Page 54

She spent her days around designers. It wasn’t her area of expertise, but Beatriz would have paid attention to the work and asked questions because that was how she operated. Understanding the layers that combined to send a message. Plus her clothes spoke to an interest in fabric and textile design as much as clothes design.

“At Jaddatee’s knee. Only two women have held art exhibitions in Saudi Arabia. Jaddatee went to Safeya Binzagr’s in 1968. She admired her enormously. Jaddatee could weave. Mum kept every piece she could. When Safeya opened the Darat Safeya Binzagr in 2000, Jaddatee had some friends send her photos. They included traditional artefacts, textiles, and costumes. Safeya Binzagr recently released a book. Maha bought it for me.”

“That’s a lovely story.” She traced a delicate finger over one of the designs. It would suit her, but as what—a sofa cover, cushions, sheets? “And I envy your relationship with Maha.”

“Why? You’re close to your sisters, apart from the snafu that landed you here.” He faced her.

“I love my sisters to bits, but I was born in Chile, then we moved to Australia. After a few years, sisters two and three were born, then after another big gap, sisters four and five. Two sets of two. Each pair is inseparable.”

“Why the second big gap?”

“Mamá nearly died giving birth to Daniela.”

“That’s when you took over a lot of the child minding.”

She nodded, dragged in a deep breath. “This isn’t about me.” She squeezed his knee, and the tingle shot straight through him, all cells on instant alert.

Pay attention, Cas.

“Umm.” He took a sip of the chocolate, pretending his groan was in response to Hunt’s idea of a liquid chocolate bar, rather than to the delicious Beatriz Gomez leaning into him, her hand still on his thigh while she questioned him. He’d confess about drawing his first design with a permanent Texta on his jaddatee’s best white tablecloth soon. Or kiss her.

Something had to give.

“Have you got any recent designs?”

“Yes.”

Tell her a flaw. Dilute the tension. I sometimes become obsessed and work all night. What woman wants to buy into that?

“Beatriz?”

She turned to face him, her beautiful eyes twinkling. “I’d rather kiss you. You can say no. Although, I was angling for that when I almost sat in your lap.”

“‘Come up and see my etchings’?” he managed a hoarse whisper.

“I asked, I’m genuinely interested and more than impressed.”

“Are you talking about my designs or my kisses?”

“I haven’t shared enough kisses with you to make a judgement.”

“Let’s see if we can do better. Just kisses though. We agreed this is a bad idea.”

“Speak for yourself.” She straddled his lap.

“I sometimes get obsessed and work all night.”

“Is that a warning about your kisses?”

He didn’t have time for a fling. She was driving him insane. No, his insistence that they not go beyond increasingly heated kisses was driving him insane.

“I’m only talking temporary.” She linked both hands behind his neck.

Okay. I can make time.Except.

“You’re not a casual-affair anything, Beatriz.”

The truth was he didn’t want to do casual with Beatriz. He’d been casual with Monique. She’d known it and tried to manipulate him. Beatriz was offering with no strings attached, when they were already woven together as tightly as fine tweed.