More Than A Millionaire (Contemporary Romance)

by Sophie Weston

  Ah, but she had never had any confidence, had she? Just that beautiful spontaneity. And a guileless frankness that disarmed him, just when she exasperated him the most.

  Emilio slid an arm casually along the back of her seat. It was somewhere between protective and possessive. He mocked himself for the confusion. But he did not take his arm away. Not that it mattered. Abby could not be less aware of it, Emilio thought wryly.

  He settled back. It was crazy but he felt more comfortable now that he was cradling the air around her, even if he was not actually touching her. He concentrated on the film at last.

  Abby felt the arm go round her seat. Her limbs twitched, as if they were about to stiffen. She fought to stay cool. He probably would not notice, of course. But if he did, he would laugh at her. Anyway, for her own self-respect, she could not sit there twitching with reaction. She was not an untried teenager anymore.

  It would be an instinctive thing for him, she told herself. He would not even know he was doing it, probably. Bet he had never been to a movie with a girl without putting his arm round her. It meant nothing to him. It had to mean nothing to her. Had to.

  Abby reminded herself that she had had lots of experience since the last time Emilio Diz had put his arm round her. Well, some experience. Certainly enough not to fall apart because a man put a casual arm round her. And she was old enough to go to a movie and watch the movie, she told herself crossly.

  She did. Eventually.

  Unfortunately the admiring reviews had neglected to mention that the thriller was also sad. Torn between outrage and a horrible suspicion that the whole cinema would hear her crying, Abby sat bolt upright and tried to sniff quietly. It was not a success.

  The arm closed round her shoulders. He pulled her towards him gently. She resisted for a moment. But only a moment. Then she leaned into the strong warm shoulder and took comfort. She found a handkerchief slipped into her hand.

  He must think I’m a child, she thought, depressed.

  She blotted her eyes, blew her nose and tried to sit up. The arm was suddenly hard around her, not gentle at all. Startled, Abby stopped trying.

  They stayed like that until the movie finished. He was clearly someone who liked to see the credits through to the bitter end. He did not let her move until the lights came up. By that time the cinema had nearly emptied.

  Abby sniffed and straightened and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘You take your movies seriously.’

  He looked down at her, his eyes warm. ‘I take everything I do seriously. If you don’t do it properly, there’s no point in wasting time to do it at all.’

  Their eyes locked. For a moment Abby thought: he’s going to kiss me! She swallowed.

  But then the attendant moved into the row behind them, picking up the detritus left by the audience and the moment was gone. Probably all in her imagination, anyway.

  She let him help her on with her coat. But she did not meet his eyes again. And all through the pizza and the walk back to the apartment block, she talked brightly about the people she knew and the amusing things they all did together. Nothing personal. Nothing intimate. Nothing that made her feel like an uncertain teenager again.

  Emilio let her talk. He was not quite sure what was going on. He mocked himself. With all his experience, he still could not read this woman. She could not be the innocent he remembered. He knew that. But what had she become? Simple, honest and kind as she seemed at some moments? Or the shallow party girl she seemed at other times; like now. Or something more complicated altogether?

  She had cried over the movie. She had not seemed like a hard socialite when she turned to him in the darkened cinema. It was only when the lights came up that she had started this social chatter, he realised. And if he touched her, the chatter faltered at once, even now.

  One thing his experience made him absolutely certain of. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. It was there, even when she was not turning to him. She had been totally aware of him in the cinema. She had trembled when he brushed her lips this morning. More than trembled.

  Hang on, thought Emilio. Maybe he was wrong about that mutual attraction. Trembling or not, she had not kissed him back this morning.

  His experience gave a mocking laugh. Not quite, it pointed out. Not yet.

  But she would. Oh, yes, she would.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE furniture had arrived. It was standing around the main room, still wrapped in muffling sheets of semi-opaque plastic. Abby pulled a face.

  ‘They look like ghosts of furniture, don’t they?’

  ‘They look like a lot of work,’ said Emilio, slightly taken aback.

  ‘Oh, no. I only got the basics. I hope,’ said Abby uneasy now the stuff was actually there, ‘that you don’t hate my taste too much.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose, I didn’t really ask you what styles you liked or anything.’

  ‘You read my brief?’

  ‘Yes, but the warehouse didn’t exactly run to genuine antiques,’ said Abby dryly. ‘I had to do the best I could. So I got what I liked.’

  Emilio’s eyes danced suddenly. ‘Then let’s see how far apart we are, shall we?’

  He produced a Swiss Army knife and slit the plastic covering the largest piece of furniture. After a moment’s hesitation, Abby followed suit.

  It took them an hour to strip off the coverings and put the stuff in place. Emilio stood back and surveyed the drawing room. Abby folded her arms round herself, horribly anxious now it was done.

  ‘Comfortable,’ he pronounced at last. ‘Welcoming. I like that big table lamp.’

  Her heart sank. ‘Only the lamp?’

  ‘No.’

  Emilio did not quite know what he was feeling. The family house in BA was full of intricately carved furniture and carefully displayed works of art. The Spanish place still had the antiques he had bought with it. His apartment in New York was minimalist and functional. He had never had deep winged chairs before. Or Persian rugs. Or cushions. So many cushions, in such different sizes; and in such a kaleidoscope of colours and design.

  He said carefully, ‘It’s all a lot more solid than I’m used to. But I like it, I think. Feels like a home. It will just take a bit of time for it to feel like my home.’

  She had to be content with that.

  He did not comment at all on the furniture she had selected for her own room. Abby was grateful. It was the only area in which the warehouse had let her down. She had picked out a plain bed, halfway between single and double size, with a coordinating chest. But what arrived was very different.

  For one thing the bed was shaped like a sleigh and gleamed with cherrywood. For another, it was enormous. The chest was equally substantial. Her small supply of sweaters and underclothes would be lost in it. Just as she would be lost in that great bed.

  Emilio said nothing, as he helped push it into place though, except, ‘Did you get bed linen?’

  ‘Not from the warehouse,’ said Abby, briskly practical. It was her only defence against embarrassment but it seemed to work. ‘I bought some, along with a duvet and a couple of pillows.’

  The duvet would be big enough, just about, but she was not sure about the sheets. She might have to raid the ones she had bought for Emilio’s bed and return the others tomorrow. Blast it.

  ‘I got some cutlery and some basic china, too. Plain white. Hope that’s all right.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said indifferently.

  Abby shook her head. ‘You know you’re the most surprising millionaire I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘You really don’t care about all this stuff, do you?’ She gestured round the room.

  He laughed. ‘I don’t have big emotional relationships with tables and chairs, no.’

  Abby’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about pizza and a movie?’

  ‘Oh, sure, I have an emotional relationship with pizza. Show me the man who doesn’t.�
��

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘So explain.’

  Abby was trying to. ‘My father knows people who are rich. I mean very rich. I’ve known them all my life. They do care about tables and chairs. Everything has to be the best. It all has to show everyone that they can afford the best.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I don’t know one of them who would have taken me to a movie, tonight. A Michelin-starred restaurant would be more in their line.’

  The dark eyes were very grave. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘What?’ She did not understand.

  ‘Do you want a—shall we say, more conventional—millionaire?’

  Abby shook her head violently. ‘No, of course not.’

  And then heard what she had said.

  ‘Not that I mean I want you. I mean, I don’t not—I mean, I never thought—I, oh, help!’

  He had been listening with deep appreciation. Now he helped her out of her misery.

  ‘It wasn’t a fair question.’

  Abby pressed a hand to a hot cheek and glared at him. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘But irresistible,’ he murmured.

  She was so furious she forgot she was embarrassed. ‘And that’s not fair, either. I’m grateful to you for helping me out like this. But that doesn’t mean you can just wind me up whenever you feel like a good laugh.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  ‘I’m not here for your entertainment.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  It took the wind out of her sails, rather.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she said not very graciously.

  Emilio looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re very sensitive.’

  Abby sighed and told the truth. ‘That’s just it. I’m not.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, not usually. If you have four brothers you sort of get immune to teasing. Families are a great training for life’s assault course.’

  He looked thunderstruck. ‘Families! Damn!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got a call I need to make. I forgot.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Maybe it’s not too late.’

  Abby realised suddenly that she was intruding on his privacy. She jumped to her feet.

  ‘I’ll go and make some coffee. I bought that, too.’

  She did. But not before she heard him say into the phone in Spanish, ‘Isabel? Sorry love, things came up. Now tell me what’s really wrong. And no more nonsense about garbage collection.’

  It sounded as if they were incredibly close. Abby winced, excluded. Then promptly told herself that she had no right to feel excluded. It was not as if they were living together, for heaven’s sake. They were just two ships who should have passed in the night. OK, they had ended up in harbour together because of storms at sea. But as soon as the storms blew over, they would steam on their way. Going in different directions, no doubt.

  You have no rights in him, she told herself. And sharing his flat isn’t going to give you any.

  Not, of course, that she wanted any. Heck, she had only known him for a day. Well, a day and a few intense hours nine years ago, of which she was not going to remind him. Of course, she did not want any rights in him. Isabel, whoever she was, was welcome to him.

  He finished his phone call and followed her out to the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry about that. Domestic crisis in the offing.’

  ‘Oh.’ Abby’s tone was not encouraging.

  Emilio did not appear to notice. ‘What do you do with a nine-year-old who says he’s not going back to school? Then locks himself in his room to prove his point.’

  In the act of pouring coffee, Abby froze. A nine-year-old? He had a child?

  Why had she not thought of that? Why had she not remembered that the sophisticated set he belonged to did not necessarily marry? They just paired up when they felt like it and parted when they were bored.

  She knew Isabel was not his wife. He had explained very carefully why he could not afford a wife. Had Isabel had to be content with being the mother of his child then?

  It wouldn’t do for me, thought Abby. That little clutch of children’s books in the cupboard in her room seemed to mock her. She made a small sound of distress.

  ‘What is it?’ said Emilio.

  She couldn’t say, ‘I’ve just had another sophistication failure.’ She finished pouring the coffee.

  She shrugged, making very good display of indifference. ‘I don’t know anything about nine-year-olds. My brothers are all older than I am.’

  ‘Well, take it from me they’re a pain in the butt,’ he said grimly. ‘Especially when they’re an only child of a doting single mother.’

  Abby was horribly shocked. She struggled to restrain it but her every instinct screamed at her to protest, even if it made him laugh at her unworldliness. She held on to it, but only just.

  Emilio did not notice. He was frowning, clearly impatient. ‘The trouble is she was much too young when he was born. As a result he is wilful as sin. And, of course, spoilt.’

  The sophistication failure was total. ‘Does he—do they—live with you?’ she asked in a strangled voice.

  ‘Yes and no. There’s a family house but Isabel and Daniel have their own apartment.’

  It sounded bleak.

  ‘Maybe that’s the problem.’ It burst out of her. She could not help it.

  Emilio noticed her reaction something at last. He stared.

  ‘What?’

  She turned away. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No, go on. You clearly have something to say.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Don’t let that stop you now.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, goaded. ‘You asked for it. Maybe if his father didn’t live in another part of the house and take off all round the world all the time, the child would not refuse to go to school. Or,’ she added savagely, ‘be a pain in the butt.’

  ‘His father!’

  Abby caught herself. ‘I know it’s none of my business. But you did ask.’

  ‘His father?’

  How could he look so outraged? Did he think bringing up a child he sired was nothing to do with him?

  Abby’s temper stirred. ‘It takes more than an exchange of body fluids to be a proper father,’ she flashed.

  Emilio’s head went back as if she had hit him.

  ‘It does indeed,’ he said softly.

  Abby heard the note of danger. She said hastily, ‘I shouldn’t have said that. If you want to keep one jump ahead of real relationships, it’s up to you.’

  He gave her a glittering smile. It did not get anywhere near his eyes.

  ‘Oh, why not? If you think I’m a cold-hearted playboy, why not go ahead and say it.’

  Something very wrong here, thought Abby.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘I think you did.’

  Very wrong.

  ‘If I’ve upset you—’ she began stiffly.

  He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Oh, what’s to upset? You’ve just accused me of neglecting my son, insulting his mother and abandoning the pair of them whenever I feel like it. What’s wrong with that?’

  Abby realised she had made a mistake. A big mistake. Much, much bigger than a simple sophistication failure.

  She said, ‘He’s not your son, is he?’

  Emilio looked at her in silence for a moment. A muscle worked in his jaw.

  Then he said curtly, ‘No.’

  Abby wanted to die. How could she have been so stupid? That was what came of trying so hard to prove that she knew the score!

  She said wretchedly, ‘Who is he?’

  ‘My sister Isabel’s son.’

  ‘And—his father?’

  Emilio’s mouth thinned. ‘If I knew for certain who he was, I’d probably kill him.’

  ‘What?’

  He sighed angrily. ‘Now you think I’m a potential murderer. No, Abby, not literally. Moral delinquent, though I am, I don’t kill people.’

  She
winced.

  ‘But I would have made him face his responsibilities years ago, by force if necessary.’ He flung her a challenging look. ‘And I make no apology for that.’

  Abby swallowed. She wanted to sink into the ground. ‘But you don’t know who he is?’

  The challenging look subsided. He looked tired suddenly.

  ‘Bebel won’t say. So I do the best I can as a substitute father. To be honest, it’s not a great best.’

  Abby looked at him and made a discovery. He minded.

  She said forgot her horrible gaffe. She said gently, ‘What do you think you do wrong?’

  He turned away. ‘Oh, everything. I’m the only one to provide discipline, you see. That makes me an ogre. Bebel says he’s afraid of me. She may be right.’

  ‘Afraid of you?’

  ‘Lots of people are,’ said Emilio in a hard voice. ‘There’s a whole floor of them at Traynor for example. And Bebel has sometimes said that she wouldn’t have gone off the rails if she had not been too afraid to talk to me when she was a teenager.’

  Abby heard self-reproach. And more than self-reproach, a bleak loneliness that touched her to the heart. She nearly put out a hand to touch him. In the end she did not quite dare. Not after what she had just accused him of.

  She said to his back, ‘Why was she afraid of you? Were you a substitute father for your sister as well, then?’

  Emilio turned round. She could not read anything in his expression at all.

  ‘I was the breadwinner,’ he said uncommunicatively.

  Abby hesitated. ‘When did your sister—?’

  But he flung up a hand. ‘It’s too late to give you a rundown on my family history. I have a long day tomorrow.’

  Abby was wretchedly torn. She wanted to apologise. To say that she did not think he was a cold-hearted playboy, that she had just been rocked off balance for a moment. But if she did that, she had to say why she had reacted so strongly. And she did not know. Except that for a moment she had felt almost jealous of the abandoned Isabel. And, of course, she could not say that.

  So in the end, she said nothing.

  She stood up. ‘OK. I’ll see you in the morning, then.’

  But in the morning, he was gone.

  The next couple of days were extraordinary for Abby. At home she rattled around in the newly furnished flat like an unwanted extra on an empty film set. At work, no matter how hard she tried to devote herself to the tasks in her in-tray, she could not quite get rid of the idea that people were watching her.