Wed For The Spaniard's Redemption

‘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.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘VERY FUNNY,’ JULIET muttered, disappointment thickening her voice. ‘I’m not in the mood for jokes, Mr Mendoza-Casillas.’

‘Rafael,’ he corrected her. ‘And it’s not a joke. I need a wife. A temporary wife—in name only,’ he added, evidently reading the crucial question that had leapt into her mind. He stared at her broodingly. ‘You have admitted that being a single parent is a financial burden. What if, instead of struggling, you could live a comfortable life with your daughter without having to work?’

‘Some hope,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’d have to win the lottery to be able to do that.’

‘Consider me your winning ticket, chiquita.’

His sudden smile softened his chiselled features and stole Juliet’s breath. When he smiled he went from handsome to impossibly gorgeous. He reminded her of the male models on those TV adverts for expensive aftershaves—only Rafael was much more rugged and masculine.

She tore her eyes from him, conscious that her heart was beating at twice its normal rate. ‘You’re crazy,’ she told him flatly.

And so was she, to be still sitting in his car. Five million pounds! He couldn’t be serious. Or if he was serious there must be a catch. She felt hot, remembering his amused reaction to her suggestion that he was offering to pay her for sex. God, what had made her say that? Many of today’s newspapers had a photo on the front page of Rafael and a beautiful blonde woman with an eye-catching cleavage. Juliet glanced down at her shapeless figure. She looked like a stick insect compared to Rafael’s latest love interest.

‘If you need a wife why don’t you marry your girlfriend, whose picture is all over the front pages of the papers?’

‘For one thing, Michelle is already married—but even if she were free to marry me she would not be suitable. All of my lovers, past and current, would expect me to fall in love with them,’ he said drily.

He was so arrogant! She wanted to come back with a clever comment but she was mesmerised by the perfect symmetry of his angular features, which were softened a little by his blatantly sensual mouth.

‘But you’re not worried that I might fall in love with you?’ She’d intended to sound sarcastic, but instead her voice was annoyingly breathless.

‘I don’t recommend that you do,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘I do not believe in love,—or marriage, for that matter. I’m not crazy,’ he insisted. ‘I have a genuine reason for needing to be married.’

He swore when his phone rang, and then took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and cut the call.

‘We can’t talk now. I’ll meet you this evening and we can discuss my proposition.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘Not interested in earning yourself five million pounds for being my wife for a couple of months?’ He reached across her and put his hand over hers to prevent her from opening the car door. ‘At least give me a chance to explain, and then you can make up your mind whether I’m crazy or not. Although, frankly, you would be foolish to miss out on the chance to earn a life-changing amount of money. Think what you could do with five million pounds. You would never have to worry about the cost of buying your little girl a pair of shoes ever again.’

‘All right.’ Juliet released a shaky breath. He was relentlessly persuasive. She couldn’t think properly when his face was so close to hers that as he leaned across her body she was able to count his thick black eyelashes. ‘I’ll meet you to discuss your proposition, but I’m not saying that I’ll agree to it.’

She pressed herself into the leather seat, hoping he would not notice the pulse at the base of her throat that she could feel thudding erratically. It would add to her humiliation if he guessed that she was attracted to him—especially as he quite obviously did not feel the same way about her.

‘It will have to be after nine,’ she told him. ‘I work the evening shift as a cleaner at a shopping centre close to where I live.’

Juliet felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when Rafael straightened up and moved away from her.

He handed her a business card. ‘Here is my phone number. Text me your address and I’ll collect you from your home at nine-fifteen.’ He frowned. ‘What about your daughter? Does someone look after her while you are at work in the evenings?’

‘Of course I have childcare for Poppy. I certainly wouldn’t leave her on her own,’ she said indignantly, stung by his implication that she might be an irresponsible mother.

It was the accusation that Bryan’s lawyer had levelled against her, and remembering the custody battle she was facing over her daughter evoked a heavy sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Five million pounds would enable her to hire her own top lawyer to fight Bryan’s claim on Poppy, Juliet thought as she climbed out of Rafael’s car and ran through the rain back to her van. But she would be nuts even to consider the idea.

* * *

Rafael parked his Lamborghini outside a grim-looking tower block and his conviction that it had been a mistake to suggest to a woman he had never met before today that she should marry him grew stronger. He visualised Juliet Lacey, who had resembled a drowned rat when he’d shoved her into his car out of the rain. Her voluminous apron had covered her figure, but from what he’d been able to see she was skinny rather than curvaceous. Her face had been mostly hidden behind by the peak of a baseball cap that was surely the most unfeminine and unflattering headwear.

In Rafael’s opinion women should be elegant, decorative and sexy, but the waif-like sandwich-seller failed on all counts. His fury that she had damaged his beloved Lamborghini had turned to impatience when she’d burst into tears. He was well aware of how easily women could turn on the waterworks when it suited them. But as he’d watched Juliet literally fall apart in front of him he’d felt a flicker of sympathy.

He had heard a woman sob brokenly only once before, in the slum where he had spent the first twelve years of his life. Maria Gonzales had been a neighbour, a kind woman who had often given food to him and his sister. But Maria’s teenage son had been drawn into one of the many drug gangs who’d operated in the slum and Pedro had been stabbed in a fight. Rafael had never forgotten the sound of Maria’s raw grief as she’d wept over the body of her boy.

When Juliet had told him of her financial problems and her fear that she might lose custody of her young daughter the idea had formed in his mind that she would make him an ideal wife. The money he was prepared to pay her would change her life, and more importantly she would have no expectations that their marriage would be anything other than a business deal.

Maybe he was crazy, Rafael thought as he climbed out of his car and glanced around the notoriously rough housing estate—a concrete jungle where the walls were covered in graffiti. A gang of surly-looking youths were staring at his car, and they watched him suspiciously when he walked past them on his way into the tower block. He guessed that the older male in the group, who was wearing a thick gold chain around his neck, was a drug dealer.

Rafael had grown up in a shanty town on the outskirts of Madrid, where dire poverty was a breeding ground for crime and lawless gangs ruled the street. His father had been involved in the criminal underworld, and as a boy Rafael had seen things that no child should see.

His jaw tightened as he took the lift up to the eleventh floor and strode along a poorly lit walkway strewn with litter. The tower block was not a slum but a sense of poverty and deprivation pervaded the air, as well as a pungent smell of urine. It was not a good place to bring up a child.

Juliet and her young daughter were not his responsibility, he reminded himself. But it was hard to see how she would turn down five million pounds and the chance to move away from this dump.

He knocked on the door of her flat and it opened almost immediately. Rafael guessed from the unbecoming nylon overall Juliet was wearing that she must have returned from her cleaning job only minutes before he’d arrived. Without the baseball cap hiding her face he saw that she had delicate features, and might even have been reasonably pretty if she hadn’t been so pale and drawn. Her hair was a nondescript brownish colour, scraped back from her face and tied in a long braid. Only her light blue eyes, the colour of the sky on an English spring day, were at all remarkable. But the dark shadows beneath them emphasised her waif-like appearance.

A suspicion slid into Rafael’s mind, and when Juliet took off her overall to reveal a baggy grey T-shirt that looked fit for the rag bag he studied her arms. There were none of the tell-tale track marks associated with drug addiction.

He flicked his gaze over cheap, badly fitting jeans tucked into scuffed black boots and thought of glamorous Camila Martinez, the daughter of the Duque de Feria and his grandfather’s favoured contender to be Rafael’s bride.

The difference between aristocratic Camila, who could trace her family’s noble lineage back centuries, and Juliet, who looked as if she had stepped from the pages of Oliver Twist, was painfully obvious. It would show his grandfather that he was not a puppet willing to dance to the old man’s tune if he turned up at Hector’s birthday party and announced that he had married this drab sparrow instead of a golden peacock, Rafael mused, feeling a flicker of amusement as the scene played out in his imagination.

‘I told you to call me when you arrived and I would meet you outside the flats,’ Juliet greeted him. ‘If you’ve left your car on the estate there’s a good chance it will be vandalised. There’s a big problem with gangs around here.’

Rafael shuddered inwardly at the thought of his Lamborghini being damaged. ‘This area is not a safe place for you to be out alone at night,’ he said gruffly, thinking that she must have to walk through the estate in the dark every evening when she’d finished her cleaning shift.

He looked along the narrow hallway as a door opened and a small child darted out.

‘Mummy, where are you going?’

The little girl had the same slight build and pale complexion as her mother. She stared at Rafael warily and he was struck by how vulnerable she was—how vulnerable they both were.

Juliet lifted her daughter into her arms. ‘Poppy, I’ve told you I’m going out for a little while with a...a friend and Agata is going to look after you.’

An elderly woman emerged from the small sitting room and gave Rafael a curious look. ‘Come back to bed, kotek. I will read to you and it will help you to fall back to sleep.’ She took the child from Juliet. ‘The baby will be happy with me. Go and have the nice dinner with your friend.’

‘Who is looking after your daughter?’ Rafael asked when Juliet followed him out of the flat and shut the front door behind her. She had pulled on a black fake leather jacket that looked as cheaply made as the rest of her outfit.

For a moment he wondered what the hell he was doing. Could he really marry this insipid girl who looked much younger than mid-twenties?

But her air of innocence had to be an illusion, he reminded himself, thinking of her illegitimate child. And besides, he did not care what she looked like. All he was interested in was putting a wedding ring on her finger. Once he had fulfilled his grandfather’s outrageous marriage ultimatum he would be CEO of the Casillas Group. He did not anticipate that he would spend much time with his wife and would seek to end the marriage as soon as possible.

‘Agata is a neighbour,’ Juliet said. ‘She’s Polish and very kind. I couldn’t do my cleaning job if she hadn’t agreed to babysit every evening. Poppy doesn’t have any grandparents but she loves Agata.’

‘What happened to your parents?’

‘They were killed in a car accident six years ago.’

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Rafael sensed that she kept a tight hold on her emotions and her breakdown earlier in the day had been unusual.

‘I believe you said that you have no other family apart from some relatives in Australia?’

She nodded. ‘Aunt Vivian is my mum’s sister. I stayed with her and my uncle and three cousins, but they only have a small house and it was a squeeze—especially after I had Poppy.’

So Juliet did not have any family in England who might question her sudden marriage, Rafael mused as they stepped into the lift. Once again he imagined his ultra-conservative grandfather’s reaction if he introduced an unmarried mother who sold sandwiches for a living as his bride. It would teach Hector not to try to interfere in his life, Rafael thought grimly.

The lift doors opened on the ground floor and he took hold of Juliet’s arm as they passed the gang of youths, who were now loitering in the entrance hall and passing a joint between them.

‘Why do you live in this hellhole?’ he demanded as he hurried her outside to his car. ‘It can’t be a good place to bring up a child.’

‘I don’t live here out of choice,’ she said wryly. ‘When Poppy was a baby we lived in a lovely little house with a garden. Kate was my mum’s best friend, and the reason why I left Australia and came back to England was because she invited me and Poppy to move in with her. She was a widow, and I think she enjoyed the company. But Kate died after a short illness and her son sold the house. I only had a few weeks to find somewhere else to live. I had already started my sandwich business and needed to live in London, but I couldn’t afford to rent privately. I was lucky that the local authority offered me social housing. Living on this estate isn’t ideal, but it’s better than being homeless.’

She ran her hand over the bonnet of the Lamborghini. ‘You are a multi-millionaire—you can have no idea about the real world outside of your ivory tower.’

You think?

Inexplicably Rafael was tempted to tell her that he understood exactly what it was like to live in poverty—wondering where the next meal was coming from and struggling to survive in an often hostile environment. But there was no reason why he should explain to Juliet about his background. He dismissed the odd sense of connection he felt with her because they both knew what hardship felt like. His childhood had given him a single-minded determination to get what he wanted, and Juliet was merely a pawn in the game of wills with his grandfather.

He opened the car door and waited for her to climb inside before he walked round to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

‘I know that five million pounds could transform your situation and allow you to provide your little girl with a safe home and a very comfortable lifestyle free from financial worries.’ He gunned the Lamborghini away from the grim estate and glanced across at her. ‘I’m offering you an incredible opportunity and for your daughter’s sake you should give it serious consideration.’

* * *

It occurred to Juliet as she sank into the soft leather seat of the sports car that this might all be a dream and in a minute she would wake up. Things like this did not happen in real life. A stunningly handsome man offering her five million pounds to be his wife was the stuff of fantasy and fairy tales.

She darted a glance at Rafael’s chiselled profile and felt a restless longing stir deep inside her. It was a long time since she had been kissed by a man, and she’d never felt such an intense awareness of one before.

Bryan had been her first and only sexual experience. She’d spent her teenage years at a boarding ballet school, and although she’d known boys, and danced with them, she had been entirely focused on her goal of becoming a prima ballerina and hadn’t had time for boyfriends.

The scholarship she had been awarded had paid the school’s fees, but there had been numerous other costs and her parents had scrimped and saved so that she could follow her dream. She’d always felt that she owed it to her mum and dad to succeed in her chosen career.

But the car accident which had taken her parents’ lives had left Juliet with serious injuries—including a shattered thigh bone. The months she’d spent in hospital had intensified her sense of isolation and loneliness.