Her Billionaire Beast (Her Billionaire CEO, #7)

by Allen, Jewel

  She gasped.

  A black sports car accelerated out of her blind spot, appearing in her mirror.

  In a split second, the black car clipped her fender, sending Isa’s rental spinning into the wall of the highway. She ricocheted off like a pinball, and just had time to look up and see another car heading straight for her.

  And then the world turned black.

  ISA GAINED CONSCIOUSNESS lying on the side of the road. There was a blanket beneath her, as well as some sort of cot that her mind couldn’t wrap around at the moment.

  Odd, why would she be laying there? She was probably doing something illegal, not to mention dangerous. And then she realized she was sheltered by police cars to her left, between her and the road. She could hear the faint whine of engines but couldn’t see the cars. Instead, she could see the sky, unbelievably blue above, punctuated by a canopy of trees along the wall that skirted the highway on the other side.

  A man crouched next to her, shielding her from the sun. She couldn’t make out his backlit features, but she could tell he had an imposing build. A masculine scent. His posture, bent over her, was protective. Intimate.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in English. He had a cultured voice with a delicious Spanish accent.

  Spanish?

  Oh, right. She was in Spain. She was starting to remember.

  “Yes, I think so,” she said, blinking and trying to get up. Her head ached and she winced. Somehow she had ended up on a stretcher.

  “Don’t,” he said, in the tone of someone used to getting his way. “The police will check you over, and then....”

  His words trailed off.

  “And then I can go?” she said.

  “And then we’ll see.” He got up and left her.

  She wondered, idly, who he was. In her present state, lying on the stretcher, thoughts were jumbled in her head. She couldn’t make sense of where she was, until a blinding return of memories flooded her mind. She was in Spain and she had been driving on the highway when another driver clipped her from behind.

  The guilty car sat there, just ahead. Some sort of a low-slung vehicle that looked expensive, from its gleaming chrome and impeccable black finish. It didn’t look damaged. Whereas her rental had slid against the concrete wall, crushed like an empty soda can.

  She raised a hand to her face and neck, to reassure herself that yes, she was indeed, still in one piece.

  With all the commotion around her, she chafed at having to lay still. Despite the headache, she got up anyway. Hearing the voice of the man who had been talking to her, she looked around and came upon him handing his ID to the police. At her approach, he stopped his rapid Spanish and cocked his head.

  She slowed and stared at his profile, now exposed in full sun. He had taken off his sunglasses.

  He was an extremely handsome man with beautiful burnished skin and dark features. His lashes were long and thick, veiling that sardonic glint in his eyes. He made her think of a fallen angel, or a redeemed devil, not yet done in his troublemaking ways.

  He looked awfully familiar. But why? She was in Spain, where she didn’t know anyone.

  “Do I know you?” she asked.

  When recognition came, she staggered back.

  “Alejandro Diaz?” she said, choking with disbelief.

  He played it cool, like a character in an action movie, unsmiling.

  Maybe she was mistaken, and yet...

  She thought back to the photo. There was that dark, clipped beard on a chiseled jaw, an undeniable hint of muscle under that close-fitting Henley shirt and leather jacket. Jeans and loafers.

  The photo did not do him justice.

  “Yes,” he said, “I am Alejandro Diaz.”

  In the flesh. Oh. My. The last few years, she had been craving to meet him, and now...she was...

  Through the fog of adulation, Isa realized something terrible. Aggravating. She glanced at the black car, then at him, putting two and two together.

  “You hit me!” she said.

  “Correction,” he said. “You hit me, and then you hit the wall.”

  The breath whooshed from her lungs. Anger at his arrogance. What was going to happen next? Were the police going to arrest him? What about the rental car?

  The book! He had a book to write for her.

  He said, “I take it from your accent you’re an American?”

  “Yes. Actually, I am—”

  He interrupted. “Don’t worry, my insurance will cover this. If we need to reach you, where are you staying?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  His brow furrowed. “It’s high season, with the Feria de Avril.”

  “I know.” That’s what she had been told on the phone. An insanely popular festival as a lead up to Holy Week. “Everything was so expensive and the leftovers were so pathetic online, I wanted to see for myself before I booked...”

  She wondered if he was even listening from behind those glasses. His head was cocked as though he were paying attention more to the cops’ conversation than her.

  “Anyway,” she said. “Alejandro, am I glad to run into you. Well, not literally. But we’ve been trying to reach you for weeks."

  He tilted his head like some imperial king. “Forgive me, but who are you?”

  “I’m Isabella Drake. Your publisher.”

  His lip curled and his jaw tightened. Within an instant, he transformed from handsome man to majestic beast. Anger rippled under that raw veneer and flicked at her, making her breath catch. He straightened his jacket and turned toward his car. Like he couldn’t do it fast enough.

  “Wait,” Isa said, panicked. She didn’t care about the car—well, she did, but that was the least of her problems. Her quarry was right here, and he owed her big. She could easily parlay his ramming into her to her advantage. He needed to do her bidding for the foreseeable future.

  He didn’t wait. Just kept walking down to his sports car.

  Isa turned to a policeman. “Are you just going to let him go?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer and instead held up his hand as though helpless. “No hablo inglés.”

  He didn’t speak English, great.

  While they waited for someone who could speak English to translate for her, Alejandro Diaz drove his sports car off the scene like the guilty criminal he was. As he sped off, he didn’t even glance her direction.

  The ideal of this artist she’d admired over the years crumbled, replaced by the cold reality that he was a beast.

  Isa turned hot, then cold, anger making her stomach tighten. Alejandro was a piece of work, all right. She regretted ever going to bat for him. Anyone who had an iota of character would have at least talked to her. Apologized. Something.

  By the time the police officer talked to her and got her information, her head was close to busting open.

  “This is the situation, Ma’am,” an English-speaking cop said, angling his soulful eyes her way. “Mr. Diaz will be paying for damages on your car. And he has arranged for a replacement through the rental company. If you will please stay here at the curb, it will be here en un momento.”

  She couldn’t argue with that offer, though Alejandro’s escape still galled her. A half hour passed and she was still sitting on the cold curb, wondering how to approach Alejandro again. She had an address and had mapped it into the outskirts of Sevilla. Would he open the door to her or try to scare her away?

  Her jaw tightened. She wasn’t going to be easy to scare away. She needed his cooperation, and she was going to get it.

  The rental car arrived soon after. Two cars in a convoy. A man handed her the keys to a fancy sports car, a Citroen, which surprised her. Then again, knowing Alejandro was loaded, she shouldn’t have been. She took her suitcase, luckily unharmed, from the destroyed car, and got into the driver’s seat. The vehicle was lower than she was used to.

  Part of her was excited about the car. Part of her resented Alejandro for bribing her with such a choice. Turning the key
in the ignition, she pulled out with some amazing horsepower into the merging lane, and drove off to confront Alejandro Diaz.

  Chapter Three

  Alejandro pulled into his garage, his hands still trembling from shock. It was the first time his self-driving car had ever made a mistake. There had been a few close calls, mainly due to human indecision of other drivers, but nothing like this...catastrophe.

  With his publisher, of all people. One of the few times out of the house with the self-driving car and he had to run into her.

  Her voice had been calming. Melodious. Until she turned into a shrewish publisher.

  He got out of the car and made his way through the dark garage, trying to make out the shapes that normally guided him to the door that opened up into the castle.

  He turned a light on in the hallway. As if that would make a difference. Hearing a footfall, he turned towards the sound.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” his butler Horatio said. “Back so soon?”

  “I got into a car accident.”

  His butler sucked in his breath. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, hardly any scratch on my car. The car of the other person, however...”

  Isabella Drake. His publisher. Hopeful. Demanding. Infuriating. Over the past few months, he’d stopped answering her emails, hoping she would just leave him alone. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt for speeding off and leaving her hanging. Things had changed since he signed on that dotted line.

  But even as he recalled his irritation, another feeling resurfaced. She had been lying on the stretcher and he had crouched next to her to ask how she was doing. She had shifted to turn to him, and he realized how intimately close he was bent over her. He could smell her perfume. A tantalizing floral scent that stirred his senses. Her voice was low and sultry. Intriguing.

  “Yes, sir?” Horatio prompted.

  “What? Oh, yes. The other person. Her car was totaled. Fortunately, she didn’t seem seriously hurt.”

  “That’s good, sir.”

  Turning so he could see the outline of the bannister, he heard Horatio offer, “Would you like your cane, sir?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Alejandro retreated to the grand drawing room, wishing now that he had asked for his cane. Making his way through the hallways merely by shape and shadows was exhausting. By the time he reached the spacious room, his forehead had broken into a sweat.

  For the next few minutes, he checked his computer by voice for messages. He’d had four that day from Isabella, telling him she was flying in to see him.

  Horatio returned. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but there’s a Miss Isabella Drake to see you.”

  Alejandro clenched his jaw. So. She found her way to his lair. Maybe she was a worthy opponent after all.

  “She’s waiting at the gate,” Horatio added.

  Alejandro could toy with her. Hear more of that lovely voice. Get to know her. Talk about his art.

  But what would be the point of that? He’d only reject her in the end. He didn’t want to write this blasted memoir.

  He turned his head towards his trusted butler. “Get rid of her.”

  Chapter Four

  Isa sat in her rental car in front of the massive wrought-iron gate and waited. A poker-faced, beefy security guard with a gun in his holster stood beside her, waiting to get a response back on his walkie-talkie. Through the bars, she could see a glimpse of a castle.

  When she first arrived at a forbidding gate to a walled fortress, he had come out of an adjacent stone building and had spoken to her in fluent English. She could have sworn he was a Spaniard, with his darker complexion and features but his accent was American. She thought about asking if he was from the States, but he didn’t look particularly chatty.

  The walkie talkie crackled to life with Spanish. The guard responded in the language, and then he turned to Isa, clipping the equipment to the belt at his waist.

  “Sorry, miss,” he said. “Mr. Diaz doesn’t wish to see you.”

  She stared at him, flabbergasted. “Excuse me? Did you say—”

  “I’ll have to ask you to turn around and leave.”

  “Wait. You don’t understand...”

  He put his hands on his hips, his forehead furrowing.

  “...I am his publisher, and I need to talk to him.”

  “Ma’am, you could be the Queen of England but if Mr. Diaz says he doesn’t want to see you, I can’t let you in.”

  She gripped the steering wheel, thinking of a way out of this mess.

  “What’s your name?” she asked in as friendly a tone she could muster.

  He didn’t answer right away. “Max, ma’am.”

  “You must be American?”

  “The company I work for is in America. Now, if you could please—”

  “But I came all the way from there.” She resisted the urge to wail. “I just need a minute of his time.”

  His expression didn’t change. The guy must be made of granite. He said, “Perhaps you can call him.”

  “Great.” Hope buoyed her up. “If you could please get him on your phone?”

  “Sorry, I can’t give out his number.”

  She blew out her bangs. “Then why did you suggest that?”

  He spoke as though to a child. “I meant, if you have his number, you can call him.”

  Isa wanted to scream with frustration. “But I don’t have his number.”

  He leaned towards the car, menacing. “I don’t really want to have to forcibly remove you—”

  “I’m leaving.” She put up her hands. “Okay, already.”

  “Thank you.”

  Isa backed her rental and turned around, too tired to cry. Why would that obnoxious man refuse to see her? Fitting though, he was beastly at the highway. The jerk didn’t even look at her as he sped off.

  If only she could use a drone and fly herself over his ridiculous wall...

  The wall. She could climb over it.

  She thought of Max and what he was most likely capable of. He had a gun in a holster; would he actually use it?

  How lucky are you feeling, Isa?

  Most people would call this trespassing. She just wanted to have a word with this guy’s boss.

  Maybe she could camp by that road and hope to catch him as he came in and out with his posh sports car. Though she wouldn’t put it past him to call the cops on her and maybe even orchestrate getting her deported and banned from Spain.

  Slowing down, she parked the car at the side of the road, and then got out. She could still see Alejandro’s estate with its forbidding walls.

  Which she could scale.

  What if he had dogs? What if there was an electric zapper at the top?

  She’d have to find out, wouldn’t she? She needed to get closer to see.

  For several minutes, she walked through unfenced fields lying fallow for the season and then into an orchard. Fragrant, citrusy sap filled the air as she trudged past budding fruit trees. Although the temperature was cool, the sun bore down on her warmly, and soon, she stripped a light sweater layer off and tied it around her waist. She realized belatedly that she was thirsty. Not that she had any water since she’d dumped it before her flight.

  Alejandro Diaz had better appreciate what she had to go through to talk to him. She could die of dehydration if she didn’t get shot at by Max.

  The wall loomed ahead. It was made of stone, like a stinking impervious fort.

  Why did Spaniards have to be so...battle-ready?

  As she looked at the wall, realizing it was probably twice her height, she heard the rumble of a car engine.

  It was a car repair van, rumbling down the road towards the closed gate.

  She hoped Alejandro’s car had blown a gasket.

  Wait. She could climb into the repair van. Like a Trojan horse!

  Max the guard sauntered over to the driver’s side. Isa hid behind a pillar and peeked at him chatting up the driver
. Max went back into the gate house.

  It was now or never.

  She’d seen this enough times in movies, but had never had to try it herself. At least she was wearing sneakers.

  She bolted across and reached the van just as the gate began to open. Grabbing a protruding metal handle on the side, she hung on for dear life. And hoped Max wasn’t paying too close attention to the back.

  The van rumbled on until it reached the front of the castle.

  Holy smokes. Up close it looked even grander.

  It had two main towers with windows where Rapunzel could let her hair down, and battlements with sawtooth railings. The walls looked thick and built to withstand the zombie apocalypse.

  As the van slowed down, Isa jumped off and ran for cover behind a short, shrubby tree.

  So far so good.

  Sweat poured like crazy from her body and her hair was scraggly, but here she was. She wanted to barge right in and demand to see Alejandro. She was sure he’d make up excuses not to see her.

  Marching up with fake bravado, she pounded on the front door.

  A man in a suit who looked to be in his sixties and balding came to the door and gaped at her.

  “I’m here to see Alejandro Diaz,” she said.

  “But how did you get here?”

  “Magic.” She grinned.

  Admiration glinted in his eyes, though his mouth turned down. “I could call the police on you for trespassing.”

  She gave him a steely glance. “Go ahead. While waiting, can I please talk to your master?”

  He pursed his lips even tighter. “Wait here please.” After he shut the door, she heard him turn the locks. Just in case, she tried the knob but it wouldn’t budge.

  The butler returned with a cool expression. “The master will see you for two minutes.”

  The castle was magnificent outside, but inside it was doubly impressive. Thick walls of stone rose to a two-story-high entry room that opened up to a fairly spacious rotunda. The lights, the sconces, everything about the castle smacked of an older age, but melded with electric bulbs and the soft humming of a furnace working quietly in the background.

  She followed the butler up a grand staircase, and she looked down at the rotunda, slightly dizzy at the height. Halfway down a hall, the butler stopped and tapped on a closed door.