A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

by Angela Bissell

  She pushed her sunglasses onto her head, even though it would have been easier to hide behind them. But she couldn’t always protect herself, could she? Lord knew she’d tried, ever since she was a child—making herself indispensable, ensuring she was needed, even choosing a profession that made her feel useful. Valued. But still she had lost the people she loved the most...her dad, Camila.

  A week ago Xavier had accused her of running away, and he’d been right. Running away was easier than facing rejection. Hadn’t she even tried to leave his bed after the first time they’d made love? Fearing that if she didn’t he would throw her out of it? He hadn’t. Just as he hadn’t demanded she leave on Friday, after his mother had visited, even though—to her shame—one of her first thoughts had been to flee.

  And now... Now she wanted to be brave. For herself. For Xavier. Because maybe this was more than just chemistry with an expiry date...

  She took a deep breath. ‘I want to apologise. For something I said to you on our first evening together.’

  He’d gone still, but she sensed it wasn’t an angry stillness.

  ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

  She hugged her knees, swivelled round to face him. ‘I asked you if you would love your children as—as if there was a possibility you wouldn’t,’ she said quietly. ‘It was a terrible thing to imply, and I’m sorry. Yesterday, seeing you with your parents... Well, I could see how much you love and respect them, so family is obviously important to you. I imagine that when you have children you will love them very much.’

  He was silent again. Jordan could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

  Then he reached his hand across and circled her ankle, gently stroking his thumb over the top of her foot. ‘Thank you, querida. But your apology is not necessary. In those first days of our acquaintance I didn’t present myself in the best light. You weren’t unjustified in thinking the worst of me.’

  Jordan breathed deeply again. That hadn’t been so hard...but this next bit might be.

  ‘Your parents are lovely, Xavier,’ she said with a soft smile. ‘And they so obviously adore each other after many years of marriage.’ She paused. ‘I wondered why, when you have such a beautiful example of a loving marriage, you would dismiss that for yourself.’

  She felt his fingers tense on her ankle, the grip almost painful, but forced herself to finish.

  ‘Does it have anything to do with the woman you and Diego fought over?’

  * * *

  Xav saw her slight wince and withdrew his hand. He didn’t desire to have this conversation. He had told her before he wasn’t interested in the past and he meant it. But he recognised that she was looking for something from him. Something he feared he couldn’t give her.

  Yet he could give her other things. More important things. More valuable things.

  This, perhaps, was the opening he needed. One brief, uncomfortable conversation was an acceptable sacrifice to get what he wanted. And in the past forty-eight hours it had become crystal-clear in his mind that what he wanted was Jordan.

  He shifted on the lounger, creating space and holding out his arm. ‘Come, querida.’

  She hesitated, but then came to him, curling into his arms, her body soft and warm through her thin sarong.

  He removed her sunglasses, resting his jaw on top of her head. ‘Ten years ago I met a woman I came to believe I wanted to marry.’

  Jordan was silent a long moment. When she spoke he felt the warmth of her breath on his chest.

  ‘Because you thought you loved her?’

  He drew air through his nose, exhaled it slowly from his mouth. ‘Sí. I believed she was...special.’

  So ‘special’ he had introduced her to his family. Told his mother she was The One. Bought an expensive ring.

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘A young American heiress. We met through social circles.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘I proposed and she turned me down.’

  ‘She didn’t love you?’ she asked gently.

  ‘No.’

  Jordan rose up on her elbow. ‘I’m so sorry, Xavier.’ Her eyes were soft with compassion. ‘That must have been incredibly difficult—and painful.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘But...would you deny yourself the chance to love again just because of one bad experience?’

  His gut knotted with tension—and a touch of anger. A bad experience? It’d been the single most humiliating, soul-destroying experience of his life.

  But she wouldn’t understand that unless he told the whole story.

  ‘There’s more.’

  He eased her head down to his shoulder again. He didn’t want her watching him. Already he felt too exposed.

  ‘She told me she would’ve married me in a heartbeat if I was my parents’ biological son. She said there was no point marrying into aristocracy if her children wouldn’t inherit the bloodline.’

  Memory churned in him like acid. Natasha had dismissed their relationship as just a bit of fun. She’d even admitted that she’d allowed him to introduce her to his family in the hopes of snaring his brother.

  He made a rough noise in his throat. ‘She said she couldn’t possibly marry someone of “unknown origin” for fear of what her children would inherit.’

  ‘What?’

  Jordan popped up again. This time she wouldn’t be encouraged back down. Angry colour bloomed on her cheekbones.

  She shook her head, curled her hand into a fist on his thigh. ‘And where does that scumbag Diego fit in?

  He tucked a flying curl behind her ear. Her furious indignation on his behalf was almost adorable. Incredibly he felt his chest lighten—enough for him to be able to admit, ‘He slept with her within days of our break-up. And ensured the reason why she’d rejected me became gossip fodder in our social circles.’

  ‘Oh, Xavier.’ She touched his jaw. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It is in the past.’

  ‘Yet it affects your life to this day.’

  He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ she persisted. ‘When you won’t let yourself love?’

  ‘It is not a matter of allowing myself. I simply have no interest in it. A few people, like my parents, find it—or a version of it, at least—but others waste their lives looking for it. Or waiting for it.’

  She dropped her hand. ‘You think love is a waste of time?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t believe love is the magic bullet many people think it is. It comes with pressure, expectation. Those things can break a relationship.’

  She frowned, pulled back. Xav reined in his frustration. This wasn’t the reaction he wanted.

  He kept an arm around her waist. ‘There are many things besides love—good things,’ he emphasised, ‘that can contribute to a successful relationship.’

  ‘Like what?’ she said, her voice croaky.

  Sensing her on the edge of flight, he tightened his hold. ‘Respect, friendship, affection, security...’ He traced his fingertip over the swells of her breasts above the sarong and her skin flushed with goosebumps. His voice roughened. ‘Desire.’

  He saw her eyes flare. Saw the moment she understood. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘You know, querida. We’re good together. We can have something good together. Something lasting.’

  All she had to do was see sense and give up on her silly notion of love.

  Her breathing was uneven. ‘You said we’d burn out...it’s just chemistry—’

  ‘I was wrong. I do not say this to be boastful, but I’ve had many lovers. This attraction we have...it’s powerful, different... It won’t burn out.’

  ‘Xavier...’ She braced her hand on his chest. ‘I’ve received a job offer—in Sydney. I need to attend an interview in a couple of weeks—’

  ‘It’s no
t confirmed?’

  ‘No, but—’

  He laid a finger against her lips. ‘Then you have time. Let us enjoy this next week, sí? No pressure.’

  The uncertainty on her face only intensified his resolve. There were two options here. She would either stay or walk away. The latter he couldn’t countenance. This woman had affected him like no other. Hell, sitting in his desk drawer right now were résumés from the exclusive matchmaker for three beautiful, eligible women, and not one of them stirred his blood like Jordan did.

  He needed to start his campaign of persuasion with a win. Demonstrate he was the kind of man she wanted to be with.

  He smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘Since we are having an honest conversation, I have a confession. In Madrid, when I found your journal, it was open—and I saw something.’ He paused. ‘You have brought Camila’s ashes to Spain, sí?’

  She blinked, and a look of such naked vulnerability came over her face he wanted to hold her against his chest and never let go.

  ‘Would you like me to be with you when you scatter them, querida?’

  Her mouth trembled and tears welled in her eyes. Big, fat tears that rolled down her cheeks and made his chest ache.

  He brushed them away with his thumbs. ‘Is that a yes?’

  She curled her hands over his wrists and whispered, ‘Yes.’

  * * *

  Jordan went into the week in a state of shellshock—and Xavier gave her no chance to recover.

  On Monday he surprised her with a visit to an exclusive day spa where, for several hours, a team of beautiful therapists scrubbed and plucked and buffed her until every inch of her glowed.

  On Tuesday morning they flew to London and went to the penthouse suite at one of Ramon’s private clubs. In the afternoon Xavier disappeared to a meeting, leaving her in the suite with a personal stylist who arrived with a vast collection of evening gowns, a bottle of champagne and a case full of make-up and hair products. In the evening he took her to see Les Misérables. They had the best seats in the theatre, of course, and afterwards ate a late supper at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

  But as the week progressed it wasn’t the pampering, or the posh restaurants and luxury suites, or the beautiful evening gown she wore in London—or even their incredible, intense lovemaking—that made her wonder whether she could compromise. Whether she could settle for what he offered and live without ever hearing those three little words.

  Rather, it was the little things that cost nothing that burrowed under her defences.

  It was the look of stupefied awe on his face when he first saw her in the evening gown.

  It was the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands as he helped her put on a stunning choker of diamonds and yellow sapphires and his anxious expression when he asked her if she liked it.

  It was the hour they spent with Emily and Ramon at their beautiful Chelsea home before returning to Barcelona. She’d blown raspberry kisses on Katie’s tummy and looked up to find Xavier watching, a smile playing about his mouth. That night, after making love, he gently kissed her stomach and said how sexy she would look when she was round with child, and what a wonderful mother she would be.

  It was every shared smile, every lingering look, every moment of heart-rending tenderness.

  Early in the week she attempted to broach the subject of his birth father. Now she knew about the brutal rejection he’d suffered, his reluctance to learn about his biological origins made more sense. It was fear. That awful woman had put the idea in his head that he might somehow be defective.

  But he shut her down. Gently but nevertheless firmly.

  On Wednesday she contacted Maria Gonzalez anyway. Asked the older woman if she’d assist her to make some discreet enquiries.

  Maria was delighted to help, but she was also concerned. ‘There was a man here last weekend. Asking about Camila. He said he was tracing family history, but something did not feel right. I did not know if it was important enough to call you.’

  Jordan’s nape prickled. ‘Did you tell him anything?’

  ‘No. Benito sent him away. Told him we did not remember her. But he spoke to other people. People who may have known Camila.’

  When Xavier came home he looked unusually tired. He said he was fine but, seeing the lines of strain around his mouth, she decided it wasn’t the time to mention Maria’s concerns.

  On Thursday night, before the sun set, they walked down to the beach and scattered Camila’s ashes into the ocean. Afterwards they spread a blanket on the sand, opened a bottle of brandy—Camila’s favourite tipple—and saluted her.

  Xavier pulled her back against him, his arms strong, his body warm and comforting. ‘Tell me about her,’ he invited, and she did.

  By the time they went to bed that night she’d accepted that she was hopelessly, desperately in love with this man.

  And then finally, on Friday morning, it all came to a terrible, terrible end.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHE WOKE WITH a start and a single word comprised her first thought.

  Friday.

  The day she had promised herself she would make her decision. The hospital in Sydney had confirmed an interview for next Thursday. She needed either to withdraw her application or change her return flight to depart Spain on Sunday.

  She loved him.

  The thought made her heart leap, and at the same time filled her with a bone-deep ache of desperation and despair.

  He had made his position clear. Love was not on the table. Not part of what he was offering. And yet she still hoped. Still held her breath for those three tiny yet monumental words.

  There was still today, she thought with an optimism she had to force with every ounce of will she possessed. She could wait and make her decision tonight.

  She got up and slipped on a robe. Morning sunlight slanted through the bedroom’s shutters, casting pale yellow stripes across the navy satin sheets.

  Xavier had decided to work from home today. She didn’t know whether that was significant. Perhaps he, too, had mentally marked Friday as D-day. Given the sheets on his side were cold, he must have risen early, decided to let her sleep and gone to his study.

  The door was ajar. She listened for a moment to ensure she wouldn’t intrude on a phone call, then went in.

  Xavier wasn’t at his desk. He stood at the French doors to the terrace, staring out, and the instant Jordan’s gaze fell on him a cold wave of anxiety washed over her.

  His hands were fisted and the taut, rigid lines of his body screamed tension. Even from behind, without his expression visible, he looked like a man poised on the edge of violence.

  ‘Xavier?’

  He turned, and she gasped at what his hard-set features revealed. There was anger, even rage, but she saw bleakness, too. He stalked across the office, took her briefly in his arms, kissed her forehead, then drew her to a chair.

  She stared at him, her heart racing, her mouth dry. ‘Xavier, what’s happened? You’re frightening me.’

  He picked up a computer tablet from his desk. ‘Sit. I need to show you something. And it’s not pleasant.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said slowly, and lowered herself into the chair, legs trembling. ‘Just...just give it to me, then.’

  Mouth grim, he handed over the tablet—and Jordan’s horror was instantaneous.

  On its own, the salacious tabloid headline was shocking—Vega Corporation CEO Cavorts with Stepsister!—but it was the photograph that sent mortified heat sweeping over her skin, followed by a wave of cold, prickling sweat.

  Reluctantly she scrolled and—Oh, God—there were more photos, all taken with a powerful telephoto lens.

  ‘This was last Friday,’ she whispered.

  The night they’d fooled around in the pool.

  She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. She felt sick
. Violated. Every photo was hideously explicit. It wasn’t so bad for Xavier. A bare male torso was hardly risqué, although one shot had captured half a toned buttock. But for Jordan...

  She burned with humiliation and shame. She couldn’t even look up and meet Xavier’s eye.

  She scrolled down and read the text, but could barely absorb the words. Her mind was too shaken. Some things penetrated or jumped out. Names, for instance. Xavier’s. Hers. Camila’s.

  Then her eye caught on another name.

  Tomás Garcia.

  Xavier’s birth father.

  Jordan doubled her efforts to focus and her grip on the tablet grew tighter, and tighter. Horror turned to outrage. ‘These are lies!’

  Xavier gave a grim smile. ‘Regrettably, I think the photos speak for themselves, querida.’

  ‘No.’ She put the tablet down. Just holding it made her feel dirty. ‘I mean about your father.’

  His gaze hardened. ‘Vittorio de la Vega is my father.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she said, but gently, because he had to be hurting. ‘This can’t be true.’

  ‘Yet there it is in black and white,’ he said flatly.

  ‘In a tabloid.’ She spoke more forcefully now. ‘They print rubbish. Half-truths. Lies.’ She stood. ‘Tomás Garcia was not a criminal.’

  His jaw flexed. ‘And you know this how?’

  ‘Because I knew Camila. I think she had strong feelings for Tomás. I don’t believe she would have fallen in love with a bad man.’

  His expression grew shuttered. ‘Well, we’ll never know now, will we? Because they’re both dead.’ He moved behind his desk. ‘In any case, it is irrelevant.’

  His coldly dismissive tone made her flinch. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because my only priority right now is damage control.’ He waved to where the tablet sat. ‘This harms not only me but the company. We have shareholders, clients, investors, joint venture partners who will all be concerned about the negative impact of a deliberate attack on my reputation and the company’s image.’

  Belatedly she registered that he wore business attire. ‘Who do you think is responsible?’

  A vein pulsed in his temple. ‘Diego and Hector.’