Читать книгу His Inherited Bride - JACQUELINE BAIRD, Jacqueline Baird - Страница 8

JULES slid into the back seat of the car and briefly closed her eyes. Her father’s grave… She sighed and opened her eyes, feeling guilty. It should have been her making the suggestion, not Rand Carducci. She had given him yet another black mark to hold against her. At the rate she was going she would be lucky if the man would even give her the time of day, let alone money.

Still she straightened in the seat as Rand slid in beside her; now was the ideal opportunity to state her case. Whatever her father had belatedly bequeathed her, could she convert it into money and how fast? That was basically what she wanted to know. If not she would just have to swallow her pride and ask outright for money. It was at least an hour’s drive to the Diez property. With a bit of luck she could reach some agreement with Rand by the time they arrived at the hacienda. A quick visit to her father’s grave and maybe even back to England on the next plane tomorrow. There was no real reason for her to stay a week.

Feeling much more optimistic, Jules turned slightly and looked at him. He was smiling, a good omen, she thought, but before she could open her mouth he forestalled her.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Jules, but I have some work to catch up on.’ His brief smile vanished as he lifted a leather briefcase onto his lap and flicked the lid open.

‘Of course not.’ Bang went her plan to get everything sorted before they arrived at the ranch. The great Rand Carducci had much more important business to attend to than her problem. On his list of priorities she obviously came very low in the pecking order. She supposed she should be honoured he had even deigned to spend the afternoon with her—but she didn’t feel it. Instead she felt resentment simmering inside her.

‘I can always reacquaint myself with the scenery, I suppose,’ she said sarcastically. But her sarcasm was wasted on him.

‘You do that.’ And without so much as glancing at her, he lifted a sheaf of papers from the briefcase and, in moments, with an elegant gold pen in his hand, he was completely involved in his work.

Through the thick fringe of her eyelashes Jules studied him at her leisure, her eyes roaming over his profile, noting the typical frown, and down over his broad shoulders, slightly hunched as he studied the papers he was holding. Jules discovered that her gaze was riveted to his long-fingered, elegant hands, her pulse rate increasing as she stared at them. Gentle but exciting, she guessed, and abruptly she tore her eyes away and looked out of the window. Where on earth had the erotic thought come from? she wondered with a shiver.

Fixing her attention on the passing scenery, the land dry and parched with the heat of the summer, she was vividly reminded of the first time she had travelled this way. Then she had been bursting with enthusiasm and hope, longing to meet her father, and now eleven years later she was returning to visit his grave.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. He had loved this land with a passion, a commitment he had never been able to feel for anything or anyone else. Certainly not her, or her mother, Jules thought sadly; she could only pray it had been enough for him in the end.

As for her, unless her father had made some monetary provision for her in the codicil to his will so she could help her mother, she might very soon end up bankrupt or, worse, an orphan.

Her mother had recovered well from her operation and was working part-time, and looking forward to the treatment that they both hoped would seal her recovery. But she had not been happy at Jules coming here. Her mother thought it seemed mercenary, and that they did not need anything from the man as they had done very well on their own. It was only when Jules had said it was probably only an ornament or the like that she had been left, but the all-expenses-paid holiday was worth having and she could do with a break before her mother started her treatment, that Liz had agreed. Liz had no idea of Jules’ cash-flow problem, and Jules had no intention of telling her.

Stifling a sigh, she turned a narrow-eyed glance on Rand. It was all in the hands of this one man, and she was beginning to get the distinct impression he was deliberately avoiding discussing her father’s estate. Three hours later Jules was convinced of it…

They had arrived at the Diez ranch mid-afternoon. Sanchez, the estate manager, had been at the hacienda to meet them. Rand had been greeted with a hug, and Jules had rather tentatively held out her hand. She had been worried how her absence from the funeral would look to a man who had spent decades working for her father.

But she need not have worried as Sanchez ignored her hand and gave her a big hug as well; that did much to relieve her anxiety in returning to the ranch. Sanchez was the man who had taught her to ride a horse, and she had spent many a happy hour roaming over the ranch with him in the past.

Sanchez’s wife, Donna, the housekeeper, was equally welcoming, and to Jules’ amazement Donna was very obviously pregnant. She congratulated her and was rewarded with a smile and a hug. To Jules’ knowledge Donna had to be at least forty and had been trying to have a baby as long as Jules could remember.

Ten minutes later, seated in the salon, a glass of champagne in her hand Rand had insisted she drink in a toast to her return, Jules glanced around her, the memories rushing back.

She had been so impressed by the house as a teenager, but she was nowhere near as impressed now. The building, the furniture and fittings were beautiful, and immaculately cared for exactly as she remembered, but with maturity she realised the house lacked any sense of home. A portrait in oil by a famous Dutch artist dominated the hall, but there were no personal photographs, and nothing to say who had lived here.

‘So, Jules, how does it feel to be back, dare I say, home?’

The voice was cool, the words faintly mocking. She glanced up at Rand standing in front of the elegantly carved fireplace, one hand idly twisting the champagne flute between his long fingers, the expression in his black eyes impossible to read.

Out of nowhere came the conviction that this was a man who would dare anything to get what he wanted. He was poised like some mighty eagle, his physical strength evident beneath the impeccably tailored pale grey suit, waiting to rip her to shreds given the chance.

Jules chose her words with care. ‘The house has not changed at all. But it is not, nor ever will be, my home; that is not why I am here,’ she said calmly, and was astonished how normal her voice sounded.

‘No, of course, you are here to visit your father’s grave.’ There was a gleam of mocking amusement in his black eyes, and Jules felt a sudden surge of pure anger. Damn him, he had been playing around with her all afternoon, and she was sick of it. Slamming her glass down on the table, she leapt to her feet.

‘Look, Rand,’ she began, walking towards him, ordering herself to control her anger, instinct telling her she could not afford to lose her temper with him. She managed to resist the temptation by curling her hands into fists at her sides as she stopped in front of him.

‘You might have all the time in the world for visiting. Whatever, but I don’t.’ Her cool expression did not betray a thing but her mind was working frantically. ‘I have a very busy work schedule and I want to get back to England as soon as possible, so can we get down to business now?’ She looked at him with candid green eyes, trying to see him as a business acquaintance, nothing more. For some reason her body sensed its weakness next to his, and she didn’t like the feeling. She wanted to get away from his disturbing presence and fast. ‘What exactly did my father leave me, and is it negotiable?’ And she hoped like hell it was more than the ornament she had suggested to her mother.

A flicker of anger showed briefly in his eyes. ‘I know a bakery is essential for any town, but it is hardly rocket science. I’m sure your staff are perfectly capable of running the business without you. You know what they say—all work and no pleasure…’ Cupping her chin with one strong hand, he tilted her face up, one long finger gently caressing her cheek. ‘There is no need to rush, Jules,’ he drawled softly. ‘We have a lot to catch up on, or is that what you are afraid of?’

His derogatory comment about her small business left her speechless, and it did not help that her nerve endings tingled at the contact of flesh on flesh. So she wasn’t in his league business-wise, but then very few in the world were, and she wasn’t about to justify her chosen career to him.

As far as she was concerned they had nothing to catch up on. They had barely been friends, unless he meant Enrique and Maria, she thought, horrified. Surely he didn’t want a blow-by-blow account? Her green eyes, stormy, collided with deep, dark brown. ‘Not you, that’s for sure,’ she snapped. But then his smallest finger trailed over her full lips, and a shiver lanced through her slender body and she knew she had lied. Because suddenly she was desperately afraid, afraid of what Rand was making her feel.

‘Well, if you’re sure about that, then you won’t mind this,’ he declared huskily.

She could feel her heart racing, the blood rushing through her veins. Involuntarily she swayed towards him, drowning in the darkening depths of his eyes, unaware that her own registered her sensual shock. The hand on her cheek slid to clasp the back of her head as his other hand snaked around her waist and up her spine and she was pulled against the solid wall of his chest.

Her stomach appeared to perform a somersault as she felt the strength of his thighs pressed against her and she trembled in a mixture of fear and excitement. She did not know what was happening to her. The fear kept her still in his embrace and she looked up with wide, confused eyes as his dark head lowered to hers.

His lips closed over hers, moving gently, persuasively, and Jules felt something melting inside her. His hand twisted the braid of her hair around his wrist and held her face up to his as he whispered softly against her mouth, ‘I have been wanting to do that since the moment I set eyes on you today, and if you’re honest so have you.’

‘No.’ She opened her mouth to deny him with the tiny atom of common sense she had left, and in that instant his firm lips captured hers again. Taking the opportunity she had inadvertently offered, his tongue intruded with a shattering sensuality, exploring the moist dark interior of her mouth with a no longer gentle but a hungry, demanding passion. The hand at her back pressed her closer to his hard length, one long leg nudging between her thighs.

It was electrifying, and so unexpected. For the first time in her life Jules felt the searing heat of physical arousal. The few kisses she had exchanged with Enrique in the past had never made her feel this way. Every pulse in her body went haywire and she had an incredible urge to press herself closer to the rock-solid strength of Rand’s great body. Her mouth came alive beneath the pressure of his, and she returned his kiss with a helpless, hungry urgency, her arms sliding involuntarily around his neck.

The kiss went on and on, Rand claiming her mouth with a fierce, possessive need and Jules felt a totally unfamiliar tide of emotion sweeping through her that she had no control over. Her rational mind shut down and she returned his ardour with greed, a fiery if less than expert desire she had not known she was capable of. She inhaled his heady scent and as his hand cupped one firm breast she felt the sudden painful tightening of her nipples. Finally she knew what it was to really want a man sexually, the primitive hunger tightening her belly, demanding some release from the fierce tension, the heat consuming her.

She heard Rand’s low groan as he finally broke the kiss. Jules looked up at him, dazed and breathless, as he gently removed her arms from around his neck and held them at her sides. She was still leaning against him, because she doubted her legs would fully support her.

Rand stared down into her hazy green eyes, his own a cloudy black. He reached out and brushed a stray curl from her flushed cheek.

‘Skinny little Jules,’ he drawled softly. ‘Who would have thought you would develop into such a sexy lady? And that beneath that beautiful pale exterior lurked so much passion.’ And he eased her away from him.

Jules blinked, her mind beginning to clear. ‘No,’ she denied, and felt a shaming surge of colour sweep up her face, mortified by her own response. ‘You caught me unawares.’

Rand’s hooded lids dropped over his black eyes, masking his expression, and for a long moment he studied the scarlet-faced beautiful girl before him. You and I both, he almost confessed, shocked rigid in more ways than one by the powerful rush of desire and the overwhelming need to possess her… It was years, if ever, since a woman had turned him on so hard, so fast and so achingly… For a man who took pride in his ability to control everything and everyone, he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.

Finally taking a deep breath and with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he said, ‘If you say so.’ And, avoiding looking at the bewitching Jules, he pushed back his sleeve and glanced at the fine platinum watch on his wrist. ‘If you will excuse me for a while, I have some business to discuss with Sanchez. Donna will show you to your room, and you can get changed.’ It wasn’t in his nature to run away, but in this instant he had to, or he was in real danger of taking Jules where she stood, and losing himself in the incredible splendour of her lush body.

‘Changed.’ Jules, in her confused state of mind, only managed to focus properly on his last word. ‘I can’t—I have no clothes.’ They were all at the hotel in Santiago.

A naked Jules… That was an image he could do without right at the moment. But even so he couldn’t help himself. His gaze roamed with heated masculine appreciation down the length of her body to her feet. Noting the high-heeled sandals that accentuated the long shapeliness of her legs, then travelling upwards again in a slow, lingering appraisal of the smooth curve of her hips, and the upper swell of her high proud breasts, revealed by the lapels of her jacket.

‘A little larger in the breast, I think…no?’ He lifted one black brow in mocking query.

If that was a question Jules had no intention of answering, and, red with embarrassment, she stared mutely at him.

‘But as for the rest,’ Rand continued quickly,’ you are still the long-limbed girl I remember. I think you will find the trousers you left behind will fit. I’ll collect you in about an hour. Sanchez will saddle up the horses and we can take a ride to your father’s grave, before the light goes.’

Jules opened her mouth to object, but Rand was already exiting the room, the click of the door as he shut it behind him finally registering in her churning mind that she was alone.

She was still staring at the closed door a long moment later. What had happened? Where was her cool reserve? Her businesslike attitude? Taking a few slow, deep breaths, she felt marginally better. So Rand had kissed her! So what? She was not a complete novice, she had been kissed before, she told herself sternly. But never like that and never with such devastating results, a tiny devilish voice prompted in her head… But more importantly, she realised as she made her way upstairs, Rand had expertly deflected her from pursuing the subject of her inheritance yet again…

‘I was right, a perfect fit,’ Rand opined as she walked down the stairs slightly less than an hour later.

‘Clever you,’ Jules snapped, her temper fraying at the edges. It had been a shock to discover, on being shown to her old room, that the few clothes she had left behind at eighteen, mainly trousers and tops, were all cleaned and pressed and hanging in the wardrobe. There wasn’t much as her mother had been going to bring her carefully chosen trousseau with her when she arrived the day before the wedding. Jules had naturally assumed her father would have got rid of everything belonging to her so it was a terrible shock to see the wedding dress still in Cellophane hanging in the closet. That he had kept everything somehow saddened her; perhaps he had cared for her in his own way…

After a quick shower, she had dressed in a pair of well-washed jeans, and teamed them with a white knit cotton shirt, and to her amazement even her old riding boots had been cleaned and polished.

It didn’t help her temper that Rand had been right, and seeing him lounging against the door waiting for her simply made her feel worse.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs her eyes skimmed over his tall, impressive figure. Her heart skipped a beat, and it took all her self-control to walk towards him. Gone was the business suit, and in its place the three top buttons of his black checked shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned chest and dark curling hair. Black denim jeans clung to his long legs like a second skin, and the hair on the back of her neck began to prickle as she walked forward.

He looked dark and somehow dangerous. Perhaps it was his very stillness or the cool arrogance of his expression as he waited for her to approach him that gave her the weird notion he resembled a large, sleek panther. A predator that had stalked her all day and he was now ready to pounce.

With a brief shake of her head she stopped in front of him and glanced up into his hard face. ‘Let’s go, my time is limited and I do want to get back to Santiago tonight,’ she said firmly, and strolled on past him through the open front door and into the courtyard.

‘I am at your command.’ His husky chuckle followed her out into the brilliant light of the afternoon sun.

Jules blinked, and then gasped, and ran across to where Sanchez stood holding the bridles of two horses. ‘You still have her.’ She sent a beaming smile Sanchez’s way, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Polly, my pony.’ She rubbed the neck of the small piebald mare with a gentle hand and pressed her lips to the silky coat. ‘I can’t believe she is still here.’

Sanchez’s sombre face broke into a broad grin.’ Your father insisted we kept her in peak condition—’ he spoke in Spanish ‘—just in case you returned.’

Jules blinked back tears, and nodded. ‘Thank you, Sanchez.’

Rand watched the little scene played out and, with a cynical smile twisting his firm mouth, he took the bridle of his horse, a large black stallion, and swung himself into the saddle. Jules showed more emotion over a horse than she did over her own father.

‘I thought you were in a hurry, Jules,’ he prompted curtly, watching her cuddling the pony’s neck, and for a second he remembered the feel of those same slender arms around his own and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. ‘Mount up,’ he commanded gruffly.

Jules did as she was told, and, gripping the reins in one hand, she took the small posy of flowers Sanchez held up for her with the other.

‘For your father.’

Carlos Diez had been laid to rest in a small private burial plot situated in the lee of a small hill to protect against the elements. Jules stood over his grave while Rand held the horses off to one side, in the shade of a solitary old pine tree.

Jules stared down at the polished marble headstone. It saddened her to think of her father dying alone without family, and the tears formed in her eyes and slid silently down her pale cheeks. Jules had never really known her father, not the inner man, what made him function, his hopes and fears. All she had seen in the few short months she had actually spent with him was a handsome old man, who had kindly given her Polly and encouraged her to learn to ride.