Читать книгу Spanish Magnate, Red-Hot Revenge - Lynn Harris Raye - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT did he want from her, she’d asked. Alejandro stared at the blinking skyline of Madrid at night. His problems in Dubai should take precedence—he had a hotel to build and permits to straighten out before he could do so—yet he couldn’t seem to get the problem of Rebecca Layton out of his mind while he worked late.

He reached for the sherry he’d poured over twenty minutes ago, took a sip.

Damn her and her lies.

It was her fault he’d married Caridad. He would never have agreed to it had Rebecca not left him. Had she not stolen from him.

It wasn’t just that she’d yanked the safety net out from under him. While it would have taken him far longer to take Ramirez Enterprises global without the Cahill Group’s backing, he still could have done it without Caridad’s family contributing to his coffers.

No, what Rebecca’s betrayal had confirmed was the folly of allowing emotion to rule his head. He’d cared for her, had sometimes even envisioned the children they would have if he’d married her. He’d grown up with parents whose daily emotional drama should have inured him to any hint of sentiment, but Rebecca’s smokescreen of naive charm had pulled him into her web.

What a bloody idiot.

And then he’d returned to his suite one afternoon and found a severe-looking woman waiting for him and no sign of Rebecca. The woman had fanned open a thick folder and nattered at him about planning a wedding.

It had taken him several more minutes to realize that Rebecca’s suitcases were gone. The woman had simply shrugged. “Sí,” she’d said. “There was a pretty young woman. She wished you a happy marriage to Señorita Mendoza.”

That was when it dawned on him. His father, the old fool, had been urging him to marry Caridad since Roberto’s death. Arranged marriages were no longer commonplace, but they did happen from time to time. His father had seen it as a measure of his own importance to find a bride for his eldest son. Roberto hadn’t had the guts to object, which Juan Ramirez had known full well. He’d never have tried it with Alejandro. But then Roberto died. Señor Mendoza had loaned his father a lot of money, and Juan intended to deliver his famous son as payment if it was the last thing he did.

Alejandro had steadfastly refused. Apparently Juan had decided to step up the campaign. The timing could not have been worse.

Alejandro’s first thought had been to go after Rebecca. But she’d had a head start and he’d had no idea where she’d gone. His calls to her mobile phone had gone unanswered. Two days later she’d finally picked up. From London. She’d been cool and aloof, and he’d lost his temper. How dared she expect an explanation? All she’d needed was to accept that what he told her was the truth: he was not engaged.

Not surprisingly, she hadn’t believed him. He’d realized later that his alleged engagement was merely a convenient excuse for her to do what she’d always intended to do. The next day Roger Cahill had told him they were backing Layton International instead.

Rebecca had said she loved him, but she’d lied. He wasn’t good enough for her and never would be in her eyes.

You weren’t important enough.

It had pricked his pride, sliced a wound in his soul, the knowledge that this woman he’d cared about had used him. He’d vowed never again to believe protestations of love from any female. So he’d agreed to marry Caridad. Why not? Her breeding and social standing were impeccable. She would be the perfect hostess, the perfect tycoon’s wife, the perfect mother to his children.

He’d certainly been mistaken on that point. He could not have chosen a colder, more unfeeling woman for his wife if he’d tried.

Alejandro swallowed a mouthful of alcohol, welcomed the burn as it slid down his throat. Who could have guessed how much pain he would have to endure before his marriage was over? He’d never known such despair, such aching emptiness. Everything that had happened to him, everything that had sliced his soul to shreds and left him hollow inside, could be traced to that moment when Rebecca Layton had left him. If not for her, it would have turned out so differently.