Читать книгу Wed For The Spaniard's Redemption - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 10

Spanish Stud’s Sex Romp withCabinet Minister’s Wife!

RAFAEL MENDOZA-CASILLAS SCOWLED as he sifted through the pile of newspapers on his desk. All the tabloids bore similar headlines, and even the broadsheets had deemed that it was in the public interest to report his affair with Michelle Urquhart.

The story wasn’t only in the UK. All across Europe people were eating their breakfast while studying a front-page photograph of the heir to Spain’s biggest retail company entering a top London hotel late at night accompanied by the voluptuous Mrs Urquhart. A second photo showed him and Michelle leaving the hotel by a back door the next morning.

One can only speculate on how Europe’s most prolific playboy and the Minister’s wife spent the intervening hours!

That was one journalist, writing in a particularly tacky tabloid.

‘It is one scandal too many, Rafael.’

Hector Casillas’s strident voice shook with anger and Rafael held his phone away from his ear.

‘On the very day that the company’s top-selling Rozita fashion line launches a new bridal collection your affair with a married woman is headline news. You have made the Casillas Group a laughing stock.’

‘I was not aware that Michelle is married,’ Rafael said laconically when his grandfather paused to draw a breath.

Not that her marital status interested him particularly. He was not responsible for other people’s morals—especially as his own morality was questionable. But if he’d known that Michelle’s husband was a public figure he would not have slept with her. Even though she had made it clear that she was available within minutes of him meeting her in a nightclub. Rafael never had a problem finding women to occupy his bed and, frankly, Michelle had not been worth this fallout.

He leaned back in his chair and watched the rain lash the windows of his office at the Casillas Group’s UK headquarters in London’s Canary Wharf. The Casillas Group was one of the world’s largest clothing retailers, and as well as Rozita the company owned several other top fashion brands.

Rafael visualised his grandfather sitting behind his desk in the study of the opulent Casillas family mansion in Valencia. There had been many occasions in the past when he had been summoned to that study so that Hector could lecture him on his failings and remind him—as if Rafael needed to be reminded—that he was part gitano. The English word for gitano was gypsy, and in other areas of Europe the term was Roma. But the meaning was the same—Rafael was an outsider.

‘Yet again you have brought shame on the family and, even worse, on the company,’ Hector said coldly. ‘Your mother warned me that you had inherited many of your father’s faults. When I rescued you from the slums and brought you into the family I intended that you would succeed me as head of the Casillas Group. You are my grandson, after all. But sadly there is too much of your father’s blood in you, and tacking Casillas on to your name does not change who you are.’

Rafael’s jaw clenched and he told himself he should have expected this dig. His grandfather never missed an opportunity to remind him that he did not have the blue blood of Spanish nobility running through his veins. His father had been a low-life drug dealer, and his mother’s relationship with him, a rebellion against the Casillas family’s centuries-old aristocratic heritage, had ended when she’d fled from Ivan Mendoza, leaving behind Rafael and his baby sister in a notorious slum on the outskirts of Madrid.

‘The situation cannot continue. I have decided that you must marry—and quickly.’

For a moment Rafael assumed that he had misheard Hector. ‘Abuelo...’ he said in a placating tone.

‘The board want me to name Francisco as my successor.’

A lead weight dropped into the pit of Rafael’s stomach. ‘You would put a boy in charge? The Casillas Group is a global company with a multi-billion-dollar annual turnover. Frankie would be out of his depth.’

‘Your half-brother is twenty and in a year he will finish studying at university. More importantly he keeps his pants on.’

Bile burned a bitter path down Rafael’s throat. ‘Has my mother put you up to this? She has never made it a secret that she thinks her second son is a true Casillas and should be the heir to the company.’

‘No one has put me up to anything. I make my own decisions,’ Hector snapped. ‘But I share the concerns of the board members and the shareholders that your notoriety and frequent appearances in the gutter press do not reflect well on the company. Our CEO should be a man of high principles and an advocate of family values. I am prepared to give you one more chance, Rafael. Bring your wife to my eightieth birthday celebrations at the beginning of May and I will retire from my position as Chairman and CEO and appoint you as my successor.’

‘I have no desire to marry,’ Rafael gritted, barely able to control his anger.

‘In that case I will appoint your half-brother as my heir on my eightieth birthday.’

‘Dios! Your birthday is six weeks from now. It will be impossible for me to find a bride and marry her in such a short time.’

‘Nothing is impossible,’ Hector said smoothly. ‘Over the last eighteen months you have been introduced to several high-born Spanish women and any one of them would be a suitable wife for you. If you want to be my heir badly enough you will present your bride to me and we will have a double celebration to mark my landmark birthday and your marriage.’

Hector ended the call and Rafael swore as he threw his phone down on the desk. The old man was crazy. It was tempting to think his grandfather had lost his marbles, but Rafael knew that Hector Casillas was a shrewd businessman. The CEO-ship had been passed down to the next generation’s firstborn male since Rafael’s great-great-great-grandfather had established the company, one hundred and fifty years ago.

Hector Casillas’s only offspring had been a daughter so Rafael, the oldest grandson, was next in line. But he knew that many on the board of directors and many of his relatives were not in favour of an outsider—which was how they regarded him—being handed the reins of power.

Hector’s words taunted him. ‘If you want to be my heir badly enough...’ Rafael bared his teeth in a mirthless smile. Becoming CEO of the company was the only thing he wanted. Being named as his grandfather’s successor had been his dream, his obsession, since he was a skinny twelve-year-old kid who had been taken from poverty into the unimaginably wealthy lifestyle of his aristocratic family.

He was determined to prove that he was worthy of the role to his detractors, of whom there were many—including his mother and her second husband. Alberto Casillas was his mother Delfina’s second cousin, which meant that their son Francisco was a Casillas to his core. Like that of many aristocratic families, the Casillas gene pool was very exclusive, and the majority of Rafael’s relatives wanted it to stay that way.

But the retail industry was going through big changes, with increasing focus on internet sales, and Rafael understood better than most of the board members that the Casillas Group must use innovation and new technology so that it could continue to be a market leader. His grandfather had been a great CEO but now new blood was needed.

But not a gitano’s blood, taunted a voice inside him. Once he had begged for food like a stray dog on the filthy streets of a slum. And, like a dog, he had learned to run fast to avoid his father’s fists.

Rafael shut off the dark memories of his childhood and turned his thoughts to the potential brides his grandfather had mentioned. He’d guessed there must be an ulterior motive when his mother had invited the daughters of various elite Spanish families to dinner parties and insisted that Rafael should attend. But he hadn’t taken the bait which had been dangled in front of him and he had no intention of doing so—despite Hector’s ultimatum.

He would have to marry, but he would choose his own bride. And it would not be a love match, he thought cynically.

A psychologist would probably suggest that Rafael’s trust issues and avoidance of commitment stemmed from his being abandoned by his mother when he was seven. The truth was that he could forgive her for deserting him, but not for leaving his sister, who had been a baby of not even two years old. Sofia’s distress had been harder for him to bear than his father’s indifference, or the sting of Ivan Mendoza’s belt across the back of Rafael’s legs.

His determination to gain acceptance by the Casillas family was as much for his sister as for himsef. He would be CEO and he was prepared to offer a financial incentive to any woman who would agree to be his temporary wife.

Once he had achieved his goal there would be no reason to continue with his unwanted marriage, Rafael brooded as he grabbed his briefcase and car keys and strode out of his office.

His PA looked up when he stopped by her desk. ‘I’m going to my ten o’clock meeting and I should be back around lunchtime,’ he told her. ‘If my grandfather calls again tell him that I am unavailable for the rest of the day.’ He paused on his way out of the door. ‘Oh, and, Philippa—get rid of those damned newspapers from my office.’

* * *

The day couldn’t get any worse, surely?

Juliet chucked her phone onto the passenger seat of the van and slid the key into the ignition. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. After she had lost her parents in the car accident which had also ended her dancing career she’d decided that nothing could ever be so terrible that it would warrant her tears.

But today had started disastrously, when she’d read a letter from an Australian law firm informing her that Bryan intended to seek custody of Poppy. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach. She couldn’t lose her daughter. Poppy was her reason for living, and even though her life as a single mum was a struggle she would fight with the last breath in her body to keep her little girl rather than hand her over to her father, who had never shown any interest in her until now.

A phone conversation with her business partner Mel a few minutes ago had been the final straw on this day from hell. Her life was falling apart!

Juliet watched the rain streaming down the windscreen and blinked back her tears. There was no point sitting here in the car park behind the Casillas Group’s plush offices in Canary Wharf. She still had sandwich deliveries to make to other offices in the area. Her business, Lunch To Go, might be facing ruin, but her customers had paid for their sandwiches and wraps and they were expecting her to turn up.

She sniffed as she started the engine and pulled her seat belt across her lap before putting the van into gear and pressing her foot down on the accelerator pedal. But instead of moving forward the van lurched backwards, and there was a loud bang followed by the tinkling sound of broken glass.

For a split second Juliet couldn’t think what had happened. But when she looked in her rear-view mirror it was obvious that she had reversed into the car which had swung into the parking bay behind her.

And not just any car, she realised with mounting horror. The sleek gunmetal-grey Lamborghini was one of the most expensive cars in production—so Danny, the parking attendant who allowed her to park her van in this car park, which was reserved exclusively for Casillas Group executives, had told her.

The day had just got a whole lot worse.

She watched the owner of the Lamborghini climb out of his car and stoop down to inspect the front bumper. Rafael Mendoza-Casillas: managing director of the Casillas Group UK, international playboy and sex god—if the stories about his love-life which regularly appeared in a certain type of newspaper were to be believed.

Juliet’s heart collided with her ribs when he straightened up and strode towards her van. The thunderous expression on his handsome face galvanised her into action and she released her seat belt and opened the driver’s door. God, she hoped the damage to his car wasn’t too bad or too expensive to repair. A claim on her vehicle insurance would bump up her premium next year.

‘Idiota! Why did you try to reverse out of your parking space? If you’d had the sense to use your mirror you would have seen that I had parked behind you.’

His gravelly voice with its distinct Mediterranean accent was clipped with anger. But it was the sexiest voice Juliet had ever heard and her skin prickled with awareness of the man who towered over her.

She was five feet four—the minimum height for dancers in the corps de ballet—and she had to tilt her head so that she could look at him. His eyes were an unusual olive-green, glinting furiously in his tanned face. And what a face. Juliet had caught sight of him occasionally at the Casillas Group offices, when she’d been delivering sandwiches, but he hadn’t so much as glanced at her whenever she’d walked past him in a corridor. One time she’d entered the lift as he had stepped out of it and the sleeve of his jacket had brushed against her arm. The spicy scent of his aftershave had stayed with her for the rest of the day, and now her stomach muscles contracted when she inhaled his exotic fragrance.

‘I’m not an idiot,’ she muttered, stung by his superior tone and dismayed by her unbidden reaction to his potent masculinity.

The torrential rain was flattening his thick black hair to his skull, but nothing could detract from his film star looks. With chiselled features, razor-edged cheekbones and a square jaw shaded with dark stubble, he was utterly gorgeous. Beneath her apron, which was part of her uniform, Juliet felt her nipples tighten.

Heavy black brows winged upwards, as if he was surprised that she had answered him back. ‘The evidence suggests otherwise,’ he drawled. ‘I hope your vehicle insurance will cover you for an accident on private land. This car park has a notice which clearly states that it is for the Casillas Group’s senior staff’s use only. You are trespassing, and if your insurance is not valid you can look forward to receiving a hefty repair bill for the damage you have caused to my car.’

Of course she would be covered by her insurance—wouldn’t she? Doubt crept into Juliet’s mind and her shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry. It was an accident, as you said. I didn’t mean to reverse into your car.’ Panic swept through her. ‘I don’t have the money to pay for your repairs.’

The rain had soaked through her shirt and was dripping off her peaked cap. She remembered how excited she and Mel had been when they had ordered the red caps and aprons with their company logo on. They’d had such high hopes for their sandwich business when they’d started up a year ago, but the two bombshells Juliet had received today made it likely that now Lunch To Go would fold.

To make matters even worse, the most handsome man she’d ever set eyes on was now glaring at her as if she was something unpleasant that he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

Misery welled up inside her and the tears that she’d managed to hold back until now ran down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. ‘The truth is that I don’t even have enough money to buy my daughter a new pair of shoes,’ she said in a choked voice.

She’d felt so guilty when Poppy had said yesterday that her shoes made her toes hurt. And now there was a pain in Juliet’s chest as if the oxygen was being squeezed out of her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as if a dam inside her had burst, releasing the emotions she had held back for so long.

‘I certainly can’t afford to pay for work on your fancy car. What will happen if my insurance company refuses to pay for the damage? I can’t take out a bank loan because I already have debts...’

Her logical thought processes had given way to near hysteria. Ever since her parents had been killed in that horrific accident she had subconsciously been waiting for another disaster.

‘Could I be sent to prison? Who would look after my daughter? If I’m deemed to be a bad mother Bryan will be allowed to take Poppy to Australia and I’ll hardly ever see her.’

It was Juliet’s worst fear and she covered her face with her hands and wept.

‘Calm yourself,’ Rafael Mendoza-Casillas commanded. ‘Of course you won’t go to prison,’ he said impatiently as her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. ‘I am sure your insurance will cover the cost of the repairs to my car, and if it doesn’t I will not demand money from you.’

Juliet’s relief at his assurance was temporary. Her other problems still seemed insurmountable and she couldn’t stop crying.

Rafael swore. ‘We need to get out of this rain before we drown,’ he muttered as he took hold of her arm and led her towards his car. He opened the passenger door. ‘Get in and take a few minutes to bring yourself under control.’ Moments later he slid into the driver’s seat and raked a hand through his wet hair. He opened the glove box and thrust some tissues into her lap. ‘Here. Dry your tears.’

‘Thank you.’ She mopped her eyes and took a deep breath. In the confines of the car she was conscious of his closeness. She smelled rain, and the cologne he wore. Another indefinable scent which was uniquely male teased her senses.

‘I’m making your car wet,’ she mumbled when she was able to speak. She was conscious that her rain-soaked clothes were dripping onto the car’s cream leather upholstery. ‘I really am sorry about damaging your car, Mr Mendoza-Casillas.’

‘You can call me Rafael. My surname is a mouthful, don’t you think?’ There was an oddly bitter note in his voice. ‘What is your name?’

‘Juliet Lacey.’ She supposed he needed to know her name and other details for the insurance claim.

Her eyes were drawn to his hard-boned profile and a sizzle of heat ran through her, counteracting the cold that was seeping into her skin from her wet clothes. He glanced at her and she quickly looked away from him. She could not bear to think what she must look like, wet and bedraggled, with her face blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

‘I apologise for losing my temper. I did not mean to frighten or upset you,’ he said curtly. ‘You said that you have a child?’

‘Yes, a three-year-old daughter.’

‘Dios, you can only be—what?—nineteen?—and you have a three-year-old?’ He sounded faintly appalled. ‘I assume that as you are not wearing a wedding ring you’re not married.’

‘I’m twenty-four,’ she corrected him stiffly, ‘and, no, I’m not married. Poppy’s father didn’t want anything to do with either of us when she was born.’

‘Who is this Bryan you mentioned?’

‘He’s Poppy’s father. He has now decided that he wants custody of her. Under Australian law both parents are responsible for their child, even if they have never married or been a couple. Bryan can afford the best lawyers and if he wins the court case he intends to take Poppy to live in Australia with him.’

More tears filled Juliet’s eyes and she scrubbed them away with a tissue.

‘It’s so unfair,’ she blurted out. ‘Bryan saw Poppy once when she was a baby. He told me he might have been more interested if she’d been a boy. But it’s my word against his that he rejected his daughter. His lawyers are twisting everything to make it seem as though I refused to allow him to see his child. But I only brought Poppy back to England because Bryan insisted he wanted nothing to do with her.’

Juliet had no idea why she was confiding in Rafael when she didn’t know him, and she was sure he wouldn’t be interested in her problems. But there was something strangely reassuring about his size and obvious strength, the air of power that surrounded him. Words had tumbled from her lips before she could stop them.

‘I’ve heard through my cousin, who lives in Sydney, that Bryan is dating the daughter of a billionaire and he wants to marry her. Apparently his girlfriend can’t have children of her own because of a medical condition, but she desperately wants a child. My guess is that Bryan hopes to persuade his heiress to marry him if he can present her with a cute little daughter.’

Juliet bit her lip. ‘Eighteen months ago Poppy spent a few weeks in temporary foster care when I had to go into hospital. She was very happy staying with the lovely family who looked after her. But somehow Bryan has found out that Poppy was fostered and he’s using it as proof that I can’t give her a secure upbringing and she’ll be better off living with him.’

‘Couldn’t someone in your family have looked after your daughter while you were in hospital?’

The anger had gone from Rafael’s voice and the sexy huskiness of his accent sent a little tremor through Juliet.

‘My parents are dead and my only other relatives live in Australia. My aunt and uncle were kind to me when I stayed with them after my parents died, but they have busy lives and I try to manage on my own.’

‘Why are you short of money?’ Rafael turned his head towards her and Juliet felt his gaze sweep over her cap and apron. ‘I take it that you have a job? What do the initials LTG stand for?’

‘Lunch To Go is my sandwich business, which I co-own with my business partner. We’ve only been running for a year and our profit margins have been low while we have been getting established.’ She gave another sniff and crumpled the soggy tissue in her hand. ‘Things are finally looking up. But today I was called in by your HR manager and told that the contract we have to supply sandwiches to the Casillas Group’s staff will finish at the end of the week because a new staff canteen is to open.’

Rafael nodded. ‘When I established the London headquarters of the company it was always my plan to open a restaurant and a gym in the basement of the building for staff to use in their lunch break. The construction work took longer than anticipated and I asked HR to make a temporary alternative arrangement for staff to be able to buy their lunch from an outside source but still be subsidised by the company.’

‘I didn’t know about the staff restaurant,’ Juliet said dully.

She’d never been down to the basement level—although she had overheard a couple of secretaries talking about the new staff gym. Her contract with the Casillas Group only required her to be given a week’s notice.

‘Will losing the contract have an impact on your business?’

‘It will halve our profits,’ she admitted heavily. ‘I thought we could advertise for new customers at other offices—although a number of other food delivery companies have started up in this area, and the competition is high. And then I spoke to my business partner after my meeting and Mel told me she’s going to sell the bakery shop where we’re based. Her decision is for personal reasons—she and her husband want to move out of London. Mel owns the shop, and I can’t afford to buy it or rent a new premises.’

‘If your business closes what will you do?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll have to look for another job, but I don’t have any qualifications, or training in a career, and it will be almost impossible to earn enough to cover childcare for Poppy.’

Juliet thought of the home study business degree she had started but had had to abandon because she hadn’t been able to afford the fees for the second year. That degree would have enabled her to find a better-paid job, or at least given her knowledge of the business strategies which would have been useful to develop Lunch To Go. But without Mel she simply could not manage, either financially or practically, to run the sandwich business.

Rafael was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and seemed to be deep in thought. He had beautiful hands. Juliet imagined his tanned hands sliding over her naked body, those long fingers curving around her breasts and caressing the sensitive peaks of her nipples. Heat swept through her and she was startled by her wayward thoughts.

Bryan had broken her heart when he’d dumped her the morning after she’d given her virginity to him. A month later, when she’d tearfully told him that she was pregnant with his baby, his cruel rejection of her and her unborn child had forced her to grow up fast. She had felt a fool for falling for his easy charm and had vowed never to be so trusting again.

Being a single mother had left her little time to meet men, and it was a shock to discover that she could still feel sexual awareness and desire. Perhaps she was attracted to Rafael because he was so far out of her league that there was no chance that anything would come of it—a bit like a teenager with a crush on a pop star they were never likely to meet in real life, Juliet thought ruefully.

‘I may be able to help you,’ Rafael said, jolting her out of her reverie.

Her heart leapt. If he agreed to allow her to continue selling sandwiches to his office staff her business might just survive.

‘Help me how?’

‘I have an idea that would resolve your financial worries and also be advantageous to me.’

Juliet stiffened. ‘What do you mean by “advantageous”?’

Was he suggesting what she thought he was? She knew that some of the women on the housing estate where she lived worked as prostitutes. Most of them were single mothers like her, struggling to feed their children on minimum wages. She didn’t judge them, but it wasn’t something she could ever imagine doing herself.

She put her hand on the door handle, ready to jump out of the car. ‘I won’t have sex with you for money,’ she said bluntly.

For a few seconds he looked stunned—and then he laughed. The rich sound filled the car and made Juliet think of golden sunshine. She felt as if it had been raining in her heart since her parents had died and she’d been left alone. How wonderful it would be to have someone to laugh with, be happy with.

With a jolt she realised that Rafael was speaking.

‘I don’t want to have sex with you.’

His slight emphasis on the word you made Juliet squirm with embarrassment, which intensified when he skimmed his gaze over her. His dismissive expression said quite clearly that he found her unattractive.

‘I have never had to pay for sex with any woman,’ he drawled. ‘What I am suggesting is a business proposition—albeit an unusual one.’

‘I make sandwiches for a living,’ she said flatly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I can’t think what kind of business we could do together.’

‘I want you to be my wife. If you agree to marry me I will pay you five million pounds.’