A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

by Angela Bissell

  Jordan sat back down with a thump. ‘Oh, no. I’ve just remembered. I was speaking with Maria Gonzalez on Wednesday. She said a stranger was in the village last weekend, asking questions about Camila.’

  Xavier stilled in the act of gathering papers. ‘Why were you speaking with Maria Gonzalez?’

  She couldn’t lie. ‘I—I asked her if she would help me trace your birth father,’ she confessed.

  An awful stillness—the kind that said he was utterly furious—pervaded his whole body.

  A terrible quietness came to his voice. ‘Why, Jordan? When I specifically stated I wasn’t interested?’

  She swallowed. ‘Because I thought it would help you.’

  ‘Do I strike you as a man who needs your help?’

  Something in his tone, in the way he said your help, raked painfully over her flesh.

  She notched up her chin. ‘No. You strike me as a man who’s too proud to ask for anyone’s help. Too proud to admit that you might not have everything perfectly under control.’

  His jaw hardened. ‘Gracias. That was a most insightful assessment. Anything else you’d like to add, since you’re clearly quite the expert on me?’

  She blinked back the hot sting of tears. ‘Yes,’ she said—because why not go for broke? Her heart was already bleeding.

  She pulled the edges of her robe together and stood up for added courage.

  ‘I think you’re a strong, principled, incredible man, Xavier de la Vega, but I also think you’re afraid. I think you’ve pushed yourself towards perfection your whole life to prove you’re worthy, but deep down you fear you’re not. I think love scares you, but only because you’re afraid to be loved—because you think it means constantly living up to someone’s expectations. Constantly proving yourself. But guess what?’ She took a breath. ‘You’re the only one who puts impossible expectations on yourself. The people who love you accept you as you are.’ She flicked away a tear before it fell. ‘You might be able to control everything else in your life, but you can’t control who loves you. And I’m sorry to say I do.’

  Before he cut her down with another pithy response, she strode from the room.

  * * *

  Xav drove to work in the Aston Martin, barely keeping within the speed limit.

  His gut churned and his blood pumped so hard he feared for his arteries.

  This morning, right on cue, Hector had called an impromptu board meeting.

  The bastard.

  Xav wanted to wring his neck—and Diego’s. Not for a second did he doubt their culpability.

  He stalked into the office, barking out orders and summonses. Lucia was flustered. Whether from stress or because she now knew what her boss’s butt looked like naked, he didn’t care to guess.

  He slammed his door shut. He had to focus. Prepare. But damn if he could get Jordan’s impassioned speech out of his head. He still felt the impact of every word. It was as if she’d taken a scalpel to his chest, slicing away layers of skin and muscle and bone until only his heart remained, unprotected and defenceless.

  He wanted to punish her for defying his wishes, shake her for saying things no one else dared say to him and demand she take back her declaration of love.

  He also wanted to gouge out the eyes of every man on the planet who’d ogled the photos of her lush breasts in the last twelve hours.

  Those breasts belonged to him.

  Every damn part of her belonged to him.

  He breathed deeply. He also wished he could un-see those words he’d buried in a recess of his brain, because he had no emotional capacity to deal with them right now: Tomás Garcia—his birth father—had been shot and killed thirty-three years ago while holding up a convenience store.

  Within the next half-hour his brother and his parents arrived. Xav faced them with a throat thickened by a mix of humiliation, gratitude and exasperation. ‘I told you, you didn’t need to come.’

  ‘And miss the fireworks?’ Ramon, sharp in a three-piece suit, slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hermano, I’ve waited many years to see you in the hot seat for once, instead of me.’

  Xav turned to his parents, searched their faces for disappointment or disapproval and found neither.

  His father, also smart in a bespoke suit, stood between his sons and gripped their shoulders, the gleam in his eye almost anticipatory. ‘It’s been too long since I went a few rounds with Hector. That old scoundrel doesn’t know what he’s in for.’

  Xav felt his chest expand. He’d thought he could handle this alone, but now his family were here he was overwhelmed by the strength of his gratitude. By the strength of their unconditional love.

  His mother took him aside. ‘How is Jordan?’

  ‘She’s all right.’

  His conscience pricked. He had no idea if that was true. He hadn’t had time to chase her after she’d stalked from his study. He’d had to get himself here.

  A sudden cold sweat hit between his shoulder blades. Was she at this very minute packing her bag? Preparing to run?

  He fisted his hands, a silent, primal scream rising inside him. He could not lose her.

  Damn this board meeting.

  Damn Hector and Diego.

  Lucia popped her head in. ‘Everyone’s here and waiting in the boardroom.’

  His mother sat down. ‘Good luck, mis queridos. I shall wait here.’

  The meeting was hellish, worsened by the unexpected presence of a smirking Diego.

  ‘He’s a shareholder—and family,’ Hector blustered when Ramon challenged Diego’s attendance.

  When the PR Director started outlining a multi-faceted strategy for mitigating the reputational risk Xav tuned out. He wanted out of there. Needed to be out of there. Jordan could be running right now. To an airport, a train station, a ferry terminal, a bus depot. Did he have enough people to cover every possible departure point?

  Afterwards the PR guy asked Xav to hang back for a quick word. He gritted his teeth and checked his watch. ‘You have one minute.’

  Ramon waited in the anteroom, one shoulder propped against the wall. Across the space Diego lingered, looking at his phone.

  Xav walked past without acknowledging him, then stopped abruptly and swung back. ‘What did you say?’

  Diego was smug. ‘I said are you rushing home to slutty sis?’

  In a move thirty years overdue Xav swung his fist, his knuckles connecting with Diego’s nose with a painful but savagely satisfying crunch. Diego went down on one knee, clutching his bloodied nose, his watering eyes agog.

  Xav leaned down. ‘You’re talking about my future wife and the woman I love,’ he snarled. ‘So watch your mouth, cousin.’

  On his way to the car he called Lucia. ‘I’m not coming back to the office.’

  ‘Peter Reynaud has just called. He wants to video conference this afternoon.’

  ‘Tell him I’m not available.’

  If the deal went belly-up, so be it.

  * * *

  Xav’s heart thundered as he navigated the final stretch of winding road up to the villa.

  Despair outweighed hope. Thirteen times he’d called her mobile. Thirteen times he’d got her voicemail.

  He had only himself to blame. What reasons had he given her to stay? Plenty, he’d thought until today—but they were the wrong reasons. He’d tried to seduce her with a taste of the lifestyle he could provide, but Jordan couldn’t be bought.

  Only one thing mattered to her, and it was the one thing he’d refused to give. He’d wanted Jordan in his life, but on his terms. And, frankly, his terms had sucked.

  He slammed to a stop in front of the villa, frowning at the blue Mercedes sedan in the courtyard.

  Hope grabbed a foothold.

  He strode inside and scaled the stairs two at a time. If her things were still here—

 
‘Xavier.’

  His heart stopped. He turned and she stared up at him from the bottom of the stairs. Relief surged—so powerful he gripped the iron balustrade to keep himself from swaying.

  He flew back down, ready to gather her into his arms, to tell her what he needed to tell her, but she stopped him with a palm on his chest.

  ‘There’s someone here,’ she said. ‘Someone I’ve brought to meet you.’

  Before he could speak she walked into the living room, leaving him no choice but to follow. Her hair was caught in a ponytail and she wore the wraparound skirt she’d worn that day he’d practically kidnapped her outside her hostel. He wanted to loosen her hair, pull the ties on her skirt—

  ‘Xavier—’ She cleared her throat. ‘This is Luis Garcia. Luis is your uncle...’ She paused, and her smile wobbled a bit. ‘Your biological uncle.’

  His gaze snapped to the man rising to his feet and a sensation he’d never experienced before punched through his chest. Luis Garcia was tall, broad-shouldered, and distinguished-looking in a suit, and as he came forward with his hand outstretched Xav, for the first time in his life, looked into the face of someone whose features were strikingly like his own.

  * * *

  ‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ Jordan murmured, and retreated from the room.

  Her trembling legs carried her all the way to Xavier’s bedroom, where she sank onto the end of the bed. She pressed her hand to the base of her throat.

  Had she done the right thing?

  Only time would tell.

  Tears of bittersweet joy stung her eyes. After their awful parting this morning, the look on Xavier’s face when he’d seen her just now and his unmistakable eagerness to take her in his arms had sent her heart soaring. But she’d had to remind herself that his desire to make peace didn’t mean anything had changed.

  She drifted onto the balcony and stayed there for a long time, until eventually she saw Xavier and Luis emerge into the sunlight below.

  They shook hands, and there seemed to be some kind of camaraderie between them, and then Luis drove away.

  Xavier must have sensed her gaze. He turned and looked up and their eyes locked, but she couldn’t tell anything from his expression. Then he came inside and she waited for him in the bedroom, knowing he would come to her.

  As soon as he walked in he folded her in his arms, and she almost sobbed it felt so good.

  He spoke against her hair. ‘Thank you.’

  She could have stayed there for ever, tucked against his warm, strong body, but she eased away. ‘He told you everything?’

  He nodded, compressing his lips for a moment, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak, and her heart swelled to see him so moved.

  Tomás Garcia had not been a criminal. An innocent bystander, caught up in a vicious armed robbery, he’d stepped into harm’s way to protect a female store worker. He had died a hero.

  ‘He never knew Camila was pregnant,’ she said. ‘His parents kept them apart.’

  ‘Sí.’

  Their gazes fused, and she felt as if her insides were filling with molten silver.

  ‘Stay, Jordan.’

  The quiet plea catapulted her back to that first night when she’d tried to leave and he’d implored her to stay. How could so much have changed in two weeks? How could she have changed so much?

  She opened her mouth but he surged forward, and suddenly his mouth was on hers.

  For a second she stiffened, expecting his kiss to be searing and fierce, an explicit, forceful reminder of their explosive chemistry. But it was something else. Something deeply intimate and tender. Something that melted her from the inside out and made her tummy flutter with hope.

  His hands framed her face, anchoring her as he raised his head.

  ‘Xavier—’

  ‘I love you.’

  Her breath caught. ‘What?’

  ‘I love you, querida,’ he said. ‘And everything you said this morning, as difficult as it was to hear, was right. In that board meeting I was under attack—but I had people beside me who love me, who had my back and will always have my back. I could have done it without them, but I didn’t need to. Because they were there, without judgment, without criticism. And through most of that meeting all I could think about was getting back here. Those photos—’ His jaw clenched for a second. ‘I want to be the man who protects you, the man who has your back, the man who stands by your side and accepts that he’s human and imperfect.’

  Tears clung to her lashes. ‘I love you, too,’ she whispered.

  ‘Marry me,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘Is that an order?’

  ‘Sí.’ He lifted her left hand and stroked her fingers. ‘I will buy you a magnificent ring.’

  She started to say that she didn’t need a big diamond, just something small, given with love, but then she gasped. ‘Xavier! What happened to your knuckles?’

  ‘I punched Diego—defending your honour.’

  Her eyes widened, then she grinned. ‘Did it feel good?’

  ‘Very.’ Xavier flexed his hand and grinned back. Then he tugged her towards the bed. ‘But I know something that will feel even better.’

  * * *

  At midnight, unable to sleep, Xavier gently disentangled himself from Jordan’s soft, sleep-heavy limbs, pulled on a pair of drawstring pants and went to his study.

  He poured a brandy, sat at his desk and read the letter his birth mother had written to him in the weeks before she died.

  When he got to the end he wiped his cheeks, put the letter away and raised his glass to Camila Walsh—the woman who had not only given him life, but given him the love of his life.

  Jordan.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed A MISTRESS, A SCANDAL, A RING check out the first part of Angela Bissell’s RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE BROTHERS duet

  A NIGHT, A CONSEQUENCE, A VOW

  and Angela Bissell’s

  IRRESISTIBLE MEDITERRANEAN TYCOONS duet

  SURRENDERING TO THE VENGEFUL ITALIAN

  DEFYING HER BILLIONAIRE PROTECTOR

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from CROWNED FOR THE SHEIKH’S BABY by Sharon Kendrick.

  Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

  by Sharon Kendrick

  PROLOGUE

  We trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.

  KULAL’S MOUTH HARDENED into a cynical smile. As if. When did anything in life ever truly satisfy?

  Crushing the handwritten note—one of the many personal touches which made this Sardinian hotel complex so achingly luxurious—he threw it into the bin in a perfect arcing shot and walked over to the balcony.

  Restlessly, his eyes skated over the horizon. He wondered why he could feel no joy in his heart or why the warmth of the sun left him feeling cold. He had just achieved a life’s ambition by bringing together some of the world’s biggest oil moguls. They’d told him it was impossible. That masterminding the diaries of so many powerful men simply couldn’t be done. But Kulal had proved them wrong. He liked proving people wrong, just as he enjoyed defying the expectations which had been heaped on him since the day his older brother had turned his back on his heritage and left him to rule.

  He had worked day and night to make this conference happen. To convince attendees with his famously seductive tongue that it was time to look at renewable energy sources, rather than relying on the fossil fuels of old. Kings and sheikhs had agreed with him and pledges had been made. The cheers following his opening speech had echoed long into the night. There were now but a few days left for him to hammer out the fine details of the deal—and he was able to do it in a place which many people considered close to paradise. Yet he felt...

  He gave a heavy sigh which mingled with the warm Sardinian breeze.

 
Certainly not drunk with glory, as other men in his position might be, and he couldn’t work out why. At thirty-four, he was considered by many to be at his intellectual and physical peak. He was known as a fair, if sometimes autocratic ruler and he ruled a prosperous land. And yes, he had a few enemies at court—men who would have preferred his twin brother to have been King because they considered him more malleable. But all rulers had to deal with insurrection. It came with the job—it was certainly nothing new.

  So why wasn’t he punching the air with glee? Kulal contemplated the horizon without really seeing it. Perhaps he had been working so hard that he’d neglected the more basic needs of his body. Not to put too fine a point on it—his legendary libido, which had been sidelined ever since he had finished with his long-term mistress a few months back. It didn’t help that she had made the break-up official with a tearful interview in one of those glossy magazines that filled women’s heads with meaningless froth. And that as a consequence, his name had zoomed back to the top of one of those tedious ‘most eligible’ lists—and he now seemed to be on some kind of matrimonial hit list. Rather ironic since he had always avoided marriage like the plague, no matter how determined the woman.

  He yawned. His relationship with the international supermodel had lasted almost a year—a record for him. He had chosen her not just because she was blonde and leggy and could work wonders with her tongue, but because she seemed to accept what he would and wouldn’t tolerate in a relationship. But in the end, she had sabotaged it with her neediness. He’d stated at the start that he wouldn’t put a ring on her finger. That he had no desire for family or long-term commitment. Because didn’t domesticity forge cold chains, which could suffocate? He had promised sex, diamonds and a fancy apartment—and had honoured those pledges in full. But she had wanted more. Women always did. They wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.

  Dark and bitter memories washed over him, but he forced himself to block them out as he leaned against the rail of the balcony, looking out at boats bobbing around on the Mediterranean. He thought how different this busy stretch of water was from the peace of the Murjaan Sea, which lapped on the eastern shores of his desert homeland. But then, everything about this place was different. The sights. The scents. The sounds. The women who lay on sun-loungers in their minuscule bikinis. One of his aides had told him that the loungers directly beneath his penthouse suite were always the first to go—presumably occupied by those hoping to catch the eye of Zahristan’s Desert King. Kulal’s lips curved in disdain. Did they, like so many others, imagine themselves in the role of Queen? That they would succeed where so many had failed?