Rachel stretched lazily beneath the sheets and slowly became conscious of soft golden sunlight stealing beneath her eyelids. Sunlight! Her lashes flew open and for a second she studied the chiselled perfection of Diego’s face, his jaw shaded with dark stubble that seemed to enhance his sexiness. But then she grabbed her alarm clock and gave a horrified yelp.
‘It’s nearly nine o’clock!’ She’d never slept that late in her life. ‘My alarm can’t have gone off.’
‘It would seem so.’ His amused drawl sparked her temper and she glared at him, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes impatiently.
‘I’m late for work. Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Because you’re not going to work for the next couple of days,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Here, I’ve made your breakfast.’ He set the tray down on Rachel’s lap and she stared at the brimming bowl of porridge in disbelief.
‘You made it?’ she said faintly. Diego was a sex-god and a world class polo player, but he was utterly clueless in the kitchen. She picked up the rosebud and gave him a smile that stole his breath. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’d better save your thanks until after you’ve tried it,’ he said gruffly, dragging his eyes from the tempting curve of her breasts, barely concealed beneath the sheet.
‘I’m sure it’s lovely.’ She would eat it even if it was foul because he had made it for her and, despite the lumps, she forced the porridge down, drank the juice and then remembered what he had said. ‘What did you mean about me not going to work? Of course I’m going.’
‘Uh-uh.’ He put the tray on the dresser, slid out of his robe and joined her in the bed, tugging her down on top of him and clamping her hips when she wriggled to escape him. The frantic squirming of her hips intensified his arousal—and hers, he noted, watching the way her eyes darkened with desire.
‘Diego…?’ Rachel gasped and fought to retain her sanity.
‘I have to attend a business meeting in London, and I thought you would like to come with me.’
‘To your meeting?’ She frowned in confusion.
‘To shop—in preparation for our trip to Royal Ascot.’ He grinned at her stunned expression. ‘A friend of mine has hired a private box for Ladies’ Day and invited me to bring a guest. I want you to be my guest, querida.’
‘I’ve always wanted to go to Ascot,’ Rachel admitted slowly, excitement at the idea of visiting the famous horse-racing event drowning out the voice in her head which pointed out that Diego had altered the rules of their relationship without asking her.
For the past month they had maintained the act of a professional working relationship in front of the other staff at Hardwick. Now he was suggesting being seen together in public—but it was unlikely that they would bump into anyone she knew at Ascot, she reassured herself. She stared down at him, feeling her heart give its familiar flip as she absorbed the male beauty of his face, and accepted that she was desperate to go with him.
‘I don’t need to go shopping,’ she told him firmly. Ascot would be heaven, but trekking around the shops was her idea of hell. ‘I bought a new outfit for a friend’s wedding last summer and I’m sure it will do.’
‘And I’m equally sure it won’t,’ he murmured dryly. ‘You can’t walk into the Royal Enclosure in a cheap, off-the-peg dress. While I’m at my meeting I’ve arranged for a personal stylist to take you to Bond Street and find you something suitable to wear.
‘Humour me, querida?’ he said softly when she opened her mouth to protest, and he took advantage of her parted lips to slide his tongue between them at the same time as he lifted her and guided her down onto his swollen length, smiling triumphantly when he heard her gasp as he filled her. It was the most effective way he knew of stalling the argument he could sense was brewing. Rachel was feisty and independent—but she was totally addicted to him and he had no compunction about using sex to get his own way.
They drove to London later that morning. Rachel wanted to go back to the caravan and pick up clothes and toiletries, and had hoped to dash up to the stables and see Piran, but Diego’s meeting was scheduled for early afternoon and he was impatient to get away.
‘You can buy everything you need in town,’ he told her as they sped along the motorway, ‘and I’ve arranged for one of the other grooms to exercise Piran for the next few days.’
She felt as though her independence was being subtly eroded, Rachel fretted silently. A month ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of allowing anyone else to take charge of Piran, and she was disturbed that Diego had organised the trip—and her life, it seemed—without consulting her.
During her childhood she had lived through her mother’s various love affairs—which had usually resulted in the upheaval of moving into a new home and being expected to get on with new step-siblings. Liz Summers had put everything into her relationships and sacrificed her independence without a second thought—only to be devastated when it all went wrong a few months down the line. Rachel had vowed that she would never allow a man to take over her life, but nothing had prepared her for Diego’s charismatic personality—or her overwhelming need for him. For the first time she appreciated the power of sexual attraction. It would be very easy to be swept away by him, she acknowledged—she was already halfway there.
She had assumed that they would stay in a hotel in London, and she gave Diego a puzzled glance when he parked in a private car park close to the river. ‘Who lives here?’ she queried when he ushered her into a lift which whisked them up to a penthouse apartment with panoramic views over the Thames and Westminster.
‘I do—although it would be wrong to say that I actually live here. I use the flat as a stopover whenever I’m in London—maybe once or twice a year,’ he explained. His phone rang and he glanced at the caller display. ‘I need to take this. Feel free to take a look around.’
She couldn’t even afford one property, and lived in a caravan, while he owned a luxury flat in a prime city location and rarely stayed in it! Their lives were worlds apart, Rachel mused as she wandered around the apartment, admiring the elegant décor that was clearly the work of a top interior designer. She paused in the doorway of the master bedroom, her eyes drawn not to the spectacular view across the city but the huge bed in the centre of the room. Tonight Diego would make love to her on that bed. Heat flooded through her veins and she felt the familiar heavy sensation in her pelvis. This was the real reason she had agreed to come away with him, she acknowledged ruefully. Ascot would be a great experience, but she wouldn’t care if they missed the racing and spent all their time indulging in a sensual feast. She only had one more week with him before he left for New York, and she was dismayed by the sudden ache in her chest at the knowledge that their affair was almost over. She had always known it would end, but she was unprepared for the sense of panic she felt at the prospect of her life returning to normal—without him.
When she returned to the sitting room, she found Diego chatting to a stunning brunette who looked as though she had stepped from the pages of a fashion journal. Rachel was immediately conscious that her skinny jeans and T-shirt were far from elegant, and she flushed when the woman gave her a speculative glance.
Diego strolled across the room. ‘Rachel, I’d like you to meet Jemima Philips. Jemima is a personal stylist and she’s going to guide you around the designer boutiques in Mayfair and help you select a few new outfits.’
Rachel stiffened. ‘One new outfit—for Ascot,’ she said tightly. ‘I don’t need anything else.’
‘You’ll need something to wear to dinner tonight—I’ve booked a table at Claridge’s,’ Diego murmured, his mouth curving into a sensual smile that he knew with supreme self-confidence never failed to affect her. ‘And of course you will want to buy some lingerie and a few items of smart casual wear as we’ll be staying in town for a couple more days.’ He noted her frown and dropped a brief tantalising kiss on the mutinous line of her mouth. ‘Enjoy it, querida,’ he bade her, a hint of steel beneath his teasing tone. ‘I
have a sudden yearning to see you dressed in clothes that flatter your figure rather than swamping it. Most women would jump at the chance to flex my credit card on Bond Street.’
It was on the tip of Rachel’s tongue to point out that she was not most women, but his comment that he wanted to see her in flattering clothes stung her pride. He obviously thought she looked a mess in her uniform of jeans or jodhpurs and baggy sweatshirts, and she felt a sudden urge to prove that she could look as elegant as the gorgeous Jemima if she put her mind to it.
But several exhausting hours later, she wished she hadn’t taken up Diego’s challenge to improve her appearance. Jemima Philips had whisked her around the exclusive boutiques in Bond Street and Sloane Square: Chanel, Gucci, Armani, a boutique specialising in exquisite Italian shoes, and another which sold beautiful and eye-wateringly expensive lingerie. If Rachel had been on her own she would never have had the nerve to walk into any of the shops, and even with Jemima beside her she was horribly conscious of the haughty stares from the sales assistants who cast disdainful glances at her faded jeans. However, the mention of Diego’s name seemed to act like a magic wand and the assistants were suddenly gracious and eager to help.
By the end of the day she owned a cream silk dress trimmed with black ribbon and a matching jacket, black stiletto shoes and handbag, and a chic black pillbox hat complete with curled ostrich feathers. Rachel had been determined to pay for her clothes herself, but the bill for her Ascot outfit was so exorbitant that she did not have enough funds in her bank account to cover a fraction of it. Horrified at how much of Diego’s money she had spent, she refused to allow Jemima to purchase any of the evening gowns the stylist had nagged her to try on.
After shopping came a visit to a beauty salon favoured by A-list celebrities, where her unruly blonde hair was transformed into a sleek, glossy style with layers around her face and a long sexy fringe. Her face was made up with a range of cosmetics which again cost the earth, but here at least she insisted on paying the bill herself, and as the transaction went through she prayed that her credit limit would not be blown and her card refused.
Diego was waiting at the apartment when a taxi dropped her off. ‘You should have had all your purchases delivered, rather than struggling to carry them,’ he greeted her when she staggered through the door. When Rachel looked puzzled he indicated several flat boxes emblazoned with the name of the design house on the front. ‘Jemima arranged for these to be sent on.’
‘It wasn’t my choice to buy them,’ she muttered when she opened the boxes and discovered the three exquisite evening gowns she had tried on earlier. ‘These dresses cost a fortune, Diego, and I can’t allow you to buy them for me. I only need one dress for tonight. The other two can be sent back—with all these.’ She sifted through the pile of filmy lace bras and knickers in a variety of colours. ‘I didn’t ask for them. Jemima shouldn’t have …’
‘Jemima Philips was simply following orders,’ he murmured in the honeyed tone he used when he was determined to win an argument. ‘You have no idea how beautiful you are, Rachel—but now you will see.’ He gave her a gentle push towards the door. ‘Go and change into one of the dresses so that I can take you out to dinner. And, Rachel …’ She paused and glanced back at him, her heart thudding at the sultry gleam in his eyes. ‘Wear the black underwear and the stockings,’ he said softly. ‘I’m looking forward to removing them later tonight.’
The following day, Rachel ached all over after Diego had made love to her countless times during a night of the wildest passion they had ever shared. She had read that men were turned on by women wearing stockings and now she knew it was true, she mused, her face growing warm as she recalled his reaction when he had unzipped her evening dress and she had shaken back her hair and posed before him in a sexy black basque, suspenders and stockings.
She’d barely had enough energy to crawl out of bed this morning, but they had left London early to drive to Berkshire and now they were here at one of the most prestigious sporting venues in the world. She turned her head at the sound of hooves thundering along the track and peered through her binoculars as the riders streaked towards the winning post. The racing at Ascot was fantastically exciting, and if she had been down in the main enclosure she would have unashamedly yelled and cheered with the rest of the crowd. But up in the private box, among Diego’s wealthy friends, she felt ill at ease and desperate not to draw attention to herself.
She had quickly discovered that this was nigh on impossible when she was the subject of intense speculation among the sophisticated friends of the host of the party, Lord Guy Chetwin.
‘Call me Guy,’ the aristocratic Englishman had told her when Diego had introduced them. Guy seemed friendly enough—indeed, Rachel had been acutely conscious of his eyes lingering on her several times during lunch—but the other men in the group, and their glamorous socialite wives and girlfriends, were less welcoming and could not hide their curiosity about Diego Ortega’s new mistress.
It was a title Rachel felt deeply uncomfortable with—just as she felt unhappy about the fact that every item of clothing she was wearing, and the eye-catching diamond choker Diego had fastened around her throat before they had left the flat this morning, had been paid for by him.
‘Your glass is empty. Let’s find some more champagne,’ Diego murmured in her ear as he led her out onto the balcony, which offered spectacular views of the racetrack.
She forced a smile, but could not dismiss the feeling that she did not belong here. Diego looked utterly gorgeous in full morning dress—a black suit complete with coat-tails, a dove-grey silk waistcoat and tie and a grey top hat which surprisingly did not look odd with his long hair and gave him a rakish air that drew admiring female glances. This rarefied world of the super-rich was his world—but it was not hers. Despite her expensive clothes, she did not fit in with his friends and now that they were away from Hardwick she realised how little she had in common with him.
She glanced back inside and her heart plummeted when she caught sight of a man with a mass of blonde hair flopping onto his brow chatting to Guy Chetwin.
‘Jasper Hardwick has just arrived,’ she said in a tense whisper as she gripped Diego’s arm. ‘We’ll have to leave. If we walk along the balcony we may be able to slip away without him seeing us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Diego frowned. ‘I have no intention of leaving. Nor am I going to play a game of hide and seek for the rest of the afternoon. What does it matter if Hardwick sees us?’
‘It matters because he’ll guess that we’re … that we’re together,’ Rachel snapped. ‘And, knowing Jasper, he’ll make sure everyone at Hardwick knows. I can’t believe he’s here,’ she muttered.
Diego shrugged. ‘He and Guy are old friends. They were at Eton together, although I hadn’t realised Hardwick was on the guest list today. I can’t believe you’re still bothered about our affair being made public,’ he added, making no attempt to hide his irritation.
‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ she snapped.
‘It has never bothered me, querida,’ he drawled laconically. ‘I respected your wish not to proclaim the fact that we’ve been sleeping together, but things are different now.’
‘How are they?’ Rachel demanded, puzzled not just by his statement but the sudden gleam in his eyes.
‘Because I want you to come to New York with me next week.’
Diego felt a spurt of satisfaction at her stunned expression. She suddenly looked young and vulnerable, reminding him of the Rachel he had first met rather than the sophisticated woman he had turned her into by buying her designer clothes. When she had walked out of the bedroom this morning, dressed for Ascot, he had been pleased that she looked just as he had wanted her to look, with her hair expertly groomed and her face made-up—her lashes darkened with mascara which emphasised the dense blue of her eyes and her mouth coated in a scarlet gloss. But, for some inexplicable reason, he found that he missed the untidy stable-girl who smelled of the eart
h and fresh air rather than a cloying, expensive perfume.
It took a few seconds for Diego’s words to sink into Rachel’s brain, and she felt as shaky as when she had accompanied him across the lawn of the Royal Enclosure in her three-inch stiletto heels. Her heart began to thud erratically. ‘To work at your polo school, you mean?’ she queried carefully.
‘No, querida.’ His sensual smile stole her breath. ‘To pleasure me in bed every night—although we do not have to confine our lovemaking to bed,’ he teased wickedly. ‘I own a large house in upstate New York, and we could be inventive in the jacuzzi, or on the leather sofa in the sitting room, or maybe I’ll spread you across the big walnut desk in my study …’
‘Diego …!’ She could feel her face burning and was sure they were attracting curious glances from the other guests. But part of her did not care. Diego wanted to extend their affair by taking her to New York, and she was shocked by how tempted she was to say yes. She could not afford to take a break from jumping Piran—not if she was to stand any chance of being selected for the British Equestrian team, she reminded herself urgently. And she couldn’t simply disappear from the stables for however long Diego’s invitation extended—she noted he had not specified a time limit—and then expect her job to be waiting for her when their affair was over. There was every reason under the sun to refuse him and not one sensible one to accept his invitation, yet it was on the tip of her tongue to agree, to throw caution to the wind and take whatever he was offering for as long as he wanted her.
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