She gripped her briefcase, her knuckles whitening. She had an urge to close her eyes and count to a hundred before speaking, the way her mother had used to make her do when she was upset and crying over something. It had worked to calm her down when she was ten, though it had also made her feel unimportant and unloved.
Ah, but you are unloved. This man does not love you, never did. Never could and never will.
She concentrated on his cold, handsome features. Not that she wanted him to love her now. No, that desire was in the past. This man was nothing like the Alejandro she’d once loved.
But he’s still inside there.
No.
She closed the door firmly on such thoughts. “Very well,” she said, as coolly as she could manage given the erratic beating of her heart. “If you will allow me to drop these things in my room?”
His nod was brief. Arrogant and sure. She itched to smack him. Instead, she put her things away and returned to join him beside the limousine waiting out front. He held the door open for her, then followed her inside. A moment later they were being whisked through the darkening streets of Madrid.
“We’re going where?” Rebecca’s heart climbed into her throat, thrumming in panic. His parents’ anniversary party? But why? She closed her eyes, swallowed. Oh, God. She’d never met his parents—had, in fact, no idea what his relationship with them was like. He’d spoken of a brother and sister, she remembered that much. His brother had died tragically only a few months before she’d met Alejandro. He’d never talked of it, and she hadn’t asked because their relationship had been so new.
But would his parents know who she was? That she was the woman he’d been sleeping with while he was engaged to someone else? How could she possibly show up at their special party tonight and hold her head up?
Alejandro glanced up from his PDA, his expression showing he hadn’t missed the note of alarm threading through her voice. “The party is a grand affair, Rebecca. No one will notice another guest. Besides, I am the one paying for it.”
It was true she’d envisioned some sort of small, lavish dinner party instead of a “grand affair”, but the idea of several hundred people at this event did nothing to quell her uneasiness. His parents would still be there, and if she were with Alejandro she’d still have to meet them. Perhaps that was his plan: Mom, Dad, meet Rebecca Layton—the slut who stole my deal and tried to ruin me five years ago.
But that wasn’t the source of her deepest anxiety. No, if she were brutally honest with herself, most of her unease was brought on by the proximity of the man sitting across from her, his legs sprawled casually to either side of hers. Long lashes shadowed his eyes as he concentrated on the screen of his PDA. Tanned fingers manipulated the keys deftly, sending and receiving information at the touch of a few buttons.
He’d talked of tasting her. She’d thought of almost nothing else since.
Memories of long ago crashed into her mind with alarming regularity. Sexual memories. Of Alejandro’s skin against hers, of his hot tongue slicking a path down her body, finding her—
Rebecca pressed two fingers to her temples, willing the erotic images out of her head. She had to focus, had to prepare herself for whatever she would find at this party. Maybe no one would notice her—or maybe it really was another facet of Alejandro’s plan to humiliate her in front of as many people as possible. Why else had he ordered her to come with him?
He couldn’t know how tormented she was, simply looking at him, how part of her wanted to reach out and find the man he used to be beneath the hard exterior. How she ached to touch his smooth skin, to trace her fingers along the seam of his lips, to breathe in the warm scent of him the way she’d once done. To see him actually smile at her with warmth.
Stop, just stop. He hates you.
When the limousine pulled into the circular drive of the Villa de Musica, Rebecca wanted to melt into the plush leather seat. A horde of photographers clustered together near the entrance, snapping away as people emerged from the cars that crawled in a steady stream through the driveway.
She wiped clammy palms down her skirt, tried to straighten it out as best as possible. What would she look like beside Alejandro in the papers, dressed like a beach bum?
Alejandro slipped his phone into his pocket and frowned at her. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said.
She tilted her chin up, reached down deep for her inner socialite. Her mother would expect nothing less than total poise, regardless of the situation. “I’m not afraid. I’m just not prepared. You gave me no warning.”
“Sometimes the best things in life are spontaneous, yes?”
She wasn’t sure if he was joking or needling her. The car ahead of them disgorged its passengers. A woman stopped and posed, tossing long dark hair over her shoulders and tilting her hips from side to side. Flashes burst into life, lighting the entry as if it had been pitch-black before.
Alejandro swore. He stabbed the intercom button and snapped out an order in Spanish. The limo didn’t stop when their turn came but continued through the drive and out to the street.
“I forgot about the paparazzi. We’ll use the back entrance.”
“Won’t a few of them be stationed back there for just that purpose?”
He shrugged. “Sí, but my security is very thorough.”
Rebecca let out her breath. “Thank you,” she said.
“It is not for you,” he said curtly. “I have no wish to answer questions tonight.”
She crossed her arms and willed away the stab of hurt. Of course he hadn’t ordered the car to go around to the back in order to spare her any embarrassment. Was she an idiot? No, the more pain he could cause her, the better. Worse, she actually understood it. If her father hadn’t pressured Roger into backing out of the deal, what else might Alejandro have accomplished?
Rebecca studied the hotel as they snaked around behind it. The Villa de Musica was one of the grander buildings in Madrid. It had once belonged to a famous opera singer. It had been sold over the years, falling into a state of shabby decline before being rescued by Alejandro and restored to its glory days. She hadn’t been inside since she’d left his suite five years ago.
How would she feel walking inside, remembering? She would soon find out.
The limo slipped behind a security barrier. Moments later someone popped open the door and they rushed into a small service entrance at the rear of the hotel.
The hall was narrow, and she had no choice but to follow Alejandro as he worked his way through the labyrinth. He ushered her into an elevator. A minute later the doors slid open and they were hurrying down another hall. Alejandro stopped and keyed in a code on a pad beside a door. So he’d gone high-tech in the last five years. Interesting.
Rebecca stumbled to a halt behind him as the door swung open. The suite. The one he’d lived in five years ago, because he’d sunk everything he had into the hotel. It wasn’t the first place they had made love, but it was the location where she’d felt like she’d shared a home with him. She’d been staying in the luxurious private suite on the top floor, with its own pool and rooftop terrace, but this suite was smaller, more private, and they’d retreated here often. Eventually she had checked out of her room and moved into his.
“I’ll have one of the saleswomen bring up some things,” Alejandro said, pulling out his phone. “You can get dressed and come downstairs when you’re ready.”
She dragged her gaze from the door to the bedroom, forced herself to focus on what he was saying. To breathe normally. In. Out. In. Out.
“Fine,” she said evenly, determined not to let him see how affected she was by being back in this room with him. She managed to stroll over to the couch, sink down on it and cross her legs casually.
He finished calling the boutique, then turned to her. His mouth snapped shut, whatever he was about to say forgotten. He usually moved with the easy grace of a panther, but now he took a halting step forward. Stopped. Shook his head and scrubbed a hand th
rough his dark hair.
She started to ask him what was wrong, but a memory hurtled into her brain and her mouth went slack. This couch. Him. The two of them. Nothing between them but sweat, passionate words, breathy moans.
The heat in his gaze told her he was remembering it too. It shocked her, the raw primal urge she saw in his face, and it compelled her. She wanted him. Oh, God, how she wanted him. The only time she’d ever felt truly cherished was with him. It was everything she could do not to rise, go to him, pull his head down to hers. Try to recapture that feeling.
She closed her eyes, swallowed. Willed the memory away: the scents, tastes and sounds of it. It was too real, too painful.
The door clicked quietly and her eyes shot open. But there was no saleswoman arriving with dresses. The room was empty and she was alone.
CHAPTER SIX
WHAT was wrong with him? Why had he fled the suite like a bull was shadowing his heels, running him to ground? He’d stayed there dozens of times since she’d left. Hundreds of times. He’d even taken other women to bed there, in an effort to erase her from his memory. He’d been positive he’d done it too—until he’d turned around and seen her on the couch.
He should have left her in the villa and ignored the dark demon urging him to bring her along tonight. It would have been easier. And made more sense.
Alejandro stalked into the hotel offices and went over some paperwork the manager had been asking him to approve. But he kept seeing Rebecca, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her legs so long and bare in her little skirt. Superimposed over the picture of her sitting there tonight was a picture of her on the same couch, beneath him, naked and writhing and begging.
Madre de Dios, how much could a man take?
“Alejandro, please, I love you. Please, before I die. Please, please, please, I need you …”
He’d obliged her, of course, but not before making them both crazy with need. What would have happened had he done what he wanted tonight? Had he walked over there and stripped her naked? Would he be lost in her right now?
Sí, without a doubt.
He shouldn’t have brought her up here. It hadn’t been his plan. Until the flashbulbs had gone off and he had registered the alarm on Rebecca’s face. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to order the driver to the back, but he’d done it before thinking about it. He should have let her face the cameras in her casual clothes, let her feel the embarrassment. Except it was his doing she was here tonight, and he’d felt obligated to protect her.
He grabbed a pen and signed off on the paperwork. After he left the office, it took him nearly three quarters of an hour to get to the ballroom because he kept running into people who needed his time or attention. A cabinet minister, a senior-ranking diplomat, a wealthy diamond merchant, an actress he’d once bedded—the last was particularly difficult to extract himself from. She was beautiful, sleek and expensive, in a sheer designer gown that left no doubt about the assets underneath the material—and she left him completely cold.
He needed to find Rebecca. He was starting to feel just a little bit guilty he’d stayed away so long. She would have had to enter the packed room alone, not knowing anyone and not speaking the language. Of course nearly everyone also spoke English these days, so she would not find it difficult to converse. But he should have been with her nevertheless. Easing her into this situation didn’t mean he was going soft, or that he was giving up his plans for her. On the contrary, the more relaxed he made her, the more devastating it would be when he threw her out with nothing.
He accepted a glass of champagne from a tray and idly surveyed the crowd. His mother stood near the bar, surrounded by women. He went over to give her a kiss.
“Alejandro, my love! I feared you would not make it back in time.”
“I would never miss your party, Madre.”
Carmen Ramirez pursed her lips. “Unlike Valencia. She canceled yet again—can you believe it?”
“Where is Father?” Alejandro asked, unwilling to indulge a mini-tantrum against his sister for even a second. He understood why Valencia canceled each year. His presence would have to be enough for them both. Thankfully, Valencia had finally given up apologizing to him for making him bear the burden alone.
Carmen waved a bejeweled hand as she took a sip of champagne. “He has found a woman to dance with, I believe.”
At that moment the crowd parted, clearing a path to the floor. Juan Ramirez embraced a sleek woman in a shimmering midnight-blue gown, staring down at her with such intent that Alejandro decided to intervene before the evening digressed into a very public Ramirez family drama.
He excused himself from his mother, who had already turned back to her friends, and threaded his way through the guests. Juan swayed back and forth, his attention solely on the woman in his arms.
Her back was to Alejandro, but he had to acknowledge that if her front was as enticing as her back he couldn’t blame Juan for his interest. Blonde hair was swept into a pile on her head, revealing a slender neck, bare shoulders and a plunging dress that stopped just short of the curve of her buttocks. Long legs seemed to go on forever, accentuated by four-inch heels.
Interest stirred, surprising him. And relieving him. So he could feel desire for a woman other than Rebecca Layton. Gracias, Dios. When he tired of her, it would be simple to move on to someone else.
But right now it was his father’s interest that most concerned him. Juan’s hand rested on the smooth flesh of the woman’s back, its darkness in contrast to the pearlescent sheen of her skin.
Ten more minutes and Alejandro would have been too late. Juan would have whisked her away to somewhere more private, party and wife be damned. His father looked up, frowning when he caught sight of Alejandro. He bent to say something in the delicate shell of the woman’s ear. She stopped moving to the music, turned as if startled.
Alejandro stumbled to a halt as her blue eyes collided with his. Shock, fury and lust blazed to life all at once, roaring up inside him like an inferno. One word echoed through his brain: mine.
He closed the distance between them and yanked her from his father’s lecherous fingers. He barely registered the gasps around them as she stumbled into him. He caught her around the waist, steadying her. His fingertips brushed the warm silky skin of her exposed back. Inexplicable fury coursed though him and he aimed it at the easiest target.
“Attempting to buy another hotel with your body, Rebecca?” he grated, as much to mask the force of his desire as to hurt her for making him want her like this. Without reason, without sense.
She jerked away from him, her expression caving. “You bastard!” she whispered fiercely.
“Alejandro, you will apologize to the lady,” his father said, disapproval drawing his brows together in sharp slashes. “Your mother would be ashamed.”
Before he could speak, Rebecca turned to his father and smiled. The corners of her mouth wavered. “Thank you, Señor Ramirez, but it’s not necessary. Your son and I are old enemies, I’m afraid. We hurl words like daggers.”
“But this is no way to treat one’s guest,” Juan insisted. “My son was not raised this way, señorita. I apologize for his rudeness.”
She refused to look at him as she spoke to his father. “I’m afraid I bring out the worst in him.”
His father looked aghast. “Alejandro, how is this possible? This lady is so charming, so lovely—”
“As are all ladies to you, Father.” Maldito sea, the old reprobate was unbelievable. “I think Mother is near the bar. Since it is your anniversary, perhaps you should ask her for a dance.”
Juan looked as if he would argue, but he finally nodded. “Sí, you are correct. Dear lady,” he continued, taking Rebecca’s hand and kissing it, “I hope you will enjoy yourself at our party tonight. We shall see you at our table for the toast, yes?”
“Gracias,” Rebecca said. “I would be honored.”
The band began to play a new song as Juan walked away. Before Rebecca c
ould escape, Alejandro pulled her into his arms. The people who’d stopped to listen began to mingle again.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “Just let me go and I’ll leave.”
“You won’t,” he said, drawing her in close, fitting her against his body. She felt so good against him. Smelled good. He concentrated on tempering his body’s reaction to her. Later. “The night is far from over.”
Her palms rested on his chest, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she studied his shirtfront. “I get it, Alejandro. You wanted to humiliate me by bringing me here tonight. Now that you’ve succeeded just let me go. I’ve had enough.”
He hadn’t brought her for that reason, but there was no sense in denying it. She would not believe him. And what could he tell her anyway? That he’d brought her with him because he’d had an impulse to do so? “How did you end up dancing with my father?”
Her lashes lifted, and he was momentarily stunned by the sheen of moisture in her eyes. She blinked and looked away again. “He looks like you. I introduced myself and asked where I could find you. He said he would take me to you, but we ended up here.”
Yes, he didn’t doubt it for a moment. His father could not resist a beautiful woman.
“But then, of course,” she continued with a half-choked laugh, “I realized that I could implement my diabolical plan to sleep my way to another hotel. I was just about to claim my victim when you intervened. I’m sure I could have gotten several hotels out of him, assuming he owns a single one.”
Alejandro blew out a breath. For once he had been wrong about her. But just this once. “I should not have said that.”
She didn’t look at him. “You shouldn’t have, but you’d do it again in a heartbeat. You insist on believing the worst about me.”
It was true. Part of him always wanted to stomp on her spirit. He wanted to grind her beneath his heels, make her feel every moment of every day how wrong she’d been to steal from him. She’d forced him into a choice he should have never made, would never have made if she hadn’t left and ripped away whatever happiness he’d felt with her.
Hot Nights with a Spaniard (Mills & Boon M&B) (Mills & Boon Special Releases) Page 40