Читать книгу The Spanish Billionaire's Mistress - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 6

‘CAN we talk business now, Maria?’

‘That sounds very formal,’ Rico cut in.

He was suspicious of her motives. She had to curb her enthusiasm, take it slowly, Zoë reminded herself. She usually got to know people first, before talking business. Building confidence was crucial. Contrary to popular opinion, not everyone wanted to appear on television. Usually she was good at choosing the right moment, but having Rico in the picture was making her edgy, making her rush things.

‘I know it’s late—I won’t keep you long.’ She glanced at Rico. ‘Perhaps if Maria and I could talk alone?’

‘It’s all right, Rico,’ Maria said soothingly.

‘I’d rather stay.’

Zoë looked up at him. ‘It’s really not necessary.’

‘Nevertheless.’ He folded his arms.

For Maria’s sake Zoë tried to bite back her impatience, but she was tired and stressed and the words just kept tumbling out. ‘Really, Rico, I can’t see any reason why you should stay. Maria and I are quite capable of sorting this out between us—’

‘It’s better if I stay.’

She could see he was adamant. ‘Are you Maria’s manager?’

‘They call him El Paladín,’ Maria cut in, interposing her not inconsiderable body between them.

‘El Paladín?’ Zoë repeated. ‘Doesn’t that mean The Champion?’ She only had a very basic knowledge of conversational Spanish to call upon. ‘What’s that for, Rico? Winning every argument?’

‘Rico is everyone’s champion,’ Maria said fondly, patting his arm.

That seemed highly unlikely—especially where she was concerned, Zoë thought. ‘Champion of what?’ she pressed.

‘Zoë likes her questions,’ Rico observed sardonically, ‘but she’s not too keen on giving answers about why she’s really here in Cazulas—’

‘And Zoë’s right about you,’ Maria cut in. ‘You don’t like losing arguments, Rico.’

‘I like to win,’ he agreed softly.

Lose? Win? Where was all this leading? Zoë wondered, suppressing a shiver as she broke eye contact with Rico. ‘We’re never going to win Rico’s approval, Maria, but I believe we can make great television together.’

‘What have you been telling this young woman, malvado?’ Maria demanded, turning her powerful stare on him.

‘Nothing. If you want to dance and she wants to cook, that’s fine by me. Only problem is, we know you can dance.’

‘Rico!’ Maria frowned at him.

‘My third television series says I can cook!’

‘There—you see, Rico,’ Maria said, smiling at Zoë.

‘And the connection between dancing and cooking is what, exactly?’ He raised his shoulders in a shrug as he stared at Zoë.

He would never go for her idea, but at least she had Maria’s support. She had to forget Rico’s insults and build on what she had. But he was one complication she could do without. He probably crooked his finger and every woman around came running. Well, not this woman.

Turning to Maria, Zoë deliberately cut him out. ‘This is the connection, Maria: the people around me inspire the food I cook on television. In this part of Spain the influence of flamenco is everywhere.’

‘So cooking isn’t just a hobby for you?’ Rico said.

Zoë stared up at him. He refused to be cut out. ‘No, Rico, it’s a full-time career for me.’

‘Along with your television company.’

Maria stepped between them again. ‘So you would like me to dance on your television programme to add some local interest to the dishes you prepare? Is that right, Zoë?’

‘Exactly.’ Zoë’s face was confident as she flashed a glance at Rico. ‘I’ll cook, you’ll dance, and together we’ll make a great team.’

‘Bueno,’ Maria said approvingly. ‘I like the sound of this programme of yours. Of course, any payment must be donated to the village funds.’

‘Absolutely,’ Zoë agreed. ‘Whatever you like.’

Maria smiled. ‘Well, that all sounds quite satisfactory to me.’

But not to Rico, Zoë thought. At least he was silent for now. ‘I have never seen anyone dance like you, Maria. You are fantastic.’

‘Gracias, Zoë. And you are very kind.’

‘Not kind, Maria, just honest.’ Zoë stopped, hearing Rico’s scornful snort in the background. What did she have to do to convince him?

She turned to look at him coldly. There were a couple of buttons undone at the neck of his dark linen shirt, showing just how tanned and firm he was. She turned back quickly to Maria. ‘When you appear, I just know the programme will come to life…’ Zoë’s voice faded. She could feel Rico’s sexual interest lapping over her in waves.

‘Don’t worry, Zoë,’ Maria assured her, filling the awkward silence. ‘It will be fine—just you wait and see.’

Zoë wasn’t so sure, and she was glad of Maria’s arm linked through her own as the older woman drew her away from Rico, towards the bright circle of light around the campfire.

‘Have you offered Zoë a drink?’ Maria said, turning back to him.

‘She’s had more than enough to drink already.’

‘Surely you didn’t let her drink the village liquor?’

‘It’s all right, Maria,’ Zoë said hastily. She could see the hard-won progress she had made winning Maria’s trust vanishing in the heat of a very Latin exchange. ‘Thank you for the kind offer, but I’ve already had some coffee.’

Rico was staring at her almost as if he was trying to remember why she made him so uneasy. But they couldn’t have met before. And he couldn’t know about her past; she was anonymous in the mountains. Television reception was practically non-existent, and there were no tabloid papers on sale at the kiosk in the village.

‘So, Zoë, when do I dance for you?’ Maria said, reclaiming Zoë’s attention.

‘How about Tuesday?’ Zoë said, turning back to thoughts of work with relief. ‘That gives us both time to prepare.’

‘Tuesday is good for me.’ Maria smiled broadly as she broke away. ‘On Tuesday you cook, and I dance.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re taking on, Zoë?’

Rico’s words put a damper on their enthusiasm.

‘Why? Don’t you think I’m up to it?’

‘It’s what you’re up to that I’m more interested in.’

‘Then you’re going to have a very dull time of it,’ Zoë assured him. ‘I’m going to cook and Maria is going to dance. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but it really is as simple as that.’

‘In my experience, nothing is ever that simple.’

Zoë’s gaze strayed to his lips: firm, sensuous lips that never grew tired of mocking her.

‘Today is Saturday—no, Sunday already,’ Maria said with surprise, staring at her wristwatch. ‘It is well past midnight. I have kept you far too long, Zoë.’

‘That’s not important,’ Zoë assured Maria, turning to her with relief. ‘All that matters is that you’re happy—you’re the most important person now. I want to make sure you have everything you need on the night of your performance.’

‘Such as?’ Maria said.

‘Well—would you like to eat before or after you dance?’

‘Both. I need to build up my strength.’ She winked at Zoë. ‘Some people don’t need to build up strength, of course.’ She shot a glance at Rico. ‘But you had better feed him anyway. I’m sure he’d like that.’

‘I’m sure he would.’ Zoë’s gaze veered coolly in Rico’s direction. She might find him a few sour grapes.

‘Don’t take me for granted, Zoë,’ he said, ‘I might not even be there.’

‘Don’t worry, Rico. Where you’re concerned I won’t take anything for granted. I’ll expect you at the castle around nine?’ she confirmed warmly with Maria.

‘And I will dance for your cameras at midnight.’

Zoë felt a rush of pleasure not even Rico could spoil. She had accomplished her mission successfully, and there was a bonus—she had made a new friend in Maria. She just knew Maria would have what they called ‘screen magic’, and the programme in which she featured would be unique.

‘Rico, would you make sure that everyone in the village knows they are welcome to come and eat at Castillo Cazulas and celebrate Maria’s performance on Tuesday night?’ Zoë said, turning to him.

For a moment he was amazed she had included him in her arrangements. He had to admit he admired her guts—even if she did annoy the hell out of him. He should be there, just to keep an eye on her.

In fact, he could take a look around right now if he drove her back to the castle. Time to turn on the charm.

‘Don’t worry, no one loves a party more than we do in Cazulas—isn’t that right, Maria?’ He looked at Zoë. ‘You’ll be calling in extra help, I imagine?’

There was something in Rico’s eyes Zoë didn’t like. Something that unnerved her. ‘There’s no need. I’m not alone at the castle, Rico. I have my team with me—and don’t forget that cooking is what I do for a living.’

Turning away from him, she said her goodbyes to Maria, all the time conscious of Rico’s gaze boring into her back. He might as well have gripped her arms, yanked her round, and demanded she give him her life history. She could only think that having a woman set both the rules and the timetable was something entirely new to him.

‘How are you going to get home tonight, Zoë?’ Maria said.

‘I’ll drive her back.’

‘I’ll walk.’

Maria frowned, looking from Rico to Zoë and back again. ‘Of course you will drive Zoë home, Rico.’ She put her arm around Zoë’s shoulder. ‘It is too dangerous for you to walk, Zoë, and you will be quite safe with Rico—I promise you.’

There was something in Maria’s eyes that made Zoë want to believe her. But as she walked away Zoë could have kicked herself. Why hadn’t she just asked if she could take a lift with Maria?

‘Are you ready to go?’ Rico said.

‘I thought we’d already been through this.’ Digging in her pocket, Zoë pulled out her flashlight again.

‘Oh, that’s right. I had forgotten you were an intrepid explorer.’

‘I’ll only be retracing my steps—’

‘In the dark.’

‘Well, I’d better get going, then.’

She moved away, and for one crazy moment hoped he would come after her. When he did she changed her mind. ‘I’ll be fine, Rico. Really.’

‘What are you afraid of, Zoë? Is there something at the castle you don’t want me to see?’

‘Is that what you think?’ She ran her hand through her hair as she looked at him. ‘I can assure you I have nothing to hide. Come around and check up on me if you don’t believe me.’

‘How about now?’

‘I’d rather walk.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, Maria’s right. I can’t let you do that. It’s far too dangerous.’

Maria hadn’t left yet. Her friend’s truck was still parked in the clearing. She might just catch them. But Maria moved as fast as she had on the stage. Climbing into the cab, she slammed the door and waved, leaving Zoë standing there as the truck swung onto the dirt road leading down to the village and accelerated away.

‘Don’t look so worried.’

Don’t look so worried? I’m stuck at the top of a mountain in the middle of the night with a flashlight and the local brigand—who happens to have a chip on his shoulder labelled ‘media-types/female’—and I shouldn’t worry?

‘Like I said, I’ll drive you back.’

‘No way!’

‘You can cut the bravado, Zoë—there’s no moon, hardly any path, and this stupid little light won’t save you when you’re plunging down a precipice.’

‘Give that back to me now.’ Zoë made a swipe for her flashlight, but Rico was too quick for her.

‘It’s no trouble for me to drop you at the castle.’

‘Thank you, I’ll walk.’

She got as far as the rock-strewn trail leading down to the valley before he caught hold of her arm and swung her around.

‘You are not going down there on your own.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really.’

Their faces were too close. As their breath mingled Zoë closed her eyes. ‘Let go of me, Rico.’

‘So you can mess up a rock? So you can cause me a whole lot of trouble in the morning when I have to come looking for your mangled body? I don’t think so, lady.’

‘Your concern is overwhelming, but I really don’t need it! I know these mountains—’

‘Like the back of your hand? And you’ve been here how long?’

‘Nearly a month, as a matter of fact.’ That silenced him, Zoë noted with satisfaction.

As long as that? Rico ground his jaw. Another reason to curse the fact he had stayed away too long. He couldn’t let her go—he didn’t want to let her go—and he wanted to find out what she was hiding. ‘You don’t know these mountains at night. This path is dangerous. There’s a lot of loose stone, and plenty of sheer drops.’

‘I’ll take my chances.’

‘The road isn’t half bad.’

Somehow he managed to grace his last words with a smile.

She stopped struggling and looked at him, her bright green eyes full of suspicion.

‘Come on, Zoë, you know you don’t really want to walk.’ Charm again? New ground for him, admittedly, but well worth it if she agreed. If he took her back he could take a look around. He knew her name from somewhere—and not just from the television. But how did she affect him? Was she a threat? ‘It’s only a short drive in the Jeep.’

‘OK,’ Zoë said at last.

She was relieved she didn’t have to walk back in the dark. But as Rico dug for his keys in the back pocket of his jeans she wondered if she was quite sane. If it hadn’t been for Maria’s reassurances she would never have agreed to anything so foolish. She didn’t know a thing about Rico Cortes, and the day her divorce came through she had promised herself no more tough guys, no more being pushed around, mentally or physically.

‘Don’t look so worried. You’ll be a lot safer going down the mountain in the Jeep with me. Are you coming or not?’ he said when she still hesitated. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday.’

‘That’s right—and I have things to get ready for Monday morning.’

‘What things?’ Maybe he was the local brigand, and Monday was his day for mustering the troops. And she had agreed to take a lift home with him…

Zoë frowned as he opened the passenger door for her. Rico Cortes was as much a mystery now as ever, and it wasn’t like her. She was an expert at winkling out information. It was the secret of her success—or had been in the past.

The moment he swung into the driver’s seat beside her she fired off another question. ‘What keeps you in this part of Spain?’ He was larger than life, which went with the dramatic scenery, but he didn’t fit into the small-town scene at all.

‘I have many interests.’

‘Such as?’

He didn’t answer as he gunned the engine into life. The noise was supposed to distract her, she guessed. He was dodging her questions like an expert—almost as if he was used to dealing with the media.

Local reporter, maybe?

No way! And better not to ask—better not to get involved. She had only just won her freedom from an unhappy marriage. Divorce had come at a high price, even if the break had been like a cleansing torrent that washed most of her insecurities away. And she didn’t want them back again. Ever. So why had she agreed to take a lift back to the castle with a man she didn’t know? The only answer was that Maria liked him, and she liked Maria.

Was that enough? It had to be, Zoë realised as they pulled away.

Maria had said he was a fighter. El Paladín. Was fighting his profession? Zoë felt a quiver of apprehension run down her spine as she flashed a glance at him.

No, it couldn’t be. Not unless he was the luckiest pugilist alive. He was built like a fighter but his face was unmarked, and his hands, as she had already noticed, were smooth. And in spite of his casual clothes, and his life up in this remote mountainous region, he had polish. But then quite a few boxers did too…

‘Seen enough, Zoë?’

‘I’m sorry, was I staring? I’m so tired I hardly know what I’m doing.’

Rico could feel the sexual tension between them rising fast. Any other time, any other woman, he might have swung off the road and fixed it for them both. But he had to know more about a woman before he got involved. He wasn’t about to commit some reckless indiscretion Zoë Chapman could broadcast to the world.

He had learned not to court disaster on his own doorstep. She was luscious, but she would keep, and she backed off every time he looked at her. If she had kept her legs crossed all this time she would wait a little longer.

What if she was innocent? It seemed unlikely, but— No. Life wasn’t like that. Fate never dealt him an easy hand.

Guilty, innocent—it hardly mattered which. He would still go slow until he’d worked out what made her tick… Go slow? So he was going somewhere with her?

Rico smiled. He could feel Zoë looking at him. Life got too easy at the top of the mountain. He hadn’t had anything approaching a real challenge to deal with in quite some time.

Normally Zoë was a confident passenger, but Rico Cortes scared the hell out of her driving back down the steep track. He really did know the mountains like the back of his hand. And the speed he took the road, it was just as well—because the only faster way would have been over a cliff.

She was relieved to arrive back in one piece at the castle, and even more relieved when she talked him out of staying. He’d wanted to look around, but he couldn’t argue when she pointed out how late it was and that they would wake everyone up. But he would be back on Tuesday for the party—he made that clear.

This mess had to be sorted out before then.

Zoë groaned as she looked round the set. She had discussed the layout with her chief designer. But, according to the note she’d found propped up on the kitchen table, Carla had been called home to attend a family emergency and her young assistant had stepped in.

Zoë couldn’t be angry with him; she could see he had tried. But he had fallen a long way short of achieving the authentic look she had decided on with Carla. How could she expect Maria to take part in a show that featured a fake Spanish kitchen decorated with imitation fruit? It might look real enough through a camera lens, but it would never pass close scrutiny, and it would only reinforce Rico’s misconceptions about her work.

Why should he barge into her thoughts? She had more important things to consider—like rescuing the programme from disaster! Men like Rico Cortes were no good—great to drool over, maybe, but worse than lousy in real life.

Planting her hands on her hips, Zoë looked round again, but things didn’t improve on closer inspection.

Posters brashly proclaiming the title of her latest bestselling cookery book were tacked up everywhere, while garish bunting was strung overhead. The exquisite marble-tiled floor had been hidden beneath a hideous orange carpet, and in the centre of the shag-pile the open-fronted area where she would be filmed sat in all its plywood and plastic glory. Hardly any attempt had been made to mask the fact that it was blatantly fake. There was lurid fake greenery draped around the top, with plastic fruit tacked in clumps to the backdrop.

It would all have to come down, but it could wait until the morning. She couldn’t concentrate while she was so tired. She couldn’t concentrate while her thoughts kept straying back to Rico Cortes. A good night’s sleep would help her get over him, and then she would get down to work.

As soon as it was light Zoë leapt out of bed. The crew were due on set at nine for a technical rehearsal. That was when the lights, camera angles and sound levels would be decided upon. The best she could hope for was that they would sleep in. She didn’t have much time to strip the set and redress it, but it was important she had an authentic set in place for the rehearsal so there would be little or no change when she recorded the programme. She didn’t like surprises when the red light went on.

Half an hour later she had picked fruit straight from the trees and brought in a basket full of greenery from the shady part of the castle gardens. Each time she’d visited the market in Cazulas Zoë hadn’t been able to resist buying another piece of the local hand-painted pottery, and she now laid out her hoard on a working table along with the fresh produce.

She stared up at the plastic bunting.

Balancing halfway up a ladder wasn’t easy, but, working quickly, she got the bunting down, then moved to the ‘fishing net’ on the back wall of the set to flip out some more tacks. Then she still had to tackle the plastic castanets pinned up with the plastic fruit on the same wall. Proper wooden castanets were miniature works of art. They came alive in the hands of an artist like Maria. These plastic efforts were about as Spanish as chop suey!

Sticking the screwdriver she had found in a kitchen drawer into the back pocket of her jeans, Zoë glanced at her wristwatch and made a swift calculation. If she could get the rest of them down without too much trouble, she might just finish in time.

‘Talk about a relief!’

‘Are you speaking to me?’

‘Rico!’ Zoë nearly fell off her ladder with shock. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her knuckles turned white as she gripped on tight. She watched transfixed as he swooped on the clutch of castanets she had just dropped to the floor.

‘Very nice,’ he said, examining them. ‘Which region of Spain do these represent?’

‘Bargain basement,’ Zoë tried lightly, trying to regulate her breathing at the same time. How could any man look so good so early in the morning after hardly any sleep? It just wasn’t human. ‘How did you get in?’ she said, as it suddenly struck her that she would never have gone to bed and left the front door wide open.

He ignored her question—and her attempted humour. ‘What is all this rubbish?’

Coming down the ladder as quickly as she could in safety, Zoë faced him. ‘The set for my television show.’ Her appreciative mood was evaporating rapidly. She had never seen such scorn on anyone’s face.

‘I gathered that.’ He stared around with disapproval.

OK, so it was a mess—but it was her mess, and she would sort it out. Zoë could feel her temper rising. According to the lease, at this moment Castillo Cazulas belonged to her. She could do with it what she liked. And if plastic castanets were her style, Señor Testosterone would just have to put up with it.

Reaching out, she took them from him. ‘Thank you.’ His hands felt warm and dry. They felt great. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ Her voice was cool, but she was trembling inside.

‘Yes, you can. You can get all this trash out of here.’

‘Trash?’

‘You heard me. I want it all removed.’

‘Oh, you do?’ Zoë said, meeting his stare. ‘And what business is it of yours, exactly?’

Ignoring her question, Rico paced the length of the set, shoulders hunched, looking like a cold-eyed panther stalking its prey. ‘You can’t seriously expect an artist of Maria’s calibre to perform in this theme park?’

‘No, of course I don’t—’

‘Then get all this down! Get rid of it! Do whatever you have to do to put it right—just don’t let me see it the next time I’m here.’

‘Next time? There doesn’t have to be a next time, Rico,’ Zoë assured him with a short, humourless laugh.

‘Oh, forgive me.’ He came closer. ‘I thought you invited me here for Tuesday.’

‘If you feel so bad about all this—’ Zoë opened her arms wide ‘—there’s an easy solution.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ll just withdraw my invitation, and then you won’t have to suffer another moment’s distress.’

‘That would be too easy for you.’

‘Easy?’ Zoë rested one hand on her head and stared at him incredulously. What the hell was easy about any of this? As far as she was concerned, nothing had been easy since she’d run up against Rico Cortes.

‘If you want Maria to dance, I’ll be here.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Zoë said sarcastically. ‘You own Maria. You make all her decisions for her—’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

‘So what do you think is going to happen here, Rico? As far as I know we’ll be making a television programme. I’ll be cooking, Maria will dance, and everyone in the village will have a great time at the party. Is that so terrible?’

He made a contemptuous sound. ‘You make it sound so straightforward.’

‘Because it is!’ What was he getting at? Why didn’t he trust her?

They glared at each other without blinking, and then Rico broke away to stare around. His expression hardened. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to allow my friends to come to a place like this on Tuesday night.’

‘Oh, so now you own the whole village? I didn’t realise the feudal system was alive and well in Cazulas. I suppose it’s never occurred to you that my neighbours might be capable of thinking for themselves?’

‘Your neighbours don’t know what you plan to do here.’

‘What do I plan to do, exactly?’

‘You don’t respect them.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You don’t respect their culture.’

‘How dare you say that?’

‘How dare I?’ Rico’s voice was contemptuous as he glared down at her.

He was close enough for her to touch—or attack—but she would never lower herself to that. She wasn’t about to lose control, like every man she had ever known, and let Rico add that to her long list of shortcomings.

‘You come here to Cazulas—Cazulas, of all the flamenco villages in Spain! And you try to tell me it’s just a coincidence? And then you bring Maria into it. Another coincidence? I don’t think so.’

She’d had enough. She wasn’t going to stand by and let him rant. ‘You’re right, Rico. Bringing Maria into my plans was no coincidence. The reason I asked her to appear on my programme is because she is easily the best dancer I have ever seen. She is certainly the best performer in Cazulas. That’s no coincidence; it’s a fact.’ Zoë couldn’t be sure if Rico had heard her or not. He was so tense, so angry—like a wound-up spring on the point of release.

‘You come here with your television cameras and your questions.’ He gazed around the half-finished set contemptuously. ‘You throw together some cheap items and pass it off as a Spanish setting. You really think that’s going to convince me that you’re putting together some worthy programme about cultural influences on Spanish cooking? You must think I’m stupid.’

‘You’re certainly mistaken.’ But she could see that he might think she was putting up the plastic rubbish, rather than taking it down.

He was so still, so keyed up, he reminded her of a big cat before it pounced. Zoë was beginning to ache with holding herself so stiffly. She sagged with relief when he pulled away from her with a jerk.

‘I’ll be back to check up on you later. If this rubbish isn’t removed by then you can forget Tuesday. Maria will not be dancing for you.’

‘Doesn’t Maria have a mind of her own?’

Rico was already striding towards the door. He stopped dead. He couldn’t believe that she would still dare to challenge him. ‘Yes, of course Maria has a mind of her own. She will take one look at this mess and refuse to dance.’

‘Oh, get out!’

As he wheeled around he saw the local produce—fresh fruit, greenery, even some attractive pieces of hand-painted pottery. His lips curled in a sneer of contempt. Someone had planned to do something classy for the programme, something appropriate to the area. What a shame Zoë Chapman didn’t have any taste.

She really was no better than the rest. Even if she didn’t work at the gutter end of television, he would not stand by and see her discard Maria the moment her usefulness was at an end. Maria was too soft-hearted for her own good. It was up to him to protect her from people like Zoë Chapman.

Zoë jumped as the door slammed. Contempt for the disastrous set was about where her dial was pointing, too. But that didn’t give Rico Cortes the right to come storming in, ordering her about.

Snatching a plastic parrot down from his perch, she tossed it into the bin bag with the rest of the rubbish. She hated being caught on the back foot, hated leaving Rico Cortes with the impression that this was all her doing. Most of all she hated the fact that he was coming back to check up on her later. Who the hell did he think he was?

But it would have been far worse still if he hadn’t planned to come back at all.