Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by the Spaniard (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 4)

by Clare Connelly

  Her smile was tight. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He nodded, a curt acceptance of her decision. “Fine.” Only he didn’t seem fine. He seemed to resent her, to resent the fact she was here.

  “Are you?”

  His expression was mocking when it met hers. “Am I what, Ava?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said on autopilot.

  “Ah. But that is your stage name, isn’t it? Besides, I am employing you – I get to call you whatever I want.”

  A dip in her gut made her body unbalanced. She gripped the railing tighter. “I’d prefer to think we’re doing one another a favour.”

  “No, Ava. I am paying you for a service.” He lifted a finger to her shoulder then, and a thousand nerve-endings danced in fiery recognition. “Do not forget that I am rewarding you handsomely for your performance.”

  The slender column of her throat shifted visibly as she swallowed; she was powerless to look away. “I won’t forget,” she said thickly. How could she?

  “And, as such, I will say or do whatever I damned well please.”

  Addie dipped her head forward, unable to meet the fierce resentment she saw in his face. His anger and judgment that were barreling towards her. Their past was a cliff-face as sheer as those they’d sped past minutes earlier, and she had no idea how to scale it.

  “Guy,” it was a whisper. “You’re so angry with me. If you knew…”

  “I have told you,” he issued the words conversationally, so banal and calm that Addie wondered if she’d imagined the tension she’d felt coming off him in waves moments earlier. “I do not wish to discuss the past.” His eyes narrowed. “I know who you are. What you are. And now I intend to use your remarkable ability to lie to my advantage.”

  His derision hurt. “No, Guy, you really don’t know me if you think that. If you’d just give me a chance to explain…”

  He stared at her with a look she imagined capable of silencing any business rival he’d ever come up against. When he spoke, it was slowly, his exotic accent thick. “I will have the Captain turn this boat around and take you back to the mainland if you say another word about explaining. There is no explanation. None. Got it? You lied to me. You created a fictitious character and brought her into my home and my bed. Every dinner, every touch – it was all make-believe.”

  “No,” Addie shook her head but Guy turned his back and stalked down the boat. She stared after him for a moment and then followed, moving quickly, her hand running along the railing.

  “The night I met you,” she called to his retreating back. “Was the tenth anniversary of an accident, of something that… forever changed who I am. I wanted to forget. And so I got dressed up, and I went to a party with my cousin, and we both agreed that we would pretend to be someone else for the night. To escape the problems in our own lives. It was supposed to be fun.”

  Guy turned, his expression like a mask of calm. “A sob story designed to pull me in once more? You have had weeks to perfect your next lie; I should have thought you capable of better than this.”

  “It’s not a lie.” Despite the warmth of the day, Addie’s teeth juttered together. “If you’ll just listen to me…”

  “Stop.” He held a hand up, his manner imperious, his derision palpable. “You are here because I am paying you. When we are around my family, you will dote on me, but here, on the boat, we will not speak. Do you understand the rules?”

  All the colour had dropped from her face, leaving her pale and blotchy beneath his disinterested inspection. “It is best if you stick to the same lies you have already manufactured and delivered so well – those which you told me. You are a stage actress,” he said, lifting his finger to enumerate the biographical details on which he wanted them to agree. “You are an only child. You live in south London. Anything I’m missing?”

  She stomped her foot with frustration. “Yes! You’re missing that I love Italian food – do you remember how we used to get takeaway in your bed almost every night?” His eyes narrowed. “You have forgotten that I like to be woken up with a cup of peppermint tea, and that I go running when I need to clear my head. That you love to peel my running gear off my body and run your tongue over me, tasting my salty flesh. You have forgotten that we both love horror movies and that you hold me in your lap as we watch them together. You have forgotten…”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his face tighten as she recounted the truths of their short, spectacular relationship, but then his emotions were masked, yet again, his face expertly concealing anything he might actually be feeling from her.

  “Ah, yes. Excellent. More little lies I can spread like breadcrumbs to my family, to make this fiction seem real.”

  Tears sparkled on Addie’s lashes and she moved closer to him, reaching her hands up to cup his cheeks. He was tense, but at least he didn’t jerk away from her. “My name is Adeline Scott,” she said quietly. “Everyone calls me Addie.”

  “Not everyone. To me, you will always be Ava.”

  She was an exceptional actress. The play of emotions across her face was so profound he could almost believe it to be genuine. Except he knew her. He knew the ease with which she deceived, and he would never believe in her again. He would never be so foolish.

  After Sofia, he’d thought he was immune to beautiful liars. Sofia, with her long legs and husky voice, her thirty-five years of experience to his sixteen years of youthful vigour. Sofia who had seduced him and made his heart learn to love. Sofia who had been married to one of her father’s friends, in the end. Who was using him for sport.

  Yes, he’d learned his lesson after Sofia. Or so he’d thought.

  It had taken precisely three minutes after seeing Addie – Ava, he corrected inwardly – to know that he would take her to bed. At first, he’d thought it was the same physical desire that overtook him whenever he came across an exceptionally beautiful woman to whom he was attracted.

  But then she’d resisted him. Not, he’d thought at the time, because she wanted to be coy or play hard-to-get, but because she’d truly seemed as though she wasn’t sure she wanted to go home with him. She’d seemed nervous. Innocent. Inexperienced.

  Her resistance had intrigued him. He’d fought for her, launching a major charm offensive. He’d won.

  Of course he’d won – when did he not? Except it had been a mistake, one he would always regret.

  He’d let his need to triumph remove his ability to think straight, and so he hadn’t seen a single warning sign to tell him that she was playing him. What had she wanted? A ring? To be Mrs Guy Rodriguez?

  A dangerous shiver of apprehension ran down his spine, because he knew how close he’d come to asking her to be exactly that! On the very night when the truth had shattered

  What an A-grade moron he’d been. He struggled, even now, to analyse the source of her power over him, acknowledging only that there was indeed something within this woman that called to him in a way no one else had - not since Sofia, anyway.

  Perhaps that was it? Perhaps her innate gift for dishonesty made Ava the perfect reminder of the first woman he’d ever thought he loved?

  “This will be your room,” he said, bringing himself back into the present swiftly, reminding himself that Ava was right behind him, her perfect body as sinfully tempting as ever, so close that he could reach out and touch her, feel the soft smoothness of her skin.

  “My room?” She repeated, the small frown showing confusion.

  “What’s the matter?” He asked, unable to stop himself now, as he closed the distance between them. “Did you think we would be sharing?”

  He saw the way her lips parted and heard the way her breath got thicker, clouded by the heat of her thoughts? “I…” Pink moved across her face. Was she blushing because she was embarrassed or was it simply another trick in her arsenal?

  “You are here to fool my family,” he said simply. “I told you in Madrid, I have long-since replaced you in my bed.”

  Her eyes flashed
away from him and her breath got louder. This wasn’t an act. The pain, the shock. This was real. Raw. Truth.

  Yes, there was truth in her reaction to his gloating, and he liked that. Not hurting her necessarily, but shocking her into an honest reaction. Connecting with a part of her that wasn’t a construct.

  “The crew has unpacked your clothes in here,” he nodded towards a white door that concealed a wardrobe. He moved further down the corridor, to the room next door. “This is my room.”

  She nodded, toying with the silky ends of her hair, plaiting it nervously between her fingers.

  “So we’re staying here? On the boat?”

  Guy’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “But I thought the whole point was to fool your family…”

  “To please my grandfather,” he corrected. “And while I realise we must lie to them, that I am being dishonest, I do not relish the idea of rubbing this falsehood in their face. We will spend the bare minimum time with them, and otherwise, be onboard the yacht.” He moved deeper into the corridor, which gave way to a large, luxurious lounge area, complete with white leather sofas, an open-plan kitchen and bar, and on the deck beyond, a spa bath.

  “Won’t they think that’s kind of rude?”

  “They know I like to … entertain … on my yacht,” he drawled, and again, had the satisfaction of seeing her blanche at the heavy-handed and exaggerated inference to other women. As a point of fact, he didn’t bring women onboard often at all. The yacht was his sanctuary, somewhere he came when he needed to get away. “They will simply presume I am too infatuated to want to share you. If anything, it will make this seem more plausible.”

  Addie spun away, moving towards the floor to ceiling windows that showed a panoramic view of Acantilados. With her back turned, Guy feasted his eyes on her body as he’d been wanting to since he saw her on the deck, staring out at the island with visible wonder. He stared at her, remembering every sweet curve of her, every dip and hollow, every pulse point and how she liked them to be touched.

  “You really don’t have any problem with this, do you?”

  He frowned, moving closer, having to strain to hear her softly-spoken question.

  “What problem would I have?”

  When she turned to face him, there was an ethereal sadness in her expression. “This. You. Me. Being here together but not together. You’re really able to sever what we used to be from what we are now, aren’t you?”

  Guy frowned. “Of course.”

  Her laugh was a sharp sound of disbelief. “Of course? You’re not … awkward?”

  He spoke with cold determination. “I am simply looking forward to giving an old man peace of mind in his twilight years. That is the only reason you’re here, and when the week is over, my driver will take you to the airport and, make no mistake, I will be glad to see the back of you.”

  4

  OF COURSE SHE’D EXPECTED the island to be luxurious. She’d had a glimpse of Guy’s lifestyle in London. His stunningly expensive penthouse in Mayfair, the driver who ferried him around in some kind of Aston Martin, the way he dressed, everything.

  His yacht too had been the last word in sophistication and glamour.

  But the island?

  The island was something else.

  The moment they stepped off the boat, onto the Marina, she began to see the tell-tale signs of wealth. Security cameras mounted discreetly on poles that lined the beach. At the end of the marina, there was a golf cart, and a man in a dark grey suit stood waiting for them.

  He said something to Guy in Spanish, words that were spiced and warm, and Guy nodded. Addie’s stomach swirled with nerves as she took her seat in the back of the vehicle. Nerves trebled when Guy slid in beside her, his powerful leg pressed to hers, his face angled resolutely ahead, so that when she risked a glance in his direction she caught only the edge of his autocratic profile.

  The afternoon sun was lowering in the sky, turning from bright yellow to a golden red, and the sky itself was transforming as well. Blue was giving way to a deep violet, and orange was streaking along beside it, trying to catch the last of the warmth.

  The man in the suit started the golf cart with a purr and moved it easily along the beach, to a clearing in the white sand that led to a wooden boardwalk. It was bumpy beneath them as the cart drove parallel to the ocean, sweeping along beside it, until the path turned inland.

  Here, there were more subtle signs of wealth. The path was lined with hip-height lights which, at night, would cast enough of a glow to be able to safely navigate the island, and delightful flower beds were perfectly tended, creating splashes of neat colour out of nowhere. On they travelled for at least two miles, climbing higher and higher, until finally the cart entered a clearing in the coastal scrub, a large patch of neatly manicured lawn with a perfect example of a Mediterranean garden leading to a house that was pure Calatrava, with its sweeping white-box shape, enormous glass windows, jutting balconies, and striking construction. It looked like a cube, but not a cube, with many little shifts and recesses in it that served to create interest. There was also a particularly enthusiastic bougainvillea scrawled up one side, breaking up the severity of the crisp whiteness of the building, and adding a touch of wildness to the setting.

  Addie hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it escaped her in one long, soft sigh.

  Guy’s head tilted towards her, she could feel his eyes boring into her. “You like it?”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful.” Stupidly, tears pricked her eyes. She reached for her sunglasses and pulled them down, placing them on the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know why, but the house makes me feel… it makes me feel.”

  Guy’s eyes were watchful, scanning her face for several seconds before he shifted his gaze back to the house. “It is supposed to. The house is a work of art. Art should make you feel.”

  “It shouldn’t look so perfect, but somehow, it seems almost cast from the earth that surrounds it.”

  His brows lifted at her perceptiveness. “Much of the stone was quarried from the eastern side of the island. My grandfather was adamant that it should reflect this place.”

  “When was it built?”

  “In the seventies.”

  “It’s striking.”

  “Si.”

  The driver had already vacated the golf cart but now he reached down and opened Addie’s side door, so she stepped out, unable to take her eyes off the building.

  There was a powerful fragrance that she hadn’t noticed at first, so captivated was she by the visual beauty of the home. But she breathed it in now, tasting orange blossom and jasmine deep in her lungs.

  “I don’t know if I’d ever spend my time anywhere else, if I were you.”

  “I used to feel like that.” His lips twisted in a tight smile, so at odds with the way he’d once been that her heart twisted in complaint. What she wouldn’t do to feel the warmth of his attention, as she’d used to. To see his smile reach all the way to his eyes.

  “You don’t now?”

  “My company cannot run itself, and I certainly can’t run it from here.” He put a hand under her elbow, guiding her towards the house. To her right, another clearing opened and she saw several more golf carts, each with a small Rodriguez logo marked on its door. There must have been at least twenty of the vehicles.

  Addie lifted her face to Guy’s thoughtfully. “That’s a lot of golf carts for a place without a golf course.”

  “Why do you think there isn’t?” He prompted, his smile sardonic.

  Addie’s mouth dropped. “There’s a golf course on the island?”

  He shrugged. “My grandfather built the island as his bolt hole. It has everything he could ever want. A golf course, cinema, helipad, stables, race track…”

  “Wow.” Addie shook her head slightly from side to side, this intimate view of how the other-half lived leaving her with a growing sense of amazement. Frustration too, when she thought how the last five years had been
such a struggle for her. How could there be such wealth in the world when there was also such poverty?

  “Smile now, Addie,” he prompted, leaning closer. “Santiago is probably already watching.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes startled, then turned her gaze to the house. The windows were darkly tinted; she couldn’t see beyond them. It was, indeed, possible that they were being observed.

  “And remember, I am paying you a lot of money to make this seem like the real deal. I expect you to perform as well here as you did in London.”

  She swallowed and nodded jerkily, resisting the impulse to point out that neither required much effort. That she didn’t consider loving Guy something she’d ever ‘pretended’ about.

  The house itself was even more beautiful inside than out. Enormous, open-plan, with white walls, polished white floors, and glass windows and doors that gave uninterrupted views of the stunning coastline.

  The sun was framed by two of the windows and looked, for all the world, like a piece of art, all blazing orange and gold, with purple and pink streaking behind.

  Staff were milling about, though they had obviously been trained to remain somewhat invisible. Addie, though, was unused to this rarefied existence and she saw them, standing by the door, polishing objects in the hallway, moving into what she presumed to be the kitchen, carrying trays of items.

  Guy turned to Addie and now his smile shone, lighting his whole face and causing her to miss her step slightly. It warmed her up from the inside out, supercharging her pulse, making her head spin. Her heart tripped in her chest and her smile was quick and genuine.

  Until she realized that his was, of course, for Santiago’s benefit.

  It briefly caused her own smile to falter, but not for long. He might be pretending, but it still had the power to cause her body to soar.

  “This way,” he reached behind her, putting a hand around her waist, drawing her close to him, so that she could feel warmth and strength through his clothes. Her body molded to his as perfectly as ever.