Читать книгу 8 Magnificent Millionaires - Кэтти Уильямс, Cathy Williams - Страница 26

ZOË was up shortly after dawn on Monday. She was skilled at putting the dark shadows behind her, and, though she was tired after her disturbed night, her mind was full of the party the following day. She was determined to have everything ready in good time.

The local producers took a well-earned rest over the weekend, and Monday was the only day the market opened late. That played into her hands, giving her a chance to draw up a schedule and get organised before she went shopping for ingredients. She enjoyed supervising everything—even down to which flowers she would have on the tables.

Taking a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice with her onto the veranda, she perched on a seat overlooking the cypress grove to make her list. It was still cool, and she had taken the precaution of wearing a cosy sweater over her pyjamas. Her hair was still sleep-tangled round her shoulders and for a while she just sat idly, soaking up the view. The air was quite still, apart from the occasional flurry of early-morning breeze, and there were few sounds to disturb her tranquil state other than the birds chorusing their approval of another bright new day.

Closing her eyes, Zoë relished the touch of the sun on her freshly washed face. She breathed deeply and smiled as she inhaled the same scent she had enjoyed the previous night. The cicadas were just kicking off with a rumba. The perfume of the blossom was overlaid with the warm, spicy aroma of Spain. She couldn’t have been anywhere else. She didn’t want to be anywhere else. Feeling a sudden rush of joy, she stretched out her arms towards the sun—then another sound intruded.

Opening her eyes, she straightened up and looked around, and saw a horse and rider coming towards her at speed. Shading her eyes against the low, slanting rays of the sun, she could just make out the shape of a man crouched low over the neck of his horse. He was galloping flat out towards her, down the tree-lined grove, using the mile-long stretch like his own private racecourse.

‘Rico?’ Zoë murmured, getting to her feet. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment she panicked. Only an emergency could have brought him to the castle at such a pace.

But then he slowed abruptly, when he was still some yards from the entrance to the courtyard.

Almost as if he knew he was close to water, the horse pricked up his ears and pranced towards the trough located right beneath the veranda where Zoë was standing. The sound of his hooves on the cobbles made her smile. Did everyone dance to the rhythm of flamenco in Cazulas?

The black stallion and his rider were a magnificent sight. Rico was so much a part of his mount it was difficult to tell who made the decisions, and Zoë smiled again in admiration as she raised her hand in greeting. She could ride—but not like that.

Reining in beneath the veranda, Rico smiled up at her.

Zoë was surprised he looked pleased to see her. Had he forgotten what had happened between them the previous night? She had made a fool of herself. So why was he here? What had he come for?

‘Buenos días, señorita!’ Rico bowed low over the withers of his horse. ‘I trust I find you well this morning?’

His uncomplicated greeting bolstered Zoë’s determination not to slip back into her old ways. He wasn’t being scornful or cruel, he was just saying good morning.

‘Buenos días, señor.’ Planting her hands on the veranda rail, she smiled down at him.

‘You look tired,’ Rico observed as he sprang down to the ground. Swinging the reins over the horse’s head, he tethered him to a pole.

‘Do I?’ Zoë put a hand to her cheek. She had no intention of telling him why. ‘I haven’t had a chance to put my makeup on. That must be it.’ Then she remembered her shabby old pyjama bottoms, flapping in the breeze beneath her rumpled sweater.

‘You don’t need make-up.’ He took the steps two, three at a time. ‘But you do look tired.’ Pulling off his soft calfskin riding gloves, he slapped them together in the palm of one hand. ‘That juice looks good.’

‘It is. I’m sorry, would you like one?’

‘Thank you, that would be nice.’

The jug of juice was in the refrigerator in the kitchen. And he would need a glass. She would have the chance to slip out and change into a respectable outfit. ‘Please, sit down. I’ll go and get the juice for you.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No, that’s—’ Pointless arguing with him, Zoë thought wryly, leading the way inside.

Every tiny hair rose on the back of her neck at knowing Rico was behind her, and as he held the door for her she could picture his muscles flexing beneath the close-fitting riding breeches, the turn of his calf beneath the long leather riding boots. And that was before she considered the wide spread of his shoulders, the powerful forearms shaded with dark hair, the inky black waves caressing high-chiselled cheekbones, slightly flushed beneath his tan after the exertions of his ride.

She could picture everything about him—his mouth, his lips—she could feel the scrape of his bristle on her cheeks, and she could remember all too clearly that she had pushed him away when he had wanted to kiss her.

Because she was frigid.

It was no use, Zoë realised as they walked into the kitchen. She would never be able to relax with a man like Rico. She would never know what it felt like to be properly kissed by him. But that didn’t stop her wanting to.

‘The work for this meal isn’t proving too much for you?’ He looked around when she had given him a glass of fresh juice. ‘You seem to have made enough for an army already.’

‘I’m never happier then when I’m cooking.’ She stared at him as he went to wash out his empty glass at the sink. She was so used to clearing up after people she knew she would never get used to this.

When he had finished, Rico turned back to her. He slipped one thumb into his belt-loop, and before she knew what she was doing Zoë had followed the movement. Feeling her face flame red, she redirected her gaze into his eyes.

‘It all smells wonderful.’ Rico smiled.

‘Thank you.’ Zoë’s throat seemed to have closed up. The riding breeches moulded him precisely, revealingly—terrifyingly. ‘Why are you here?’ Her voice sounded faint, and she was glad there was a table between them.

‘It’s such a beautiful morning I thought you might like to ride out with me—if you’re not too busy…’

She could hardly pretend to be when she had been lazing on the veranda when he arrived. ‘I’ve thought about riding lots of times since I got here, but—’

‘But?’

‘Well, I can’t ride like you.’

‘There are plenty of quieter mounts than mine to choose from in the stables.’

‘I’d really like that.’ Zoë frowned. ‘But I’d have to change.’

‘Go right ahead. I’ll wait for you.’

‘All right, then.’

Closing the door behind her, Zoë leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath. What was she doing? She closed her eyes. She couldn’t let her old life get in the way. She had fought her way out; she wasn’t going to slip back now. There was nothing wrong in riding with Rico. She could do with the exercise. The rest of the day was for shopping and cooking, so an hour’s recreation would be perfect. In fact, it was just what she needed.

Zoë changed her clothes quickly, putting on jeans and a shirt. When she returned to the kitchen Rico was gazing around at the changes she had made.

‘I trust you approve?’ Zoë hoped she didn’t sound too defensive. He put the pottery dish he had been examining back on the shelf. The changes were small, but it made the place feel like home—and that was no easy task in a castle.

She spent so much time in the kitchen it had to feel right. It was where she prepared everything, painstakingly testing each dish any number of different ways long before the cameras rolled on set. So she had hung some new blinds at the windows to control the flow of light while she worked, and there was a row of fresh herbs lined up in terracotta pots along the window-sill. She loved the local pottery. It was precious in a world where everything was growing more and more alike.

‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to do the filming in here?’

‘Yes, but my director felt there was more space in the hall, so I gave in to him on that point.’

‘Your director? He works for you?’

‘For my production company.’

‘I’m impressed.’

‘No need to be. It’s not unknown in the television world for people to take the independent route.’

‘So whose fault was the set dressing?’

‘Mine,’ Zoë said quickly. ‘I own the company. The buck stops here.’

Rico’s lips pressed together as he stared at her, then curved as if he was amused. ‘Are you ready to go?’ He glanced towards the door.

As he held it open for her, and she walked past him, Zoë felt a tingle race down the length of her spine. The heady scent of saddle soap and leather laced with warm, clean man was overwhelmingly attractive, and her thoughts turned wilfully to what was beneath Rico’s breeches. She had never indulged in erotic thoughts before, always dreading where they might lead. But there was something about Rico Cortes that made it impossible to think about anything else.

Daydreaming was a dangerous game…

Once they were outside in the fresh air Zoë knew that at least for the next hour or so she was going to put every negative thought from the past out of her mind.

They stood on the veranda side by side for a few moments, enjoying the view. They were standing very close, close enough to brush against each other, but then Rico’s stallion scented his master’s presence and squealed with impatience.

‘I think he’s trying to tell us that he’s been kept waiting long enough,’ Zoë said.

‘We had better go down,’ Rico agreed, ‘before he pulls that post out of the ground.’

She followed him down the steps.

‘We should find you a horse.’ Rico tipped his chin towards the stables. ‘Before Rondeno breaks free.’

‘Rondeno?’

‘A native of Ronda. My stallion is named after the most famous of all the White Towns in Andalucia. Ronda is surrounded by rugged mountains that once sheltered bandits and brigands.’

‘How very romantic.’ And how perfectly suited to Rico, Zoë thought, looking up at him. He would have made a very good pirate, with his swarthy, dangerous looks. Had Rico’s career taken a similar path to her own, she could see him as a leading man, breaking hearts on the small screen as well as the large. There was always a hunger for new talent. ‘Have you ever thought of acting as a career?’

‘Never.’ He slanted her a look. ‘I prefer reality to fantasy every time.’

‘Flamenco, cooking, riding…’ She smiled. ‘Is there no end to your talent?’

‘You haven’t even begun to scratch the surface yet.’ He laughed. ‘Come on, let’s get you that horse.’

At a gentle canter, and with the warm wind lifting her hair, Zoë began to wonder if she had ever felt so carefree before. The countryside was bathed in a soft, golden light, and the sky was as clear a blue as she had ever seen.

In this part of Spain the ground was well fed by a fast-flowing river, but now it was approaching the hottest months of the year the water was little more than a sluggish trickle. The pastures in the shadow of the mountains, however, were still green, and provided the perfect ground for riding over.

‘We’ll stop over there by the bridge.’ Rico had brought his stallion alongside her horse, and was keeping pace at an easy canter. ‘There should just be enough water for the horses to drink.’

As she cantered ahead of him, Zoë couldn’t believe she hadn’t ridden one of the horses stabled at the castle before. She had assumed they were in livery for any number of local riders, and therefore not included in her lease. Not so, Rico had explained. They all belonged to the same person—someone he knew, presumably. He knew the horses, and had chosen a quiet gelding for her to ride, saying Punto was perfect for her.

And he was, Zoë thought, patting the horse’s dappled neck. Punto was just the type of horse she liked: he was kind, and willing, and wore an American-style high saddle, which was a lot more comfortable than the English saddle she was used to.

Rico’s stallion moved ahead as he scented water. Urging her own horse forward, Zoë caught him up by the slow-moving stream. She allowed the reins to fall loosely on Punto’s neck and gazed around. Apart from the gurgle of water and the sound of the two horses drinking there was utter silence. Lifting her face to the sun, Zoë closed her eyes, allowing the light to bathe her in its warmth.

‘It’s so beautiful here.’

‘I agree,’ she heard Rico murmur.

She longed for him to lean over in his saddle then, and kiss her as he had kissed her before. This time she wouldn’t pull back. No bad feelings could intrude here, on such a beautiful day.

But Rico didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even try to touch her. He just sat patiently, waiting for their horses to finish drinking.

Of course he wouldn’t kiss her. Men couldn’t stand women who pulled away at the last minute. It was every man’s idea of a turn-off. There were only so many knocks to his pride a real man could take. Wasn’t that what her ex-husband had told her? He was right, and this was the proof.

She collected up the reins. ‘I’d better get back to the castle. There’s still so much to do. I have to get to the market before all the best produce is sold.’ She turned Punto away from the water.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Rico insisted. ‘Why don’t I get someone to collect what you need?’

The breeze flipped Zoë’s hair from her face as she turned to him. ‘That’s very kind of you, Rico, but I prefer to choose everything myself.’

‘Force of habit?’

‘That’s right.’

They began to trot, and then the horses broke into a canter. ‘So, are you still coming tomorrow?’ She had to yell to make him hear.

‘Try and keep me away. Shall we race back to the castle?’

The challenge excited her. Urging Punto on, Zoë loved feeling the wind in her hair and hearing the sound of Rondeno’s hooves pounding after her. She knew Rico had to be holding back, and, snatching a glance over her shoulder, she laughed with exhilaration. Rondeno was far more powerful than her own mount, but she could almost believe Punto was enjoying this as much as she was.

The control Rico exercised over his mighty stallion was the biggest turn-on of all, and Zoë’s heart was thundering louder than the combined sound of both horses’ hooves. The friction of the saddle as she brushed back and forth was something new to her. She had never taken notice of it before, but now she was intensely and electrifyingly aroused. Leaning low over Punto’s neck, she begged the horse to speed up and carry her away from Rico—and away from temptation.

He had to dig his heels into Rondeno’s side to catch up with her. His laugh of pleasure and surprise was carried away on the wind because they were moving so fast. She was quite a woman. He liked her spirit. In fact he liked Zoë Chapman—a lot, Rico realised, easing up so they were galloping alongside each other.

Her lips were parted to drag in air, and there was a faint line of pink along the top of her cheekbones that had not been put there by the wind. Her lips were moist where she had licked them, and when she flashed him a glance he saw that her exquisite eyes had darkened to the point where only a faint rim of turquoise remained.

She was not leading him on even a little bit—she was sexually unawakened. The realisation sent arousal streaking through him like a bolt of lightning. So much sexuality packed into one woman with everything to learn about the art of love. Even if he’d cared nothing for her, he would still have had to find that a turn-on. But after Zoë’s fearful response to him sorting her out in the sex department was starting to feel more like a crusade. Her frustration was obvious—something had to give. And he wanted to be around when that happened.

As they approached the castle they both reined in, but Zoë kept the lead. She laughed, and smiled across at him in triumph.

The change in her was striking. Where was the cool professional businesswoman now? Where was the frightened girl who had pushed him away? Right now she radiated confidence. The grey cloud that sometimes hung over her had vanished; he hoped it stayed that way.

She wanted to feel this good for ever, Zoë thought as she sprang down from the saddle. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Rico, smiling. ‘That was the best time I’ve had for—’

‘Ever?’ he suggested.

‘I should definitely try to ride more frequently. Perhaps I will, now I know I can take one of the horses from the stables here.’

‘The groom will always pick one out for you, or just tell him you prefer to ride Punto.’

‘I will.’ Zoë rested her cheek against Punto’s neck for a moment. ‘He’s the best—aren’t you, Punto?’

‘Don’t ride unaccompanied until you know the lie of the land better.’

Zoë’s pulse began to race as she gazed up at Rico. ‘I won’t.’ It was such an easy promise to make. With Rico riding next to her she would be in the saddle every spare moment that came her way.

‘The groom will ride with you if you ask him.’

Somehow she kept the smile fixed to her face. ‘That would be great.’

‘Adios, Zoë!’

‘Adios, Rico.’ He was too busy holding his black stallion in check to note her sudden lack of enthusiasm, Zoë saw thankfully. ‘I appreciate you taking me out.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ He wheeled Rondeno away.

I wouldn’t dream of mentioning it, Zoë thought, smiling to herself as Rico cantered away.

Turning, she viewed the elderly bow-legged groom with wry amusement. Riding was definitely crossed off her ‘must-do’ list for now.