Free Under the Spaniard's Lock and Key by Kim Lawrence

then it was hard to think of anything that would.
    Slightly embarrassed, she waved back to the crowd that had gathered as the car drew away. As they vanished from view she opened her hand.
    ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t take this.’ The gold medallion resting in her palm was obviously old; the carving was delicate. ‘It must be valuable.’ She held it out towards Rafael.
    ‘It’s a Saint Christopher.’
    ‘I know. Take me back. I must return it.’
    Rafael did not respond to her urgent request. ‘You can’t do that—it would offend him.’
    ‘But…’
    ‘He wanted you to have it.’
    ‘I’m a stranger,’ she protested.
    ‘A stranger who saved his grandson’s life, his angel. ’ And was she anybody else’s angel? he wondered. Was there a man back home who would not be pleased that she had driven off into the mountains with a stranger?
    She wore no ring, but that didn’t mean she was unattached. For some women a man back home did not prevent them indulgingin a holiday romance, though for some reason he was struggling to put her in that bracket.
    The mockery in his voice brought Maggie’s chin up. Her fingers tightened around the medallion. His cynical sarcasm made her see red. ‘You shouldn’t make fun of him,’ she said fiercely.
    ‘I wasn’t making fun of him. I couldn’t help but notice you were enjoying the attention.’
    This totally unfair scathing evaluation took Maggie’s breath away. ‘And their heirlooms, don’t forget that. I managed to fleece them too.’ She allowed her dark eyes to move contemptuously over his patrician profile before putting the medallion over her head. She freed her tangled hair from the chain. ‘You do know that you are a very unpleasant man, don’t you?’
    ‘Is that why you let me pick you up?’
    Colour scored her pale cheeks. ‘I made a mistake and assumed you couldn’t be as shallow and superficial as you appeared—I was wrong. And you sulk.’
    The bitter afterthought drew a startled look from Rafael.
    ‘I’d be happier having cheated death once today if you kept your eyes on the road.’
    ‘Sulk?’ Accustomed to hearing the women in his life express rapturous praise, Rafael struggled to swallow this more critical analysis of his character.
    On any other occasion his utter astonishment at the accusation might have drawn a smile from Maggie.
    ‘Well, you’re obviously in a strop over something, but I’d be grateful if you didn’t take it out on me.’
    They had passed through the village before reaction hit her. She started to shake. She tugged the blanket closer and made a clinical diagnosis of delayed shock.
    ‘Are you cold?’ Rafael asked, adjusting the heating.
    Biting back a childish, ‘Like you’d care’ she compressed her lips and said coldly, ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘Then why are you shaking?’
    She was bewildered by his continued hostility and accusing manner. Did he think she was acting?
    Determined to give him no opportunity to accuse her of being an attention seeker or canvassing the sympathy vote she plastered on a cheery smile.
    ‘I’m not,’ she denied. ‘I feel fine.’ It was only a very small lie, actually. Other than her shaking hands and the scratches on her arm that were stinging she really didn’t feel too bad, and she would feel a lot better once this man was a distant memory.
    She was a very bad liar, though even a good liar, Rafael thought, his eyes flickering briefly in her direction, would have struggled to deny the chattering teeth and milky pallor.
    Accustomed to the company of women who did not know the meaning of ‘putting on a brave face,’ he realised that stoicism was an overrated quality. And, far from making a woman low maintenance, all it meant in reality was a man could never relax. He would always be wondering if the bright smile actually hid an inner anguish.
    Not that her anguish, inner or otherwise, was anything to do with him.
    Sweat broke out like a rash over his upper lip as he relived