Bought Bride For The Argentinian (Conveniently Wed!)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘So you did?’

  It sounded weak to admit it now, but, yes, she’d caved in and done exactly as her stepfather had demanded—mainly because her mother had got down on her knees in that over-the-top way of hers and begged her to. Had sobbed that Paul would never forgive her if she didn’t and she couldn’t cope with a divorce and going back to being a single mother. The ensuing drama had felt like an embarrassing nightmare and in the end Emily had agreed. But she’d convinced herself it was all for the best and it would save her even more heartbreak further on down the line, because surely to Alej she was nothing more than a brief fling. A teenage love affair which wasn’t going anywhere—especially when increasing numbers of women were lining up beside the polo pitch to watch him play and making their availability very plain. Just as she’d told herself she would soon forget him. That the latter part of her assessment had never come true wasn’t anyone’s fault, particularly not his.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I finished it.’

  I finished it in the most horrible way possible which still makes me shudder to think about it, which is why I rarely do.

  ‘So why do you think he’s chosen you to salvage his image, out of all the PR representatives in the world?’ questioned Marybeth slowly.

  ‘He says he wants to go into politics,’ Emily answered, her brow furrowing into a thoughtful frown. ‘And needs to shed his bad-boy reputation pretty sharpish.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ Marybeth’s eyes glinted. ‘That’s the only reason he’s employing you?’

  It was a question Emily didn’t want to answer as she snapped her suitcase closed and gave Marybeth a bright smile. ‘I guess so. What other reason could there be?’

  But she thought about her partner’s question all the way to Heathrow airport and through the long flight which followed, which was delayed further by a technical problem on the plane which was supposed to take them from Brunei to Melbourne. Hadn’t there been a whisper of revenge underpinning the dogmatic way Alejandro had demanded she go and work for him? Was the unspoken clause that he wanted to capitalise on the undoubted chemistry which still existed between them, or was that just her imagination? Because that was never going to happen, no matter what the provocation. No matter that she still found him the sexiest man she’d ever set eyes on, she wasn’t going to tumble into his arms the way she used to do. She didn’t dare. Why would she put herself through something like that when the cold glint in Alejandro’s eyes made no secret of the fact that he now despised her? All she needed to do was to resurrect his battered public image and earn the money he had promised her. Simple.

  * * *

  It was hot when she arrived in Melbourne—hotter than Emily had expected, though she’d never been to Australia before. She felt grimy and sticky after the long journey but was due to meet Alejandro at the racetrack and reckoned a trip to her hotel to freshen up would make her even later than she already was. So she scurried into a washroom at the airport and did the best she could in the cramped surroundings, but the creases in the clean dress she pulled on were stubbornly refusing to fall out and her cheeks were flushed and shiny.

  Passing a news stand, she saw Alejandro’s rugged features staring back from the front page of a tabloid underneath the headline Billionaire’s Racy Race Party!

  Digging into her purse for some coins, she tucked the newspaper into her bag and read it during the bus ride to the stadium, hating the way her heart sank as she pored over the feature, thinking how much one of the women photographed entering his hotel resembled his ex-mistress—a fact which hadn’t escaped the notice of the journalist. It gave them the perfect opportunity to print an old picture of Colette and Alejandro kissing passionately at the Monaco Grand Prix and Emily couldn’t rid herself of the image of the supermodel’s long fingers splayed possessively over the Argentinian billionaire’s taut bottom.

  She was still feeling peculiar when the bus arrived at the race venue in Albert Park, and the constant droning of powerful cars coming from inside the stadium only added to her feelings of disorientation. Her phone started vibrating and she didn’t need to see the name to know who it was from, as she squinted at it in the sunshine. The terse message blazing from the screen could have originated from only one person.

  Where the hell are you?

  Alejandro. Sounding angry and impatient. Was this going to be his default mechanism with her from now on? she wondered. But at least he’d kept his side of the bargain and, just before she’d left England, a batch of photos had arrived, each showing Joya. Now happily rehomed in Alejandro’s vast Argentinian ranch, the horse’s body had started to fill out and gleam with health as he stood regarding the camera with some of his perky expression of old. Unexpected tears had pricked at Emily’s eyes as she’d stared at the images and she’d felt an overwhelming burst of gratitude as she’d boarded the night bus to the airport.

  And now it was time for her to keep her side of the bargain, despite her misgivings.

  She tapped out a reply.

  Yes, I had a very pleasant trip—thanks for asking!

  Another terse reply shot straight back.

  Where are you?

  This was going to be fun, thought Emily as her fingers flew over the smooth surface of the screen.

  Just going up to the VIP section as instructed. Assume someone will meet me there?

  There was no response to this one, so she picked up her suitcase and asked for directions, before heading for the gate where a small but well-heeled throng were congregated. Emily looked around with interest, because she’d never been to a motor-racing event before and it was a lot dressier than she’d imagined. Some of the women were wearing expensive skinny jeans and floaty blouses with discreet diamonds glinting at their ears and wrists, while others were in silk dresses with crazy-high heels. Emily frowned. Maybe Marybeth had been right in insisting that she borrow some fancy clothes for the trip, after all. Surreptitiously, she smoothed down her hair, uncomfortably aware that her battered suitcase was standing out like a sore thumb amid all the soft designer handbags.

  Everyone was being ushered through the metal turnstile without fanfare, but as soon as Emily stepped forward, a burly security guard planted himself in front of her.

  ‘Pass?’ he said, extending the palm of his hand.

  ‘I should have been left one at the gate.’ Emily forced a smile, acutely aware of the beads of sweat which were springing up on her forehead and of a woman in front who had turned round to give her a haughty look. She wanted to exude her usual air of competence but for some reason it seemed to be eluding her. ‘By Alejandro Sabato.’

  The security man raised his eyebrows. ‘Alejandro Sabato? The sponsor?’

  ‘That’s right. He’s expecting me.’

  ‘Is he now?’ The guard could barely keep the smirk from his lips. ‘That’s what they all say, love. I’m afraid it’s more than my job’s worth to let you in without a ticket.’

  ‘It’s okay, Wesley.’ A rich, accented voice filtered through the warm air towards them. ‘I can vouch for her.’

  The guard’s demeanour quickly changed to one of near adulation as Alejandro came through the turnstile, irritation hardening the perfection of his olive-skinned features as he strode towards them. With an impatient movement he gestured for her to move away and Emily was glad to remove herself from the glances they were attracting. Were people bemused by how mismatched the two of them looked? Mightn’t she have thought exactly the same if she’d been the outsider?

  She wished she could slow down the racing of her heart, just as she wished she could stop her body from prickling with instinctive hunger as she surveyed the man towering over her, with anger glinting from his green eyes. Today he was dressed down in faded denims and a creamy silk shirt, but his casual clothes didn’t detract from the unmistakable air of authority and power which radiated from his body. Dark waves of hair were curling onto the
collar of his shirt, their unruly profusion somehow at odds with his upright stance and the perfect posture which had always been remarked upon during his riding career. People were taking sneaky photos of him with their phones but he didn’t appear to notice.

  ‘You’re late,’ he accused, as soon as they were out of earshot.

  ‘I know. Sorry about that. It couldn’t be helped.’

  ‘Why not? What happened?’ he demanded. ‘Was the plane delayed?’

  ‘Sort of. There was a tech problem.’ Emily shifted the strap of her shoulder bag to stop it rubbing. ‘Which delayed the second flight, so the journey took longer than the twenty-eight hours it was supposed to take.’

  ‘More than twenty-eight hours?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘How is that even possible?’

  She wondered if he’d forgotten what it was like to be poor, or to be starting out. If he knew what it was like to consult comparison sites on the web before you took a plane anywhere—or whether he was so used to travelling around in private jets and helicopters that such a mode of transport now seemed completely normal to him. ‘I bought the cheapest ticket available, which meant it took a somewhat...um...’ she gave a sheepish shrug ‘...indirect route.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Even though you had a budget which allowed you to travel first class, which I believe was agreed in advance with my assistant?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So?’ His eyes bored into her questioningly.

  ‘So I couldn’t justify spending that kind of money on a plane ticket and flying to the other side of the world in the lap of luxury, Alejandro. Not when my business is in such a fledgling state and we’re still having to budget like crazy because most people don’t pay on time. Every penny counts at this stage—that’s why we’re careful.’ She hesitated, and then a smile seemed to spring out of nowhere as she looked at him with gratitude. ‘But I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for Joya. He seems so happy now and those pictures of him at your ranch look amazing.’

  ‘It’s called an estancia,’ he snapped.

  ‘Whatever.’ Her smile widened. ‘But thanks, anyway.’

  Alejandro wanted to hang onto his anger but when she looked at him like that it wasn’t easy, and it was causing his conscience to stir in an uncharacteristic way, because she looked so damned sweet. But she wasn’t sweet, he reminded himself grimly. She was as money-grabbing as her mother. And she was a heartless snob. When she’d walked away from him, she had looked down her pretty nose and given him a shuttered look when he’d asked her why.

  You’re not the right type of man for me, Alej.

  He hadn’t known what she’d meant, not at first. He’d been rough and unsophisticated back then. He’d seen the uncomfortable look which had crossed her features. The way she’d licked her lips, like someone being forced to eat cat food. Like a fool he had asked her, unable to believe that Emily—his Emily—could look at him so condescendingly, as if she’d never met him before.

  You’re illegitimate.

  And that matters? he remembered demanding incredulously.

  It matters to me.

  He’d wanted to tell her that his mother might not wear a wedding ring on her finger, but that his father was someone whose wealth and position could easily eclipse that of her stepfather. But he hadn’t done that, because at heart Alejandro Sabato was a proud man. And, in view of what had subsequently happened, thank God he hadn’t.

  But dwelling on his hurt and his anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere—at least, not at this precise moment. Instead, Alejandro pushed away the ugly thoughts as he raked his gaze over her. He had wondered if the intervening years might have given her an air of sophistication, but they certainly hadn’t. At the ranch she could have been excused for her plain jeans and T-shirt—but in the VIP section of one of the world’s most prestigious race events, she could not.

  His mouth thinned into a disapproving line, for he had imagined she would make herself beautiful for him, as women always did. He wondered if this was some kind of subtle rebellion—turning up with her face bare of make-up and wearing a cheap cotton dress. And why was her blonde hair hanging over one shoulder in that thick and wholesome plait, so she looked like some superannuated milkmaid rather than a smooth PR he’d hired to revamp his playboy image?

  Yet her drab clothes were doing nothing to dampen his ardour for her. If anything, her prim outfit was heating his blood with a passion he hadn’t felt in years and he was having difficulty averting his gaze from her luscious curves, which no plain shift dress could possibly disguise. His throat dried. He resented the physical allure she still seemed to radiate, despite her second-rate appearance. Was she aware that the thin material was brushing tantalisingly against her generous breasts, reminding him all too vividly of the way he used to stroke them until she moaned? Or that her bare legs were making his groin grow exquisitely hard as he wondered what type of panties she was wearing and was filled with a sudden overwhelming desire to discover the answer for himself. Later, he promised himself, with a fierce beat of hunger. Later.

  Deliberately, he swivelled his gaze away from her, directing it instead towards the battered suitcase she was clutching. ‘And that?’ he demanded, with soft incredulity.

  ‘It’s my suitcase. Obviously.’ She tilted a defiant chin. ‘I didn’t want to be any later than I already was, so I came straight here without checking into my hotel first.’

  ‘Well, you can’t stay here, not looking like that.’ He fished a shoal of car keys from the back pocket of his jeans and took the case from her. ‘My car isn’t far away. I’ll take you to your hotel so you can change. Or at least iron your dress.’

  ‘I’m very grateful for the sartorial tips, Alejandro. Perhaps you’d like to colour-coordinate my wardrobe for me while I’m here?’

  Ignoring her sarcastic comments, he glanced at his gold watch. ‘The qualifying session is over and the main race isn’t until tomorrow. There’s a party on a yacht down in the harbour I need to attend, but that’s not until later. Come on. Don’t let’s waste any more time. Let’s go.’

  He was so...bossy, Emily thought, and part of her wanted to object to his high-handedness. To tell him she’d prefer to start working straight away and check into her hotel later, but that would have been a lie. To be honest, she didn’t think she could concentrate on anything right now, especially not on the closely written notes she’d made when he’d first given her the contract. Her brain felt fuzzy and her limbs were as heavy as lead, after being stuck in the middle row of a crowded plane between two women, one of whom had crunched on boiled sweets for the entire flight. Hopefully a quick shower and change of clothes would turn her back into her usual efficient self.

  Because she was good at her job, she reminded herself fiercely. That was why she and Marybeth had taken the decision to leave the big agency they’d been working at and go it alone. She might be a complete disaster where relationships were concerned, but at least her career was going somewhere. And this was the chance to prove it—to herself and to the world at large. Because if she could single-handedly turn around Alejandro Sabato’s bad-boy image, wouldn’t that bring in a whole stream of new contracts and catapult their company onto the next level? Wasn’t that what she’d been striving for all these years?

  So she nodded and smiled at him. ‘Okay,’ she said politely. ‘That’d be good.’

  It felt weird having someone carry her bag for her. She’d been on her own for so long that it seemed like a luxury—and a poignant one at that. But deep down she knew it didn’t mean anything. Outwardly Alejandro might be acting like a gentleman but there was no denying his underlying hostility towards her, which no acts of chivalry could disguise.

  They made their way to a car park, where mouth-wateringly expensive vehicles were sitting in gleaming rows. Slinging her suitcase into the boot of one of the most luxurious, he punched out the postc
ode she’d given him and powered the car out of the park like a restless animal which had just been released for the day.

  It quickly became clear that he was driving in an unfamiliar part of the city because he cursed several times in Spanish as they drove past a series of giant business parks before reaching a downmarket residential area, where graffiti was daubed on boarded-up shop windows and litter drifted in slow motion through the streets. Although a relatively short distance away from the racetrack, it seemed like a world away from all the glitz and glamour Emily had glimpsed there. As he pulled upside a motel with dirty windows and two letters missing from the sign, she saw him scowl before slamming his fist against the steering wheel and turning to look at her, undisguised irritation darkening his rugged features.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘This was the cheapest hotel you could find?’

  ‘Actually, it’s five-star—just very cunningly disguised.’

  ‘Cut the sarcasm, Emily,’ he snapped, before twisting the key in the ignition again so that the engine powered into renewed life. ‘You’re not staying here.’

  ‘That’s just where you’re wrong, Alejandro. I am. This is where I’ve booked to stay and my room is paid for in advance. I’m perfectly prepared to rough it for a few days and my accommodation is my concern, not yours.’ She put her fingers on the door handle. ‘Besides, I don’t have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Don’t you dare move. You’re not going anywhere.’ His no-nonsense tone brooked no argument as he turned the car back towards the city.