The Eagle and the Sun

  THE EAGLE AND THE SUN

  Dana James

  During her trip to Mexico, jewellery designer Cass Elliot was to visit the Ibarra opal mines to see the origin of the lovely stones she used and gain inspiration for future designs. She’s unable to prevent Derek Prentice accompanying her, and as her boss’s son he’s not easy to deflect. It doesn’t help to discover that Miguel Ibarra is not expecting them. Just when Cass feels she’s begun to make a better impression on Miguel, Derek becomes difficult and Cass is introduced to Miguel’s fiancée. She no longer knows what to think – will Mexico be the summit of her dreams, or the loss of all hope?

  CHAPTER ONE

  A warm breeze, carrying on it the scent of chilli and hot coffee, ruffled Cass's hair as she followed Derek's lurching figure from the small ten-seater plane onto the rough concrete.

  Oblivious of the limpid-eyed steward's appreciative gaze, she lifted one hand to push her unruly chestnut curls back from her face, automatically reaching out as Derek stumbled.

  'Damn it, Cass, stop fussing,' he slurred, shrugging away her offer of help. 'I can manage.'

  She withdrew her hand quickly, biting her lip. He had not bothered to lower his voice and several people had looked round. There was no point in saying anything. In this mood he would only use it as an excuse to blame her, and she had had enough for one day.

  Anger flared briefly inside her. He should not even be here. She was making the trip in her own time and at her own expense.

  Yet what could she have done? He was a director of the Prentice Company and the boss's son. According to him it had been pure chance that the discussions he was to have with Jorge Ibarra concerning the possible purchase of gemstones direct from the Ibarra mines should have coincided with her trip.

  But Cass had her doubts. It had been a little too convenient. She had a strong suspicion that Matthew Prentice, well aware of his son's plans, had deliberately said nothing, knowing she would have rescheduled her trip rather than face the very situation in which she now found herself.

  Hauling his suitcase out of the pile that had been unloaded on to the oil-streaked landing strip, Derek started unsteadily towards the airport building. Small and shabby, with once white paint flaking from the walls, its flat roof bristled with radio antennae.

  Cass's cheeks burned as she tried to ignore the sidelong glances of the other passengers, sympathy mixed with curiosity and, in one or two cases, a hint of censure. She picked up her own case and, wishing fervently that Matthew Prentice had been less indulgent concerning his only son's fondness for alcohol, she took a deep, calming breath and went after him.

  On the gently curving hillside above the airfield, men in grubby white shirts and trousers and straw hats worked among rows of large, spiky plants, hacking off the leaves with an implement resembling a pointed hoe, to reveal fleshy roots like white pineapples.

  Cotton-wool clouds scudded across a deeply blue sky, and the air, now that the afternoon rain had passed, was crystal clear.

  Their tickets were checked by a fat, yawning official in shirtsleeves who, the instant that duty was done, disappeared through a frosted glass door marked, 'La Oficina de Information', before anyone

  could ask him anything. Derek leaned his elbows on the scarred wood of the reception counter and clasped his head in his hands. The rest of the passengers had been borne away on a tide of laughing, chattering relatives.

  'God, I feel lousy,' he muttered. 'I don't know how these airlines get away with it. No one could call what they were serving food. Anyway, I don't think being a mile above sea-level agrees with me and as for that chicken crate that flew us up from Mexico City...' He broke off and turned towards Cass, his eyes screwed up against the thumping headache he had complained about on the plane. 'Where the hell is Ibarra? He was supposed to be here to meet us.' His hand went to his stomach. 'I think I've been poisoned.'

  Cass set her case down and pressed the bell on the counter-top. She did not hear it ring anywhere. The official had probably disconnected it to prevent it interfering with his siesta.

  Had she been alone she would have relaxed and even enjoyed the hiccups that had marked the long journey. After all, they were part of the fun of travelling, provided you weren't in a hurry, and she wasn't.

  But Derek's presence and behaviour had built up a tension she had been unable to ignore and found impossible to dispel.

  'Not that you give a damn,' he added accusingly. That's not true,' Cass countered, her voice quiet.

  'But you know as well as I do that neither the food, the plane nor the altitude has anything to do with it.' 'What's that supposed to mean?' He was growing

  belligerent again.

  'Oh, come on, Derek,' Cass was weary of the whole pretence, 'you drank too much, that's all.'

  He glared at her, bleary-eyed. 'I see. So now you're a doctor as well. And that's your diagnosis, is it? I'm p—'

  'That's enough, Derek,' she interrupted, anger blazing in her hazel eyes. Then, automatically, she tried to smooth over the unpleasantness. 'Look, we're both tired. Our bodies are still on London time. Although it's only four in the afternoon here, it's after midnight back home.'

  He glowered at her for a moment, then his gaze fell away and he pushed a shaky hand through his straw-coloured hair, leaving it even more rumpled. 'Sorry, ‘he muttered, then stared round the unprepossessing room. 'Just how long are we expected to—'

  The rest of his question was lost beneath the rapidly increasing roar of an engine and the swish of rotor blades as a helicopter landed outside. Leaving Derek holding his head against the noise, Cass went to the window and looked out. The helicopter was sleek and immaculate in a pristine colour-scheme of pale blue and ivory. The pilot's door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black, roll- necked sweater and cream slacks that emphasised the length of powerful legs stepped out. Ducking his head to avoid the turbulence from the idling blades, he strode towards the building, irritation evident in every line of his lithe body.

  There was an arrogance about him that tightened Cass's scalp, making the fine hairs on the back of

  her neck prickle. She swallowed the dryness in her throat and turned away from the window, shaken by her unprecedented reaction towards a total stranger.

  Where could Jorge Ibarra be? How much longer would they have to wait?

  Automatically bending his head as if used to most doorways being too low for him, the man entered. Dark eyes beneath wing-like black brows swept over them both. Cass saw a muscle in the strong jaw flicker and knew that, fleeting though his scrutiny had been, the stranger had accurately assessed Derek's condition.

  'Mr Prentice, Miss Elliott.' He inclined his head briefly at each of them in turn and as he looked at her there was a cold brilliance in his gaze that sent a shiver down Cass's spine.

  'My apologies for keeping you waiting. The delay was unavoidable.' His voice was deep and though his English was perfect, a slight sibilance betrayed his Spanish ancestry. He reached for her case.

  'Just a moment,' Cass said sharply, putting out a hand to stop him.

  He straightened up and a wave of heat pricked her skin as he turned the full force of his impatience on her.

  'Well?' he said.

  His eyes, so dark they were almost black, bored into hers and she felt a constriction in her chest.

  Cass lifted her chin a fraction, determined not to reveal a sudden inexplicable nervousness. She shot Derek a quick, desperate glance, but he was staring at the floor. 'You have the advantage of us, senor,'

  she said with a coolness that surprised her. 'You appear to know who we are. We, however,' frost crisped her tone, 'are not so fortunate. Has Senor Ibarra sent you to collect us?'

  Surprise showed for
an instant in his face and then his eyes narrowed. 'Apparently I owe you another apology.' The words were directly contradicted by his tone and Cass felt her growing tension writhe like snakes in her stomach.

  'I am Miguel Ibarra. You may be sure my father regrets he was unable to welcome you.'

  Cass could not fathom the reason for his heavy sarcasm and decided Miguel Ibarra, despite his undoubted good looks, was one of the most boorish and arrogant men she had ever had the misfortune to meet.

  He picked up her case and with a courteous gesture which at the same time brooked no argument, indicated that she should precede him.

  'I shall look forward to seeing him later then,' she said, leaving him in no doubt that she too regretted him as substitute.

  Miguel Ibarra frowned slightly. 'Under the circumstances I think it most unlikely, don't you?'

  It was Cass's turn to be puzzled. She turned in the doorway, the pleated skin of her fawn linen suit swirling gently against her slender legs. 'What circumstances? I don't understand.'

  His expression was cold, forbidding. 'You mean it just slipped your mind that my father is in the Texas Heart Institute awaiting by-pass surgery?'

  Cass's mouth opened on a soft gasp. ‘What?' 'And I suppose you are going to tell me you

  never received my letter asking you to postpone your visit,' he said with biting cynicism.

  'But I didn't,' she shook her head in bewilderment, 'I didn't know…' Her voice tailed off. He did not reply, merely raising one dark brow.

  He did not believe her.

  Before she could utter another word, Derek's voice, sharp with distress, made her look round. 'Cass, I don't feel at all well.'

  Her mind was whirling as she focused on him. He did indeed look pale and his features were drawn as if in pain. He was clinging to the counter giving the impression that if he let go he would collapse.

  Mentally pushing everything else aside, Cass moved quickly towards him, sliding her arm around his waist and lifting his arm over her shoulder. As he was barely four inches taller than her five-foot- six, she was able to support him without too much difficulty. 'You'll feel better after a lie-down,' she encouraged gently, then looked up to meet Miguel Ibarra's knowing gaze. 'My colleague is not a good traveller,' she said, defying him to doubt her explanation.

  'Fiancé,' Derek muttered thickly.

  Cass bit back the denial that sprang to her lips. She would not argue with Derek in front of Miguel Ibarra, but that was one more thing that would have to be sorted out once and for all as soon as he was sober.

  She hated the derision in the Mexican's eyes, even though her innate honesty forced her to admit it was deserved. How could Derek have disgraced himself so? Had it not occurred to him that it might

  reflect on her too? Or didn't he care? To arrive drunk on the doorstep of the man with whom one hoped to do business was surely the height of foolishness, not to mention bad manners.

  'So it would seem,' Miguel drawled and, scooping up Derek's case as well, strode out, leaving them to follow.

  'Senor Ibarra,' Cass was panting slightly under Derek's weight.

  He straightened up, turning round from stowing the suitcases.

  'It is obvious there has been a dreadful mistake. I can only apologise that you have been inconvenienced. If you would be kind enough to take us to our hotel we will trouble you no further today.'

  'You will trouble me tomorrow instead?' he enquired drily.

  Cass flushed. 'That is not what I meant.'

  'Really?' He made a brief dismissive gesture which made Cass's hackles rise. 'The fact remains, you are here, and as a dutiful son I can do no less than my father would have done. You will stay at our house.'

  Cass was startled. That was the last thing she had expected. Perhaps he was bound by courtesy to issue the invitation. Well, he needn't worry; she had no intention of accepting it.

  'How very kind,' she responded coolly, 'but as you have already pointed out, your father is not here and it was him we came to see. So, much as we appreciate your generous offer,' she allowed her mockery to match his own and was rewarded by a

  brief flare of warning in his dark eyes, 'we cannot possibly accept.' She swallowed.

  Derek's sudden, crushing grip on her fingers made Cass wince, then his knees buckled and as he lurched forward, his arm around her neck dragged her head down towards his. 'What the hell are you doing?' he hissed. 'Accept, for God's sake. Go on, do as I say, I'll explain later.'

  'Oh, I think you can.' Miguel Ibarra's voice had a sardonic ring, and Cass wondered if he could have overheard Derek's whispered instruction. Her cheeks burned at the thought. 'Mr Prentice plainly requires rest as soon as possible. The household staff will ensure he has everything he needs.'

  Totally bewildered by Derek's behaviour and also by Miguel Ibarra, Cass allowed herself to be relieved of Derek's weight and stood aside while Miguel helped Derek into the helicopter, strapping him into a thick padded seat of gold-coloured woollen material trimmed with pale leather facing the rear of the machine. A brown wool carpet covered the floor and the interior walls and ceiling of the cabin were finished in what looked like cream kid leather. There was another seat next to Derek's and two more, equally luxurious, facing forward. Cass had never in her life seen anything so patently expensive.

  Miguel Ibarra glanced over his shoulder. 'When you're quite ready, Miss Elliott, I do have a few more urgent matters to attend to this afternoon.'

  Feeling warmth rise in her cheeks once more, Cass climbed in and sat down in the left-hand seat, facing forward. As she sank back against its springy

  softness, she realised just how tired she was. But she could not afford to relax, not yet. There were too many unanswered questions, too much going on that she didn't understand.

  She reached for her seat belt, but Miguel Ibarra was there before her, deftly fastening the straps across her lap, ignoring or else unaware of the rush of colour to her face at his unexpected and unwelcome nearness.

  He had invaded her personal territory and she pressed back against the seat, the faint, spicy tang of his aftershave in her nostrils, aware of the warmth and clean, male smell emanating from him. His skin was the colour of teak and his hair, black as coal, gleamed with health and curled thickly on the roll- neck of his fine wool sweater.

  Without even glancing at her he leaned over and slammed the door, then eased through the gap in the seats and slid into the pilot's seat on the right-hand side.

  Cass saw him lift the headset and put it on, and, as his left hand reached up to flick switches on the overhead instrument panel, she heard him speak and knew he was talking to air-traffic control. A few moments later the engine note changed, the rotors began to spin faster and, with a barely perceptible jerk, they took off. Despite the fact that the engines were directly above their heads, there was surprisingly little noise, which indicated extremely effective soundproofing.

  Cass had never been in a helicopter before. She had never dreamed that they could be so luxurious, and for a few moments she was totally immersed in

  the novelty of it. But then her gnawing uneasiness returned.

  She glanced across at Derek. His head rested against the back of the seat and his eyes were closed. She toyed with the idea of waking him but decided against it. He was in no fit state to answer questions.

  Why had he been so set on staying at Jorge Ibarra's house and not at the hotel? For that matter, why should Miguel Ibarra insist on the same thing? His initial reaction had made it clear that they were neither expected nor wanted. According to him, he had tried to put them off coming. But if he had written, as he claimed, why had she not received his letter? Derek had certainly made no mention to her either of a postponement of the visit, or Jorge Ibarra's illness. So what exactly was Miguel Ibarra up to?

  Shifting her gaze slightly, Cass could see part of his profile and noticed that he had put on dark glasses. As he turned away all she could see was the back of his head yet suddenly she found herself
visualising his face. There was an almost monumental dignity in the cast of his features. He had about him an imperial air, all the more unnerving for being completely without affectation. He had the curved nose and full, chiselled lips of an Aztec, yet his broad forehead, high cheekbones and blunt jawline were all Spaniard.

  She recalled the cold brilliance of his gaze, his eyes as black and hard as obsidian. She shivered, startled and oddly ashamed at the vividness of her memory.

  With a conscious effort to stem her increasing apprehension, Cass turned her head to look out of the window.

  Below her the Queretaro highlands stretched as far as she could see. Many of the rolling hills were dun-coloured, scarred with outcrops of rock and dotted with stunted trees, bushes and tall cacti. Others were planted with row upon row of the blue- green plants she had seen above the airfield. The men moving along the rows in the white shirts and trousers of field workers resembled small pale ants. Dust billowed up behind a truck speeding along a dirt road.

  As the helicopter flew lower and banked to the right Cass saw a cattle ranch with hundreds of black and white cows penned in corrals munching hay. Then they were over a valley, the wide bottom of which seemed to ripple like a vast green lake. Nestling on the far side of the valley at the foot of another long hill, the city of Queretaro gleamed white in the sunshine. Cass caught her breath at the beauty of it. As they flew eastward over the city, her eyes widened at the sight of a massive yet incredibly graceful aqueduct whose soaring arches disappeared into the hills: the source of the water that it delivered to both the town and the valley.

  She looked across to the other window and was taken aback to see that Derek's eyes were open and he was watching her.