The lawyer was clearly desperate. Leon was tempted to tell him to do his job himself, or threaten legal action of his own. I have no desire to grovel at a foreigner’s feet—especially not an American woman. Had the lawyer forgotten it had been an American woman who had destroyed his life?
I can try and stop the sale. Leon had friends in high places. The current Prime Minister was a fan and a friend. Congressmen relied heavily on his generous donations.
The lawyer tugged at his collar. “Er...Señor? Are you willing to sit down and talk to her?”
Leon was about to disagree when a thought occurred. Maybe there is some sense to this idiot’s suggestion. If that woman decides to fight, this could turn into a circus. The newspaper would have a field day pitting me against a woman. I cannot afford another scandal to my name, especially not with the football season about to start. No!
Leon’s club was still reeling from the humiliation caused by the defender Jesus Rodriguez. His star player was discovered with a married woman who happened to be the wife of a major sponsor. Leon winced. It had taken all his persuasive skills to mollify the husband. It must never happen again. A moment’s temptation could ruin an entire season, and in a football crazy country like Spain, his players were demigods. Women threw everything—even underwear—just to get attention from a player. He knew only too well what the effect of attention like that was like. His own name was legend in Barcelona. But as the team’s owner, he had to instill discipline. His task was made harder because he himself was mired in a similar scandal…
Martinez tried again. “Señor Alvaro, are you willing to meet with…”
“Si,” Leon said shortly. “I will meet this impostor and convince her to go back to New York where she belongs.”
The lawyer wiped the perspiration off his forehead. “Muchas gracias.” He made a beeline for the door.
Leon slowly sunk back into his armchair. Nothing will stop me from getting that facility…and certainly, not another American woman. He knew them too well to be taken in by their wiles. After all, he used to be married to one.
Amy Mansfield’s attractive face rose in his memory. Bile rose in his throat. Any memory of his ex-wife incensed him. His hilltop home suddenly felt stifling. Leon took a deep breath and stepped out onto his balcony. He could see the moon just making its presence felt above the horizon. Its glow cast silvery threads against the calm and placid waters of the Mediterranean. The view instantly calmed him.
He heard the heavy thump-thump of paws even before he saw his Tibetan mastiff. Nomad sauntered onto the balcony and dropped the leash he carried in his mouth onto Leon’s feet. “Hey you.” Leon stroked the immense dog’s coat; the light catching on his fur turned the black-brown color into a shade of gold. “Ready for your stroll down by the beach?”
Nomad raised himself on his hind legs, settling his enormous feet against Leon’s chest.
“Oof!” Leon staggered against the dog’s weight. He wrapped both arms around the dog, fingers barely touching, as Nomad rested his massive head on his master’s shoulders. “You gotta stop doing that Nomad. You’re much too heavy for me to carry.”
Nomad dropped down on all fours and looked up at his master. His almond-shaped eyes glowed with expectation.
Leon laughed. “Okay, okay. I get the picture. You want to go for a walk. But you have to promise me. No more running away.”
Nomad dropped his head, but the fierce wagging of his tail indicated that the dog was undaunted by the scolding.
No matter. Leon adored the dog, and would have been hardpressed to deny him anything, let alone a few seconds of freedom. As he picked up the lead and made his way to the beach, he found his natural high spirits returning. You didn’t give up when the game went against you. Instead you fought harder. This American woman, whoever she was, would regret ever crossing paths with Leon Alvaro.
***
Diane looked down at the bathtub in her bedroom with satisfaction. A bubble bath surrounded by her favorite scented candles…exactly what she needed. But as she prepared to slip out of her dressing gown, she was conscious of a feeling of dissatisfaction. I want more. The bubblebath, once a favorite indulgence, was no longer special.
Maybe a glass of wine? Diane padded noiselessly across the tiled floor, enjoying the feeling of her bare feet on the tiles. She was entirely alone in the house, but leaving her room in her scant robe gave her a daring feeling.
Glancing out the window, she saw the moon, gloriously large in the night sky. Remembering her namesake, Diana, goddess of the moon, Diane made the impulsive decision to enjoy her glass of wine in the moonlight. She found a bottle of Chateau Margaux, poured herself a glass, and then sauntered onto the terrace.
It was a sultry Spanish night. The shimmering moon painted a halo of mysterious patterns on the dark water. It was like viewing a painting from a collection of old masters in the flesh. The wind blowing gently from the east felt warm on her skin.
The serene landscape was a stark contrast to the confusion she felt inside. The more time she spent away from New York, the less confident she felt about her decision to move. Although she’d passed a pleasant few days settling into her new home, directing the unpacking of her possessions and arranging her new home, she couldn’t silence the fear that once she was settled in, she would have nothing to distract her from the emptiness threatening to destroy her.
No, Diane said to herself. Not tonight. She savored the aromatic wine before depositing the crystal glass on a wooden table.
As her eyes fell on the beach below the terrace, she blushed, remembering her encounter with the soccer players—or as Magdalena had called them, football players. One of them had actually whistled at her! If he knew that I was old enough to be his mother...
Diane imagined she heard her therapist’s voice. Why should you care what anyone thinks? You’ve lived your life following the norms and obeying convention. Isn’t it time you forgot those rules?
In daylight, Diane would have laughed at the thought. But in the moonlight, with the Margaux inside her, it suddenly made sense. “Why not? I may not be young, but there is some life left in this antiquated shell.”
Prove it then. Do something different. Swim naked in the sea. No one is around. You have your own private paradise. Go do it now.
It was like another person inside her struggled to break free. Diane took a tentative step, unsure if this was the right thing to do. She looked around the empty beach. The waves lapping gently on the shore whispered her name. The strange person inside took control. Before she even realized what she was doing, Diane stepped out of the robe and stood in the moonlight; naked as the day she was born.
Diane stood still savoring the moment. Her heart beat fast, but at the same time she didn’t feel afraid. She felt larger than life, untouchable. She tossed the robe onto a nearby hydrangea bush. The sand felt warm between her toes. She strolled towards the water’s edge and into the waves. The warm ocean embraced her toes, calves, and ankles. Then she was knee deep in the buoyant liquid. Invigorated by the pleasant sensation, she plunged onward until she was waist deep. It was glorious…liberating. Diane floated on her back gazing up at the myriad stars above. The sea was like a warm cocoon around her naked body. The waves rocked her gently, keeping her afloat, keeping her safe and warm.
She sighed in bliss. “Why haven’t I ever done this before?”
The new Diane grinned. You were a prisoner of the norms dictated by your former life…until now. Tomorrow is entirely up to you.
Diane laughed at the thought. “Bring it on.” Swimming naked for the first time meant there could still be other “firsts.” Will I be open to them too?
The moon took a break from its glorious reign over the skies and hid behind a cloud. Diane turned her head towards the direction of her home. She thought she saw a black silhouette streak across the shoreline. Just the moon casting shadows. She stood in the waist-deep water a moment longer, then headed back to shore with the confidence of the g
oddess Venus rising from the foam.
She went directly to the bush to retrieve her robe. It wasn’t where she left it. Diane patted the ground beneath the bush to make sure it hadn’t fallen, but she wasn’t mistaken. The robe was missing.
Alarm prickled down her back, the lingering seawater turning to ice on her flesh. Searching in the dark was futile. Better run back to the house.
About to make a dash for it, Diane saw a figure hurtle towards her. She screamed.
*****
THE END
(FULL BOOK AVAILABLE ON AMAZON)
HER GREEK INHERITANCE
(A Billionaire Second Chance Romance)
Prologue
Paris, France
Two years earlier…
I really don’t belong here. Gemma Larsen swallowed. She’d walked to the hotel from the closest métro station, but the other patrons were arriving in everything from Rolls Royces to Bentleys. As the uniformed doorman bowed to the elegantly attired woman in front of her, she was not surprised to hear the words ‘Your Majesty.’ Of course she’s a princess! This place looks like a palace—not an auction house.
The doorman turned to her. Gemma took a deep breath and approached. I wonder what the French is for ‘gate-crasher.’ To her immense relief, the man bowed, giving her the same courteous welcome as the other guests. “Welcome, Mademoiselle.”
“Good evening.”
“Enjoy looking at the artwork.” He ushered her in the direction of the exhibition.
As Gemma stepped into the hotel, her conviction that it was only a matter of time before she was sent packing rushed back. Everywhere she looked, she saw celebrities and wealthy patrons. She glanced around at the ornate furnishings, marble tiles, and crystal chandeliers. God, I feel like a street urchin amongst royalty. And yet, the doorman didn’t seem to know I’m merely a pauper.
Just as she was about to run back into the street, she caught sight of herself in a gleaming mirror. She wore a simple black evening dress that ended several inches above her knees. Her arms were bare, while the plunging back revealed more than half her spine. The elegance of the dress was accentuated by her simple black leather pumps and pale white skin. Working in a museum had its advantages, but getting a healthy tan wasn’t one of them. No one gave her a second glance. In fact, a waiter approached her and offered a glass of champagne.
Gemma sipped the drink, feeling her confidence return. “Merci.” She wandered through the massive exhibition hall.
No! As Gemma entered into yet another makeshift viewing room, a painting caught her eye. The Renoir had obviously been damaged by water and sunlight at some point. Even worse was the evidence of a poor restoration job. How could anyone take such a masterful piece of art and do further damage to it? Gemma blinked her eyes, hoping a second glance would reveal something different, but that was not in the cards for this painting. Incompetence. Plain and simple.
She sighed and then turned away. It was her last night in Paris. Time to put her worries aside and enjoy it. Who knew if she’d ever get an opportunity to visit such an amazing place again?
A uniformed attendant approached, inviting her to follow him. “Miss, if you would please? The gallery owner thought you might wish to see the paintings you spent the last few days reviewing auctioned off?”
Gemma nodded. “Yes, I would.” She followed him to a large room. The bidders were seated neatly in rows of chairs. A small watercolor was currently being displayed and she listened as the auctioneer read off her appraisal of the damage and potential cost of the restoration work.
“The bidding will start at two hundred thousand dollars,” the auctioneer declared.
A sea of white cards lifted into the air. Gemma barely managed to contain her gasp of surprise. Two hundred thousand dollars for a damaged painting?
While she was trying to imagine having that much money, the bids continued to climb. The auction ended at one million two hundred thousand dollars.
“Sold to bidder 4675.” The auctioneer nodded to an attendant. The small painting was quickly replaced by the next offering up for bid.
Dazed, Gemma slipped out the side door. These people either really like their art or have more money than Croesus! God, if I had that kind of money I certainly wouldn’t spend it on a damaged painting...
Her mind went back to Tyler’s phone call earlier that day. Her twenty-year-old brother was finishing his third year at university. He’d called with the news that he’d lost his academic scholarship for the upcoming year, leaving a huge shortfall in his tuition.
If he could only be more responsible and think about the consequences of his actions! Gemma shook her head. Five thousand dollars in less than three months’ time... How in the world am I going to come up with that? And what happens if I can’t come up with it? Could I still take out a student loan on his behalf?
She heard the auctioneer’s voice rise as another painting was sold. If I only had a small fraction of the money these bidders do, I could pay Tyler’s tuition for the next ten years.
She wandered aimlessly back towards the viewing galleries, her mind stuck on the problem of Tyler’s tuition. Her phone rang and she paused in a small alcove to answer it. She smiled when she saw Aimee’s photo pop up on her caller I.D. “Aimee.”
“Gem, how is Paris?”
“Beautiful, what I’ve seen of it, anyway. I’ve been busy working since I arrived and I’ve only seen a few things on the car rides back and forth.”
“Aren’t you supposed to come home tomorrow?” her best friend asked.
“Yes, first thing in the morning.”
“Well, what are you doing right now?”
“Wandering around an exhibit of the various art pieces that were part of the auction and thinking of all the things I could spend the kind of money being dropped here tonight on.” Gemma glanced around, but none of the other guests was in hearing range.“I got a phone call from Tyler just before coming here this evening. He lost his academic scholarship for next semester...”
“So? Isn’t it time you let your brother stand on his own two feet?”
Gemma frowned. They’d been over this before. “If Mom and Dad had lived, they’d have made sure he got through school without incurring a huge student loan debt. Just like they did for me.” Gemma was twenty-three when both of her parents were killed, and Tyler barely sixteen. “I’m just doing what I know they would have done.”
“You’re killing yourself trying to handle everything on your own,” Aimee argued.
Gemma winced. “Tyler did say he was going to try to find a better job. That’s something, right?”
“Tyler needs to grow up!” Aimee told her.
Gemma sighed. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t see that happening in the next three months. But enough about my troubles. How is life in the capitol?”
“Same as always. Busy. Congested. Full of politically correct men who always think they know best. Oh, and let’s not forget the swarms of school-age kids that have descended upon the city for their school field trips.”
Gemma smiled. “Sounds about the same.”
“You know it. So, how bad were the paintings?” Aimee asked.
Gemma groaned. “Some of them could be repaired, with lots of work, but there is one…I think it might be beyond repair. It should be a crime. I can’t imagine what someone was thinking, leaving those paintings to rot away.”
“Maybe they didn’t realize what they had?”
“Unlikely. I’m just glad I’m finished writing my appraisals. The curator believes they’ll get a higher price if the bidders know the chances of restoring them.”
“I hope you’re going to get something for yourself out of this.”
“I’ll get a commission for any of the paintings I restore, as will the Smithsonian.”
“You’d better,” Aimee stated firmly. “You’ve done nothing but work your butt off for the last five years, taking care of everyone and everything.”
Gemma shook her head. Aim
ee was an ever loyal friend. “It hasn’t been all bad.”
“When was the last time you did something just for the fun of it?”
“Um—” Gemma’s brain stalled.
Aimee snorted. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I have fun.” Gemma’s mind went to the various things in Paris she’d been hoping to see, but hadn’t had time for. And now it was too late. Well, I saw them from a distance.
“This is your last night in Paris. You need to have some fun. Any cute guys hanging out at this event?”
Gemma glanced around the small hallway. “I don’t know. I’m standing in the hallway talking to you.”
“Then I’m hanging up right now! God, find a cute French guy and flirt. This is your last night abroad and you need to make the most of it. Have a little fun. A little romance.”
“I don’t know…”
“Girl, I expect to hear all about the wonderful memories you made tonight.”
“Living vicariously through me?” Gemma laughed. Her spirits lightened. Aimee’s suggestion was starting to sound like sense...
“You know it!” Aimee’s glee was infectious. “Now, hang up the phone, put on your sexiest smile, drink some champagne and have some fun!”
Gemma smiled as she pocketed her phone. Maybe Aimee’s right. Maybe I should forget about the rules for tonight?
She looked around, spotting a waiter rounding the corner at the end of the hallway. Perfect! Best way to liven the evening up is with a glass of champagne.
She snagged a second glass, flashing the waiter a small smile and headed for the next painting on display. This time the painting was in its original glory. No damage, other than time, had been done to the piece.
Gemma sighed happily. As an art restoration expert, she often missed the beauty of a painting because her critical eye was constantly looking for damage. That was what had brought her to Paris, after all.
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