Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by The Spaniard

by Connelly, Clare

  The woman with the bright blonde hair. She smiled at Addie. Had it only been yesterday that Addie had gone in search of Guy, still so hopeful she could talk him around? That she could make him understand? The intervening twenty four hours crackled in her mind like a thunderstorm.

  “Have you seen…”

  “Ava.” Guy’s voice came from behind.

  She caught her breath, or perhaps it caught on her, snagging in a throat that was suddenly constricted.

  She turned quickly, her eyes landing on him with an urgent, soul-twisting fatefulness.

  “Guillem,” she said softly, taking a step towards him. Memories of that night flashed before her. His kiss, his desperation for her – as fierce as her own for him. The way they’d moved as one, so perfectly in tune. She was aware of the movement around them, the evidence of a bustling marina. “Where are we?”

  “Valencia,” he said, as though it didn’t matter. “Can we talk?”

  The question was unusual. Guy didn’t ask to speak to anyone. That same little flicker of hope flared in her heart. His uncharacteristic uncertainty was surely a sign that he was changing. That his feelings were altering?

  “Of course,” she nodded, falling into step beside him as he led her to the privacy of a room she hadn’t been in before. A sort of office, she guessed, with a flat-screen computer, several laptops and iPads spread on a conference table in the centre.

  “Please, sit,” he gestured towards the table.

  But Addie’s nerves were shot. She couldn’t sit. She couldn’t wait.

  “You told me, at the party, that you wouldn’t accept my offer. I presume you still feel this way?”

  Addie’s frown was a miniscule tugging of her lips. “You know I do.”

  “Even after last night?” He asked sharply.

  “This morning,” she corrected, her eyes lifting to his, hoping for some of their shared intimacy to soften his expression. But there was no sign of that. This Guillem was all hard-headed executive.

  His nod was crisp.

  “Guy,” Addie sighed. “I don’t want to be your mistress. I want to be your lover. Your girlfriend. I want to be yours in every way.”

  The words scuttled into the room, inhabiting every corner, testing their might against the boat’s. She wondered if Guy, though, had heard them, for he said nothing, and didn’t react.

  Addie tried again. “I didn’t plan to deceive you that night. If you give me a chance, I can show you that your first instincts were right. I’m not Maria. I had no devious reasons for lying to you.”

  He held a hand up then, and his anger was the whip that answered her words. It cracked towards her, she felt it as though it were a lash on her spine. “Give it a rest, for God’s sake. I’m offering you one thing, and one thing only. If you do not want it,” he shrugged insouciantly, “then take your money and go.”

  Take your money and go.

  Addie had thought she couldn’t feel any worse, but Guy had succeeded. Oh, yes. He’d driven that knife in the last little bit, cutting her straight in half.

  She squared her shoulders, narrowing her eyes, pretending she wasn’t falling apart. “Did you invite me to Spain to punish me?”

  “Punish you?” He shook his head. “No.”

  “Are you sure? You’re not enjoying this? Knowing that I love you with all of my heart and soul, and you’re offering me just sex? Knowing that I love you enough to almost accept that?”

  “I want you to accept my deal,” he said flatly. “But if you don’t, I can assure you, I won’t think of you again.” He leaned forward, his eyes dark and stormy. “Easy come, easy go.”

  Her fingertips ached with a yearning to slap him, but Addie had never hit anyone in her life. She wasn’t sure she even knew how.

  “You find this easy?” It was a grief-stricken question.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Damn it, Guy!” She stamped her foot. “How can you do this?”

  “You did this,” he responded. “You are simply reaping what you sowed.”

  “So it is revenge?”

  “It is … justice.”

  His lips were grim as he strode across the room to the desk opposite Addie. He reached into a drawer and pulled something out.

  A chequebook.

  Her pulse fired through her, thick and fast. She shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t make this – what we are – about money.”

  “That was all you!” He reminded her, tearing a page from the chequebook and leaning forward as he inscribed it. “You came to me for money. You wanted a handout. I just made you work for it.”

  Her heart dropped low in her body, a wasted, deformed entity of what it had once been. “This wasn’t work. That’s not what this week was.” She shook her head. “I told you, I’m not for sale. Money can’t be given in exchange for what we… what we are.”

  He arched a brow, and his look begged to differ.

  Colour drained from her cheeks. His believing her was utterly imperative. “I came to the island because I wanted to. I slept with you because I wanted to. Because I love you. Because I love you as much now as I did then.” She lifted a palm and pressed it to her mouth then shook her head sadly. “You need to know that before you end what we are.” Her words were coming in fits and spurts and she was shaking all over. “Please, Guy. Please say you believe me. That you know I love you.”

  His eyes darkened and colour slashed his cheeks. “Oh, I’m sure you do,” he muttered, signing the cheque with flourish and holding it out to her. “I’m sure you love me now you’ve seen the island and the mansion and the yacht and all the delightful, valuable things that could be yours if you can only seal the deal. If only you can convince me, a second time, to be so stupid.” He tilted his chin at an angle of furious defiance. “But I know what you are.”

  “Do you really think you have so little to offer a woman that your impressive wealth would be the only possible draw card?”

  She’d surprised him. He looked at her with a mix of consternation and impatience. “This isn’t about my ego.”

  “Have I ever done anything to make you think it’s your money I want?”

  His laugh was harsh, derisive. “You are here because you want money…”

  She shook her head. “I’m here,” she corrected slowly, “because I thought it would be a chance to remind you of what we share.” The words were thick in her too-tight throat.

  “Don’t.” His response whipped around the cabin, and she felt his pain in the single syllable. She felt his hurt. “I can’t forget what you did.” His eyes held hers and she had the strangest sense that she was being tipped off the edge of the boat. “I swore, after Maria, I’d never be a gullible fool. And I was, with you. I won’t be again.”

  “You fell in love with me,” she said simply. “And I fell in love with you. That’s not a crime.”

  “You are a beautiful woman and I was captivated by you. Your body, your face, all of you. I didn’t see you clearly, Ava, for what you were. But now I do, and I can’t ever forget that.”

  He glared at her, anger apparently the salvation for Guy, saving him from his pain and sense of betrayal. “If you won’t agree to be my mistress, then it’s over. I want you to leave, and never contact me again.”

  She wanted to fight! She wanted to rail against his coldness and make him see things as they really were. But he never would, and Addie was done begging. It was over; she had to accept that.

  “Okay,” she agreed quietly, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. “I’ll go.”

  His eyes held hers for a fraction of a second too long. “Here. I’ve added a little extra for your… performance. You really were very convincing.” He strode across the room and pressed the cheque into her hand.

  She didn’t look at it.

  She had no intention of banking the thing; what did it matter how much he’d made it out for? Instead, she took his hand in hers. “Guy?”

  He didn’t answer, but he stared at her long and
hard.

  “I do love you.” Her voice was surprisingly firm. “I don’t want you to believe the things you do about me. I hope that one day you’ll know that I’m telling the truth.”

  * * *

  “Guy? Have you got a moment? I just have a question for you.”

  Guy flicked his eyes from the screen of his laptop to the view of Madrid, chasing the setting sun, trying to see the warmth in its firetail even when he hadn’t felt anything like warmth in the eight weeks since Addie had left Madrid.

  He thought of her far too often, despite what he’d promised her. Despite his insistence that he’d forget about her easily, he was finding it harder this second-time around. The anger at her betrayal had helped him, earlier in the year, when he’d first learned of her duplicity.

  Anger had turned to passion on the island and he’d found himself so close to giving in to her. To forgiving the past.

  Asking her to be his mistress had been a desperate last-ditch bid to keep her in his life on terms that would work for him. And he’d been so close to telling her to forget all about it, on that last day. The day he’d seen her soul seep from her body; the day he’d accepted that, whether he wanted her or not, he’d lost any chance to have her.

  He’d been an A-grade bastard. There was no forgiveness for the things he’d said and done.

  Which was fine. He didn’t want her forgiveness. He just wanted her out of his damned head.

  “If it’s not a good time, I can call back.”

  “No,” Guy was curt. “Go ahead.”

  He shouldn’t have let her get under his skin. The plan had been simple! To use her to fool his family, yes, but to show her that he was over her. That he could take her or leave her. Instead, he’d become just as obsessed by her as the first time. And he hated that. He hated the power she wielded over him, and he hated that she inspired this caveman response in him.

  The man he’d become filled Guillem with a gaping sense of dissatisfaction. No matter what the world thought, he treated women with respect. He wasn’t the man he’d been to Adeline. He told himself she deserved no better; but he knew that wasn’t true. Stooping to her level didn’t make his behavior acceptable.

  “I’ve come across a discrepancy with your personal chequebook.”

  You might think it would get easier, with each year that passes, but it doesn’t. It’s so much harder. I forget little things about them, things that were so elemental, and sometimes, I can’t even see my brother’s face.

  Had she been lying? Had she made the whole thing up? He’d resisted the urge to hire a detective. To investigate her. What was the point? If he learned that she’d been telling the truth, it would still show that he didn’t trust her. That he couldn’t trust her.

  Honest or not, she’d been right. He had thought it would get easier, with each day that passed, but the longer he went without seeing her, the more he doubted his conviction. The more he wondered if he was mad to let her go.

  Even when he knew it had been for the best.

  “Mr Rodriguez?”

  Guy drew his attention back to the call. What was the accountant on about? “Yes?” He prompted, absent-mindedly running a finger over the edge of his desk.

  “There’s a cheque for seventy-five thousand pounds which hasn’t been banked.”

  He sat up straighter. He’d only written one cheque for that precise amount recently. His pulse accelerated and his body tightened. Flashbacks of that morning ran through his mind. The way the sun had glistened behind her, showing her slender figure through the flimsy t-shirt she’d worn, the fact she hadn’t dressed in a bra obvious to his gaze. The way she’d spoken so calmly at the end, even when he could see how he was hurting her.

  “It was going to a foreign bank,” he said, relieved the words sounded so measured when his throat was as thick and as dry as desert sand. “It is probably just taking its time to clear.”

  “No. That isn’t what I mean. It’s been returned. I have correspondence from the bank.”

  “Returned?” His brows knit together. He’d never heard of such a thing. Why in the world would Ava … Adeline, have returned the cheque? She’d been desperate for the money. Desperate enough to agree to masquerade as his girlfriend. To sleep with him.

  To let him treat her like a convenient mistress. To let him treat her like a piece of dirt.

  He grimaced as the now-familiar sense of shame barreled through him anew.

  He had treated her in a way that he would always regret. Whatever her faults were, he should have known better than to sink to her level.

  “Did you write it in error?”

  “No.” Guy stood, his body taut as he stared out at downtown Madrid, his eyes glinting like the black of the night sky under which they’d made love.

  “I’ll look into it. Redraft it.”

  “No.” He spoke quickly. “Leave it to me.”

  * * *

  The house was beautiful. He stood outside the Tudor-style mansion with its elaborate garden boasting old fashioned roses on either side of the path, wisteria tumbling over the side, and frowned. It was, indeed, a grand home, but as he looked closer he saw signs of weathering. Peeling paint on the skirting boards, a window that was cracked and taped together, a roof that had seen better days. The garden was beautiful, but it was overgrown, and there were weeds sprouting opportunistically across the lawn.

  He moved up the path, bracing himself for the inevitability of seeing Adeline once more. He wasn’t sure what to expect. But he knew he had to at least uphold his end of the bargain. She’d done her job spectacularly. She’d earned every penny of the seventy-five thousand pounds. She should have the money in her account.

  He pressed the buzzer but it didn’t ring, so he lifted his hand and knocked firmly, three times. He could hear a scuffling inside. He waited, impatience zipping through him.

  He lifted his hand to knock once more right as Adeline answered. He had, at least, been able to mentally prepare for the fact he was about to see her. But shock was writ large across her pretty face. Her eyes were enormous, saucer-like, and her lips parted on a small, strangled noise. She had a grey smudge on her forehead and her hair had been pulled into a messy bun that was now in a state of disarray. She wore low-slung jeans and a black sweater, but almost an inch of her midriff was exposed.

  He forced himself to keep his focus on her face, rather than the slow, possessive inspection of her body he was aching to perform.

  It took her barely a moment to control her response. With a visible effort, she was Adeline again. But not his Adeline. She was different, completely closed-off to him in a way that made his gut ache for it was such a stunning contrast to the open way she’d loved him before. To the way she’d poured sunshine and warmth through him so generously, her smile always quick at hand.

  “Guillem.” Though he loved the sound of his name on her lips, it was said with such rejection than he ached for her now to call him Guy, as she always had. “What are you doing here?”

  He’d been angry when he’d arrived in England. Angry at what he’d seen as another ploy by Adeline, to have him chase her. For surely this was just another Machiavellian trick in her arsenal? Only seeing the surprise in her face, the stark dismissal, he knew that wasn’t why she’d returned the cheque. She hadn’t been hoping it would bring him to her door.

  She hadn’t wanted him to come.

  The realisations detonated violently in his chest, wrong-footing him mentally.

  “Addie? Dear? What about the old pictures?”

  She paled, and clutched the door tighter, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Just a moment, mum.”

  Guy’s eyes moved beyond Adeline, seeking a visual on the older woman. But Addie made a small noise, like a wild tiger protecting its prey, and she pushed the door half-shut, so that he could only see a slither of her.

  “May I come in?”

  “No.” A hiss. A furious, enraged hiss, like a mother tiger defending its cub from a violent predato
r.

  But her rejection filled him with something like determination.

  “You have to leave.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not until we’ve spoken.”

  “We don’t have anything to speak about.” Adeline’s response was stiff, but he saw the fluttering of her pulse at the base of her neck; he felt her panic.

  His gut twisted. Who was this woman? Not the woman he’d loved in London, who had been so full of life. Who had laughed with him and made his soul sing. Nor was she the woman he’d been with in Spain. The woman who had spent an entire week putting up with his coldness, trying to talk to him, to tell him she loved him, to explain. A guttural oath ricocheted through his body, but he didn’t express any of those thoughts. Instead, with a businesslike tone, he murmured, “There is the matter of your payment.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. He hadn’t even meant it. He wished he could pull the words back as soon as he’d thrown them at her, but they were out there, compounding all his behavior in Spain, and every hurt he’d inflicted on her then. He saw her wounds open, saw the way fresh pain spread over her.

  “Addie? Who’s at the door?”

  Worry lanced her features as the door was pulled wide, and a beautiful woman, perhaps only twenty years’ Adeline’s senior, stood on the inside, her smile curious.

  “Hello,” the woman said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a friend of my daughter’s?”

  “No,” Adeline demurred quickly, with a firm shake of her head, her fingers trembling as she lifted them nervously to her cheek. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

  The dismissal cut through Guy, like a sharp blade running over his gut.

  “Oh.” The older woman’s smile dropped. “You never bring friends over. You never bring anyone over,” she said wistfully, then turned her attention back to Guy’s large frame. “Would you like a tea?”

  “Si.”

  His response was emphatic, at the same moment Adeline answered, “No!”

  Adeline shot him a look of impatience. “It’s not a good time, mum. We’ve packed most of the kitchen up.”