Oh Lord. A thought suddenly occurred to her. How on earth would she cope when it came time for his sessions at the spa? She’d given her other massage therapists a vacation for the duration of the del Castillo party’s stay, intending to handle the sessions herself. She was a certified massage therapist, and had thought that personally undertaking Mr. del Castillo’s treatment would show her commitment to maintaining his privacy and comfort. But now she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d gotten herself into.
Touching him, stroking him. Letting her hands reacquaint themselves with his body. And what a body. Even now she had no difficulty recalling the smooth tanned texture of his chest, the way his dark brown nipples would tighten beneath her tongue. The taste of him.
She clamped down on her wayward thoughts. This was most definitely not the way for her to be thinking.
She wasn’t the same girl she’d been when she’d shared his bed. She had a new life now, and new responsibilities. In the past three years, she’d lost her wealth, lost her father…and gained a son. Jasper, she had to think of Jasper. To remind herself why she was working so hard to make the retreat a success. Why it was so important to her to provide some form of security for her son and her mother, as well as for herself.
But even as she did so, the memories of that long-ago tryst still kept on filtering through her mind. She’d only had to see him to feel that sense of excitement and anticipation again.
Don’t even go there, she argued with herself. What they had shared was in the past. Very firmly in the past. She wasn’t that woman anymore. She was a mother, a daughter, an employer—not the wild party girl who’d always had more money to throw around than sense to realize how lucky she’d been.
Mia started to silently recite a number in her head. The exact amount of money she owed the bank. It would be years before she could honestly say she was easily holding her head above water but for as long as she could paddle and break even, she would. Benedict del Castillo’s financial arrangement for the privacy he so craved, paying full occupancy rates for the hotel for a month, plus a thirty percent premium provided his needs were met, would go a long way toward her immediate security. She couldn’t afford to do anything that would breach that arrangement.
But what if he wanted to resume where they’d left off? The thought came and blindsided her. She simply could not afford to upset or reject him in any way, and she could hardly be surprised if he craved a repeat of the passion and intensity they’d shared during their last encounter. Even she had to admit she found the idea arousing. It had been so long since she’d let herself indulge in an affair.
No, she shook her head slightly, ridding herself of the notion before it could bloom and take hold in her mind. As tempting as it might be, it was certainly not a part of the professional persona she now maintained.
And there was far more at stake than her professional persona now.
Jasper.
Just thinking about her little boy, nearly three months shy of his third birthday, made her know that the choices and the sacrifices she’d made were for a darn good purpose. Taking care of him—and protecting his future by focusing on growing and stabilizing her business—had to take priority. He was something she’d done all on her own and something she’d done right, for the first time in her life. She’d do anything to protect him. Anything.
She fixed her eyes firmly on the building ahead, trying to ignore the man who walked slowly beside her. The man who could undoubtedly make or break her future security.
The man who had no idea that he was the father of her child.
Two
“The spa bath is right through there and, if you prefer a shower, you’ll find it has multiple adjustable jets and a bench built into the stall.”
A bench.
Benedict closed his eyes briefly and bit back the sharp retort that had become his standard response when faced with the assumption he was infirm. That he’d need to sit down in the shower.
She was merely extolling the features of her facility, he reminded himself. She wasn’t one of the long parade of ex-girlfriends who’d turned up at his house wanting to “care” for him straight out of hospital—and sell their stories to the highest tabloid bidder.
He’d eventually sought sanctuary in the castillo where his family had lived for three hundred years. He’d been warmly welcomed by his grandfather and oldest brother—and gently cared for by his brother’s wife—but even there the concern of his family and their retainers had become suffocating.
He was a survivor, dammit. For all those hours he’d been trapped in the wreckage of his car, he’d fought against the inky blackness of unconsciousness with that thought. No matter how much pain he’d been in, he knew he’d survive—he had to. No deals with the devil for him. Instead, the experience had given him a new perspective on things. A knowledge that life was indeed precious and not to be taken for granted—that time was not something to be wasted, because no one knew when that time could be cut short. In the deep dark of that night he’d also grasped the importance of family, and that promises to family were, above all other things, to be honored. His life, as he’d known it, had ended there and then—exposed for the shallow and somewhat hedonistic behavior it had been. He would no longer take his carefree and privileged lifestyle for granted.
He opened his eyes and looked out the massive picture window that framed the retreat’s gardens, showing the path that led to the shore of the lake. A long, low, gray cloud snaked a line between the mountains that ringed Whakatipu. A blemish on an otherwise perfect scene. A perfect example of his life.
Blemished. Flawed.
Resentment—his constant friend since doctors had delivered the news that, despite the best microsurgery available, his injuries had left him infertile—tasted bitter on his tongue.
He turned from the vista, from the reminder that despite all outward appearances, he was no longer like other men. That he could never provide a child for his family and, with it, the assurance that the ancient governess’s curse could be broken once and for all.
The old myth had haunted his family for years, but neither Ben nor his brothers had taken it seriously—until their grandfather grew ill. If Abuelo believed that some old curse required the three brothers to marry and have children, then that was precisely what they would do. Or rather, that was what the others had done.
His eldest brother, Alex, was happily married and would no doubt be announcing an impending heir sometime soon. Even Reynard, his second eldest brother, was engaged and surprisingly besotted with his fiancée. Their grandfather, the whole reason they’d embarked on the pact that had seen both his brothers race into relationships to placate the old man’s fears, was beginning to relax.
However, he hadn’t relaxed sufficiently. The words Abuelo had spoken to Ben before he’d left Isla Sagrado still rang in his ears.
“It’s up to you now, Benedict. You’re the last one. Without you, the curse will not be broken and the del Castillo family will be wiped from existence.”
No pressure there. Thanks, Abuelo, Ben thought cynically as he let Mia’s voice wash over him as she showed him how to operate the entertainment center, discreetly hidden behind painted silk screens that slid aside at the touch of a button. It wasn’t as if he even believed in the blasted curse anyway. What relevance did a jumble of words thrown out by his ancestor’s scorned lover have in today’s world?
But no matter what his feelings on the subject were, he had made a pact with his brothers to do whatever it took to make Abuelo’s last years as happy as they could be. And it was his inability to live up to his part of the pact that now weighed heavy on his heart. The old man had stepped in when their parents had died in a skiing accident and had raised them through their turbulent teens to adulthood. They owed him. Big time. And no matter what Ben thought, Abuelo believed in the curse with every cell in his body.
And Ben’s promise, made only four months ago, was now something upon which he could never deliver.
An all too familiar lash of anger flicked through his veins. Anger tempered with a fair serving of frustration at his own stupidity in having brought himself to this situation in the first place. He’d known as he drove his car along the coast road that he was taking a risk but, as with everything in his life, he’d wanted to push it to the absolute limits. Unfortunately for him, and the tangled pile of metal that was all that was left of a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of car, he’d well exceeded them.
He looked at Mia, still without really listening to a word she said. The afternoon sun slanted in through the massive window and bathed her in its light, glancing off the spun gold of her hair neatly tied back from her heart-shaped face. His fingers itched to loosen her hair from its bonds—to run his fingers through it and discover whether it still felt as silky soft, to bury his face in it and find out if it still smelled the same. Then, to lose himself and his failings in the exquisite beauty of her welcoming body.
“So, if that’s everything, I’ll leave you to settle in. Please don’t hesitate to contact reception if there’s anything at all that you need.”
Mia stood by the door to his suite. Clearly she was finished explaining everything, and he’d missed most of it. He fixed his gaze upon her again. Remembering anew the passion they’d shared. The passion he now craved again.
“Anything?” he answered, raising a brow.
He couldn’t help it. He loved to see that cool professional facade she presented suddenly flush with heat. Heat and knowing. Remembering. If she thought that hiding her body in those shapeless rags—not to mention concealing the vibrant personality he remembered, behind a businesslike mask—would keep him from seeing her as a woman, she was vastly mistaken. It just made it more enticing to tease out a reaction in the face of her reluctance.
“We work hard to cater to our clients’ specific needs, Mr. del Castillo—”
“Call me Ben,” he interrupted. “After all, we’re hardly on a formal footing, are we?”
He crossed the short distance between them and raised his hand to her face, one knuckle softly stroking the elegant line of her jaw. She jerked her head away, breaking the contact, but not before he felt the sizzle of electricity tingle up his arm. Oh yes—Mia Parker was exactly what he needed to aid in his recovery.
“That wouldn’t be appropriate, Mr. del Castillo. Should you require company, however, I’m sure you will be able to accommodate your needs in town.”
Her tone was glacial and to add insult to injury, she took a step back from him. He was not the kind of man who pushed himself on any woman—had never needed to. But they hadn’t parted on bad terms. Was it so far out of the realms of possibility to want to revisit what they had shared—especially when he’d had so much taken from him already? “Querida, I do not recall you ever worrying whether your behavior could be considered appropriate before,” he drawled.
He heard the sharp intake of her breath. Saw the battle for composure flit across her features. Noted the flare of green fire in her eyes before she responded.
“That was then. I’ve changed.”
“People don’t change that much, Mia. Not if they’re honest with themselves.” He let his words linger on the air between them before continuing. “What we had was special—unique. Can you honestly tell me you have no wish to revisit that bond again?”
“No, I do not.”
Her voice was emphatic, but he didn’t miss the telltale flick of the pulse at her neck, or the sudden dilation of her pupils.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
She spun away from him and let herself out of his suite, closing the door behind her with a careful “click” that spoke volumes as to the control she exhibited. As appealing as the new Mia was, with her buttoned down exterior, he wished he could see a glimpse of the old Mia who’d so absorbed him. She couldn’t be too far beneath the surface, he was sure of it. Finding her—now, there was the challenge.
With every nerve in her body on full stinging alert, Mia forced herself to walk, not run, from Benedict’s rooms. She’d hoped against hope that he’d be gentleman enough not to bring up their previous liaison—she should have known that such a wish was impossible. She couldn’t deny that he’d spoken the truth. What they’d shared had been unique. But no matter how spectacular it had been, she wasn’t about to throw everything she’d worked so hard for down the drain purely for the chance to rediscover the heights of pleasure she’d found in his arms. The old Mia would have jumped at the chance to renew their fling—but she wasn’t that girl anymore. Couldn’t be. Never would be again.
Mud had a habit of sticking, especially the kind of mud associated with her old behaviors, not to mention her father’s financial misdemeanors. It had only been in the past eighteen months or so that she’d felt as if she could raise her head in a professional sphere and be recognized for her achievements here at Parker’s Retreat, rather than her exploits in the latest women’s magazines. She wasn’t going to risk that hard-won respect for anything or any man—no matter how tempting he was.
By the time she reached the sanctuary of her office, at the end of the accommodation wing, she almost had the trembling under control. She shut the door behind her and leaned back against the paneled wooden surface.
Not for anything would she jeopardize the life she’d fought so hard to rebuild for her family. What her father had done had been the biggest abuse of trust and love he could ever have committed. It had taken all of her energy to pull her mother back from the brink of abject despair. Mia wouldn’t let Elsa—or Jasper—down now. Not after all she’d accomplished.
When disaster first struck, keeping their family home had been paramount. She’d succeeded in making that happen, albeit in an entirely different manner from what they had enjoyed before. They now lived in what had once been their guest house. Guests now enjoyed the trappings Mia and Elsa had taken for granted would always be theirs, but at least she and her mother—and Jasper—still had a roof over their heads and she sure as heck planned to ensure it stayed that way.
She raised a now steady hand to her jaw. Retraced the line of skin he’d touched so very gently. It was tempting, so very tempting, to give in to the past. To take some relief from the constant daily pressures of balancing the tasks of running the hotel and spa and being a good mother and daughter.
She’d taken so much for granted during her first twenty-three years. Had lived with a silver spoon in her mouth with never a care or a thought as to what was around the next corner of her adult life. She hadn’t even taken seriously the training she’d undergone as a massage therapist—at least, not until it looked as though it was the only way she was going to be able to make any money. Even then she’d had to spend vital funds on retraining before she could pick up the reins again.
Well, she’d certainly learned to grow up in a hurry. First, with the news that she was pregnant with the child of a man she hadn’t—to her eternal shame—even known the name of and then second, with her father’s admission of gross financial failure, followed shortly by him taking his own life.
Those had been dark days—seemingly endless with sorrow, accusations and confusion. Days when her lifestyle choices became fair game for the media—when people pointed the finger at her and apportioned their own blame on her for her father’s downfall. But she’d pulled them through it. She—Mia Parker, party girl—had done what it took to hold on to what she could. And she would keep hold of what was hers.
Benedict del Castillo was only here a short time. He need never know that their blazing passion had resulted in a child. Jasper was her son. She wasn’t about to lose another member of her family.
Besides, who knew what kind of man Benedict really was? He’d been as flip and casual as she had that summer. Had been just as happy to play along with the ridiculous game of anonymity she’d suggested. Was he capable of handling the responsibility of fatherhood? Sure, he seemed more intense now, his mood darker, but he hadn’t hesita
ted to suggest they take up where they left off. A leopard didn’t change its spots—he said as much himself. Did she really want a man like that in Jasper’s life?
There had been a brief time when she’d contemplated trying to track him down. To tell him he had a fiscal responsibility to his unborn child, if not an emotional one. But the reality that such a request could backfire on her—could even have seen her declared an unfit parent and lose Jasper, given her less-than-circumspect behavior in the past and her difficulty in supporting him—had been overwhelming. She’d already lost so very much. She couldn’t stand to lose her son as well. So she’d made do with less herself. Had poured her energy into supporting her mother and fighting to keep their home—a home where they could feel safe and, finally, proud of what they’d achieved together.
Her son had stability here—the love of his grandmother, his friends at day care, and all the care and love and guidance he would ever need from his mother. Ensuring Jasper didn’t run across his father wouldn’t be so difficult. Elsa took care of him while he wasn’t at day care and during the business hours that occupied Mia’s attention. She could easily keep him away from Ben. And she’d keep her distance from Benedict, as well.
Mia was not about to do a single thing that would cast a ripple on the smooth waters of their new life. Not a single thing. The terms of her arrangement with Benedict were simple. Exclusivity, privacy and therapy—for all of which she was being paid extremely well. He’d get what he paid for, and that was it.
A knock on the door behind her made her start, setting her heart to race in her chest. She took a deep breath and turned around, her hand on the doorknob before she could change her mind and pretend she wasn’t in her office. She’d trained herself to face her fears, and if her current fear, Ben del Castillo, stood on the other side of that door, she’d face him, too.
For the Sake of the Secret Child Page 2