Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by The Spaniard

by Connelly, Clare

  Santiago frowned, his expression shifting. Doubt covered his face. “He hasn’t?”

  “We’ve only been seeing one another a few months,” she said.

  “Seven months,” Santiago corrected, reaching for a pastry and moving it between his long fingers thoughtfully. “He told me about you, the day after you’d met.” He lifted the pastry to his lips, biting into it so that Addie had to wait for him to finish the sentence. Her heart felt like it was filling up with all the water of the ocean, ripe to burst from her chest.

  “Did he?” It was breathless. “What did he say?”

  Santiago’s eyes darkened, and he shook his head. “Only that he’d met you.” It was a lie. Santiago was withdrawing. She had enough experience of Guy doing exactly that to know what it looked like. Only she could hardly rail against Santiago as she did Guy. She couldn’t plead with him to listen to her, to be honest with her.

  She sighed softly and reached for her pastry. If you couldn’t beat them, you might as well join them.

  * * *

  “You told me you wanted to marry her,” Santiago’s words were gruff. Guy paused, just inside the door of the mansion. He could see his parents across the room. It was hardly the time nor place to have a heart-to-heart with his grandfather about the woman he’d paid to pretend to be his lover.

  “Disculpe?”

  “The day after you met her. You called me and told me you understood. That what I have always told you I felt for your grandmother you had finally felt for yourself.” Santiago’s eyes were earnest, locked to Guy’s with an intensity that Guy had to work overtime to ignore.

  “So?” Guy was careful. He kept his expression neutral, his manner casual, when he was laced with a bitter regret at the foolish impulse that had allowed him to get so caught up in the rush of ‘being in love’. What an el burro he’d been!

  “You are not a man to wait, Guillem. If you truly loved this woman, I believe you would have already married her.”

  Guy’s chest felt like it was being compressed by a bag of cement. Hell, his grandfather was right. No one on earth knew Guillem like Santiago; had Guy really expected to be able to fool the old man so easily? To convince him he was madly in love when it was little more than a ruse? When he couldn’t stand Ava in any way other than physically?

  Shame at the fact he’d even brought her to the island filled his belly.

  “It does not work like that,” Guy aimed for an almost teasing tone to his voice. “It is normal to take time with someone before committing to marriage. To get to know one another inside out, perhaps live together, before becoming engaged”

  Santiago’s eyebrows flew higher. “You do not live with her?”

  From bad to worse. Guy forced a laugh, though it was heavy with his desire to be rid of this conversation. “Why are you worried?” Guy turned their exchange back to the root of Santiago’s worry. “You don’t like Ava?”

  “Ava?” Santiago put a hand out, resting it on Guy’s forearm. “Ava I like. Ava is a woman clearly very much in love. But I worry you are going to let her get away. That you are going to let your past, your desire to have a rotating door on your bed, your love of excitement and the thrill of the chase, turn you away from taking what she would give you in a heartbeat.”

  It was as though a tsunami had risen from the sea and was crashing hard against Guy, swallowing him into the depths of the ocean, making breathing difficult. Panic at the very idea of marrying Ava had to be the cause of it.

  “I have Ava right where I want her,” Guy said seriously.

  Santiago sighed, and weighed his words carefully. “You only think you do, son. Take it from an old man who has seen a lot in his life: you will regret it if you let her go.”

  11

  GUY DIDN’T RETURN TO the yacht until dusk, and he found Ava swimming in the water, her beautiful body bare, but for another tiny bikini. How many of these scraps of fabric had she brought with her?

  He contemplated diving in, wrapping his body around hers, pulling her to him, making sense of their situation in the only way he could, as they had in the caves.

  But he didn’t. He grabbed a beer from the kitchen, squeezed a wedge of lime into its narrow neck, and moved back to the rail, watching her without being watched.

  Her stroke was long and elegant, her legs just barely breaking the surface of the water with each neat little kick. She swum as a mermaid, staying submerged for long stretches of time, so that he found a sense of panic arresting him every few minutes, along with a question of whether she needed to be saved. But then she lifted out of the water, her hair a pelt against her back, her face tilted towards the sky, all wet and silky. Only once did she look towards the boat; he fought an instinct to step back into the shadows.

  It was not for Guy to hide from Ava. When she’d come to his house and begged him to ‘help’ her, he’d taken an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing her squirm. It had seemed like just retribution.

  Now, at the sight of her face crumpled with something he could only describe as sadness, the jubilation was gone. He felt … he wasn’t sure.

  He didn’t like her. But once upon a time, he had thought he loved her, and hurting her seemed beneath him. This plan had been foolish in every single way. In attempting to put Santiago’s mind to rest, he had stirred up a host of new questions – questions he didn’t want to answer.

  And he had discovered that he wasn’t as good at cutting cords as he had suspected.

  They had two days left on the island, and then he would never see her again.

  And though the thought of that did something strange to his gut, he refused to feel anything but relief. It had been a stupid plan, but it was almost through.

  Whatever small part of him that wanted more from her, he wouldn’t abide by. In fact, he would delight in proving to himself that he could stick to his guns and send her away when it was time, no matter how tempted he might be to ask her to stay on in his life – as his mistress.

  Yes, that’s what he wanted, he realized with a clarity that was blinding and urgent.

  He didn’t want her emotionally. He wanted more of this.

  Of convenient sex, of a woman in his bed and his life who demanded nothing of him beyond what he was willing to give.

  His lips were a grim slash in his face. Ava was mercenary; he’d seen that for himself. Though she was very, very clever. During their month in London, she’d never once made a play for the luxurious gifts he had wanted to give her. She hadn’t particularly liked the elite restaurants and bars he preferred, nor holidays – she’d always had an excuse when he’d suggested a getaway; she hadn’t wanted jewelry or any other token of his wealth.

  Of course she had, though. She’d just known to keep her true colours hidden from him to avert suspicion. She’d been playing for keeps. And he’d been so close to rewarding that. To giving in. Thank God he’d found out in time.

  But now? She’d put a price on her head and he’d been willing to pay it.

  And after this? What amount would make it worth her staying?

  He drained the beer but continued to hold the bottle at its base, his eyes following Ava languidly as she moved closer to the boat.

  The conversation with Santiago had unsettled him, mainly because the ruse was failing because of his behavior. Ava had played her part perfectly; Guy not so much.

  Santiago was right. Guy was not a man to let the woman he loved slip through his fingers.

  Splashing noises moved closer to the boat. He leaned over a little, watching as she climbed the ladder, her head bent. She hadn’t seen him.

  A fierce burst of something had him moving closer to the ladder, so that when she stepped on the deck he was right there. She smelled so good. Like the ocean and the sun, like desire and need.

  “Oh!” She startled visibly, reaching for the railing to steady herself. “You’re back?”

  “As you see,” he tilted his head. The words were colder than he’d intended. If she became his m
istress, he would have to find a way to treat her more cordially. It would truly be a fresh beginning.

  “We skipped lunch,” he tried again. “Shall we eat an early dinner now?”

  Her surprise was obvious. “Dinner?”

  “Yes, querida. You know, a meal? Food? A table? Sometimes some wine? A candle?”

  Her face paled before his eyes and her head shake was infinitesimal. “No, thank you,” she said, not bothering to smile. “I’ll just eat in my room.” She cleared her throat and moved past him, her head bent.

  That same rush of fierce heat shot through him like the flames for Las Fallas.

  “Running away from me, Ava?”

  She froze, spinning around, and there was matching heat in her eyes, as though fireworks were tormenting her. “I told you, my name is Addie.”

  “Fine, Addie,” he deliberately rolled her name with his tongue. She’d told him once that his accent was her ultimate aphrodisiac. “Eat with me.”

  The request, such as it was, had her sobering once more. “Why?”

  “Because it’s what people do,” he said with a shrug. Her eyes followed the gesture with uncertainty. “Why eat in your bedroom when there is this blanket of stars? Come on, Ava.” Her eyes narrowed. “Adeline,” he corrected. “Just dinner.”

  The thin column of her neck moved as she swallowed and he felt her hesitation; he felt it and wondered what he could do to relieve it.

  “No one’s here to see it, though,” she said haltingly. “And I’d prefer to keep things between us… business-like.”

  Irritation – no, irritation was too mild a word for it. A chasm of rage opened up in his chest. “Business-like?”

  “You’re the one who keeps reminding me that you’re paying me to do a job. That job is simple. When we’re with your family, I’ll play the part, but here on the boat, I think we should keep our distance.” Her eyes were fixed over his shoulder, and her delivery would have been perfect, if it weren’t for the fact that her voice was wobbling with emotion.

  “A job,” he murmured, taking a step closer, then another, until their bodies were close. Her flesh was covered with fine goosebumps, despite the warmth of the night, and her nipples were tight against the fabric of her bikini. “Tell me why you are a cleaner, and not an actress?”

  Her cheeks flushed with colour. Fascinating. Was she embarrassed of her occupation?

  “Why?”

  “Call it curiosity,” he said. “I’ll even pay you for the information. Shall we say another five thousand pounds?”

  He’d thought her pale before, but she was as white as a sheet ass he digested his words.

  “You’re unbelievable.” It was a hollow whisper. She turned away, even her hair somehow defiant as it hung down her back. She walked away from him, but slowly, as though her spirit were broken, as though she was utterly defeated. He watched her go without realizing he was holding his breath, until he released it on a single exhalation of relief.

  She hadn’t gone downstairs, to the solitude of her bedroom. She’d taken a seat at the table Santiago had been using earlier, her legs crossed neatly, her hands clenched on the tabletop, her eyes staring straight ahead.

  Something squeezed in his chest at the sight of her, so obviously miserable and emotional, but not running from that.

  Or was it just that she wanted the money so badly that she’d face up to whatever he asked of her?

  Another reason he had to control the parameters for whatever they were. He’d never trust her. Not in a million years. He would never give her more than money – why risk it?

  He pulled a folded towel from one of the drawers and handed it to her as he passed, moving into the kitchen and assembling a platter of all the antipasti the yacht was always stocked with. Olives, jambon, cheese, dips, breadsticks, and he grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses as he came onto the deck.

  “Well?” He placed the platter down, looking at her.

  “Fine,” she sipped her wine, then sipped it again, shutting her eyes as the alcohol found its way to her belly. “Let’s have dinner.”

  “And you will answer some questions I have.”

  “Only if you answer mine.”

  His laugh was a whip. “I am paying you for your answers. What are you going to give me?”

  Her eyes met his with visible effort. “I’m not for sale.”

  His lifted brow was mocking, and Addie shifted in her seat, lifting her fingers to reach for an olive before clasping her hands back in her lap. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why cleaning?”

  “I like the hours.”

  He considered that, taking the seat opposite. “You work at night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There are lots of jobs that involve these hours, many of them less…”

  “Menial?” She supplied, her eyes challenging his. “Embarrassing?”

  “Arduous,” he corrected, sipping his wine without looking away from her.

  “I don’t mind hard work,” she said, shrugging her slim shoulders. And they were slim. That same fragility he’d sensed in her on the day she’d come to him, asking for help, he felt now. Saw now, as she sat opposite him, her body curled in on itself, her face wearing wounds he couldn’t fathom.

  He didn’t care about her problems. She was simply an equation he wanted to understand; that was all.

  “I like order,” she said after a moment, so quietly he almost didn’t catch the words. “I know it might seem hard for you to understand, but I get a lot of satisfaction out of taking clutter and making it neat again.”

  “Again, there are many jobs…”

  Ava’s eyes had a hint of defiance when they met his. “I don’t want another job. I have no problems with the fact I’m a cleaner. I’m sorry if it disappoints you to realise that the woman you were sleeping with does something so… beneath you… but that’s what I am. Who I am.”

  “You think I have a problem with your occupation?”

  She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. “I think you’d have found it harder to bring me here and introduce me to your family if you told them, in the same breath, that I’m responsible for sanitizing the restrooms on the thirty second floor of The Walsham Tower.”

  Guy couldn’t explain how that made him feel. Nothing good, but not for the reasons she thought. It wasn’t snobbery that motivated his reaction. So? What was it?

  “You are wrong.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled. “I would have brought you here and introduced you to my family, irrespective of what you do for a living. If you had been the woman I thought you were, instead of the illusion you turned out to be.”

  She recoiled from him, and again, he couldn’t help but note the disparity in how her reaction of pain affected him. The satisfaction he’d felt in Madrid was gone, completely. Now, there was only a deep sense of regret at the ease with which he could discomfort her.

  But Ava rallied, her face lifted, and she reached for her wine for another sip before she spoke to Guy. “Why don’t you come to the island more often?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not how this works. I’m asking the questions.”

  Addie nodded, a small shift of her head, and then she stood. “Fine. Then enjoy your platter.” She stood and took one step away from the table but he snaked his hand out, curving it around her wrist, jerking her towards him.

  “Sit down, querida. We’re not finished.”

  “Yes, we are,” she muttered, blinking furiously to stem the tears that were close to overflowing. “We’re so finished.”

  She glared at him and he felt her anger and hostility, her hurt and her pain, and the grip on her wrist softened, so that his thumb was stroking her soft, sensitive flesh. He saw the way her pupils widened, darkening her eyes.

  “You can’t buy me,” she said softly, but with a strength that cut through him. “I’m here, talking to you, because I want to. I wanted to. But not if you’re going to treat me like some kind of possession.”

&nb
sp; His gut twisted. She was right.

  “There is no sinister reason,” he heard himself say, releasing her wrist and waving his upturned palm towards the seat opposite. “I like it here, but I do not often have the time a visit requires.”

  Her expression softened, but he had no idea if she was going to stay or go, and found himself holding his breath.

  Finally, though, with a small nod, she said, “Why not?”

  “To bring the yacht, it takes at least a weekend.” He didn’t let his relief show.

  “Your parents are flying in a helicopter,” she murmured. “They’re going to the mainland just for one night. So that can’t be it.”

  Her perceptiveness was as unsettling as it was familiar. Hadn’t she always been able to see beneath his words and find the heart of what he was feeling? Even before he realized it?

  “So why do I visit so rarely?” He leaned back in his chair. “In your opinion.”

  “In my opinion?” She lifted a brow quizzically. “You’re sure you want it?”

  He tilted his head forward.

  “You adore Santiago, but you know you disappoint him. He wants something from you you’re not capable of giving him. So you hide from him. You avoid him. You don’t want to disappoint him.”

  Guy didn’t speak; what need was there for his words when hers had been so accurate?

  “You brought me here to fool him, but he’s not fooled, Guy.”

  “I know that.” His eyes glittered.

  Addie’s eyes jarred with his. “What?”

  “He accosted me on the drive back; he was full of questions as to why I had not proposed marriage to you.”

  Addie’s cheeks flushed pink. “He asked me that, too. I said we’d only been together a short while…”

  Guy shrugged. “He knows me, as you say. He knows that if I ever met a woman I truly loved, I would ask to marry her within a day. I would never risk losing someone I cared for by dragging my heels. That is not the way I operate.”

  She dipped her head forward, so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew that his words had stung. No satisfaction. Nothing. Just a strange sense that he was digging a deep hole he would find it difficult to climb out of.