Immersed in emotion, it was long minutes later that Cesare raised his proud head and Milly saw through a daze of glorious happiness that they had gained an avid audience and she blushed to the roots of her hair as her stunningly handsome future husband gave the throng a wide grin then folded an arm around her shoulders and drew her to the waiting car, leaving the driver to retrieve her abandoned luggage.
A rapid string of instructions issued from lips that still echoed that grin. The moment the driver was behind the wheel and as the car was put in motion Cesare was already extracting a slim mobile from an inner pocket, speaking rapidly in Italian, his free hand clasping hers possessively. The moment he finished she asked, ‘Are we both going to London?’
‘Change of plan. My pilot is now getting ready to fly us to Florence. We are going home to break our news to Nonna. And if I have to tie her down to stop her from launching into wedding arrangements, then I will! My PA will handle my London meeting. From now on, where you are I will be during all the days of our wonderful future together.’ His arm hooked around her shoulder, drawing her closer and she snuggled into him as he explained, ‘Over the past few weeks I have been away from you and every moment was a torment. But it was a necessary evil if I was to make sure that everything was in place, making sure the more-than-able heads of the various enterprises knew of my plans.’
‘Plans?’ she murmured, her eyes limpid as he placed a tantalising kiss on the corner of her mouth.
‘To be with you. To spend the majority of my time with you and any future family we might have.’ This time the kiss was full-blown and so spectacular that Milly was totally disorientated when they reached the private airstrip where the company jet was waiting.
Immediately after take-off Cesare reached for her hand and slipped the emerald back where it belonged, saying huskily, ‘It would be a shame to put it into a Christmas cracker! I much prefer to see it on your finger.’
Blushing over the cheap jibe she’d thrown at him, she was further mortified when he lifted her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed each fingertip in turn and pronounced, ‘It is a family heirloom, one of many. I will delight in seeing you shine in glittering diamonds, rubies as red as wine and more emeralds than you can possibly imagine.’
She wriggled in her seat as it really hit her that he must be one of the wealthiest men in Christendom. She faced him squarely and told him staunchly, ‘I only want you.’
‘You have me. Body, heart and soul.’ He settled her back into the curve of his arm. ‘But a little extra won’t come amiss, mi amore. And, talking of extras, I made a few phone calls this morning back at the hotel while you were dressing. I have arranged for your sister to take up a vacant receptionist’s post in the New York Saracino complex. My agent will contact her with flight tickets and further instructions. And, before you get one tiny doubt about why I should be so magnanimous when she deserves to be damned to hell, I did this for you, not for her. I knew you would be happier, with a little long-distance help she could make a more hopeful future for herself, away from that seedy place. I know you care for her and would worry about her—and, more than any thing, I want you to be happy. You are so loving and generous in your nature that you’ll probably forgive her for what she’s done—which is something I will never do, even should I live to be a thousand years old!’ he declared extravagantly. ‘So don’t even begin to think that I arranged this for her out of anything but a desire to put your mind at rest.’
‘Oh, I don’t. I truly don’t!’ she assured him, smothering a giggle at his vehement protestations loving him all the more for his generosity towards a woman who had brought him nothing but trouble. ‘But—’ she shot upright so that she could see his beloved face‘—I did have one nasty moment—even before Jilly told me those poisoned lies.’
‘And that was?’
‘When we arrived at where she’s living. I felt as if you’d gone away from me. That you’d had it in mind that I’d set out to deceive you, pretend I was my twin and it had hit you that we were tarred with the same brush. Bad blood.’
‘Never! Never think that—I absolutely forbid it!’ He hooked a finger beneath her chin, his eyes scorching hers. ‘For the first time in my life I was scared witless. Terrified that she would say or do something to come between us. I knew how you valued the bond you have with your twin, how you went against every natural inclination within you to try to protect her from me and what at that time you would have seen as my unfair accusations and threats of the courts. I was deeply afraid that somehow she would persuade you to stand beside her against me,’ he confessed rawly. ‘I can face any disaster with courage. But not that. I had not gone away from you, as you feared. I was simply afraid.’
‘Cesare!’ she managed shakily. That this wonderful man should love her so much and that what he had most feared had almost come about because it had taken her a good hour to work things out, think logically, shook her to the core. She coiled her arms around his neck, her voice a thread as she whispered, ‘Kiss me.’
And he obliged with all the dedication and enthusiasm in the world.
Just over a year later Milly tucked baby Carlo into his muslin draped cradle while Maria, the comfortable nurse-maid Cesare had insisted they bring along to their villa in Amalfi, drew the nursery blinds.
Milly smiled besottedly down at her son. At three months old he was already showing signs of developing into a carbon copy of the devastatingly handsome, strong-willed father who adored him. She couldn’t be happier! Wonderful was too tame a word to describe life with her sexy, masterful yet achingly tender husband.
Nonna had welcomed her into the family with genuine joy and had become even more sprightly since the birth of her first great-grandson and the only small cloud—a tiny one—in her life had dispersed when a couple of months ago Jilly had written out of the blue expressing her deep regrets for the lies she had told, confessing everything. That Cesare had never been interested in her and that sheer spite and malice that he had fallen for Milly had motivated her lies. She apologized profusely for her behaviour and concluded with her own happy announcement. She had recently married on Teddy Myerburg, the third, a really great guy. Jilly was sorry not to have invited her but felt it would be too soon for her sister to forgive her, though she hoped that day might come.
Passing the letter to Cesare to read, she’d watched his jaw tighten, then left him to it and studied the photograph enclosed with the letter. Jilly, wearing a plain white sheath dress looked fantastic. And smug. Her groom was portly and balding and looked immensely proud. But not as proud as Cesare had looked when she’d walked down the aisle to him, wearing a fabulously expensive confection of white silk embroidered with seed pearls.
‘Myerburg’s a wealthy guy. I met him once in New York. A decent character. His first wife died. It took him a while to get over it, apparently. A bit old for her, but his money should keep her in line.’ He passed the letter back. ‘As for forgiving her, I imagine you already have. Maybe we’ll invite them both over for the christening of our third child, when and if fortune blesses us and that happens.’ He gave her that wicked grin that told her that it wouldn’t be for the want of trying.
But if she never came face to face with her twin again that would be OK. Just knowing she was happy, had someone to care for her, was enough.
Bestowing one last loving look on her beautiful sleeping son, she left the nursery, meeting Cesare on his way there. Clad in wet swimming briefs, his hard male physique spangled with water droplets, he was enough to turn her knees to jelly.
‘I’ve been in the pool,’ he stated superfluously. ‘I forgot the time. Have I missed bedtime?’
‘You have. But he won’t hold it against you.’
‘Pity. It’s the first time I missed out on tucking him in.’ He reached for her, one hand at her tiny waist, the other busy with the tiny buttons on the front of her cool voile dress. ‘To tell the truth, I was too busy fantasising about what I would do when you joined me to remember
the time. Take this off and I’ll turn fantasy into reality.’
‘I’ve got a better idea. Much better. Her heartbeat accelerated. She took his hand and led him into their airy spacious bedroom. ‘It’s a good two hours before we eat.’ When they were here they took their meals on the balcony overlooking the old town and the glorious panoramic view of the bay. ‘Enough time, I think.’
‘Just about,’ he considered huskily, discarding her dress, his hands moving with practised ease to the fastening of her lacy bra. ‘Do you know how much I adore you?’
‘If it’s half as much as I adore you,’ she breathed, revelling in the sensation of wanton expectation as he slipped her matching briefs slowly down to her ankles, ‘then I’ll be satisfied.’
‘Ah, but I’m insatiable! I’m always coming back for more, you should know that by now!’ he groaned as he tumbled her on to the bed, shed his briefs and proceeded to show her exactly what he meant.
Susan Stephens
THE SPANISH
BILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
For all my long-suffering friends. You know who you are. I couldn’t do it without you.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
‘COME here—come closer so we can see you,’ the male voice commanded.
Cursing softly under her breath, Zoë Chapman slithered down to the ground and straightened up. Uncomfortable but invisible, or so she’d thought, she had been wedged into a smooth crevice between two giant rocks, discreetly observing the activity around the campfire.
She had located the flamenco camp and chosen her hiding place before anyone arrived. Her unique and popular cookery shows depended upon the co-operation of special interest groups, but the fact that she worked on a TV programme didn’t make her welcome everywhere. She had wanted to observe the dancing before she introduced herself, just to make sure it was as good as was rumoured in the village.
The man speaking now had arrived shortly after she had. Back turned, he had stood gazing out across the valley. She had seen nothing more than an aggressively tall male figure, a shock of inky black hair and a wide sweep of shoulders—in fact, everything she had vowed to avoid since gaining her freedom.
As more people had joined him, she’d realised he was the leader of the group. Why hadn’t she been surprised? She had wondered who he was, wondered about the quivers running through her as she stared at him. It had made her angry to think she had learned nothing since her divorce. She was still drawn to dangerous men.
Now, walking up to him, she saw he was everything she had expected: strikingly handsome, arrogant, and angry that she was here uninvited. If this hadn’t been work she would have done the sensible thing, and left.
During the course of her television series she searched out interesting people from all walks of life. Local people in whichever country she chose to film were the seasoning in her shows, the magic ingredient that lifted her above the competition.
Generally she enjoyed the research. This time she had to put her personal feelings to one side and hope the dancing started soon. She couldn’t let some local brigand put her off. Forget the man! This was her target group. The only thing that mattered was persuading someone to perform flamenco on her programme.
Dance was Zoë’s passion outside of work. She knew she would never make a professional, but part of her climb-back after the divorce had been to join a jazz dance exercise group. It had proved the best therapy she could have chosen—though right now it looked as if all her good work was being undone.
She could not have prepared for this, Zoë reminded herself. She had not expected to run up against such a strong character again quite so soon.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
He beckoned her forward with a short, angry gesture, and his voice was cold. It brought back memories she didn’t need, but she was like a terrier with a bone when it came to work, and she focused her concentration easily. They were attracting a lot of attention. Perhaps one of the people around the mountain hut would agree to audition for her programme?
The man held up his hand to stop her coming any closer. It was close enough for Zoë, too. He was quite something. Along with the aura of power and brute strength, she had to admit he had style. Why did she have to find such a man irresistible when she knew he had danger carved into the stone where his heart should be?
Somewhere between thirty and thirty-five, he was around six feet two or three, and his build was every bit as impressive as she had thought from some distance away. Everything about him was dark: his eyes, his hair…his expression.
‘Why have you come here?’ he demanded.
‘I heard this is where flamenco enthusiasts gather, and I want to learn more about flamenco.’
‘So you can go home to England and show off to your friends?’ He made a derisive sound and clicked his fingers, mimicking the worst of the shows she had seen down on the coast.
‘No, of course not. I…’ His steely gaze remained fixed on her face, but she couldn’t let that get to her. ‘I am genuinely interested in flamenco.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘I am at the moment—’
He cut her off. ‘At the moment?’
‘I know this looks bad—’
‘What do you mean, you’re alone at the moment?’
‘I’m working with a television crew. They’re not here right now.’
Could his expression darken any more? She tried to explain, but her voice came out as a croak. Unconsciously, her hand flew to her throat. She should have brought some water with her. She had been at the mercy of the sun all afternoon, and now she was desperate for a drink.
‘Do you think I could have some water?’ She gazed around.
‘What do you think this is? A café?’
But people were drinking all around her. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Did you think this was one of those cheap tourist places where you get a free drink along with your paella and chips?’
‘No!’ She calmed herself. ‘No, of course not—’
He straightened up and moved a menacing pace towards her, and all her courage drained away. Lurching backwards, she nearly stumbled. She was only saved by the sheer bulk of a man behind her. He was carrying a stone flagon and some pottery beakers. He didn’t understand when she started to apologise, and poured her a drink.
She didn’t want it. She just wanted to get away—back down the mountain to safety, to where people barely looked at her, where no one knew who she was or where she had come from.
But the man with the flagon was still smiling at her, and the situation was bad enough already. ‘Gracias, señor.’
Keeping watch on the brigand, Zoë took the beaker from the older man and gratefully drank from it.
It was delicious, and tasted harmless—like fruit juice and honey laced with some spice she couldn’t name. The beaker felt cool, and she was so thirsty she didn’t protest when he offered her more. The golden liquid gleamed in the light as it flowed from the flagon, and the elderly man filled her beaker to the brim.
‘Salud!’
The alpha male’s voice was harsh and unfriendly. Handing the beaker back to the man with the flagon, Zoë raised her chin. She felt better now, bolder. ‘Delicious,’ she said defiantly, staring her unwilling host in the eyes. ‘What was that drink?’
‘A local speciality, brewed here in the village.’
‘It’s very good. You should market it.’
‘On your recommendation I’ll certainly consider it.’
His sarcasm needled Zoë, but it also renewed her determination to go nowhere until she got the feature for her programme. At any cost?
At the cost of a little charm, at least. ‘I really should introduce myself.’
‘You really should.’
Brushing a strand of titian hair from her face, Zoë stared up and tried to focus. She hadn’t realised the drink was so strong. On an empty stomach, she was suddenly discovering, it was lethal. She was in no state to object when he reached forward to steady her.
His grip on her arm was light, but even through an alcohol-induced haze she could feel the shock waves radiating out from his fingertips until every part of her was throbbing. He led her away out of earshot, to where a wooden hut cast some shade.
‘So, who are you?’
‘Zoë—Zoë Chapman. Could I have a glass of water, please?’
Rico thought he recognised the name, then brushed it aside. It hardly mattered. She had damned herself already out of her own mouth: a television crew! He might have known. He grimaced, catching hold of her again when she stumbled.
‘I think you’d better sit down.’ He steered her towards a bench, and once she was safely planted turned and called to two youths. ‘José! Fernando! Por favor, café solo—rápido!’ Then, turning to her again, he said, ‘Welcome to the Confradias Cazulas flamenco camp, Zoë Chapman. Now you’re here, what do you want?’
‘It’s good to meet you too—’
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