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  Yet, as consciousness slowly receded to the same sound that had eventually sent her off into sleep that dawn, the rhythmic ebb and flow of the sea, she felt again Diego's smoothly intimate touch for Juanita's benefit, and a heat that had little to do with the sun seared the length of her body.

  Diego drew the sleek grey Mercedes to a halt almost opposite the police station and glanced cynically at the white-knuckled hands Laurel clasped on the lap of her lime green silk dress. The matching green of her eyes was obscured by dark-lensed sunglasses, and her thoughts ran riot behind their screening mask.

  'You bear the looks of an outraged spinster, cariña, not the blushing radiance of a bride who has lain in her husband's arms on their wedding night.' His voice was

  softly mocking, his expressive mouth carved slightly into a sardonic smile, and Laurel turned on him to-vent the pent-up fury she had barely been able to control during the drive into Acapulco from .

  'Do you think my father will be fooled anyway by this ridiculous excuse for a marriage?' she flared, adding deliberately: 'He and my mother loved each other from the minute they laid eyes on each other. Don't you think he knows the way two people in love look, especially after their—their—'

  'Their first lovemaking?' Diego inserted coolly. 'But then, tin mujer, doubtless your mother did not come to his bed from another man's.' Laurel's outraged gasp was cut short when his arm circled her shoulders and drew her to him, his other hand removing the sunglasses from her indignant eyes. 'However, if you wish to present the picture of a well-loved wife, that is easily accomplished.'

  His hand cupped her chin, forcing it not ungently upward until her eyes glared greenly into his. Then, unmindful of the interested looks of two patrolmen about to enter the police station, he bent his head and took hard possession of her lips, kissing her insistently until her mouth parted under his masterful pressure. Resenting his possessive claim, and the swift surge of her own pulses, Laurel brought her hand up to tug at his hair in an effort to free herself, but she had done no more than grasp a handful of the blue-black growth when her attention was diverted to the sensation of her own hair being freed from its confining pins.

  Then she forgot everything in her struggle to maintain a balance that steadily became more weighted in favour of the sensations sweeping her. The sweet rob-

  bery of Diego's plundering mouth, the supple fingers that combed through her hair, then held firmly to her head in an unnecessary manoeuvre to keep her mouth in the position he wanted, combined to send her senses swirling into a vortex of passionate desire. A desire she had never known before, yet part of her had always known of its existence, that someday a man would come to light its flame within her. Shocked, she realised as Diego murmured against her lips that Brent could never have been that counterpart to her own sexuality.

  'Diego?' she whispered wonderingly at his ear, his mouth pressed now to the tender join of shoulder and neck, and felt shock jolt through her when he stiffened momentarily, then thrust her away from him abruptly. The hot liquid of his eyes surveyed her dishevelled appearance, and she was conscious all at once of her disordered hair, flushed cheeks, mouth swollen with the imprint of his lips.

  'So,' he observed with satisfaction, only a slight huskiness betraying his own arousal, 'you now look well loved. Even your father will not doubt its truth. No,' he commanded sharply as Laurel drew a shuddering breath and searched feverishly in her bag for a comb and lipstick, 'make no repairs—or we will have to go through the process again.'

  'And you wouldn't want that, would you?' she threw at him across the space of the car, humiliation smarting like prickly heat on her skin.

  'No, I would not,' he agreed quietly, opening his door and smoothing his ruffled hair as he came round the front of the car to open her door, evidently not seeing, or ignoring, the grinning policemen who at last turned into the station.

  When she reached for her sunglasses on the dash-

  board, Diego's hand came out to capture her wrist. 'Leave them there, niña, your eyes reveal the required sparkle of—knowledge.'

  Laurel felt the touch of his hand on her arm as a fiery brand, yet she was glad of his nearness when they entered the dismal building and were greeted by the same officer she had seen on her first visit to the prison. An obsequious officer now as he came from behind his desk to greet Diego, but the other two men eyed her with such obvious lewdness that she instinctively pressed her side to Diego's and felt his arm reach instantly round her waist. He kept it there as they followed the duty officer along the dank corridor to her father's cell. But as soon as he had opened the door with a flourish of keys, she broke from Diego's hold and rushed into the room, halting at the rough table suddenly, her eyes seeking her father's tall form stretched on the cot. Only now it wasn't a rough cot, it was a real bed complete with mattresses and coloured blankets.

  'Dad! It's me, Laurel ! '

  Dan turned his face from the wall, and he blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. 'Laurel? Is it really you?' With what seemed an almighty effort, he pushed his legs over the side of the bed and in another moment was standing holding her in his arms. 'I thought I was still dreaming. Sorry, honey, I guess I didn't expect to see you this soon after your wedding. I'd have cleaned up a bit if I'd known you were coming.'

  Her head buried on his chest, Laurel felt his arm reach behind her.

  Diego? Congratulations.' His hands came then to Laurel's shoulders, putting her away from him so that he could look into her eyes. Her mouth trembled at the

  greyness in his face, but his smile was unforced when he said softly: 'Yes, I can see the wedding went off all right. I've never seen you look the way you do right now, honey, and you don't know how happy that makes me.'

  I just wished,' she choked, 'that you could have been there too. I—I had nobody.'

  Dan's hands tightened on her shoulders, though he was silent for a few moments. At last he said huskily: `You had your husband, Laurel, and that's more important than having any number of relatives and friends around you.'

  She stifled a sob as she turned involuntarily to look at Diego, surprising a glimmer of compassion, tenderness, in the dark intentness of his eyes as he watched father and daughter.

  'I—yes, I have Diego,' she said flatly, knowing that her husband possessed all the smooth suavity of his race and could summon up appropriate expressions on demand.

  `Well, let's sit down and talk for a while, though I know you two want to get back to being alone ... and this isn't exactly the Hilton,' Dan's eyes went wryly round the small room as he waved them to the padded leather chairs surrounding the table. These, too, were an extra embellishment since Laurel's last visit, and her eyes swept quickly round the walls, discovering a wardrobe whose half-open doors revealed a goodly selection of her father's clothes, and next to that a small table well stocked with liquor bottles and glasses. Her mouth tightened on a tremor. It had been obvious from the odour on Dan's breath that he had already imbibed freely that afternoon from his abundant supply.

  `I want to thank you, Diego, for all you've done to

  make the place a bit more livable,' he said now with what Laurel felt was forced geniality. 'In fact, a lot more—I can even offer you a drink to celebrate the nuptials. Laurel?'

  It was on the tip of Laurel's tongue to refuse the drink, but a forceful glance from Diego made her say chokily : I'll—have rum and coke.'

  Diego chose whisky and her father poured a generous measure of five-star brandy for himself. Holding up his own glass after handing Diego his, he proposed a toast to their happiness. Looking at Laurel, he said emotionally :

  'May your marriage be as perfect as your mother's and mine was.'

  Laurel's throat closed as she sipped her drink, making her cough and choke slightly. Face red, she looked over and caught the sardonic glitter in Diego's eyes.

  'A record like that would be hard to beat, Dad,' she gasped, her eyes filled with tears which could have been caused by the misdirection of the rum, bu
t she knew it was not. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have envisioned her father's toast to her wedding being given in a Mexican jail cell with her husband of hours glinting his contempt for her over the rim of his glass. No, her dreams had been more along the lines of being borne down the aisle on her father's arm, and of being given by him in marriage to—Brent. Already she was finding it difficult to recall Brent's face in detail; instead, the haughtily aristocratic features of Diego Ramirez were superimposed on her brain. The tautening at the pit of her stomach told her she was still responding to the calculated passion he had inspired in the car before entering the jail, and it was several

  minutes before she came to with a start and realised that her father and Diego had been holding a conversation, and that Diego was addressing Dan familiarly as 'My friend.'

  She gazed curiously at her father, who had remained standing, realising with irritation that the two men did indeed appear to be on a friendly basis—their link in common being herself, she thought sadly. If only she could confide in her father, or even spend just a few minutes alone with him. Loneliness in a family sense she had lived with for a long time, but at least Dan had always been there in vacation time to listen to her hurts and woes. Now she was more scared, more out of her depth than she had ever been, but the last person she could confide in was her father.

  As if sensing her disturbance, Diego stood up and placed his glass on the table. 'We must go now, querida,' he said gently, then turned to Dan. 'My housekeeper is hopeful that the meal she prepares tonight will be appreciated more than last night's, amigo.'

  To Laurel's horror, her father gave an understanding man-to-man chuckle of understanding and assured Diego that tonight would be different.

  'The wedding night can be the worst in the whole marriage,' he added knowledgeably, and Laurel's lips were cool on his cheek as she wished him goodnight. Diego had walked tactfully to the door, and Dan said huskily:

  'You have a good man there, honey, take care of each other. That's -what your mother and I did, and I don't believe either of us regretted anything for a minute.'

  Laurel wanted to cry out that already she was regretting marrying a man she didn't love, could never love

  in the way that her mother had loved Dan. Instead, as she drew away she asked huskily : 'You like him, don't you?'

  'Yes, I do.' His blue eyes looked searchingly into hers. 'He'll be good to you, honey, I knew that from the first time I saw him look at you at the El Mirador. And that's not to say,' he smiled, lifting her chin so that her eyes met his, 'that I don't think he's the luckiest guy in the world. I've told him so, and he agreed.'

  'Did he now?' Laurel asked, unconsciously bitter.

  Dan's fingers tightened on her chin. 'Laurel, you're happy with him? Now that you've—well, been with him? Wedding nights can be traumatic, so don't judge your entire future by that.'

  Realising she had been selfishly eliciting his sympathy in a roundabout way, she drew a shaky breath and smiled tremulously. 'Yes, I'm—happy, Dad. As I said before, my whole future is tied up in Diego.'

  He seemed satisfied with that, but as Laurel joined Diego at the door she had to blink rapidly to disperse the tears threatening to drown her eyes, and was hardly aware of Diego's firm hand at her waist urging her forward.

  'Are you all right?' he asked when they were seated in the car, Laurel dabbing at her eyes and staring stoically from the side window.

  'Of course I'm not all right!' she snapped fiercely, a sob in her voice. 'How do you expect me to feel? I'm married to a man I hate the sight of, and my father is shut up in—in there!' She gestured wildly towards the unprepossessing' lines of the jail opposite, her eyes following her arm and stopping when they reached-the tense line of Diego's jaw. His eyes had suddenly become bleak, in direct contrast to their normal

  warmth, but he said nothing as he started the car and set it in motion.

  No word was passed between them as he drove fast and furiously back to . Once or twice Laurel slanted a sideways look at him, and always his profile had a dark sullen look that sent shivers skittering over her spine. He had been angry last night, but this was something else again, something that had gone beyond anger into a realm she knew nothing of.

  A sense of fatalism overtook her as he hustled her into the house, ignoring Juanita's startled round eyes in the hall on his relentless drive into the master suite. By the time they reached the comfortably furnished bedroom, Laurel was convinced that he had decided to exact revenge for her assertion of hate for him in the only way such a man would envisage. Strangely, the prospect of being taken forcibly now left her unmoved. All she wanted was for it to be over with, for the deadly coldness to lift from Diego's features, made to express warmth and vitality.

  `Diego,' she whispered when he let her go, almost throwing her from him. Dimly she knew that bruises would appear where his finger had dug into the soft flesh of her arm, but that wasn't important as she faced him and faltered again: 'Diego?'

  `Sit down!' he ordered harshly, repeating the words in a louder pitch when she took a pleading step towards him. 'Sit down and listen to what I have to say.'

  She sank into one of the tub chairs arranged to take advantage of the sea vista, her eyes never leaving the tense set of his face. But it was several minutes before he spoke from the window where he had gone to stand with his back to her. His long-fingered hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but his head had its

  usual arrogantly proud lift.

  'I was wrong,' he said in a voice that was controlled yet held a note of unevenness. 'Wrong to marry you and take you from the man who is your husband in all but name. Wrong to take advantage of your father's predicament to force you into a marriage with a man you could do nothing but hate. I thought I could force you into loving me in the same way, but—' He shrugged eloquently and turned his dark head to meet her eyes.

  'Love—can't be forced,' Laurel said shakily.

  'I know that now. That is why—' his eyes went unseeingly to the marine panorama outside the window, 'I will expect nothing from you. It is best that you remain my wife for some time. It is true that I can do more for your father in that way, but when he is released, you too may have your freedom.'

  'You mean—?'

  'An annulment, yes,' he nodded, turning from the window to stride to the door, shoulders a stiffly held line under the grey jacket of his suit.

  'But, Diego—'

  'This is what you wanted, is it not?' he turned on her savagely. 'To free your father and go back to the man you love?'

  The sharp pain in her chest made Laurel's 'Yes!' sound more vehement than she had intended, and she watched numbly as Diego wheeled on his heel and went

  from the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'YOUR husband is indeed fortunate to have found such a flower to grace his table, Señora Ramirez,' the man at Laurel's right flattered extravagantly.

  Her eyes went to the top of the extended table where Diego's dark head was bent attentively to listen to what the attractive woman to his right was saying. It was hard to tell from this distance, of course, but his eyes seemed to glitter his male appreciation for the woman's darkly flamboyant beauty shown to advantage in a white figure-hugging dress which left smooth olive shoulders bare and revealed a tantalising glimpse of maturely rounded breasts.

  'I doubt if my husband has ever experienced much trouble in finding flowers to decorate his table, señor,' Laurel smiled tightly to mask the tartness of her reply, but the distinguished-looking older man beside her cast a shrewd look in the direction her eyes had taken.

  'Have no fears where Francisca is concerned, señora,' he said softly. 'What was between her and your husband was over a long time ago. She married elsewhere, and I understand she was happy with her husband.'

  'Was?'

  'Regrettably, Anton died recently. Because it was his country, they lived in France. Now Francisca has returned to her homeland where she has many friends to help her adjust t
o her loss.' He gave the inevitable Latin shrug which expressed so much in one movement.

  Diego's hand reached over to cover Francisca's lying idly on the table between them, and was still there several moments later when Laurel returned her attention to the crème caramel dessert before her. Her appetite gone, she laid her spoon beside the dish and signalled unobtrusively to the major domo who presided over the side buffets. Moments later, coffee and liqueurs were being served to the twenty guests, and Laurel had time to glance down the table to where Diego was now speaking with courteously bent head to the couple on his left.

  This was the third such dinner party they had given since their return from Acapulco, and already she was becoming used to the idea of presiding over a table at which were seated some of Mexico's most prominent citizens. Overruling her earlier qualms, Diego had informed her coolly that such social occasions were necessary to his efforts of setting the wheels in motion for Dan's trial and release.

  'In my country, these matters cannot be rushed,' he had told her one morning at the breakfast they usually shared before he left for his office. 'We will entertain two, or perhaps three times before inviting the people important to our cause.'

  'And while you play this slow dance of unfoldment,' Laurel had snapped shrewishly, 'my father is—'

  'Your father is as comfortable as possible in the circumstances,' Diego had gritted, pushing his chair back with an angry movement and towering over her as she sat at the other side of the intimate round table.

  'He gets no fresh air,' Laurel had returned sullenly. 'His face is positively grey from lack of sunshine.'

  'I am sorry I was not able to arrange for him to be

  taken to the beach each day to sun himself,' was Diego's sarcastic response, and he had taken himself off before Laurel had time to make even a token apology.