Knight in Tattooed Armor: International Billionaires XII: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  Which was challenging.

  Not that she minded challenges. She could argue being president of her sorority had been a challenge. Or getting her degree. Or being constantly pretty and happy. Every one of those things was challenging in their own way.

  Not like the challenge of this man in front of her, though. The challenge of finding him beneath the layers of sullen rejection or the fog of obfuscation he used to cover himself in misty armour.

  A shot of confused excitement went through her.

  She eyed him.

  His thick eyebrows rose in response.

  Glancing back at the shower, she decided to take one thing at a time. First the shower, then the business plan, and finally, if she dared, digging Enrique de Molina out. “How do you turn on the water?”

  “There’s a handle on the other side.” He grabbed her hand, surprising her, and headed down the wooden path to land on the stone circle. “Here.”

  “I see.” Risa peered around the sturdy trunk and spotted the steel knob embedded in the wood. “Got it.”

  Another cough came from him. A hoarse, rough one. She swiveled to see what was wrong and realized there was nothing wrong at all.

  Close. He stood so close to her.

  The swish of her hip as she turned ran across the front of his torso and told her what he was thinking.

  He was erect.

  A flush of lust washed through her like a sudden rainstorm. The memory of his weight on her, the feel of him as he inserted himself, the scent of their coupling raced into her mind, bringing with it a need for him that was so stark, she sucked in a deep breath.

  “Sorry.” He stepped back, his expression pained. “I’ll go wait in the house.”

  And just like that, he was gone. Gone with his beautiful ass and erect cock and boyish eagerness.

  Riq had known she was smart as well as pretty. Only a fool would have missed the intelligence in her eyes, and the way she zeroed in on a nugget of information that was important.

  Like his not having a gym.

  Except he hadn’t realized how smart. The woman was young, and naïve about what it took to be a success, yet she had all the tools he’d come to look for when analyzing a person’s likely path to achievement.

  She was quick.

  Good with people.

  Wiser than her years in understanding what made a situation tick or not.

  There was also the fact she could charm as no one else he’d ever seen. Not even Charlie at his best could cajole and smile and weave a net of charisma like this woman. She hadn’t pulled out the charm this entire day spent with him, but he remembered. He didn’t forget something as lethal as this princesa’s charm.

  “So you’re saying I’d need somewhere in the vicinity of three million, if I want to totally overhaul the factory.” Leaning over his desk, she squinted at the numbers he’d run on his spreadsheet.

  “Yeah, close enough. You also have to figure in the cost of downtime as the construction happens.” The words floated out of his mouth, half attached to his brain, while the other half of it focused on the infinite variety of color in her blonde hair.

  Ivory and cream, gold and gilt.

  Her brows furrowed in concentration. “I have a trust fund my grandfather left me. But I can’t touch it until I’m twenty-five.”

  “How much?” His gaze drifted across her satin cheek to land on her lips. An inevitable erection rose in his shorts, something he’d been fighting to control for the last four hours they’d talked. It didn’t help that she’d put on the short robe again, after her outdoor shower. He supposed he could pull out another set of his T-shirt and gym shorts or demand she put on the long shirt and wool socks, but then he’d have to deal with tying a knot in her waistband or irritating her enough that she’d withdraw.

  He didn’t trust himself that close. He didn’t want to take the chance of her withdrawing.

  “I’m not sure.” She made a soft sound of exasperation deep in her throat. “I know. Don’t tell me.”

  That sound made his cock twitch. Riq eased forward in his office chair to hide the erection. “Tell you what?”

  Leaning back in the high-back chair she’d pulled to the side of his glass desk, she sighed. “I should know what kind of money I have.”

  He gave her a shrug. “I didn’t care about money when I was your age.”

  A female snort came from her. “Spoken like you’re a hundred years older than me. Which you’re not.”

  “Almost.” He needed to remind himself of that every minute around her. Because she was too new and naïve for him. Even though he’d already sampled the goods and loved them.

  “How old are you?” Her expression turned curious.

  “Thirty-one.”

  She snorted again. “I’m almost twenty-three.”

  “Almost,” he drawled the word out, ladling it with sarcasm. “That’s like a little girl saying she’s five-and-three-quarters years old.”

  A bubble of laughter filled her eyes before she let loose. Throwing her head back, she gave him so much to take in. Her long, smooth neck. Her blonde hair sliding down her shoulders. The sound of her amusement filling his small office with life.

  Her laugh finally died, replaced with a devilish grin. “I’m not five. You know that.”

  “True.” Not wanting to go there, the there clearly brimming in her eyes, Riq slouched over his projections for Migneault Perfumery once more. “Let’s assume the financing comes through for the upgrade on the factory. What are you planning on doing from there?”

  “I told you natural.” Her expression turned contemplative. “But I’ve been thinking there’s more.”

  There was always more with this woman. Something he’d hated when he first met her, and then, had grown to love.

  Love?

  He shuddered away from the word. “What’s your thinking?”

  “In today’s world, I think we’re moving toward individual in everything.”

  “Individual.”

  “Yes.” She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher before going on. “Individual, like every perfume is made for only you.”

  “Only you.” He twirled his pen, reluctantly realizing she was on to something. Having his fingers in various pies of the future, he knew there were radical changes coming. 3D printing combined with synthetic biology and nanotechnology were going to bring everything from medical treatments to home decoration into the personal sphere. No more one size fits all.

  Why not perfume?

  A buzz of excitement, something he hadn’t felt since his last SEAL mission, shot through him. The realization that he’d spent two hours listening to her talk about her dreams and was finally falling under her spell should have upset him, not excite him.

  Unaware of what he was thinking, she frowned. “Remember when we had sex?”

  Her blunt statement shook him again. How could he not remember? Any time she was in his vicinity, he couldn’t keep the memory away. “Yeah.”

  “Remember when I said we could make something using us?”

  What he remembered more than anything was the thought of her having his baby. At the time, rank horror had been his reaction. Now, though, now he could imagine her holding a baby with his dark hair and their blue eyes in her arms.

  Shock ricocheted inside.

  “What are you thinking?” She tilted her head, curiosity filling her expression once more. “You look like you just ate a frog.”

  “Go on. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Giving him one last inquiring glance, she kept going. “There was this smell when we finished. It was unique.”

  “Salty sweat?”

  A chuckle escaped her. “No, it was something deeper, richer. Something I immediately knew would work in a perfume.”

  “You’ve got a nose, do you?”

  Her brows flew up. “What do you know about a nose?”

  “Princesa.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth. “Okay. Risa.”

>   She humphed and relaxed back in her chair.

  “I don’t contemplate putting money into an enterprise without doing a lot of research.”

  “But you hate reading.” Her gaze was clear and direct, with not a filament of judgment swimming in the blue. It was merely a statement of fact. Something she’d accepted about him and didn’t think was bad or wrong.

  He liked this woman.

  Maybe more.

  Jesús.

  Trying to distract himself, he focused on her face. “I read when I have to, and I run the numbers.”

  “So you read about a perfumery needing a resident nose.”

  “Your Mr. Terriblier.”

  “You remembered him after meeting him once?”

  “Along with numbers, I’m good at names and faces.” He shifted the papers in front of him, until they lay in a neat pile. “And what those names and faces do.”

  “I’m lucky to have you on my side.” Her hands fisted on her lap in a tight knot. “I do have you on my side, right?”

  “Yeah, sunshine. You do.” He patted the papers and gestured toward the computer. “We’ve got an excellent start here.”

  “I don’t want your money. Remember.” Her words were abrupt and pointed.

  His brows rose. All during this meeting, he’d waited for her to ask. And he was far down the path of giving her what she needed. Not only because he owed her, but because she was she. The winsome, funny, determined girl who’d landed on his island with no real plan and no real pull. Yet she’d charmed him with her spirit, her hope. And then, of course, there was this zip of excitement roiling in his bloodstream that told him he might be interested in more than just investing.

  He might be interested in helping run this new endeavor. “You don’t?”

  “No,” she said, her jaw jutting out. “I didn’t ask for that. I only asked for your consultation and advice.”

  “My advice would be—you need my money.”

  “I need money. But not yours.”

  They eyed each other across his desk. Jiggs snorted at their feet as he rolled over and fell asleep once more.

  “I’ll find a way to access my trust fund,” she announced. “If that’s not enough, then I’ll go to other investors with the plan we’ve written up.”

  “We just started with the plan.”

  “It’s a good start, though, isn’t it? My company has a shot, doesn’t it?”

  “Your company, huh?” he teased, because he knew instinctively that was what was going to happen. Her daddy might be a nice guy, but he wasn’t equipped to run Migneault Perfumery. From what he’d seen during the last few days, this woman was. She only needed some help, some guidance.

  From him?

  The thought stirred inside, and he let it settle without coming to a decision. Time enough to decide.

  “My company.” She said the words as if she were making a commitment.

  Sì, she merely needed some help to make this dream come true.

  His help.

  He stood and stretched, his brain returning to another type of plan he’d been mulling since this morning. One he’d rather focus on than deciding on his future with a perfume company. “Time to take a break.”

  Jumping out of the chair like a little girl, she grinned as she tightened the tie around her waist. “What are we going to do now?”

  It hit him that for most of the last few years, he’d been alone. Sure, he’d had a woman here and there, and sì, he played golf with his vet buddies and had Sunday dinner with his family. But throughout the course of his usual days, he was isolated. And he’d liked it that way.

  Not now.

  Not with this delicate, determined creature in his life who demanded he pay attention to her and drew him against his will. Not with her dancing through his life with her blonde hair flying and her Marine-blue eyes questioning.

  “It’s almost dinnertime.”

  “Is it really?” Her brows arched in disbelief. “We’ve been talking that long?”

  “Business, good business takes time,” he intoned in his best know-it-all voice.

  She chuckled, riding along with him and his humor. “Says the old man.”

  “Older and wiser.” Striding around the desk, he grabbed her hand. “Come on. I’m going to find some regular clothes for you.”

  “Not a T-shirt that doesn’t fit me?” Her voice went high in excitement. “Not gym shorts that have to be knotted? Not a long shirt that hangs on me?”

  “Not any of that.” If he had to tear his closet apart, he’d find something that would cover this woman well enough that she wouldn’t distract him. Pulling her behind, he headed for his bedroom. “Once we get you dressed, we’re heading to the beach.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one by my ruined boat.” He threw a look of mock disgust over his shoulder. “We’ll eat there.”

  “Eating on the beach.” A gusty sigh escaped her, filled with a breathy wistfulness. “When I was little, we did that all the time.”

  “Did you?” Stopping in the middle of the stairs, he turned to stare down at her. “This will be different. I promise.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah.” Not until this moment had he decided, yet, perhaps that wasn’t true if he was honest with himself. Because throughout this day as he catered to her at breakfast, took her deserved abuse, gave her the grand tour, and finally, gave her his expertise…all along, he’d known.

  He was going to seduce her.

  This time on his beach.

  Chapter 29

  He was trying to enchant her.

  And he was succeeding.

  Risa watched as he threw another log on the fire he’d built in an inlaid rock pit by the sea. At one end of the fire, he’d placed a flat grill, and on top of it stood a squat iron pot steaming with what he said was the favorite of his mimi’s dishes—Cuban paella.

  The bright ball of the red-and-gold sun sunk below the horizon, but the flicker of the fire and several stout candles he’d set on a low table continued to light the surrounding scene.

  A seduction scene.

  Catching her glance, he grinned. “Don’t worry. It’ll be ready soon. I just need to let it heat until the socarrat forms.”

  “Socarrat? What’s that?” She tucked her fingers into the waistband of the black harem pants he’d produced, along with a striped, silk pullover. Neither were made for a woman, but were better than anything else she’d worn in days. It couldn’t be said that she looked as good as she did at home, yet at least she didn’t feel like a homeless person any longer.

  Riq had ditched the shorts and T-shirt uniform. Wearing drawstring linen pants matched with an aqua jersey that brought out green sparks in his eyes, he gave her more to handle than just his surprising charm.

  His beauty again.

  “It’s a crust that forms on the bottom.” Easing back on the cushions he’d dragged down from his house, he looked like an ancient Spanish conquistador overlooking his new land. “It’s the best part.”

  She fiddled with the stem of the wine glass. The ruby-red wine was a Rioja, he’d told her when he handed her the crystal goblet. It hit her again that he was more than a burly male who knew how to use his body. Enrique de Molina was a swirl of different things—a sexy man, a wise counselor, a person of substance.

  “Do you like it?” He gave a nod to the wine.

  “Yes, it’s good.” In every area of her life, up until the moment she’d met this man, she’d felt confident. Confident in her looks, in her ability to win Spencer back, in her position in life. But during this very short time, only weeks since she’d met Riq, she’d come to realize there was so much more.

  More room to grow into herself.

  More parts of her she needed to understand and change.

  It wasn’t all him. Though it seemed to her that he’d swept away her past and provoked her into looking at herself, her life, her future in a different way.

  Surging to a stand in that
economical way of his, he grabbed two bowls and headed for the grill. He swirled the spoon in the paella, before dishing the mix of chicken, chorizo sausage, rice, and peppers into the bowls.

  Risa noted how concentrated he was at the task. He’d been this way since they’d left his house. Before she’d even dressed, he’d arranged the circle of cream cushions around the fire, and transported the food and cookery to the beach. When he’d met her at the foot of his house’s main staircase, he’d grinned, taken her hand, and led her into this part of his island paradise.

  He was treating her like a queen.

  Not an annoying princesa.

  What was going on in his head?

  “Here.” He strode to her, one bowl of steaming food extended. “I’ll get the silverware.”

  Risa cocked her head, not accepting the offer. “What’s going on?”

  “Huh?” Those thick brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve forgiven you, you don’t have to do all this.” She waved at the fire pit, the food, the comfortable pillows surrounding her. “You can return to being surly.”

  “Surly.” His lips quirked as he laid their bowls on the wooden table he’d also lugged from the house. With that task done, he headed toward the large bamboo basket which had produced the wine, the crystal, and now, the silverware and linen napkins.

  “You paid me back this afternoon by giving me a lot to think about regarding my business.” She swirled the red wine in the glass before taking a long sip. The acidic tang overlaid the taste of spice and fruit and past, like a fine river flowing into her mouth. He was rather like this wine—bold and tart, with underlying notes of sex and richness.

  “I’m not always surly.” He returned and carefully placed a silver spoon and red napkin in front of her. “Only some of the time.”

  “Only the times I’m around.”

  A husky chuckle came from him, as he eased onto the cushion facing her and grabbed his bowl of food. “Not anymore.”

  “Why?” She gazed at him over her wine glass. “Why now?”