Flame of Diablo by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

her.
    She said, 'He is here, isn't he?' and her
    voice shook a little because she knew
    already what the answer was, and she
    wished herself a million miles away.
    The man nearest to her said quite
    jovially, 'Would I not do instead,
    senorita? Dios, Vitas, you have all the
    luck— with the cards and with the
    women!'
    She looked past him to the man with the
    eye-patch and saw his lips twist, as if
    this was one piece of luck he would
    have preferred to do without. He made
    no attempt to alter his languid pose,
    merely leaning back further in his chair
    and staring at her with a frank, almost
    sensual appraisal which she found
    offensive in the extreme.
    That hotel-keeper, she thought furiously,
    must be off his head if he imagined she
    was going to go off into the wide blue
    yonder with a man who looked as if his
    career had spanned the gamut of crimes
    from armed robbery to rape!
    Almost as if he could divine her
    thoughts, he smiled, a lingering, insolent
    smile displaying even, startlingly white
    teeth, and she realised with a sickening
    jolt that a man who could exude such a
    potent sexual attraction, apparently at
    will, would never need to resort to rape.
    He stood up then, head and shoulders
    taller than any other man in the room, as
    she could see at a glance, lean and
    graceful like the jaguars who stalked in
    the undergrowth. A great silver buckle
    ornamenting the belt which was slung
    low on his hips, a silver medallion
    nestling among the dark hairs on his
    chest—they were the only touches of
    colour about him—and she remembered
    her joking resolution to come face to
    face with the devil himself if need be,
    and a little involuntary shiver ran
    through her.
    His smile widened and she realised he
    had gauged her reaction and was amused
    by it. She forced herself to stand her
    ground as he approached unhurriedly
    round the table and came to stand in
    front of her.
    'I am Vitas de Mendoza, senorita. What
    do you want with me?'
    She was sorely tempted to say it had all
    been a mistake and beat a hasty retreat.
    But at the same time, she knew this
    would accomplish nothing except to
    make her look a complete fool in front of
    these men, and that was the last thing she
    wanted. Her brain worked feverishly,
    and words rose to her lips.
    'I wish to buy your services, senor.'
    Which wasn't in the least what she'd
    intended to say, and she saw the dark
    brows lift mockingly in response.
    He said lazily, 'You flatter me, of
    course, querida, but I regret that I am not
    for sale.'
    One or two of his companions laughed,
    but it was uneasy laughter. Rachel
    noticed it almost without noticing it,
    because her face was burning with swift
    embarrassment at having been betrayed
    into saying something so ambiguous.
    'You don't understand.' In spite of her
    confusion, she lifted her chin and looked
    steadily at him. 'I need a guide— a
    reliable
    one.
    You
    have
    been
    recommended.' She was aware of it
    again—that intangible sense of unease in
    the room after she had spoken. She said,
    'You are a guide, aren't you? The hotel-
    keeper said...'
    'You've been talking to Ramirez?' He
    broke across her rather stumbling words.
    'Well, he's right. I do know this region
    better than most men, and my advice to
    you is go back to Bogota and join one of
    the organised tours. This is no place for
    a woman.'
    He turned away in dismissal.
    'No, wait.' Almost before she knew what
    she was doing, she put out a hand and
    tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. He
    stopped and looked down at her hand,
    and there was a kind of hauteur in his
    expression. Her fingers looked very
    white and slender against the dark
    material, the nails smoothly rounded and
    painted with her usual pale pink polish.
    She relinquished the silky material
    hurriedly, the heat rising in her body as
    if she had inadvertently touched his skin.
    She thought, 'How dare he look like that!
    He may have a more educated accent
    than his friends, but he's only a guide,
    after all.