Читать книгу Spanish Magnate, Red-Hot Revenge - Lynn Harris Raye - Страница 7
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
EVERYTHING went wrong the instant Rebecca lunged. Fury ate at her gut like battery acid. She’d planned to shove his arrogant carcass into the pool and go back to her room. And then she was going to call financier Roger Cahill. What Alejandro accused her of couldn’t possibly be true.
Except the momentum required to throw Alejandro off balance tipped her too far forward. Her arms windmilled like crazy before she lost the fight and splashed down, landing on fifteen stone worth of angry Spanish male.
Something collided hard with the top of her head, and then she was sinking beneath the surface. She sucked in a breath, gulped chlorine. She needed to fight her way back up, needed to kick hard and breach the liquid barrier above her. But she couldn’t seem to do it. Her limbs wouldn’t cooperate.
How ironic to die in Alejandro’s pool. The last thought rattling through her brain was that if there were any justice in the world, he’d get blamed for her death.
A second later, air burst into her lungs. She coughed sharply, spitting up water. Her head lolled against something hard and warm.
Alejandro.
“Querida, speak to me,” he urged in a harsh voice.
Her back pressed down on a hard surface and she realized he’d laid her on the tile beside the pool. A moment later he hovered over her, his hands bracketing her head, water dripping from his skin onto hers.
She coughed again, her throat raw and burning. A sob welled up from somewhere inside, but she refused to give in to it. She gulped it back and stuffed it down deep. The last thing she would ever do was show weakness in front of this man.
“Rebecca, amor, say something. Call me a name if it pleases you.”
“Arrogant idiot,” she sputtered, though it came out as little more than a whisper. “Foolish Spaniard.”
He grinned down at her. “I said one name, did I not?”
Her heart lurched. Not a good thing. “It makes me happy, calling you names.”
It also made her happy to see him smile at her, but that was a piece of information she had no intention of sharing. One tear slipped from the corner of her eye and blazed a hot trail down her temple. She’d only been here a few hours and already a part of her longed for what used to be. Get over it, Becca. He’s not the right man for you, never was. He used you, same as Parker Gaines did.
“What happened?” she asked, dashing the tear away with her fingers.
“I was trying to move out of the way when you fell on top of me. Your head connected with my elbow.”
“Oh.”
His fingers spanned her skull, probing softly. He was so close his breath whispered over her skin, sent a shiver skimming. “No bumps. I think you will live.”
“Sell me the hotel, Alejandro,” she urged, her eyes searching his. “It means nothing to you.”
“And everything to you.”
“Yes.” She pulled a deep breath into her lungs, savoring the sweet night air, forcing herself to go on though her throat was raw. “They built it together. He knew she missed Paris, and he gave it a French theme. There are family antiques in the hotel even now.”
“You may have them.” His eyes were flat, the concession seeming to cost him a great deal to say. “I won’t prevent you from taking what is sentimental to you.”
“The hotel is sentimental to me. I—” she swallowed “—I was born there. I beg you to reconsider.”
His gaze slid down her body, over the wet dress clinging to every curve. One dark hand settled on her thigh, traced the outline of her leg, moving slowly up to her hip. His touch burned her, even through the layer of wet material between them. Mercy, what those fingers had done to her the last time they’d been together.
Rebecca bit her lip.
“To what lengths are you willing to go, bella, to secure your hotel?” His look was intense, as if a word or a nod from her would set in motion a seismic event that could not be stopped until they sprawled together in bed sated, replete—utterly ruined.
Her heart tapped hard inside her chest. His head descended in slow motion to her throat, his tongue pressing against an erratic pulse-point. “You want this,” he murmured. His fingers spread over the wet material on her thigh. Her skin was cold from the pool and the night air, but his hand sizzled where it touched, branding her.
Once she would have welcomed his touch. Would have opened herself to him and reveled in the way he made her feel. Part of her still wanted to.
But she couldn’t. It would cost her too much.
“No,” she said softly. And again, stronger, “No.”
His head lifted. His eyes searched hers, almost as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. Oddly, it gave her courage. She pushed him away, satisfied when he rocked back, breaking all contact between them.
She lifted herself onto her elbows, and then to a sitting position when her head no longer spun. “I will buy it from you, Alejandro. I won’t sleep with you for it.”
“My, how you’ve changed.” Sarcasm thickened his voice. “You weren’t so principled five years ago.”
“It’s funny that you talk about principles when you were the one with a secret fiancée. Or was I the secret mistress?”
He unfolded from the tile deck, rose to his full height. “The only secrets were the ones you kept while you lied to me about your true reasons for being at the Villa de Musica.”
Rebecca shook her head softly, stopped when a wave of nausea threatened. “You’re unbelievable, Alejandro. You say I lied to you and stole your deal, but you were the one using me to learn how to expand your reach beyond Spain—”
“What?” He looked incredulous, his voice snapping into the night like a whip.
Rebecca shoved herself to her feet. The movement was too quick, and she almost sank to the ground, but Alejandro reached out and steadied her.
“I’m fine,” she said, shrugging away from his touch. “We talked all the time, Alejandro. You asked me about every detail of the business, and I told you all I knew. You used me.”
His hand dropped away. “I did not need you to succeed, Rebecca,” he said coldly. “That I now own Layton International is proof of that, do you not think?”
She wrapped her arms around her wet body, her teeth beginning to chatter though she was burning up with fury on the inside. No, he hadn’t needed her at all. Not in the way she’d wanted anyway. “You got lucky.”
“Lucky? I make my own luck, querida. I don’t wait for chance.”
One temple throbbed with the beginnings of a headache. He’d gotten lucky because her father had made mistakes, taken risks. If making his own luck meant watching Layton International like a panther and pouncing when they were crippled beneath the weight of obligations, then fine. He hadn’t left anything to chance.
The exhaustion of the day sat like a lead weight on her shoulders. She just wanted to go to her room and pretend she was anywhere but here. With her ex-lover. Her ex-love.
“If you give me a few days, I’ll put together a fair offer for La Belle Amelie.”
He snapped his towel from the chaise, where he’d dropped it the first time. “You may have the family antiques, Rebecca, but the hotel is not negotiable.”
“You just offered to let me buy it if I’d sleep with you.”
He laughed. “No, I asked to what lengths you would go for the hotel. I did not say I would accept the offer.”
Rebecca grabbed the papers she’d tossed onto one of the chaises. Then she spun to face him again, the documents crumpling in her chilled fist. “You can’t deny you were aroused, Alejandro. If I’d said yes, we’d be in bed right now.”
He looked bored. “I’m a man. A woman pressed against my body causes a reaction, sí. This is true of many men, I believe.”
“Some more than others, apparently. I should have believed the stories I read about you. When you weren’t fighting bulls you were bedding every woman in sight. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble.”
The look he gave her was sharp. “The press enjoys telling tales. If I’d bedded half the women they accused me of, I’d have been too tired to fight and the bulls would have won.”
“Well, it certainly didn’t stop you from sleeping with me and a fiancée at the same time. Were there others too?” She flung the words at him, surprised at the vehemence knotting her throat. For years she’d thought of the face-to-face confrontation they’d never had. Would he have denied it if she’d given him the chance? Would he have apologized? He’d tried to convince her over the phone that he was not engaged. But his denials had fallen short because the truth was irrefutable.
“There was no one but you.”
“You were engaged,” she said, forcing the words past the wedge of pain in her throat. “I think that counts as someone else.”
“I was not engaged.”
“But you married her anyway. How convenient.”
He took a step toward her, menace rolling from him in waves. “I married her because of you—because you stole from me and left me no choice.”
This time she stood her ground. “I didn’t steal anything, Alejandro. That’s a lie.”
“Of course you would say that. But it does not change the truth. When the Cahill Group informed me of their decision, they said they were investing in Layton International instead. Do you intend to tell me Roger Cahill lied?”
Rebecca tried to remember exactly what had happened then. She’d left Spain and gone to London to meet with Roger, at her father’s direction, about a financing deal. They had not discussed Ramirez Enterprises. She would have remembered since the pain of Alejandro’s betrayal had still been so raw.
“We were working with Roger on a South American deal. What he and his investors decided about you had nothing to do with us.”
Alejandro snorted. “You expect me to believe that? Layton International wanted to shut out the competition. You tried to ruin me, or at least contain me to Spain.”
“No,” she said softly. “There was no reason. You weren’t important enough.”
He stiffened as if she’d dealt him a body-blow. “Or good enough, sí?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ramirez Enterprises hadn’t been big enough to be a threat, but he didn’t give her a chance to explain.
“I know what you meant, querida. How difficult it must have been for you to endure my touch. To sacrifice your body for the sake of your precious Layton International.” He stalked closer until he towered over her—so close she could feel the heat of his skin, could smell the mixture of chlorine and male that threatened to overwhelm her senses. “You did a fine job of playing the whore, Rebecca. You were quite natural at it. But do not worry that you will ever need to lie beneath this dirty torero again. There are plenty of women who find it no chore to do so.”
His words stung. “I slept with you because I wanted to. No other reason.”
“Yes, tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
Rebecca took a step away from him, her belly churning with hurt and anger. How dare he question her feelings, her integrity. He suggested she’d thought he was beneath her, unworthy of her because of what he’d been. God, it was untenable! “I loved you, Alejandro,” she whispered fiercely. “You—”
“Silencio! I will not listen to your lies.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and stood with fists on lean hips. Moonlight limned the hard contours of his chest, glistened on the water that still dripped from his head and left a trail of silver down his skin.
“Nothing you say will change the past, Rebecca, nor the fact I own Layton International. Spend your time worrying about your job, and cease trying to convince me you ever cared for me. We both know the truth.”
* * *
Señora Flores coolly informed Rebecca that breakfast was usually served on the terrace in summer. There would be no coffee or pastries delivered to her room, no matter how sweetly she asked. But the last thing she thought she could do right now was sit across from Alejandro and share a meal. In fact, if she managed to avoid him altogether that would make her day nearly perfect. He’d accused her of so much ugliness. Of sleeping with him for information, of stealing from him and of lying about being in love with him.
Oddly, it was the last thing that bothered her most. She’d been so naive. She’d fallen fast and hard, and then she’d let the words fall from her lips often and easily. And, though he’d never repeated them, she’d believed he had cared for her. Believed what they had was special.
Until his fiancée sent a wedding coordinator to his hotel suite. A wedding coordinator. The woman had invitation samples, possible menus and fabric samples for his tuxedo. And he’d still denied he was engaged.
She was the one who’d been wronged, damn him! The one who’d had her heart broken and the pieces pulverized beneath his boot heels. Previous experience should have taught her he was only using her for the information she could give him, for her status as Jackson Layton’s daughter, but she’d denied the truth and carried on blissfully with the affair. And he accused her of betraying him? Was the man insane?
She’d wanted to call Roger Cahill last night, see if she could find out what really happened, but it had been too late when she’d returned to her room. Today, however, she would make that call. There must have been a reason the Cahill Group had pulled their backing. A reason that had nothing to do with her or Layton International. Alejandro might never believe it, but at least she would know the truth.
Until then, how could she go out on that terrace and face him like nothing had ever happened between them? Eating with him was too intimate, too much like the past. And after last night her nerves were scraped raw.
She briefly considered refusing to join him, but she was too hungry—and she definitely needed the caffeine. Rebecca ran a comb through her honeyed curls one last time, before twisting them into a knot and securing it with a clip. Then she smoothed a stray wrinkle from her cream pantsuit and grabbed her briefcase, before shoving on a pair of matching sunglasses and heading for the terrace. She didn’t want Alejandro to see the dark circles beneath her eyes. He’d only gloat at her distress, and she was in no mood for it.
She passed through a large great room, with soaring ceilings and pale stucco walls. Dark Spanish timbers spanned the ceiling at regular intervals. Cool cream furniture and inlaid Syrian wood tables clustered on silk Oriental carpets near a giant fireplace. Priceless art graced the walls—a Bellini madonna, a Picasso etching and a Velázquez oil among them. Even at his best, her father could only have afforded one or two of those paintings. Alejandro must be very rich indeed to have such a collection.
She went through large double doors propped open onto the terrace. Alejandro sat in profile to her. His white shirt hung open casually, the paleness of the fabric in contrast to his sun-warmed skin. A gray suit jacket was draped across a chair, the expensive fabric gleaming richly in the dappled sunlight falling through the arbor. He spoke a rapid stream of Castilian into the phone wedged to his ear. He didn’t look up as she approached.
A uniformed man held out a chair. Rebecca gave him a smile as she sank onto it.
“Coffee, señorita?”
“Please.”
He poured a steaming cup for her while she helped herself to a slice of toast, spread it with jam and took a bite. She could eat a side of beef, she was so hungry, but the typical Spanish breakfast was toast and jam, or churros with a pot of chocolate. After polishing off the first slice, she fixed another, biting into it as she let her gaze roam the courtyard.
“You wish for eggs and bacon?”
The sudden English startled her, whipped her concentration from the hot-pink bougainvillea vines overflowing the arbor. Alejandro’s attention was on her now, the phone resting on the table beside his plate.
“This is fine.”
“You do not want something more American?”
“Toast is American.” She avoided meeting his eyes.
Alejandro shrugged. “It is not a problem. If you wish for something more, you have only to say so.”
She continued to eat her toast. In light of all they’d said to each other last night, she didn’t want to be thankful to him for anything. Knowing she owed him for dragging her out of the pool before she drowned was bad enough. Though if he hadn’t made her so angry she wouldn’t have been in the pool in the first place.
“You slept well?”
“Well enough,” she said, spreading a third slice with jam. Praying he wouldn’t guess she’d done anything but. That her heart was doing double time and her nerve-endings sizzled simply from being near him.
Before she knew what he was doing, he was standing beside her. He removed the clip holding her hair back and dropped it on the table as he tunneled his fingers into the loosened strands.
“Alejandro—”
“Shh.” His touch was gentle, sure—and as startling as ever. He was so close his scent invaded her senses. No chlorine this time. Just expensive soap and man. Her eyes drifted closed as warmth spread through her.
“Ouch!” Her eyes snapped open again.
“It’s a small bump,” he said, his fingers exploring the swelling on her head. “Nothing serious.”
Rebecca marshaled her resolve as awareness followed hard on the heels of the warmth permeating her body. “Stop touching me,” she said, batting at his hand.
“I have experience of these things, bella. You wouldn’t want it to be serious, would you?”
“It’s not. Leave me alone.”
A second later, he whipped off her sunglasses. She tried to pull away, but he gripped her chin firmly, his eyes searching hers. “You did not sleep well.”
Rebecca managed to jerk away. She snatched the shades from his hand and replaced them, praying he wouldn’t see how she suddenly trembled with his nearness. How her skin sizzled and her blood hummed from the contact. “No thanks to you.”
He returned to his chair and picked up his coffee cup. “It was you who pushed me into the pool, not the other way around.”
“I wasn’t talking about the pool. I’m talking about jet lag. I was in Hawaii yesterday, New York the day before. You could have given me more time to get here.”
Hardly the full truth of why she hadn’t been able to sleep, but that was all he was getting out of her.
He shrugged. “It’s business. I do not have time to wait while you make your way leisurely around the world.”
“No, I imagine stealing works best when done quickly.”
His eyes glittered. “Careful, Rebecca.”
“Or what? You’ll drown me in your pool?” She knew she went too far, but she couldn’t help it. Her bitterness from his accusations of last night boiled beneath the surface.
He set the cup down and stood, tossing his napkin onto the table. “We leave for the office in ten minutes. Be in the car if you wish to salvage anything of Layton International.”
“Is that even possible? Or do you plan to sell it off piece by piece just to hurt me?”
He grabbed his jacket from the chair. “You will have to wait and find out. There is no other option, sí?”
Rebecca set the toast down, no longer hungry. “You really like being the one in control. You’re enjoying this very much, aren’t you?”
Alejandro’s smile sent a chill skimming down her spine. “You have no idea, Señorita Layton.”
Ramirez Enterprises was housed in a sleek glass-and-steel building in Madrid’s financial district. The ride took over an hour in the thick traffic congesting the city’s heart. The limo crawled like a beetle, inching forward until an opening appeared, then shooting between narrow gaps that had Rebecca cringing each time, expecting the scrape of steel on steel. By the time the car pulled into the drive in front of the building and a doorman appeared, Rebecca was exhausted.
When Alejandro exited the car, Rebecca on his heels, a cadre of men and women with cameras rushed forward. Flashes snapped, and Rebecca instinctively pasted on her public persona. Growing up with a wealthy father and a social butterfly mother had at least given her unfailing poise when the media appeared. It didn’t happen to her much anymore, but of course Alejandro was a famous man in his own country. They’d been photographed often when she was last here. In fact, he’d gotten more attention than a pop star. She’d have thought it would have lessened now that he’d been away from bullfighting for so long, but apparently not.
“Señor Ramirez,” the reporters called in unison. “Señor Ramirez.”
Alejandro stopped, smiling broadly. He said a few words in Spanish, which caused several of the reporters to laugh.
“Can you tell us about the accusations of impropriety with construction permits in Dubai?” a man said in German-accented English.
“We are working with the Dubai authorities to get to the bottom of the matter,” Alejandro said smoothly. “I expect to begin construction very soon.”
“You’ve been accused of bribing officials and short-circuiting the process. How do you answer that charge?”
His smile never wavered. “I deny it, of course. If you will excuse me, my business awaits. Miss Layton?” he said, turning to where she stood near the car.
“Rebecca Layton?” someone said. “Of Layton International?”
Alejandro faced the cameras again. “I have recently acquired Layton International, as you will have seen if you read the business section. Miss Layton is here to ensure the smooth transfer of her former company’s holdings.”
Former company. Rebecca’s smile ached at the corners.
“How do you feel about the takeover, Miss Layton?”
Alejandro’s smile didn’t waver, but he shot her a warning glance. To hell with him.
Rebecca stepped forward. “I’m not happy about it, you may be assured. Layton International has been in the luxury hotel business for over a half century. We had hoped to continue, and were pursuing projects guaranteed to bring the Layton brand of luxury to new markets. This takeover is not the outcome we’d hoped for.”
The reporters buzzed. One question rose above the others. “Do you suspect any impropriety in the acquisition process?”
Rebecca clasped her hands together in front of her. She knew it made her look innocent and somewhat vulnerable. “No—that’s not possible, is it? The laws of our nations are very specific in regards to company stock and corporate mergers. Though Señor Ramirez might have wished to act immorally, I’m sure he did not do so.”
The questions rose to a fever-pitch. Rebecca strained to hear a single one over the din, but Alejandro appeared at her side, his hand on her elbow.
“That’s all for now,” he said, ushering her toward the sleek glass doors of the building.
She resisted the urge to smile when the doors closed behind them, leaving them in the quiet of a polished lobby. A pretty receptionist greeted them warmly. Alejandro nodded his head to the young woman and propelled Rebecca toward an elevator. Her shoes clicked across black marble inlaid with shiny gold squares. She briefly wondered if they were real gold—if Alejandro would dare to display his wealth so garishly. A uniformed man greeted them as they passed inside a private elevator, then pressed a button and exited, leaving them alone as the gleaming doors slid closed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Rebecca leaned back against the brass rail and tried not to look like the cat that ate the canary. “What do you mean? I told them you did everything legally.” Legally, but not morally. She had no doubt he’d understood what she’d said out there.
His gray eyes flashed. “You know very well you are jeopardizing our stock value with comments such as those.”
“I’m sure you’ll recover from the dip.”
“Yes, but will I need to shed a few assets to keep earnings on projection?”
Her heart thumped at the threat, but she remained coolly unaffected on the outside. “Did you pay bribes in Dubai?”
“Do you think I would admit it to you if I had?”
She spoke before she could talk herself out of it. “You’ve grown fast over the years. I’ve wondered how you did it, but perhaps the secret to your success has little to do with business acumen and everything to do with your willingness to play dirty.”
His gaze sharpened. “You’d like to think so, no doubt. But I assure you everything I’ve gained has been earned through hard work. Unlike yourself, no?”
His reaction was not as harsh as she’d expected, but it sliced deep. It was a charge that stung, but not one she could deny. At least not in any way he would understand. She’d had to work hard to prove herself to her father, to prove that a daughter would be every bit as good as a son when it came to captaining the family business. Harder than anyone would ever know.
She would not, however, share those struggles with Alejandro—or indeed with anyone. The memories of what she’d endured were too painful.
His look was telling. “How it must anger you to know your fate is in my hands. Perhaps you should be nicer to me? Encourage me to be gracious? How is it you say in America? That you must use honey to get the flies, not vinegar?”
She stiffened. “Don’t you dare insult me by pretending I have a chance. You’ve already made up your mind, so why not just tell me what you want and be done with it? It’s clear you have a plan, regardless of what I say or do. Save us both the hassle.”
His gray gaze bored into hers. “What makes you think this is a—what was the word?—hassle for me?”
She speared her hair away from her face, having left the clip on the breakfast table. “I mean that since you already know what you want from me, let’s just get right to it and skip this other stuff.”
She sounded brave, though she was anything but. He could fire her here and now, put her on a plane and send her back to New York with nothing more than a bad case of jet lag and a rapidly dwindling bank account. She probably shouldn’t have baited him with her statement to the reporters, but she was tired of being at his mercy. She wanted this nightmare over, wanted her company back and her life free of this man.
“Get right to it?” he said softly. “Skip the foreplay? Sometimes this is a good idea.”
Rebecca’s breath caught at the sensual undertone of his voice. Was she imagining the heat in his gaze? The elevator seemed suddenly too small to contain the two of them.
“But not always,” he said, his voice caressing the words. “You may plead your case in front of my board.”
“They will vote as you want. What’s the point?” she said, her voice far huskier than she would have liked.
“Maybe.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his PDA, frowning at the screen. The sexual tension emanating from him died as if he’d flipped a switch. He clicked the wheel, scrolling through the information there, shutting her out.
Rebecca gripped the railing, stunned both at the immediacy of her reaction and at his ability to turn off his own response. Because he had wanted her. She’d seen it. Hadn’t she? Or was this simply another part of his game?
Unbidden, images of him flashed into her head. The jagged scar of a bull’s horn slicing across his rib cage, the taut ripple and glide of muscle when he moved, the impressive jut of his erection. The ecstasy on his face when she straddled him and drove them both out of their minds with her slow thrusts.
He’d accused her of enduring his touch for the sake of her family business, of seeing him as nothing more than a bullfighter dirty from the ring. If only he believed that she’d truly loved him, how sexy she’d found him in spite of the barbarity of his former profession.
Standing in this elevator in his custom-fit suit, he was as far from the glittering garb of a matador as any man could be—and yet she still saw the bullfighter beneath the polish. The raw, hungry, intense man who could stand in a ring with one ton of angry bull barreling toward him and never, not even once, flinch. This was a man who could stare death in the face and not blink.
After their affair had ended, she’d actually gone through a torturous phase of tracking down and watching his recorded fights. Holding her breath while the bull charged, while the cape swept down, then whirled away as Alejandro went up high on his toes and plunged his sword home. She’d thought it barbaric, and yet Alejandro had once explained, when she’d been tracing his scar in the aftermath of their lovemaking, how honorable the fight was for both man and bull. It wasn’t her kind of thing—and yet there was a beauty in it.
A beauty in him.
She closed her eyes, remembered the heat of him, of the two of them twined together in his sheets. It had all gone so wrong, so horribly wrong. And she wasn’t the same person she’d been back then—the same starry-eyed girl with dreams of love and a life with the most magnetic man she’d ever met. The world had certainly taught her the folly of those beliefs, hadn’t it?
The elevator glided to a halt, the doors whispering open to let them into a spacious private office. Overstuffed chairs and a sleek sofa sat beneath a wall of books. A chrome and glass desk was positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of one wall. Alejandro went behind the desk and sat down without looking at her.
In the distance, the twin glass and steel structures of the Puerta de Europa leaned toward each other across the busy Paseo de Castellana. Much closer, the giant Estadio Santiago Bernabéu, where Madrilenians flocked to watch their soccer team, squatted against a bright blue sky.
“The board meeting will be in an hour. I suggest you prepare.” He picked up the phone and spoke to someone. A second later, a pretty woman opened the door.
“Please escort Señorita Layton to a desk, Maria.”
Rebecca followed the woman without another word, smiling and giving her thanks when Maria deposited her in a small, windowless office. Though she needed to prepare for the meeting, she first placed a call to the Cahill Group’s offices in London. Roger was out of town until tomorrow, so she hung up and clicked open her briefcase. A glance at the clock told her she had fifty minutes left.
She didn’t know what she’d encounter in that boardroom, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
When she was finally called to the meeting, more than an hour after she’d been told she would be, she was ready. She’d spent the last two hours completing her projections, dragging her finance people out of bed to give her numbers, and making sure her arguments were sound. Layton International would be out of the red in six months if she were allowed to continue on the path she’d chosen.
And though it burned her up to have to humble herself to these people, to explain her plans and defend her actions, she had no choice. She had to keep her company intact until she could somehow manage to get it back.
But the board meeting went exactly as she’d predicted. What Alejandro wanted, the board would do. If he decided to dissect her company limb from limb, he was within his rights to do so.
Rebecca shoved papers into her briefcase as the board filed out. She was on dangerous ground here. She was only technically still CEO until Alejandro decided otherwise.
A wave of apprehension rolled through her. And he would decide otherwise. She had no doubt. He was simply dragging this out to torture her.
How could she be the one who lost the company started by her grandfather? No matter that her father had taken out astronomical loans and pledged every last share of stock as collateral, she was still the one in control when the axe fell. She should have stopped it.
How? a little voice asked.
It didn’t matter how. She should have simply known what to do. Her father would have.
Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose, breathed deeply. No—no one could have gotten them out of this mess. She simply had to deal with the situation as it was. She had to protect Layton International and the people who depended on her for their jobs.
“Why did you make me go through with that?” Rebecca demanded, frustration and anger churning together.
Alejandro shrugged a shoulder, his lazy stare infuriating. “If you do not like your new position, you can always quit.”
Rebecca snapped her briefcase closed, then stood and stared down at him as coolly as she could muster, given the erratic beating of her heart. “I’m returning to New York to do my job.”
“You forget who is in charge here, Señorita Layton.” Alejandro leaned back in his chair, legs sprawled out in front of him as he toyed with a pen on the table. He looked nothing like a billionaire and everything like a mischievous Greek god who’d deigned to dabble with the mortals again. “You work at my pleasure and you leave when I say so.”
“You don’t own me.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“Oh, but I do.”
He meant it. She could see that. And he intended to make her suffer for it.
“What did I ever see in you?” she forced out past the knot in her throat.
For some reason that got his attention. He climbed slowly to his feet, his eyes glittering. The look on his face was pure danger. For reasons she preferred not to explore, a tiny thrill shot through her.
She straightened her spine, refused to back down as he moved closer. “What are you going to do? Kiss me again?” Her voice was huskier than she would have liked. The thought of him kissing her, pressing his body against her, wasn’t nearly as repugnant as she wanted it to be.
Was she crazy? She didn’t want to remember what it was like between them, how much she’d once loved him. To feel anything at all for him, besides hate, was to betray everything her family had ever done for her.
“Would you like that, querida?” he said, moving toward her with lethal grace. “My mouth against yours?”
“No!” She resisted the urge to slink away. Where would she go? Against a wall? No, she’d stand here, take whatever he dished out. Give as good as she got. He might own her company—own her, in fact—but he would not control her. If he kissed her, she would remain cold and unresponsive.
She would.
“Your body says otherwise.” He practically purred as his finger grazed her cheek. She was proud when she didn’t betray herself with even the hint of a shiver. She stood stone-still and endured his touch. His fingers left fire in their wake as they ghosted over her skin.
“You are flushed, Rebecca.” His fingers fell away, his hot gaze dropping to caress her body inch by inch. He no longer touched her, but she felt like his hands were everywhere at once.
His eyes caught and held hers. He took a step closer, still not touching her, but invading her space with his overwhelming physicality. “Your nipples bud for me. Feel how they want my touch. Should I kiss them?”
“You’re mistaken,” she said, forcing herself not to glance down, not to see the proof of his words.
A sensual grin creased his handsome features. “I am never mistaken about such things. Your heart pounds for me. I can see it. It is like a frightened rabbit.”
“You’re standing too close. I don’t like it.”
He stepped in again, until the hard length of his body hemmed her against the conference table. He placed his arms on either side of her, trapping her. “I think you do. I think, in fact, that you want me desperately.”
“You’re wrong, Alejandro,” she said, lifting her head to look him in the eye and deliver what she prayed was a stern look. “I hate you. I don’t want you.”
And yet her skin sizzled from his nearness. Her brain threatened to disengage completely. Her body trembled in spite of her resolve; an ache bloomed in the feminine core of her, spread outward on currents of liquid heat.
Alejandro’s smile was too knowing, too masculine. “Sí, I feel your hatred. It is very strong. Very frightening for me.”
His head dipped toward her. Her eyes drifted closed and he chuckled low in his throat, a sound of male triumph. Any second he would kiss her. Any second she would allow it. In spite of all she’d said. She was too weak, too lonely and needy—
No.
She found the strength to lift her palms, to push against his chest. At the same instant a buzzer sliced through the room. Alejandro stepped away, Spanish curses—or so she assumed—falling from his lips as he reached for the phone.
“Sí?” he barked.
Rebecca snatched up her briefcase and purse. She had to get away from here. She had to get home, back to New York, before Alejandro stripped her of far more than her company.
Her hand was on the door when his fingers closed over her shoulder. She gasped as he spun her around, pressed her against the door, his hard thigh wedged between her legs. He gripped her chin, pushed her head back until she was staring him in the eye.
“You will not leave me again, Rebecca. I call the shots— comprende?” His voice was low, intense. She had the feeling his words were more than a statement of fact.
They were a vow.
In spite of the heat between them, a chill slid over her. “I’m going to the airport, Alejandro. There’s nothing for me here.”
His eyes were colder than frost as he let her go and took a step back. “Walk out that door and I will destroy Layton International. Your employees will be without jobs, your hotels sold or demolished, your assets carved up and absorbed into Ramirez Enterprises. I will make sure you never work in this industry again. No one will ever hire you, Rebecca. Walk out and it’s over.”
The depth of his fury stunned her. She wished she had the strength to do it, to walk out and not give a damn. But she couldn’t let him take away the livelihood of the people who depended on her. At this moment she didn’t care about herself—being anywhere but here, with him, would be less painful to her—but she couldn’t desert them.
“What do you want from me?”
He glared at her without speaking for so long that she wondered if he’d heard her. Just when she started to repeat the question, he turned away.
“All in good time.” He flicked a hand as if shooing away a bothersome fly. “You may go now.”
