The Spanish Millionaire's Runaway Bride

by Susan Meier

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MORGAN SHOWERED, THEN put on a T-shirt and slid into bed. She tried to sleep, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Riccardo.

  He’d almost kissed her. He might think she hadn’t noticed, but she had, because the same feelings were running through her. And this time it wasn’t just physical. Riccardo Ochoa was a wonderful person. She’d been seeing it all along. But tonight, his goodness had somehow connected with her attraction and the way she’d felt had been gloriously scary.

  Remembering those thirty seconds as his head was descending toward hers made her breath shimmy. Every cell in her body had been ready for the touch of his lips on hers. But he hadn’t taken that last step, hadn’t kissed her, because it was wrong.

  He might be unlike anybody she knew—unafraid to talk, wise about family and relationships and amazingly good-looking—but she still had a fiancé at home. Until she dealt with Charles, she shouldn’t be attracted to anybody, let alone kissing somebody.

  Her room phone rang and she almost jumped out of her skin. Thinking it might be Riccardo, she grabbed for the receiver, but just as quickly yanked back her hand.

  She should not be excited to talk to him.

  The phone rang again.

  But she was.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. This was a mess.

  The phone rang a third time and she reminded herself that if Riccardo was calling it was probably for something about their trip. She very cautiously answered it. “Hello.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Monroe. This is the front desk. Mr. Ochoa left a wake-up call for you for tomorrow morning at seven. You need to approve it.”

  Relief flooded her. “Yes. Yes. It’s fine. Thank you.”

  “Thank you and have a good evening.”

  She hung up the phone a bit confused about why Riccardo hadn’t called her himself, but glad he hadn’t. His not wanting direct communication said he didn’t have feelings for her—

  Or he could have just called the front desk and given the wake-up call order for both of them because it was convenient, and the hotel had a policy that said the clerk taking the call had to follow up.

  His feelings for her weren’t neutral. The man had almost kissed her. And her feelings for him weren’t neutral, either. She’d wanted him to kiss her.

  She turned off the bedside lamp and settled under the covers, forcing her mind off Riccardo, and it jumped to Charles.

  Here she was attracted to a man—no matter how foolishly—and she hadn’t even really broken up with Charles.

  Guilt consumed her. Though she was fairly certain he would realize her running from the church meant they were through, the need to make it official pounded through her.

  She sat up and clicked on the lamp again. Lifting her cell phone from the bedside table, she didn’t let herself think about the time difference, didn’t consider that Charles might be with her dad. She simply dialed his cell number and waited until he answered.

  “Hello.” A quick pause. “Who is this?”

  His voice was thick and groggy. She did the calculations in her head and realized it was after midnight in Lake Justice, and he was in bed. But in a way, that was good. It meant he was nowhere near her father.

  “I’m sorry, Charles. It’s me. Morgan.”

  “Morgan.” His voice was instantly stronger, as if he’d come to attention. “Where are you?”

  “That’s not important.” She didn’t want to have a long, drawn-out conversation. She just wanted to apologize and make sure he understood she wasn’t coming back to him—wasn’t going out on the charity-ball circuit to smooth things over. She couldn’t be attracted to Riccardo then go home and pretend nothing had happened. Lots had happened. Too much for her to tell Charles, and maybe too much for it to be his concern anyway.

  She knew they’d have to talk again, more seriously—especially about selling the condo they’d bought and returning gifts—but they could have that discussion when she got home. For now, she simply needed to end it.

  “Look, I’m really sorry for everything. Running. Leaving you to deal with the mess. But I know you probably realized that my running from our wedding meant there was a problem.”

  She expected him to say something like, “Nothing we can’t fix.” Instead, he softly said, “Yes. It’s kind of hard to ignore a woman who’d rather go on the lam than marry you.”

  “I’m so sorry. Everything just closed in on me.”

  “And we did have the fight the day before.”

  Relief filled her lungs with air again. He sounded like he more than understood. He sounded like someone who’d adjusted. “Yes. We did.”

  “It took me ’til yesterday for it to sink in, but I got it. The toast from my best man didn’t bother you because it made you think I didn’t love you, but because it prompted you to realize you didn’t love me.”

  Her breath caught. His level of understanding amazed her. Surprised her a bit, too, since it had taken her two days in Vegas and a few on the road to come to that conclusion.

  “Our dating and engagement all fell together so easily, so pat, that I don’t think I ever really took the time to figure out what I felt.”

  He sighed. “I get it. And I’m okay. Your dad’s another story, though.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re going to have your hands full when you get home.”

  She winced. She might be settling some things with Charles, but her biggest problem still remained. “I know that, too.”

  The conversation died. Twenty seconds ticked off the clock. He drew a breath. “So, this is it?”

  “Yeah.” Her heart drooped a little bit. “I hope we can still be friends.”

  He laughed. “Women always say that.”

  “That’s because we have to like someone as a friend to even consider marrying him.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He took another quick breath. “Look, I have to go. Can I tell your dad you’re fine?”

  He might have adjusted, but he was still her dad’s errand boy.

  But it wouldn’t hurt for him to tell her dad she was okay. “Yes. Sure. Tell him I’m fine.”

  Another silence, then Charles softly said, “Goodbye, Morgan.”

  “Goodbye, Charles.”

  She hung up the phone, a sense of relief filling her. Charles might not have been the man of her dreams, but he was a good person. And she’d done the right thing by calling him.

  She turned off the lamp and settled on her pillow again, but the strangest feeling suddenly hit her. She was free.

  Free.

  No longer engaged. Not under her dad’s thumb. Her own person for the first time since she was twelve.

  And traveling with a man who tempted her.

  * * *

  The next morning, Riccardo waited for Morgan at the registration desk of the hotel. When she arrived, she barely looked at him. And who could blame her? He’d almost kissed her the night before. She’d have to be a total idiot not to have seen it.

  She wasn’t in the state of mind to have a fling. And he was about to defy her father—to take her to Spain rather than take her home. He didn’t want to have another Cicely on his hands. But he wasn’t going to let Morgan go back to Lake Justice until she was ready. So, he had to be smart. He was being smart. Taking her to his nanna to get the help she really needed.

  They checked out, and as they walked to the lobby door, he said, “Give me your phone.”

  She glanced up at him. “Why?”

  “Do you know phones can be used to track people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, last night I told your dad we’d be home when we got home. I don’t think he took it too well.”

  She shot him a curious look.

  “He was angry enough that he might send someone after us. We have to get rid of anything
he can use to find us.”

  He dropped their phones into a trash can just outside the hotel door. They walked up to the Mercedes and he patted the hood. “Including this.”

  She peered across the black car hood at him. “We’re going to stop driving?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “We’re gonna walk?”

  He laughed. “No. We’re just going somewhere we can stay for a few days.”

  She peeked at him. “I’ve always loved Chicago.”

  “I was thinking more about Spain.”

  Her confused expression became downright pained. “Spain?”

  “My family’s vineyard. You can meet my mom and nanna, watch how our families interact. Watch how I relate to my dad. Or better, watch how my cousin Alonzo’s wife, Julia, relates to her dad. He owns a vineyard, too.”

  She gaped. “Really? You think I’m so bad I need examples of normal behavior?”

  “No, but I think a couple of days around a real family—a big family, counting Nanna as the matriarch and my dad and his brother and their families—would give you some perspective. You say you want to think things through? Vineyards are beautiful in Spain. And quiet. That’s where you need to be.”

  * * *

  Morgan gaped at him.

  The man had almost kissed her the night before. Almost kissed her.

  And now he was taking her to Spain to meet his family?

  The obvious jumped into her head. That he liked her enough to want her to meet his family, but she quickly crossed that off with a big red marker. They’d known each other for a few days. And he hadn’t kissed her. He’d pulled back. If he was taking her across an ocean, it wasn’t for romance, but to make sure her dad didn’t find her before he left for Stockholm.

  That was a good thing. If she could wait until after he left for Stockholm before she went home, she could talk to Charles first and have another few days to get her bearings before she had to explain to her dad that their relationship had to change.

  Hiding out in Spain was not such a bad idea.

  She sucked in a breath. “Okay, Marco. Let’s go.”

  He glared at her across the car hood. “Marco Polo was not Spanish.”

  She laughed. “Right.”

  “I’m mean it. No more calling me that.”

  She studied his big dark eyes. “You take your heritage very seriously.”

  He directed her into the Mercedes. “If you think I’m bad, wait ’til you meet the family.”

  He got behind the steering wheel as she slid into the passenger seat. Calm as always, sexy as hell, he started the car and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be meeting his family for real, as his girlfriend.

  The returning thought shocked her so much that it jarred her demanding father out of her head and started a whole new chain of thoughts. She was a runaway bride. His family was old-school, steeped in tradition. They would probably think her absolutely crass.

  But she didn’t really have anywhere else to go. She had three hundred dollars. Without her credit cards, she was sunk. And going to Spain was the perfect plan. She sincerely doubted her dad would find her there.

  As they returned the Mercedes to a rental-car agency and Riccardo called a friend and arranged to use his jet, her thoughts went around and around. By the time the plane was ready for them, she was still nervous. But she didn’t want to talk about this with Riccardo. She’d already behaved like a crazy woman with him. It was time to start keeping some of her thoughts to herself.

  Luckily, the stress and constant travel of the past few days caught up with her, and five minutes after the jet was in the air, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the pilot’s announcement that they should fasten their seat belts for the landing.

  Noting the warm cover tucked around her, she felt incredibly guilty. “Sorry.”

  Riccardo shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I slept most of the flight myself. Besides, you’ll be glad you slept. When we land it will be a little past eight in the morning.”

  “I slept sixteen hours!”

  “No. There’s a time difference between the US and Spain. Besides, you clearly needed the sleep. Nothing to worry about.”

  She pulled her bottom lip under her teeth. There was a lot to worry about. A thoughtful guy like this had to come from a nice family. Two weeks ago, she would have charmed their socks off. Now, she’d left a groom at the altar and was hiding out from her dad.

  “Your family’s going to think I’m crazy.”

  The jet began its descent. “Not hardly.”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Have you ever heard the story of why Mitch started his company in the US rather than Spain?”

  “No.”

  “Mitch’s brother, Alonzo, stole his girlfriend.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Oh.”

  “Mitch had been angling to start Ochoa Online for years, but his father, Santiago, would never give the go-ahead. Then all hell broke loose when Mitch found Alonzo and Julia in his bedroom.”

  Morgan about swallowed her tongue. That made running from her wedding look like small potatoes. “That’s awful!”

  “It was.” He leaned across his seat a bit, getting closer, as if telling her a secret. “They swore nothing had happened. That Mitch had actually walked in on their first kiss, but Santiago was so afraid the scandal would split the family apart that he decided Mitch needed to go away and he offered the start-up capital for the business.”

  Morgan pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Oh...that’s—”

  “Scandalous. I know.”

  She laughed and lightly slapped his forearm. “Stop acting like this upsets you. You’re loving telling this story.”

  His eyes sparkled. “I am.”

  Morgan swallowed. She could drown in the humor in his dark, dark eyes. And maybe that was the real reason for the anxiety tripping through her. She shouldn’t be going anywhere with this man who tempted her, let alone across an ocean. But here she was, on a jet, landing in Spain.

  She took a breath to clear those thoughts, because it was too late to do anything about it now. “Then what happened?”

  “Mitch told his dad he would only leave if the money Santiago provided for OchoaWines.com would be a loan, not an investment.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Santiago might not be Colonel Monroe, but he’s a family patriarch. He wanted Mitch’s business to be part of the family’s enterprises.”

  “And your cousin didn’t?”

  “He saw an opportunity. In his mind, he was giving up everything. The price was autonomy. And he paid all the money back. With interest. So the family lost nothing.”

  “Clever.”

  His smile warmed. “So, Mitch goes to America and creates Ochoa Online and does what no one guessed he would do. He adds other wines to the site. Santiago flipped. Mitch reminded him it was his company, not the family’s, and that argument got so big everybody forgot that Alonzo stole Julia from him.”

  After half her childhood of being raised with only a father, and no other family, the magnitude of what that fight must have been like nearly overwhelmed her. “I’m not quite sure I’m ready for your family.”

  “The trouble is long past. Mitch gives Ochoa Vineyards the prime spot on his website and doesn’t take a commission from their sales. He makes a ton of money for the family. Plus, he got married a few weeks ago.”

  She nodded. “To Lila.”

  “Yes.”

  “The woman who spent her childhood in foster care because she got lost in the system.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, you people are like a soap opera.”

  “Not really. We’re just family. I told you all that so you would see my family will barely bat an eyel
id when they meet you. We have our own skeletons.”

  The plane landed. They waited quietly for the pilot and copilot to come out of the cockpit and open the door.

  Though she felt a little cheap and tawdry after hearing that story, Morgan’s interest in meeting Riccardo’s family had about quadrupled.

  The copilot walked out, opened the door that lowered the stairs and wished them a good day in Spanish. Fluent in that language—and three others—Morgan thanked him, then walked out of the jet and stepped into a world of green covered by the most amazing blue sky.

  A limo awaited them beside the hangar of the private airstrip. As she and Riccardo walked toward it, the driver opened the back door and Morgan saw an older woman sitting on one of the two bench seats that faced each other.

  Riccardo said, “That’s Nanna.”

  Small, classically beautiful with black hair with ribbons of gray streaking through and bright dark eyes, Riccardo’s nanna didn’t look anything like any grandmother Morgan knew.

  After they got settled on the seat across from her, his nanna handed Riccardo a glass of red. “I miss you like the sun in winter.”

  And she didn’t talk like anyone Morgan knew, either. She was sultry. Intriguing.

  “Very funny, Nanna.” Riccardo laughed. “You miss Mitch more.”

  Nanna sighed eloquently. “You boys. Always a competition.” She faced Morgan with a smile. “And this must be Morgan Monroe.”

  “She’s the daughter of—”

  “Colonel Monroe.” Nanna sized her up in one quick glance. “You ran from your wedding.”

  Morgan said, “Yes, ma’am,” as Riccardo said, “Nanna!”

  Nanna looked totally unrepentant. “What? You already told me all that. Besides, I’m an old woman. I might not live long enough to rehash the basics and Miss Monroe looks like someone who appreciates candor.”

  Considering his family had bigger, better secrets, Morgan didn’t mind talking about her own indiscretion. “I also don’t want to tiptoe around the subject. So, here’s the story. I got halfway down the aisle, realized I was making a mistake and got myself on the commuter to JFK before anyone could stop me.”