A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

by Angela Bissell

  Xav sent back a smouldering look to remind her she hadn’t complained about that an hour ago, when she’d been naked and underneath him.

  Her face turned pink and she cleared her throat. ‘Madrid and...um... A few other places.’

  An idea flashed into his head. One that, as he turned it over a few times and examined it more closely for potential flaws, seemed remarkably brilliant and foolproof.

  ‘Come with me to Madrid for a few days.’

  She blinked at him. ‘What?’

  ‘I have some meetings to attend in our office there.’ Meetings that were currently scheduled for next week, but he would have Lucia bring them forward. ‘I have an apartment in a separate building from the offices—near the Museo de Prado.’

  She put her fork down. ‘You’ll be working during the day?’

  ‘Of course. And you’ll be busy sightseeing. I’ll put a dedicated car and driver at your disposal. And then the evenings and the nights...’ he pushed his chair back, reached for her hand and pulled her into his lap ‘...will be ours.’

  It was perfect. Jordan wanted to see Madrid, and he wanted more of Jordan. One night together was not going to be enough. And taking her out of Barcelona was ideal. It eliminated any risk of her encountering his brother or anyone else from the family.

  She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know...’

  He rose with her in his arms and saw that adorable scowl forming on her features. But he also saw her pupils widen, heard her breathing grow shallow. She wanted him again already, and given how she’d come apart in his arms earlier he didn’t imagine one night would be enough for her either.

  ‘Hey!’ She wriggled her luscious body against his. ‘What are you doing? I’m not finished eating.’

  His body hardening rapidly with need, he headed for the bedroom. ‘It seems you may need some persuading.’

  She opened her mouth and closed it again.

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Objections?’

  Her scowl receded. ‘No. But I warn you now—’ she looped her arms around his neck ‘—I may need an awful lot of convincing.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘OH, MY GOODNESS...’ Jordan stepped off the bottom tread of the long staircase that had brought them deep underground and looked around her. ‘This is amazing.’

  She glanced up at Xavier and his easy smile, combined with the warm press of his palm against the small of her back, had a dangerous effect on her equilibrium.

  He turned her towards an approaching maître d’. ‘Four hundred years ago this was a network of winery cellars run by monks,’ he said. ‘Now it’s one of Madrid’s finest restaurants.’

  The windowless space might have felt stuffy and oppressive, but it had been so beautifully restored that instead it felt welcoming and intimate.

  Following the maître d’, they walked beneath centuries-old arches of brick and stone, through an enchanting labyrinth of narrow passageways that linked a series of dining alcoves and galleries of varying shapes and sizes.

  Isolated from the noisy, bustling city above, and with soft music piped through invisible speakers and subtle, atmospheric lighting enhancing the sense of tranquillity and seclusion, it was the perfect place for a couple to enjoy a romantic night out.

  Ignoring the pang behind her ribs that warned her against yearning for things she shouldn’t, Jordan smiled and thanked the man who’d shown them to their table, set in its own alcove, and held out her chair.

  This was not a romantic date. She and Xavier were simply marking their third and final night in Madrid by doing something different. Something other than spending the whole evening at the apartment and ordering in.

  Not that she’d minded that, of course. She’d packed her days with sightseeing, and by the time the evenings had rolled around all she’d wanted to do was see Xavier. She hadn’t cared what they did, so long as they were together. But when he’d suggested they dine at a restaurant tonight she’d thrilled to the idea of going out with him.

  A waiter brought the wine Xavier had ordered, noted their food selections and disappeared.

  ‘What did you do today, querida?’

  She smiled. When he’d asked that question last night, and the night before that, she’d been naked and sated, lying in his arms with her head resting on his chest. The first time she’d assumed he was just being polite, making conversation because that was what men thought women wanted. She’d expected him to listen with only half an ear, but his murmured comments and further questions had proved he was listening attentively and she’d realised his interest was genuine.

  She sat forward and gave him a brief rundown of her day’s sightseeing, which included, among other things, a visit to an impressive art museum housed in a neo-classical palace, a walk to one of the city’s oldest squares, and a wander around the boat lake in Madrid’s beautiful Retiro Park.

  He frowned. ‘You could have saved your feet a lot of walking if you’d accepted my offer of a driver.’

  She shook her head. ‘I told you. I like walking. And you see so much more than you do from the window of a car.’

  He sipped his wine. He looked ultra-gorgeous tonight, his jaw dark with five o’clock shadow and his bronzed skin set off by a black open-collared shirt. ‘Did you reach your friend?’

  She pulled her gaze off the triangle of dusky skin at the base of his throat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And everything is fine?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes. A friend of hers is housesitting for me in Melbourne. She wanted to let me know that a local real estate agent had been in touch to say he has an interested buyer.’

  She’d woken this morning to a text message from Ellie.

  We need to talk!

  Xavier, on his way out to the office, had seen her frown, asked her what was wrong, then told her to use the apartment’s landline to call Australia.

  Jordan wasn’t lying about the estate agent. But that hadn’t been Ellie’s main bit of news. A nursing position was coming available in the emergency department at the Sydney hospital where Jordan had worked and where Ellie still did. Jordan had been well regarded during her time there, and the nurse manager had asked Ellie about Jordan’s availability.

  She would still have to go through the formal application channels, which meant cutting her trip short by a week and flying to Sydney for an interview, but the odds of her landing the position were good.

  Ellie had almost squealed with excitement. And it was incredible news. To go home and practically walk back into her old job would be a solid first step towards getting her life back on track.

  So why didn’t she feel more excited? And why was she reluctant to tell Xavier about it?

  Perhaps she simply wasn’t ready for ‘real life’ to intrude just yet. For this fairytale bubble she felt as if she were floating in to burst.

  ‘You own a house?’

  ‘I inherited it. It’s the home my father and Camila owned.’

  ‘And you wish to sell it?’

  A weight dragged at her chest for a moment. She’d had some happy times in that house, but the people she’d shared those times with were both gone.

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind, but I suspect that’s what I’ll end up doing. Even if I stay in Melbourne the house is too big for me. It was too big for Dad and Camila, really, but it’s right by the ocean and Camila adored the sea—’ She caught herself. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, dropping her gaze to her wine glass. ‘I know you’re not interested—’

  ‘Don’t.’ Xavier reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His mouth firmed, but his voice was soft. ‘If anyone should apologise it is me.’

  Her skin tingled under the warm pressure of his fingers. Heart beating a little faster, she looked up. ‘What for?’

  His thumb stroked over her knuckles. ‘For what I said in the car on Sunday. It was disrespe
ctful. It is not my place to judge Camila or to make assumptions about the situation she found herself in. The fact is she made a choice thirty-five years ago that was ultimately for my benefit, and for that I am grateful to her.’

  Jordan’s throat stung, and for a moment she had to look away. She swallowed, then let her gaze connect again with his. ‘Thank you. That means a lot to me—and it would have meant a lot to Camila.’

  He caressed her knuckles once more and then withdrew his hand. As he did so Jordan noticed a man watching them from a table in another alcove, just visible beyond Xavier’s left shoulder. She didn’t recognise him, or his beautiful female companion, but he held her gaze for a moment before looking away.

  Xavier brought her attention back to him. ‘When did you lose your father?’

  ‘Four years ago,’ she said quietly. ‘It was a stroke. Sudden and unexpected.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘Me, too. He was a wonderful man. Very gentle and kind.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘And your mother?’

  She shook her head. ‘She left when I was six. I don’t have a relationship with her.’

  She rarely spoke of her mother. It had been twenty years since Jacqueline Walsh had left the house to go to her precious job and not bothered coming home to her husband and daughter. Jordan had buried that hurt a long time ago, somewhere very deep.

  ‘Dad met Camila when I was ten and they married a year later. From then on she was who I thought of as my mom.’ She pushed a smile onto her face. ‘They were lovely together. Truly happy. The perfect couple.’ Emotion knotted her throat again, and she quickly moved on. ‘Speaking of happy couples—did you know that Rosa and Alfonso are about to have their thirtieth wedding anniversary?’

  ‘I did.’

  Jordan pulled her chin back and blinked. ‘Really?’

  Her patent disbelief earned her a look of wounded affront.

  ‘You think I’m a cold, heartless boss who knows nothing about his employees?’

  When she hesitated a second too long his eyes narrowed and his voice turned low and silky.

  ‘I see I shall have to disabuse you of some of your erroneous notions later tonight.’

  Laughter rose in her throat then, and her pulse skipped in her veins. This lighter, teasing side of Xavier never failed to surprise and delight her.

  The fact that neither of them had yet broached the question of what would happen when they returned to Barcelona tomorrow was something she chose not to think about just now.

  ‘So naturally you’ve given them both some time off so they can celebrate?’ she challenged.

  ‘Sí. Along with first-class air tickets to Berlin to see their daughter and son-in-law.’

  Suddenly her insides went a little mushy. ‘Rosa didn’t mention you were doing that.’

  ‘She doesn’t know. Alfonso is surprising her. He came to me a few months ago, without Rosa’s knowledge, to discuss the two of them having some time off. They haven’t seen their daughter in a long time and he wanted to take Rosa to Germany for their anniversary. I agreed to the time off on the proviso that he allow me to pay their airfares.’

  Ridiculously, her eyes welled. ‘Oh, Xavier. That...that’s such a lovely thing to do.’

  He shrugged. ‘They’ve given me ten years of loyal service. It is something small I can do to show my appreciation.’

  Only a billionaire would dismiss such a gesture as ‘small’. She swallowed down the silly lump in her throat. It was difficult to reconcile the man in front of her—a man who clearly had a generous heart buried inside that impressive chest of his—with the one who’d expressed such cold, clinical views about love and marriage.

  What could possibly have happened to him to make him so cynical?

  Quelling her curiosity, she asked, ‘When are they going?’

  ‘Tomorrow. For ten days.’

  ‘Ten days without Rosa’s cooking? That’s a lot of takeout,’ she teased.

  He twisted the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Stay,’ he said suddenly, fixing his gaze on hers.

  Her heart stalled for a moment, then took off at a frantic pace.

  ‘While Rosa and Alfonso are away?’

  ‘Sí.’

  She willed her pulse-rate to calm. For a split second she’d thought—

  ‘I’ll take you to Mallorca over the weekend,’ he said. ‘And London the following weekend.’

  Her heart sank a tiny bit. She thought of the private jet they’d flown in, of his luxury homes in Barcelona and Madrid, then tried to imagine the sort of opulent place they would stay in Mallorca or London. Was this the kind of incentive he thought would keep her in his bed for another week? The promise of free luxury travel and swanky accommodation?

  He didn’t know her at all. If he did he’d know she would settle for the promise of something far simpler and less expensive—like a whole uninterrupted day with him. A whole twenty-four hours with no work, no phone calls, no emails... Nothing but him and her, talking, teasing, getting to know one another...making love.

  She looked down, twirling her glass between her hands. Maybe the high life was what wealthy men expected their mistresses to demand.

  Mistresses.

  Ugh. Was that what this fling, or affair, or whatever you called it, made her? A rich man’s mistress?

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, lifting her gaze and accidentally catching the eye of the man she’d noticed earlier. She quickly looked away and focused on Xavier. ‘Let me think about it.’

  His eyes held hers again, and suddenly the air shimmered with a potent mix of heat and sensuality. ‘Do I need to remind you how persuasive I can be, amante?’

  Desire tugged in her belly, so intense it almost took her breath away, and she wondered if he was right about a passion like theirs having an expiry date. If he was, would she be foolish to walk away from it prematurely? To deny herself the enjoyment of something she might never experience again?

  The waiter reappeared then, with their starters, and they ate and moved on to an easier, less sexually charged conversation.

  She was fascinated by the multiple facets of his family’s business—or perhaps it was his obvious commitment and passion for his work that captivated her as he patiently answered her questions.

  And saddened her.

  How would his future wife and children ever compete for his attention when his work consumed him so completely?

  Her heart ached at the thought of his children—Camila’s grandchildren—feeling the way her mother had made her feel.

  Unloved. Unimportant. Unwanted.

  And yet... Xavier had made it clear he wanted a family, hadn’t he? Moreover, when she’d questioned whether he would love his children he’d reacted almost angrily. Which had to mean...what? That he believed in parental love but not in love between a man and a woman?

  Why not the latter? He was capable of tenderness. Affection. She experienced that side of him every time he held her in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Every time his strong arms cocooned her and held her to his side, or her back snuggled against his front. He made her feel protected and cherished. Made her long for something deeper, stronger, more permanent than just sexual gratification.

  Was that how his future wife was destined to feel? Would she forever yearn for something her husband wasn’t willing to give? Or would her patience be rewarded? Because surely it wasn’t a leap too far to think that tenderness and affection could eventually turn into love...

  Jordan reached for her wine, her hand a little unsteady as she took a sip. She was letting her thoughts drift along a dangerous path. Maybe even subconsciously casting herself in the role of his future wife.

  Which was crazy. Xavier desired her—she didn’t doubt that—but she would never fit the mould of perfect corpora
te wife.

  Annoyed with herself, she put down her glass, picked up the dessert menu and concentrated on reading it. Everything looked divine, but she’d eaten so much already.

  ‘The cheesecake sounds good,’ she mused. ‘But I’m not sure I have the room.’

  ‘We could share one,’ Xavier suggested.

  And in the end they did—and Jordan told herself that it wasn’t the slightest bit romantic.

  They finished off with digestifs of brandy—and that was when the male diner whose eye she’d been studiously avoiding stood up and approached their table. She opened her mouth to warn Xavier but she was too late. The man was already beside him, clapping a hand over his shoulder.

  ‘Buenas noches, querido primo.’

  Xavier’s entire body tensed, and before he even looked up and acknowledged the other man the atmosphere grew frigid.

  Jaw locked tight, he sat back in an abrupt way that forced the man’s hand off his shoulder. ‘Diego.’

  Gone were the relaxed lines of his face and the smoky warmth in his silver-grey eyes. His expression was fixed and unreadable. The men exchanged a few sentences in Spanish, and Jordan didn’t need to understand the language to know these two weren’t friends. Their tones weren’t aggressive, but Xavier’s words were clipped, his body language closed-off, and although the other man smiled there was an antagonistic quality to his manner.

  More than once his gaze strayed to her, but Xavier made no effort to introduce her and she grew increasingly uncomfortable.

  Then, abruptly, the man turned to her and stuck out his hand. ‘Hola, soy Diego de la Vega. Mucho gusto.’

  Jordan froze. De la Vega? These two were family?

  Not wanting to appear rude, she put her hand in his and said simply, ‘Jordan Walsh.’

  Instantly she regretted offering her hand. The way he gripped her fingers and sent his gaze travelling down her body, as if he didn’t already have a beautiful woman waiting back at his table, made her skin crawl.

  ‘Ah, you are English?’