and she wasnât used to exposing them. Nevertheless, they were long and slim, even if Edward was fooling himself if he thought any man would notice her while his wife was around.
There was no one about when she reached the ground floor, and after getting her bearings she walked along the wide passageway that led to the back of the house. A sunlit terrace, enclosed by long screens, gave access to an inner courtyard,and the mingled scents of a dozen exotic blooms assaulted her senses.
Stepping out of the shadows of a colonnade that ran along two sides of the courtyard, Abby saw the glinting waters of the swimming pool ahead of her. She wondered if anyone used it these days. When sheâd been here two years ago none of the Esquivals had ever been tempted to swim in its lucid depths. As far as they were concerned it was an ornament, a status symbol. As necessary to their lives as the gymnasium in the basement which no one used either.
Pushing her hands into the pockets of her shorts, Abby walked down the two shallow steps that divided the pool deck from the courtyard above. She wasnât thinking about anything at that moment except how delightful it would be to have the freedom to immerse herself in the cool water, and she was shocked when a tall, dark-clad figure rose up from beside the pool.
It was Alejandro. Wearing a black tee shirt and black trousers, he had evidently been sitting on one of the shaded loungers that stood in a regimented row beneath a hedge of flowering bougainvillaea. Lean and imposing, he was looking at her with dark enigmatic eyes, and Abbyâs mouth dried at the realisation that she didnât know what she was going to say to him.
âAbigail,â he greeted her, inclining his head politely. âI am sorry if I startled you. I thought perhaps you had seen me.â
And come down here to speak to you? contributed Abby silently. As if she would! The truth was, if sheâd seen him first sheâd probably have turned tail and gone back into the house.
And how mature was that?
âIâno,â she answered now, glancing back over her shoulder, hoping for deliverance. âYouâre an early caller. Are you