Читать книгу 8 Brand-New Romance Authors - Avril Tremayne - Страница 35
ОглавлениеGEORGINA HAD THOUGHT the private jet was luxurious, but the villa, with its stunning sea view, was beyond anything she could have imagined. White curtains stirred in the breeze, making the sunlight dance across the marble floor. The fashionable furnishings offered every comfort possible, giving the villa the feel of a home.
She stood and looked out of the open doors, which led onto the terrace. The heat of the afternoon sun must be having an effect on her. She’d been here for several hours and still she couldn’t get over the world of opulence she’d entered. But, determined that Santos shouldn’t know how out of her depth she felt, she kept her awe of her new surroundings hidden.
‘We’ll eat out tonight.’
Santos’s voice brought her thoughts back to the present as he came to stand next to her. Each time he was near, her skin sizzled and anticipation zinged down her spine, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t go there. This was a business deal and nothing more. She could never allow it to be more.
She dragged her gaze from the sparkling sea and turned to face him. He too had changed. He’d washed away the hours spent travelling and stood before her looking more relaxed then she’d seen him before. She couldn’t help herself and allowed her gaze to linger, to take in the latent strength of his body as he walked across the room to the doors of the terrace. The commanding strength he exuded excited her and terrified her at the same time.
‘Would that be to keep up the pretence of an affair?’ The words slipped from her mouth with practised ease, the facetious tone one she regularly used. ‘It’s obvious now why we are here.’
‘Is it?’
Damn him, he appeared to be laughing at her. His new, relaxed mood made him smile at her prickly demeanour. It was as if he was genuinely flirting with her, teasing her as he might one of his lovers.
‘Of course it is. This area is a playground for the rich and famous, and with them come photographers and journalists, all waiting to catch the next big story. I saw them taking photos as we arrived.’
She took a deep breath and forced herself to stop talking. Allowing Santos to see how he unnerved her wasn’t going to do any good at all. If he wanted to parade her around as part of the pretence then so be it.
‘For a woman who dreamt up this whole idea you’re very touchy about it.’
He walked out onto the terrace, where he leant his strong arms on the balustrade. Briefly she remembered how it had felt to be held in their strength, but immediately she dragged her wandering mind back. She had to keep focused. It was almost as if he knew he was distracting her. She was convinced he was using it to his advantage.
‘I didn’t dream this up.’ She flung her hands wide, gesturing around them, and pushed to the back of her mind the terms he’d agreed on, hoping it would never have to go that far. ‘It’s you who took the idea from marriage in name only to this—this pretend love affair.’
He turned back to face her and folded his arms across his chest, the sun behind him making it difficult to read his expression. ‘This is the best way.’
‘Best for who?’
She realised she’d never questioned his motivation for changing things. She’d been so desperate to achieve her aims she hadn’t given it a thought. Yes, she knew he wanted the business—that much Emma had told her—but why would such a wealthy and successful man, who had women falling at his feet, agree so easily to her proposition of marriage?
‘It doesn’t matter who it’s best for. Once we are married your sister can marry Carlo and you will have got what you wanted.’
‘Not forgetting what you want. You will inherit the business, then we can both get on with our lives. As if this had never happened.’ She kept her words firm, as if she believed wholeheartedly in what she was doing. One thing she would never do was let him know her doubts.
The clinking of ice in glasses halted further conversation as drinks were brought out to them. She watched as a petite Spanish girl placed the tray on the table before she slipped away, seeming to melt into the background.
‘Exactamente, querida.’
He turned to face her as he spoke and a shiver of apprehension slipped over her.
‘It all seems too easy, Santos,’ she said, realising she’d used his name without having to force herself. ‘I can’t believe a man like you would agree to my deal so easily. There must be something more in it for you.’
He moved away from the balustrade and came close to her. Too close. Her first reaction was to step back, but she stood her ground and met his gaze head-on, despite the pounding of her heart and the race of her pulse. Something in his expression had changed. He looked more intense, his eyes darker. She couldn’t help but look into them and momentarily floundered.
‘Yes, there is, querida.’
He stepped closer and the air seemed alive with something she’d never experienced before.
‘And that is?’ She feigned bravado, her words short and sharp.
‘I want what we agreed in my office. A wife.’
He was serious, and from the resolute set of his mouth she knew he wasn’t going to change his mind any time soon. ‘We don’t need to make this marriage any more difficult to get out of than need be,’ she said
‘I have no intention of getting out of it, Georgina. I want a real wife—not someone joined to me just because we signed the same bit of paper.’
His gaze dropped from her eyes and lingered on her lips and she realised she was biting her bottom lip. The tension of waiting to hear what he really wanted was too much. As was his proximity. Her stomach fluttered wildly and she had to concentrate hard just to breathe.
‘But why me?’ She moved backwards, but still the sizzle was there. She could feel it with every pore of her skin. He’s just trying to throw you off balance, she assured herself, and asked again. ‘Why me, Santos? Why now?’
‘Because you’re the only woman who’s asked me to marry them at a time when I need to be married.’
When I need to be married.
Those words rang inside her head like a cathedral choir. He didn’t want to be married either, and she clung to the hope that she could persuade him later that separation was the best option.
Images of being with Santos, of spending days and nights with him, filled her mind. She became dizzy at the thought of what the nights would entail. Why did he want her in that way when he could have any one of the glamorous women who always seemed to be in his life?
* * *
Santos watched as an array of emotions flashed across her beautiful face. She might well have asked him to marry her, but he could see the idea of a real marriage unsettled her as much as it did him. Marriage was something he’d never wanted to enter into. He hated that he was being forced to marry by his father’s ridiculous clause in his will. As a child he’d witnessed the destructive side of marriage—a side he knew lurked beneath every claim of love.
Love. He knew it didn’t exist. It was a false and misleading emotion that could destroy any man, woman or child. It was open for exploitation. Never would he allow any woman close enough to manipulate him. Marrying Georgina was a necessity, nothing more.
‘Lucky I asked when I did,’ she said, and flashed a smile at him. But sadness clouded her eyes.
Was she thinking of her first husband? Had she loved him? Had he been manipulated just as easily? Fool, he told himself, fighting back irrational emotions that were completely alien to him. Don’t even go there.
‘Lucky for who, querida?’ He couldn’t resist the urge to provoke her, wanting to see those soft brown eyes spark with passionate fire, as they had done the very first time he’d seen her in his office.
She raised her brows at him. ‘For you. I could have just encouraged Emma and Carlo to slip off and get married without anyone knowing. So I suppose you have the most to lose, Santos, and you have the most at stake.’
His name sounded hard on her lips, fierce. He wanted to go over to her and kiss them until they softened, until every last drop of restraint disappeared. Instead he focused his mind, because if one thing was true it was the fact that he did have the most to lose.
But he’d never admit that.
‘We both have things at stake, Georgina.’ Impatience crept into his voice. ‘So I have had a mutually beneficial agreement drawn up.’
‘Ah, the pre-nup.’ She picked up her drink, ice clinking, and took a sip, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. ‘I’ll sign whatever is needed. I made that clear when I first put the proposition to you.’
‘In that case, now would be a good time to do it.’
He saw the colour drain from her face, watched as she took a deep breath and met his gaze.
‘Okay.’
That one word shook with fierce determination.
‘We can finalise the formalities of our arrangement so that we can enjoy a relaxed evening out.’ His business mind took over, insisting he secure everything before going any further with this deal—because a deal was all it was. One struck for the mutual benefit of both parties.
A flicker of guilt flashed into his mind. A moment ago she’d looked vulnerable, outside her comfort zone, but now she was as dignified and collected as she could be. Was she trying to throw him off balance in a bid to secure more for herself out of the marriage?
‘Let’s just get it done, Santos.’ Her shoulders straightened and the spark of fire flared in her eyes, leaving him in no doubt that she meant every word.
He nodded his approval and admired her undaunted tone. ‘The agreement is on my desk.’
He led the way to his study. For the first time in his life he was anxious about the outcome of a deal. Normally he would be in total control, able to steer deals his way, manoeuvring people like pieces on a chessboard.
But not with Georgina.
It wasn’t her rigid sense of purpose or her defiance that left him second-guessing where their conversations would lead, but the woman herself. The soft curves of her delicious body, the passion in her eyes in those rare unguarded moments, always left him feeling distracted.
He wanted her.
But she was unlike any woman he’d wanted before. He sensed she was different, sensed that he had to play it cool. He knew she was like a proud lioness, knew that she would show her strength, her courage, but if she needed to she’d turn and flee, leaving him in the dust. And if she did that all would be lost. She was, after all, his last hope—his legal team had made that clear—but, like a card player, he’d keep his hand close to his chest and certainly wouldn’t be revealing the full extent of the will just yet...not when he was still trying to get his head around it himself.
He clenched his hands and drew in a deep breath. Damn Carlo. His rush to marry had forced him to contemplate things he never would have entertained before.
He gestured to a chair on one side of his desk, taking in the graceful way she sat and noting the guarded expression on her face. He had to handle this as he would with any deal—ruthlessly. It was the only way. Otherwise he risked being weakened by her smile or, worse, by the undercurrent of something passionate that always seemed to surround them. How much of that was an act on her part he wasn’t sure, but he had to fight hard against the way his body responded to her.
‘My legal team have drawn up an agreement in Spanish and English. I think it will be beneficial to us both.’ He kept his voice controlled as he took his seat opposite her, then he turned the document round and slid it across the desk towards her.
Their eyes met and a simmer of tension passed between them. She lowered her lashes and with slender fingers drew the document closer to her. He watched as she read the conditions, certain she’d be happy with his generous terms.
‘It looks very comprehensive.’
She glanced up, but he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not to see a teasing smile on her lips.
‘You obviously feel the need to protect yourself from my scheming ways.’
‘It protects us both.’
He tried unsuccessfully to keep the irritation from his voice. Did she have to remind him of her past right at this moment? Was she proud of all the men she’d dated within weeks of her husband passing away? He pushed to the back of his mind all he’d learnt about her after that first visit to his office.
She raised her brows at him suggestively. Damn, was the woman deliberately trying to provoke him?
He stood and walked round the desk and leant down, one hand flat on the hard polished surface, bracing his arm. With pen in hand he pointed at the contract. ‘As my wife you will be entitled to a substantial allowance to do with as you please.’ Her perfume invaded his senses and he realised his mistake in coming close. ‘Any children the marriage produces I will stand by and support, regardless of the outcome of our marriage.’
At least he’d touched on the subject of children. It was hard to believe that he, a man who’d never wanted to be married and certainly hadn’t wanted to father a child, now sought both. Or at least was being forced to.
‘Children?’
There was no doubting the shock in her voice. He looked down into her eyes, bright and wide. ‘Yes. Children.’
He watched her slender throat as she swallowed and guilt sliced at him. He should tell her that a child might well become essential to secure the business, but something kept him silent. He wasn’t sure if it was the fear of spooking her or the still raw anger at his father for creating such a clause. He had mentioned he wanted a real wife—surely that left her in no doubt.
He hoped he’d never have to go that far. It went against everything he believed in. As a mistake himself, he did not want to bring a child into the world unless he could give it love and security. The latter wouldn’t be a problem, but love...?
‘Do you want children?’
Her hesitant question made him clench his jaw and he saw her gaze dart to the movement, then quickly back to his eyes.
* * *
Georgina had asked the question lightly, despite the way her stomach had flipped over and was now churning. Did he really anticipate children? From a short-term marriage contract? She hoped not. Having a child was the one thing she’d never wanted to do. It was simply out of the question.
She looked down at the contract, the words blurring on the page as she fought back memories of her childhood. A childhood that had left her scarred and certain she didn’t ever want to be a mother.
‘As I said, I have covered all eventualities—to protect both of us.’
She swallowed hard and looked again up into his eyes. Their dark magnetic depths almost made her lose her nerve. For one tiny second she imagined a child with eyes the same colour, but quashed the image before it could manifest itself into anything bigger.
She had to have breathing space. His closeness, the fresh scent of his aftershave and the heat of his body so close to hers, was undoing her last remnants of self-control. She needed space and she needed it now.
‘You have covered everything concisely, just as I would have expected from you.’ She picked up the pen and with a flowing movement of her wrist signed the contract. The pen dropped to the desk as she pushed back the chair and moved away from him—away from the power he had over her every time he came close. ‘There. All signed.’
‘You don’t have any questions?’ He looked startled by her bravado and stood straight, towering over her, leaving her no option but to stand and face him.
‘Just one.’
‘And that is?’
‘When are we going to finalise this deal and get married?’
That isn’t the question, her mind screamed as she watched a sexy smile spread across his lips. You should have asked when you can call Emma, she scolded herself. She wanted to tell her sister that she could start making plans for her own wedding.
‘Tuesday.’
‘What?’ All the air seemed to have left her lungs, as if she’d run into a brick wall, and her heart was pounding madly. ‘But that is only three days away.’
‘Is there a problem with that?’ His voice resonated with control and his expression hardened in challenge, the smile of moments before gone.
‘No...no,’ she stammered, hating herself for doing so. ‘I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.’
‘I see no reason to delay.’
His eyes hardened and his voice was firm as he spoke and she knew deep down that he was right. The sooner they were married the better. But Tuesday felt all too soon. She hardly knew him. You don’t need to, a nagging voice inside her chided.
‘I’ll need to get something to wear. I’m sure you don’t want your bride turning up in jeans.’ She tried at humour, but her voice sounded brisk even to her ears.
He looked at his watch. ‘That wouldn’t be the image I was planning—which is why I’ve arranged for outfits to be brought here this afternoon. Select whichever one you want, and also something suitable for this evening.’
The velvet-edged strength of his voice and sexy accent caused her to drag in a ragged breath.
‘What exactly is this evening?’ In a bid to quell the nauseous tremor in her stomach she lifted her chin, dropped her shoulders and met his gaze.
‘Our engagement.’
The words were curt and she watched as he walked back around to his side of the desk. He picked up the pen, pulled the papers towards him and signed next to her signature on the contract before looking back up at her.
‘I fully intend for us to be seen out this evening as if we are a couple madly in love.’
‘It’s only Emma who needs to think we actually want to get married. It doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks—not now.’ She couldn’t believe he wanted to put on a public engagement.
‘I don’t want doubt in anyone’s mind,’ he said as he sat back and looked up at her. ‘Least of all people I’ve known for many years. I want them to think that we are in love.’
‘There will be people you know there tonight? Not family, surely?’
It was all getting too much. Everything was happening so fast—much faster than she’d ever planned. She was getting deeper and deeper all the time into something she obviously hadn’t given enough thought to.
‘Sí, my cousin.’
Amusement shone from his eyes. Was he enjoying her discomfort?
‘Other than that, just friends—but they will talk. I want the right things said.’
Further conversation was halted as the maid Georgina had seen earlier knocked on the door. Spanish words flowed melodiously between her and Santos, and Georgina felt strangely excluded. Her grasp of the language was basic to say the least.
‘I shall leave you now to select your wedding gown. Señora Santana is well known in Spain for her gowns.’ He turned his attention back to her, the smile that the maid had been treated to still lingering on his lips.
She felt a nervous panic at the thought of being left alone, hardly able to communicate with his staff, let alone whoever was here with wedding outfits. Santos laughed. A soft throaty chuckle that was maddeningly sexy.
‘Don’t panic. I shall be in here. I have plenty of work to do.’
‘I’m not panicking,’ she flung at him, and smiled at the maid, who was waiting to show her where to go. How did he always manage to know what she was thinking?
‘I’ll wait for you on the balcony at seven,’ he said as she left the room.
She stopped on the threshold and turned to look at him. His tall frame dominated the study so that he seemed almost dangerous. And he was, if the way she reacted to him was anything to go by.
Georgina was taken to yet another bedroom, as big and airy as the one she’d been shown to on arrival. The only difference was the rail of white and cream silk almost mockingly awaiting her approval. One glance at the dresses and Georgina knew that most of them weren’t suitable.
‘Buenas tardes, señora.’ An immaculately dressed woman in her forties all but glided across the marble floor. ‘A little too romantic maybe?’ Her accent was heavy and she stroked the dresses lovingly and smiled at Georgina.
‘I have already been married....’ Georgina began, resenting the need to explain anything, but Señora Santana put up her hand as if to tell her to stop.
‘Not a problem. Señor Ramirez has explained,’ she said, and walked behind the rail of dresses to another which Georgina hadn’t noticed.
Just what had Santos explained? Curiosity piqued, she followed and drew in a breath of awe. These dresses were beautiful. Bold colours of red, green and midnight-blue had been added to frills or even completely forming a bodice.
Georgina couldn’t help but smile. These were more like it. A sweet, innocent bride was not the image she was going for. She trailed her fingers over the silk and chiffon. But one dress in particular caught her attention.
She took the dress from the rail and held it against her. It was perfect. It was everything, and more, that she could want this dress to be.
‘Perfecto.’ Señora Santana smiled and urged Georgina to try it on.
Caught up in the moment, she relished the feel of silk and chiffon against her skin and looked at her image in the mirror. The dress fitted perfectly. As if it had been made for her. She slipped her foot into a dainty strappy sandal, feeling more and more like Cinderella every moment.
‘You will need a veil.’
‘No,’ Georgina replied quickly, and glanced in the mirror at the other lady. ‘No veil,’ she said more gently, and smiled. She hadn’t had a veil for her first wedding—hadn’t even had a dress—so she saw no need to go over the top now. Especially as it was, once more, a marriage of convenience.
Señora Santana shrugged. ‘Ah, I have the perfect alternative. You will see. But now we choose a dress for dinner. No?’
No was just what Georgina wanted to say. She’d gone along with the wedding dress, knowing it was part of the whole plan and necessary. Photos would almost certainly end up in the glossy magazines, whether she wanted them there or not. But a dress for this evening wasn’t necessary. At least not one of this quality.
‘No, the wedding dress is enough.’
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘But Señor Ramirez insisted. You must choose one.’
* * *
Finally Señora Santana’s insistence had worn Georgina down and she’d selected a classic black dress, which now lay on her bed. The hours had just disappeared whilst she was trying dresses on, leaving very little time before she was to meet Santos. Now, after a quick shower, she dried her hair and applied make-up.
Why was she feeling nervous about seeing Santos again? She looked at her watch. Five minutes to seven. He would be waiting on the terrace very soon. She looked again at the dress, feeling almost like a sacrificial lamb.
But wasn’t that exactly what she was?
For her sister’s happiness she’d once again taken on a role she didn’t want. Marrying Richard had been to put Emma through school and a roof over their heads. It had been his suggestion, and even to this day she couldn’t believe a man had done that for her. She’d been on tenterhooks during all the three years they were married, just waiting for him to leave her. But she’d never expected him to leave her the way he had. As a widow. She’d known he was ill—but not that ill.
With a heavy heart she picked up the dress, stepped into it. For a moment the zip eluded her and it took several minutes of contortions to pull it up. Flustered by her efforts, she slipped on the new pair of shoes insisted upon by Señora Santana and left the bedroom, her heels sounding loud on the marble.
