One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  ‘It’s not a joke. I’m in the unenviable position of having to find a wife before my next birthday—and remain married to her for a year,’ Javier informed her tersely.

  ‘And when is your birthday?’ Grace murmured dazedly.

  ‘Two months from now.’

  ‘So fairly urgent, then.’ The conversation, the whole situation, was verging on the surreal and Grace felt as though she had wandered into the pages of Alice in Wonderland.

  Javier was watching her speculatively with his amazing golden eyes. Grace was aware of the frisson of sexual awareness that vibrated between them, and she licked her lips nervously. She seriously doubted she could handle the Duque de Herrera in any capacity and for a second she felt like fleeing. The note of command in his voice halted her.

  ‘Sit down, Miss Beresford—although now that we’re betrothed I suppose I’d better call you Grace.’

  ‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ she snapped, incensed by his authoritarian manner.

  He gave her a bored glance. ‘I thought you were out of options?’

  ‘I am, but so it seems are you.’ Grace sank gratefully into a chair and fought to regain her composure. Some sixth sense told her that Javier’s expression of cool indifference belied his inner frustration. For some unexplained reason he had to find a wife and he was running out of time. It was possible that he needed her as much as she needed him, and that put her in a powerful bargaining position.

  ‘Why do you have to get married?’ she demanded.

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse to answer. His expression hardened so that his cheekbones were sharply visible beneath his skin, and his eyes glittered with sudden anger. ‘Under the terms of my grandfather’s will I must choose a wife, or lose control of El Banco de Herrera to my cousin,’ he told her in a voice laced with bitterness.

  ‘It sounds as if the bank is very important to you.’

  ‘It is my birthright, and the only thing that is important to me,’ Javier corrected her fiercely.

  ‘I see.’ Grace hesitated and then said, ‘From what I’ve heard, you have no shortage of women in your life. Why not ask one of them to marry you?’

  ‘Because there’d be hell to pay when the time came to get rid of them,’ he admitted in a blunt tone that made her wince. ‘The marriage will be a business proposition, nothing more, but mention the word “wedding” to most women and they seem to link it with the ridiculous notion of love.’

  ‘You’re afraid that if you choose one of your girlfriends they might fall in love with you?’ Grace said slowly as understanding dawned. ‘Your arrogance takes my breath away,’ she hissed, almost lost for words, ‘What makes you think you’re so damned special?’

  ‘A multi-million-pound fortune,’ Javier replied dryly. ‘I learned early on in life that, where women are concerned, money is their biggest turn-on—that and power. It’s the reason you’re here, after all, Grace,’ he murmured silkily. ‘You want me to drop charges against a common thief. A man who repaid my trust in him by betraying me and abusing the position I’d awarded him.’

  Grace felt her cheeks flood with colour. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ she insisted huskily. ‘I told you, my father was in a desperate situation and he had no choice.’

  Javier pushed back his chair and strolled around his desk towards her. Instantly Grace felt overwhelmed by his sheer magnetism, and her heartrate accelerated when he rested his hip against the edge of the desk and leaned close, trapping her gaze. ‘We all have choices, Grace,’ he said, his gravelly accented voice mesmerising her with its hypnotic intensity. ‘You can choose to give me a year of your life, and in return I will ensure that your father is spared prosecution and a lengthy jail sentence.’

  This close, Grace could see the fine lines around his eyes and the incredible length of his silky black lashes. Tiger’s eyes, she thought dazedly as she stared into their glowing amber depths. Her gaze settled on the sensual curve of his mouth and she found herself fantasising about what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against hers.

  ‘I don’t think I can do it,’ she whispered. ‘Marriage is special—sacrosanct. It’s about two people standing before God and promising to love one another for the rest of their lives. What you’re suggesting is…immoral.’

  ‘And stealing three million pounds is not? I think we can safely leave the question of morality out of this, Grace,’ Javier murmured sardonically. ‘You want to ensure that your father is spared a jail sentence, and I can help you.’ The faint tremor of her lower lip betrayed her tension and his jaw tightened. ‘Surely becoming the Duquesa de Herrera is a better option than scrubbing my floors?’ he growled impatiently.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of lying,’ Grace muttered, ignoring his look of mocking disbelief. In all honesty, what choice did she have? If she didn’t agree to marry him her father would undoubtedly be sent to prison. She had to do it. But if she kept her wits she could turn Javier’s urgency to find a wife to her advantage.

  ‘All right,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll agree to your business proposition and become your wife for one year, but in return I want all of my father’s debts cleared. I want you to repay the outstanding money to the bank out of your personal account,’ she continued in a flat, unemotional voice that she hoped disguised the fact that her heart was pounding. ‘And I want your written assurance that you will drop all charges against him. When you’ve done all that, I’ll be your bride.’

  Javier moved with the speed of a big cat making a kill as he placed his hands on either side of her chair, effectively caging her in. ‘You value yourself highly, Miss Beresford. Perhaps too highly,’ he hissed savagely. ‘You seem to forget that I’m calling the shots here. What will you do if I call your bluff and throw you out without a penny?’

  Oh, God! He wouldn’t, would he? Grace took a shaky breath and forced herself to meet his scorching gaze. ‘You won’t,’ she said in a calm voice that belied her screaming tension. ‘You need me as much as I need you, because I can absolutely guarantee that from the first day of our marriage I will be counting the hours until our divorce as eagerly as you. There’s no chance that I’ll fall in love with you,’ she added, tilting her chin so that her face was inches from his.

  She could feel his power, his need to subjugate her to his will, but she refused to be cowed. If she was to survive a year as his wife then she could not allow him to dominate her.

  The tension between them was so fierce that the air seemed to crackle. Grace could feel the heat emanating from his body as he leaned over her, and for one wild moment she wondered how he would react if she curled her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers.

  Raw, sensual heat flooded through her, and as she stared into his eyes she knew that he felt the same kick of desire. She bit back a gasp as his head slowly lowered. Her eyelids felt heavy and her lashes drifted down, only to fly open again when, instead of kissing her, he grabbed a handful of her long hair and jerked her head up.

  At her stunned expression, Javier’s mouth curled into a smile that told her he was aware of her disappointment. ‘You’re not the fragile flower that I first thought, are you, Grace? Your delicate beauty belies a cunning mind that almost matches my own.’ Before she had time to react, he claimed her mouth in a brief, brutal assault that demanded her response as if it were his God-given right.

  It was over almost instantly. He released her and straightened to tower over her, his golden eyes glittering. ‘We have a deal Miss Beresford. We’ll marry as soon as it can be arranged. I have a feeling that it’s going to be an interesting year,’ he added mockingly.

  A cold hand of fear closed around Grace’s heart but she made herself get to her feet and gave him an icy glare. Her lips were stinging, but she resisted the urge to trace the swollen flesh with the tip of her tongue. ‘I have every expectation that it will be the worst year of my life.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find some compensations as the wife of a millionaire,’ J
avier replied dryly. ‘Think of all the shopping you can indulge in.’ He strolled around his desk, picked up the phone and barked out a series of instructions without giving Grace the chance to tell him she would rather die than spend a penny of his money.

  Having solved the niggling problem of finding a wife, Javier was getting back to business, she realised when he paid her no more attention. Presumably she would be dismissed until the civil ceremony that would legally bind them together. But her father would be a free man, and she would have to cling to that one comforting thought throughout the coming year.

  She began to edge towards the door when Javier’s curt voice stopped her.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  His arrogance made her seethe, but having just secured her father’s freedom and financial security she was anxious not to annoy him and so she smiled hesitantly. ‘To find my car and drive back to Granada. Do you want me to wait there for a few days, or shall I return to England and expect to hear from you?’

  ‘Neither,’ he replied coolly. ‘I’m leaving for Madrid in a few minutes, and you’re coming with me.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE Madrid offices of El Banco de Herrera were lavishly elegant, but Grace was growing tired of cooling her heels—however charming her surroundings.

  ‘Miss Beresford wishes to know if you are expecting her to sit here in reception all day.’ Javier’s secretary, Isabel Sanches, could not disguise the hint of embarrassment in her voice at she relayed the query to her boss.

  Barely lifting his eyes from his computer screen, Javier spoke into the intercom on his desk. ‘Tell her she will remain there for as long as is necessary for me to finish this report,’ he snapped, fighting the urge to remind Grace that if she was that bored she was free to leave—and he’d see her and her father in court.

  Dios, he was doing the woman an immense favour by releasing Angus Beresford from his debts—the least she could do was show a little gratitude! Instead she had spent the fifty-minute flight to Madrid moaning that she wanted to go home to her father, and Javier was having serious doubts about marrying her. The woman was a shrew, he thought darkly—albeit a very beautiful one.

  He amended several pertinent details on the report, scrolled back to the top of the document and re-read it before he saved it to disc, but as he worked he was unable to dismiss the image of her delicate features and enormous, tear-filled blue eyes from his mind, and with a muttered curse he sprang to his feet and crossed his office to stare out over the city.

  Below him Madrid sweltered in the late spring sunshine. He liked the buzz of the cosmopolitan capital. Commercially, it made sense to have the head offices of El Banco de Herrera at the heart of Spain’s major city, and he was happy to spend time at his luxurious penthouse apartment in one of its elegant suburbs. But his heart lay in Andalucia, and home would always be El Castillo de Leon.

  Having spent the first ten years of his life living in a filthy caravan, he had at first been overawed by the size and sheer majesty of the castillo. The fortress was a magnificent example of Moorish architecture, but as a young boy he had been more interested in exploring its vast rooms and extensive grounds than learning about its history.

  Even now he could remember how good it had felt to finally know that he belonged somewhere. The castle was his home, his heritage, Carlos had told him. There would be no more endless travelling, no more scavenging for food like a wild dog, or spending hours huddled on the caravan steps while his mother entertained her numerous lovers and his father disappeared for days in search of his next fix.

  His jaw hardened as he recalled Grace’s taunt that his wealth shielded him from the real world. Little did she know, he brooded grimly. He’d been in the kind of places she couldn’t even imagine. Situations where the toughest ruled with their fists, and the simple task of getting through each day had called on all his cunning.

  During the first ten years of his life he’d known poverty and hunger, a sense of fear and loneliness that, even after twenty-five years, still tainted his dreams. His only blessing was to have been born with a tenacious instinct to survive, plus a determination to answer to nobody. It was those qualities that had shaped the man he was today, and he didn’t need a spoilt, high-maintenance English miss from a privileged background trying to make him feel bad.

  On the other hand, she had been sitting in his secretary’s office for two hours, and that was after he’d bundled her out of the castle and allowed her only a few brief minutes to collect her belongings from her hotel in Granada before whisking her aboard his private jet. Patience was not one of his more obvious virtues, he acknowledged honestly. Grace probably didn’t know if she was on her head or her heels, and with another oath he crossed to his desk and spoke into the intercom.

  ‘Isabel, tell Miss Beresford to come in, por favor.’

  Javier remained seated behind his desk when Grace entered his office, and he spared her a cursory glance when she walked hesitantly towards him.

  ‘What’s the matter? I told you I had to attend an important meeting and then file a report afterwards,’ he snapped. ‘Are you always so impatient?’

  For a few seconds Grace felt totally intimidated. He was so arrogant and powerful, and so God-damned sexy, she admitted silently as her heart lurched in her chest. This man held her father’s well-being in his hands, but all she could do was stare at him like a teenager in the throes of her first crush, her annoyance at being abandoned like a parcel in the outer office momentarily forgotten.

  As soon as they’d arrived at the bank’s head office he had gone straight to his private quarters, where he must have showered and changed before his meeting. It was the sight of him in a suit that had thrown her, she reassured herself feverishly. The expert cut of the grey cloth emphasised the width of his shoulders, while his blue silk shirt and tie that was a shade darker complemented his olive-gold skin. His formal attire lent him an air of urbane sophistication, but she sensed that Javier Herrera possessed a wild streak and beneath his civilised veneer was a man who had scant regard for rules.

  ‘Me impatient?’ she muttered indignantly. ‘You’re the one who insisted on dragging me to Madrid without giving me a chance to pack properly or anything. I don’t even know why I’m here—unless it’s simply to sit around your office looking decorative.’

  Anger briefly surged through Javier, followed almost instantly by a flash of amusement that he struggled to hide. Grace might look like a meek little mouse, but she had a sharp wit and wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, and he felt a grudging admiration for her nerve.

  ‘Actually, my reason for bringing you here is very simple,’ he told her. ‘Tonight we’re attending a prestigious banquet held in honour of Madrid’s top businessmen and social elite.’ His eyes briefly skimmed over her and settled on her flushed face. ‘But first we need to go shopping.’

  Several hours later there was no trace of amusement in Javier’s voice when he spoke to Grace. ‘Hurry up and get out of the car. And stop sulking.’

  Grace turned her head and gave him a poisonous glare. ‘I’m not sulking,’ she snapped indignantly. ‘I was merely…collecting my thoughts.’ Thoughts that she judged would be better kept to herself, she decided after another glance at the smouldering impatience in his amber eyes. Their marriage pact was less than a day old, and already she had the sickening feeling that she had lost control of her life. ‘You might enjoy storming through life like a tornado but you can’t expect me to keep up with you.’

  ‘I expect you to step out of the car and into the lift in the next five seconds—unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you?’ Javier ground out, his brows drawn into a frown as he stared at her mutinous expression.

  ‘You can keep your damn hands off me!’ Riotous anger coursed through Grace’s veins—and that in itself was a shocking indication of how strongly the situation was affecting her, she thought dismally. She was renowned for her gentle nature and even temper, but Ja
vier Herrera seemed to bring out the worst in her.

  Catching the glint of battle in her tormentor’s eyes, she flung open the car door and stalked across the underground car park towards the lift, muttering a curse beneath her breath. For the past few hours her feet had barely touched the floor. The banquet being held tonight at one of Madrid’s most exclusive hotels would be the ideal situation at which to announce their engagement, Javier had informed her. For once he would welcome the attention of the media, and had already prepared a statement giving details of their forthcoming marriage in three weeks’ time.

  Grace had baulked at the thought of marrying so soon—her heart lurched painfully at the thought—but Javier had overridden her concerns in his usual autocratic manner. He was plainly a man used to getting his own way, and he was utterly determined to claim control of El Banco de Herrera by making her his bride.

  The afternoon had been spent on a whirlwind tour of the city’s top boutiques as he’d personally selected a wardrobe of designer outfits and evening dresses that he deemed suitable for the soon-to-be Duquesa de Herrera. He had ignored Grace’s initial refusal to accept anything from him, and had scathingly pointed out that a few thousand pounds on clothes was a drop in the ocean compared to the million he had already paid for her.

  The words ‘paid for’ had rendered Grace speechless. She had indeed sold her soul to the devil, she acknowledged despairingly. Her father would be free from debt and fear of a jail sentence, but she would be Javier’s prisoner for a whole year.

  ‘I can’t believe you bought me so many clothes,’ she muttered when he followed her into the lift, holding a multitude of bags and boxes. ‘I told you I don’t need them, I have my own clothes.’