Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases)

by Carole Mortimer

  “I did,” he said coolly.

  She blinked back tears. Ridiculous to still be hurt over such a thing, or to expect an explanation so many years after the fact. He was Alejandro Arroyo Rivera de Ramirez, international playboy, billionaire financier.

  Women had always fallen over him. Always would.

  And she’d been no different, had she? He hadn’t been a billionaire back then, merely a famous man in his own country, making his way in a new business. She’d been the one with a privileged background, the one from hotel royalty. But she’d fallen hard for him; his betrayal still stung even now. She should have known better.

  “You will be pleased to know we are divorced,” he continued. “Alas, arranged marriages never work as planned.”

  “Good for her, for wising up.”

  “Like you did?”

  A bitter laugh burst from her throat before she could stop it. “There was never a choice for me, Alejandro. You were already engaged.”

  “Promised, not engaged.”

  Rebecca scoffed, hoping he wouldn’t see how the subject still affected her. “What is that? Spanish hair-splitting? The truth is you were to marry another woman when you so conveniently seduced me.”

  “You did not mind being seduced, as I recall.”

  Heat blossomed in her belly. Flooded her senses. Gathered between her thighs. “I was stupid—and blind to your true nature.”

  His square jaw flexed. He hitched a leg onto the corner of the desk, his custom-made trousers stretching tight against one hard thigh. “And just what is my true nature, querida?”

  Danger saturated his voice, but she was too angry and hurt to heed the warning. No, what she itched to do was slap his sculpted profile. How dare he steal her company and then stand there and defend his actions of five years ago like he’d been the one wronged?

  “You’re a liar and a cheat.”

  She stood her ground as he stalked her. One arm snaked around her waist, yanked her against every last inch of his muscled body. The other hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to accept his kiss. Fire exploded in her veins when his lips pressed to hers.

  Shock reverberated through her system. It was too much, too soon. She was still processing what it meant to see him again, to be flooded with conflicting emotions. She didn’t want this, didn’t need it.

  Couldn’t resist it for much longer.

  Her hands went to his chest of their own volition, whether to push away or touch him she wasn’t sure. She marshaled what was left of her willpower and pressed her palms against a granite wall. He simply upped the ante, his tongue sliding along the seam of her lips, teasing her with remembered bliss.

  She gave one last push. But he smelled good, felt good, and—

  There would be time for recriminations later. Besides, nothing was ever as good as the memory. Surely one kiss would inoculate her to Alejandro’s masculine charm. It was just what she needed to prove to herself he no longer meant a thing to her.

  Her mouth parted and his tongue slipped inside. Big mistake.

  But it was too late. She shuddered as she met him stroke for stroke. Was she out of her mind? She had to stop—but she didn’t want to. Not yet. For a moment she was flooded with memories—his mouth on hers, his naked skin beneath her fingers, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. Ecstasy unlike any she’d ever known. Happiness and love and a feeling of rightness.

  One of her hands threaded into his hair, luxuriated in its obsidian crispness. His fingers slid beneath her blouse, teased her nipple through the lace of her bra. It budded under his touch, sensitive and painful and neglected.

  She held on to his shoulders, all sense of time and place leaching away as she lost herself in the hot need he called up. She very much feared that if he pressed her to the floor right now, ripped off her clothes and impaled her with his hard maleness, she’d wrap her legs around him and hold on for the ride. Just to feel that perfect rightness once more, even if it was only an illusion.

  But, no, it was an illusion. She had to stop this. Now—

  He broke the kiss first. “You’re still sizzling, Rebecca,” he said, his breath hot against her moist lips. “And you are still a slut.”

  Her hand connected with his cheek before he could block the blow. He moved away from her, laughing. She thanked God for the fury coursing through her right now, because without it shame would have eaten her alive. How had she managed to lose every last shred of dignity she possessed the instant he kissed her?

  “Then I guess we know where we stand,” she said, her breath razoring in and out. She would not hyperventilate. Not now. Stupid to let down her guard like that, to feel any softness at all toward this man. “And now I’d like to go to the hotel and get some rest—if you’re finished trying to humiliate me.”

  “Your room is upstairs.”

  She gaped at him. “I’m staying here? In your villa? Is that wise?” she added, on what she hoped was a cool note.

  “I cannot possibly refuse paying guests simply to house an employee. You will stay here.”

  An employee. The word grated like nothing else ever had. Worse, it stung that he could kiss her so hotly and then act as though it was nothing more than a joke. “Fine. But don’t you ever touch me again.”

  His mouth twitched. “Are you sure about that? You were not so chilly a moment ago. Were you not remembering what it was like between us?”

  She lifted her chin. No sense lying, because he’d see right through it. “You’re a fine lover, Alejandro, but you aren’t the only man who knows his way around a woman’s body. Men like you are easy to find if a woman knows where to look.”

  “And where would that be?” His look was half amused, half curious.

  “I believe they like to hang out at resorts and fleece rich women out of their money.”

  His brows drew together. “You are calling me a gigolo?”

  “Keep it in mind if the hotel thing doesn’t work out.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Rebecca had to bite her lip to keep from grinning at the sound. She’d always loved his laugh. But the last thing she needed was to share a light moment with this man. He’d just stolen her company and ruined her career. The thought was enough to harden her resolve.

  He reached for the phone on his desk, touched a button. “Señora Flores will show you to your room.” She was almost to the door when his voice stopped her. “And do not worry, Rebecca. I have no intention of ever again accepting what you offer each time you look at me.”

  Rebecca’s spine snapped ramrod-straight. “What’s that? Sudden death? Because if you see anything else, you are a deluded man.”

  “Do not make me prove you wrong again.”

  She gave him her best glare, the one she’d perfected as a woman working hard to succeed in a man’s business. “Try me when I’m no longer jet-lagged, Alejandro. I promise you the response will be much different.”

  Alejandro returned to the villa late, having spent several hours at his sleek downtown office. He tossed his jacket across a chair in the master suite, loosened his tie and tugged it from his collar. He started to pour a drink from the bar in his room, but changed his mind and pulled on a pair of swim trunks instead. Right now he needed the release heavy exercise could bring. He hadn’t expected Rebecca Layton to get under his skin ever again. It was purely physical now, and yet it annoyed him nonetheless. He’d spent one month with her five years ago. One incredibly hot month that he couldn’t seem to forget, no matter how he tried. He’d enjoyed her company like none other. Enjoyed the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d smelled like wildflowers, and her funny way of saying things that meant something entirely different in American than they did in the British English he’d learned.

  He’d cared for her; he’d planned to marry her in spite of what his father expected. No matter what he told her now, he hadn’t been promised at all; it had been his brother who was to marry Caridad Mendoza, not him. Until Roberto had died of a drug overdose in a
Middle Eastern hellhole.

  Still, Alejandro had no intention of taking his brother’s place in the arrangement. He’d spent years fighting in the ring, making himself into something. His future had been bright and he’d choose his own wife. Rebecca Layton, daughter of a successful American hotel magnate, had been exactly the type of woman he needed to marry.

  Until she’d betrayed him. An ex-bullfighter and fledgling entrepreneur wasn’t good enough for the pampered heiress, apparently. The dirt, sweat and blood of the ring would never wash completely away for someone like her. She’d accepted him as her lover, sworn she loved him, and then tried to steal his future from under his nose.

  Her betrayal had cost him more than he could ever make her pay. Taking Layton International was only the beginning. He’d set it up carefully, made sure he would own her completely when it was done. It had taken years of planning and months of careful execution, but the culmination was here. Rebecca Layton would regret the day she’d crossed paths with him.

  Alejandro pushed open the French doors and padded out to the pool. Lights flooded the water from below, illuminating the terracotta and turquoise tiles. He dove into the coolness, hoping it would drive the heat of kissing her from his memory.

  Why had he succumbed to the urge? That one kiss had brought every bittersweet memory flooding back—especially when she’d clung to him, her soft moans coiling at the base of his spine, poisoning him with the urge to strip her naked and take her right there on the floor of his office.

  “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”

  Alejandro reached the wall, did a flip turn and propelled himself back toward the voice.

  “Swimming.” The water came up to his abdomen as he stood and looked at her.

  “Not that,” she said. “This.” Rebecca thrust a handful of papers at him.

  He ignored it and let his gaze wander over her sleek form. A red headband held her curls back from her face and matched the muted Hawaiian-print dress she wore. Slim legs tapered down to bare feet, but it was the circle of tiny white shells around one ankle that caught his attention. They caressed her ankle with every tap of her foot, kissed her bare skin like a lover.

  Like he’d once done.

  His gaze snapped to her face. “Those would be my plans to sell off a few of Layton’s less lucrative holdings.”

  She took a step toward the pool. “The New York location? New York? Are you crazy?”

  “Not at all. That hotel is small, outdated. It costs more in upkeep each year than it makes in profit.”

  The papers crinkled in her fist. “Why do you hate me so much?” she said, in a smaller voice than he would have expected.

  She seemed almost bewildered. But it was a ploy. She would use anything to distract him, including sex. How well he knew that about her.

  Her poor little me act angered him. “You know why. You used me to get information. You slept with me, then stole what you learned about the London deal to grab it for yourself. That move nearly destroyed Ramirez Enterprises.”

  Ramirez Enterprises had been little more than bravado and a dream back then. But losing the Cahill Group’s financing had destroyed far more precious things than his fledgling enterprise. He wasn’t about to tell her what she’d really cost him—what she’d forced him into to save everything.

  She tilted her head to one side. “I didn’t …”

  “Didn’t what?” he said, when she stopped speaking and stood there gazing off into space.

  “You’re lying.” She crossed her arms and glared down at him. “You couldn’t possibly be wiped out by one deal gone bad.”

  Of course she didn’t realize how he’d struggled. She’d never struggled for anything a day in her life. From her first moments everything had been handed to her on a silver platter. He very much enjoyed being the one to take it all away.

  Alejandro pressed his hands on the pool deck and levered himself out of the water. She took a step backward as he suddenly towered over her. He wanted to grab her, wanted to yank her into his arms and plunder her sweet mouth again. He turned away before his body betrayed his reaction to her. “Things were less certain then.”

  “So you bought a controlling interest in my company and now you plan to sell off my hotels one by one?”

  Grabbing a towel from the lounge chair, he wiped his face dry before giving her a dangerous smile. “Only the unprofitable ones, querida.”

  “La Belle Amelie was the first hotel my father opened after he married,” she said. “He named it for my mother.”

  Alejandro finished drying off and tossed the towel aside. She looked at him like he’d kicked her puppy. He hated it, hated the way she made him feel. But she was oh so good at manipulating him, wasn’t she?

  Never again.

  “It goes.”

  Her laugh was bitter. “To think I once believed—” She shook her head, inched her chin higher. Met his gaze firmly. “I’ll buy it from you. Give me a couple of weeks to put together the financing and I’ll—”

  “You once believed what?”

  “Make you a good offer.”

  “Believed what, Rebecca?”

  “Did you hear what I said? I want to buy La Belle Amelie. What I believed is of no consequence.”

  “Did you think I would marry you after a month together? Is that why you left?”

  “God, no!”

  She took another step back and he realized he’d been stalking her. He moved casually toward the edge of the pool, gave her space. The restless energy in him still demanded release, pounded through his body in waves. The hum was almost sexual, primal. Not much different from the way he’d felt whenever he’d faced a bull in the ring. He wanted to conquer, subdue, triumph.

  “I left because you were engaged, Alejandro.” Her chin fell as she studied the tiles at her feet. “I thought you were an honorable man. That’s what I once believed.”

  If he’d been gored by a bull he’d have felt less pain. Less anger.

  The unbelievable nerve of this woman.

  “You dare to question my honor when it was you who left—you who went to London and talked the Cahill Group into backing you instead of me? I spent months putting that deal together and you yanked the rug from under me. No, I will never sell La Belle Amelie to you!”

  Alejandro dragged in a breath, willed calm to replace the seething fury roiling inside him. “I’ll have it demolished first, Rebecca. You can pick through the rubble and see what you can salvage then.”

  She remained unnaturally silent, her slender form shaking. He’d expected fury. Tears maybe. Pleading if she thought it would work. Sex as a last resort.

  But the last thing he ever expected was for her to tackle him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EVERYTHING went wrong the instant Rebecca lunged. Fury ate at her gut like battery acid. She’d planned to shove his arrogant carcass into the pool and go back to her room. And then she was going to call financier Roger Cahill. What Alejandro accused her of couldn’t possibly be true.

  Except the momentum required to throw Alejandro off balance tipped her too far forward. Her arms windmilled like crazy before she lost the fight and splashed down, landing on fifteen stone worth of angry Spanish male.

  Something collided hard with the top of her head, and then she was sinking beneath the surface. She sucked in a breath, gulped chlorine. She needed to fight her way back up, needed to kick hard and breach the liquid barrier above her. But she couldn’t seem to do it. Her limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

  How ironic to die in Alejandro’s pool. The last thought rattling through her brain was that if there were any justice in the world, he’d get blamed for her death.

  A second later, air burst into her lungs. She coughed sharply, spitting up water. Her head lolled against something hard and warm.

  Alejandro.

  “Querida, speak to me,” he urged in a harsh voice.

  Her back pressed down on a hard surface and she realized he’d laid her on the
tile beside the pool. A moment later he hovered over her, his hands bracketing her head, water dripping from his skin onto hers.

  She coughed again, her throat raw and burning. A sob welled up from somewhere inside, but she refused to give in to it. She gulped it back and stuffed it down deep. The last thing she would ever do was show weakness in front of this man.

  “Rebecca, amor, say something. Call me a name if it pleases you.”

  “Arrogant idiot,” she sputtered, though it came out as little more than a whisper. “Foolish Spaniard.”

  He grinned down at her. “I said one name, did I not?”

  Her heart lurched. Not a good thing. “It makes me happy, calling you names.”

  It also made her happy to see him smile at her, but that was a piece of information she had no intention of sharing. One tear slipped from the corner of her eye and blazed a hot trail down her temple. She’d only been here a few hours and already a part of her longed for what used to be. Get over it, Becca. He’s not the right man for you, never was. He used you, same as Parker Gaines did.

  “What happened?” she asked, dashing the tear away with her fingers.

  “I was trying to move out of the way when you fell on top of me. Your head connected with my elbow.”

  “Oh.”

  His fingers spanned her skull, probing softly. He was so close his breath whispered over her skin, sent a shiver skimming. “No bumps. I think you will live.”

  “Sell me the hotel, Alejandro,” she urged, her eyes searching his. “It means nothing to you.”

  “And everything to you.”

  “Yes.” She pulled a deep breath into her lungs, savoring the sweet night air, forcing herself to go on though her throat was raw. “They built it together. He knew she missed Paris, and he gave it a French theme. There are family antiques in the hotel even now.”

  “You may have them.” His eyes were flat, the concession seeming to cost him a great deal to say. “I won’t prevent you from taking what is sentimental to you.”

  “The hotel is sentimental to me. I—” she swallowed “—I was born there. I beg you to reconsider.”