A Price Worth Paying?

Dangerously low.

She swallowed.

Thought about leaving.

Thought about staying.

Thought about that towel and whether he was wearing anything underneath it and immediately wished she hadn’t.

‘Simone Hamilton, I presume,’ he said, and his delicious Spanish accent turned her name into a caress. She blinked and forced her eyes higher, up past that tightly ridged belly and sculpted chest, forcing them not to linger when it was all they craved to do. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

His dark eyes were smiling down at her, the lips on his wide mouth turned up at the corners, while the full force of the accent that had curled so evocatively down the telephone line to her now seemed to stroke the very skin under her clothes. She shivered a little as her breasts firmed, her nipples peaking inside her thin bra and, for the first time in a long time, her thoughts turned full-frontal to sex, her mind suddenly filled with images of tangled limbs and a pillow-strewn bed and this man somewhere in the midst of it all—minus the towels …

And the pictures were so vivid and powerful that she forgot all about congratulating herself for making it this far. ‘I’m disturbing you,’ she managed to whisper. I’m disturbed. ‘I should come back.’

‘I warned you I wasn’t dressed for visitors.’ He let that sink in for just a moment. ‘You said you didn’t care what I was wearing.’

She nodded weakly. She did recall saying something like that. But never for one moment had she imagined he’d be wearing nothing more than a towel. She swallowed. ‘But you’re not … I mean … Maybe another time.’

His smile widened and her discomfort level ratcheted up with every tweak of his lips. He was enjoying himself. At her expense. ‘You said it was important. Something about Felipe?’

She blinked up at him and remembered why she was here. Remembered what she was about to propose and all the reasons it would never work. Added new reasons to the list—because the pictures she’d found hadn’t done him justice—he wasn’t just another good—looking man with a nice body, he was a veritable god-and because men who looked like gods married super-models and heiresses and princesses and not women who rocked up on their doorstep asking for favours.

And because nobody in their right mind would ever believe a man like him would hook up with a woman like her.

Oh God, what was she even doing here?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Coming here was a mistake.’ She was halfway to turning but he had hold of her forearm and, before she knew it, she was propelled inside his apartment with the promise of fresh coffee on his lips and the door closed firmly behind her.

‘Sit down,’ he ordered, gesturing towards a leather sofa twice the length of her flat at home and yet dwarfed here by the sheer dimensions of the long, high-ceilinged room that seemed to let the whole of the bay in through one expansive wall of glass. ‘Maybe now you could tell me what this is all about.’

She sat obediently, absently rubbing her arm where he’d touched her, the skin still tingling as if his touch had set nerve endings dancing under her skin. But then, why wouldn’t she be nervy when she didn’t know which way to look to avoid staring at his masculine perfection; when every time her eyes did stray too close to his toned, bronzed body, they wanted to lock and hold and drink him in?

How could she even start to explain when she didn’t know where to look and when her tongue seemed suddenly twice its size?

‘All right,’ she said, ‘if you insist. But I’ll give you a minute to get dressed first.’

‘No rush,’ he said, dashing her hopes of any relief while he poured coffee from a freshly brewed jug. He didn’t ask her how she wanted it or even if she wanted it, simply stirred in sugar and milk and handed it to her. She took it, careful to fix her gaze on the cup, equally careful to avoid brushing her fingers with his and all the while wondering why she’d ever been crazy enough to think this might work. ‘So tell me, what’s wrong with Felipe?’ he asked, reminding her again of the reason why she was here, and she wondered at his ability to make her forget what should be foremost in her mind.

Giving Felipe a reason to smile.

She’d made it this far. She owed it to Felipe to follow through. She’d return to Melbourne one day after all. The humiliation wouldn’t last for ever …

So much for wondering if she matched her husky voice. Instead she looked like a waif, he thought, lost and lonely, her grey-blue eyes too big and her mouth almost too wide for her thin heart-shaped face, while her cotton shirt bagged around her lean frame. She stared blankly at the cup in her hands, whatever fight she’d called upon to secure this interview seemingly gone. She looked tiny against the sofa. Exactly like that mouse he’d imagined her to be when she’d first spoken so hesitantly on the phone.

‘You said he was dying,’ he prompted. And suddenly her chin kicked up and she found that husky note that had captured his interest earlier.

‘The doctor said he has six months to live. Maybe twelve.’ Her voice cracked a little on the twelve and she put the cup in her hands down before she recovered enough to continue, ‘I don’t think he’ll last that long.’

She pushed honey-blonde hair that had fallen free from her ponytail behind her ears before she looked up at him, her eyes glassy and hollow. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, swiping a rogue tear from her cheek. ‘I’ve made a complete mess of this. You didn’t need this.’

He didn’t, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bit curious about why she thought it so necessary to knock on his door to ask for his help. He had his suspicions, of course—but he had to admit that the whole granddaughter turning up on his doorstep to plead her case was unexpected. ‘Why do you think Felipe won’t last that long?’

She shrugged almost impatiently, as if the reason was blindingly obvious and there was nothing else it could be. ‘Because he’s given up. He thinks he deserves to die.’

‘Because of the land?’

‘Of course, because of the land! It’s about losing his wife and daughter too, but don’t you see, losing the land on top of everything else is killing him faster than any disease.’

‘I knew it.’ He padded barefoot to the window, strangely disappointed, regretting the impulse to let her in, and not only because his curiosity about Felipe’s long lost granddaughter with the husky drawl had been satisfied with one look at this skinny, big-eyed waif. But because he’d been right. Of course it had to be about the land. And yet for some reason being right gave him no pleasure.

Maybe because he knew what would come next, and that any moment now she’d be asking for the favour she’d obviously come here to ask—for him to either return the land out of the goodness of his heart, or to lend her the money to buy it back.

He should never have let her in. Felipe should never have sent her. What had the old man been thinking, to send her to plead his case? Had he been hoping he’d feel sorry for her and agree to whatever she asked? A coiling anger unfurled inside him that anyone, let alone his father’s old nemesis, would think him so easily manipulated.

‘So that’s why he sent you, then? To ask for it back?’

Maybe his words sounded more like accusations than questions, maybe he sounded more combative than inquisitive, because she flinched, her face tight, her eyes clearly on the defensive. ‘Felipe didn’t send me. He doesn’t even know I’m here.’ She hesitated before saying anything more, before she glanced at the watch on her slim wrist and looked up again, already gathering herself, her face suddenly resolute, as if she’d decided something. ‘Look, maybe I should go—’

He stalled her preparations to leave with a shrivelling glare. ‘You do realise it wasn’t me who gambled the property out from underneath him, don’t you? I bought it fair and square. And I paid a hefty premium for the privilege.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then surely you don’t expect me to hand it calmly back, no matter how ill you say your grandfather is.’

Her blue eyes flashed icicles, her manner changing as swiftly as if someone had flicked a switch. ‘Do you think I’m that stupid? I may be a stranger here, but Felipe has told me enough about the Esquivels to know that would never happen.’

He bristled at her emphasis on the word ‘never’. It was true, Felipe and his father had had their differences in the past, and yes, the Esquivels took their business seriously, but that did not mean they did not act without honour. They were Basques after all. ‘Then why did you come? Is it money you want?’

She gave a toss of her head, setting her ponytail lurching from side to side, the ends she’d poked behind her ears swinging free once more. ‘I don’t want your money. I don’t care about your money.’

‘So why are you here? What other reason could you possibly have for turning up on my doorstep demanding a private hearing?’

She stood up then, all five feet nothing of her, but with her dark eyes flashing, her jaw set in a flushed face and an attitude that spoke more of bottled rage than the meek little mouse who had turned up on his doorstep.

‘All right. Since you really want to know, I came here to ask if you would marry me.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘MARRY YOU?’ HE didn’t wait for her to say any more. He’d heard enough. He laughed out loud, the sound reverberating around the room. He’d known she’d wanted something—land or money—and she had wanted something, but a proposal of marriage had never been on his radar. ‘You’re seriously proposing marriage?’

‘I know.’ His visitor clenched and unclenched her hands by her sides, her eyes frosty and hard with anger, her features set as if she didn’t hold it all together, she would explode. ‘Crazy idea. Forget I said anything. Clearly I was wrong to think you might lift so much as a finger to help my grandfather. Sorry to bother you. I’ll see myself out.’

She wheeled around, her skirt flaring high as she spun to reveal legs more shapely than he would have imagined she possessed before they marched her purposefully towards the door, her words rankling more with each stride. How dare she come out with a crazy proposal like that and then make out that he’d let her down?

He caught up with her as she pulled the door open, slamming it shut the next second with the flat of his hand over her shoulder. ‘I don’t remember you asking me to lift a finger.’ She wasn’t listening. Either that or she simply took no notice. She worked the handle frantically with both hands, her slim body straining as she pulled with all her might, while the door refused to budge so much as an inch with his weight to keep it closed.

‘Let me out!’

He stayed right where he was, with the tiny fury beneath him working away on the door, bracing herself against the wall for leverage. ‘On the other hand, I do recall you asking me to marry you.’

‘It was a mistake,’ she said, frantic and half breathless from her efforts.

‘What, you mean you meant to ask someone else?’

She gave up on the handle, staring at the door as if willing it to disappear with the sheer force of her will. ‘I thought you might help. Turns out I was wrong.’

‘And so now you make out that I’ve somehow let you down? Because I’m honest and laugh when you suggest something as ridiculous as marrying you?’

‘Ridiculous because you’re such a catch, you mean? God, you’re unbelievable! Do you actually believe I want to marry you?’

She gave the door a final kick and spun around and almost immediately wished she hadn’t, suddenly confronted by the naked wall of his chest just inches from her face. Bronzed olive skin roughened with dark hair and two hard nipples jutting out at her. God, why the hell couldn’t the man just put on some clothes? Because this close she could see his chest hair sway in the breeze from her breath. This close she could smell the lemon soap he’d used while bathing; could smell the clean scent of masculine skin.

And she really didn’t need to know that she liked the combination.

‘You tell me,’ he answered roughly. ‘You’re the one doing the asking.’

He had her boxed in on two sides, one arm planted beside her head, the door at her back, with only one avenue of escape left to her. Tempting as it was, she got the distinct impression this man would love it if she tried to flee again. He would no doubt feed off the thrill. So she stayed exactly where she was and forced her eyes higher to meet his.

‘A few months,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t asking for forever. I’m not that much of a masochist.’

Something flickered in his eyes as he leaned dangerously down over her, and she wondered at the logic of throwing insults at the only man who could help her. Though that had been before he’d laughed her proposal down without even bothering to listen to her. Now there was obviously nothing to gain by being polite—and nothing to lose by telling him exactly how little she wanted this for herself. ‘If there was any other way, believe me, I’d grab it with both hands.’

His dark eyes searched hers, his chin set, the tendons on his neck standing out in thick cords. ‘What kind of game are you playing? Why are you really here?’

She might have told him if she thought he might actually listen. ‘Look, there’s no point going on with this. Let me go now and I promise never to darken your door again. Maybe there’s even a slight chance we might forget this unfortunate event ever took place.’

‘Forget a scrawny slip of a girl I’ve never met asking me to marry her? Forget a proposal of marriage that comes dressed in barbs and insults from a woman who, by her own admission, wishes there was some other way? I don’t think I’m going to forget that in a hurry. Not when she hasn’t even explained why.’

‘Is there any point? I’d say you made your position crystal clear. Obviously there’s no way you’d lower yourself to marry “a scrawny slip of a girl”.’

Her eyes flashed cold fire as she spat his words back at him, anger mixed with hurt. She was smarting at his insult, he could tell, and maybe she had a point. Maybe she was more petite than scrawny, though it was hard to tell, her body buried under a chain-store cotton skirt and top that left everything to the imagination. But she was no mere girl. Because, from his vantage point above her he could see the slight swell of her breasts as her chest rose and fell. This close he could see her eyes were more blue than grey, the colour of early morning sky before the sun burned away the mist from the hillsides. And this close he could smell her scent, a mix of honey and sunshine and feminine awareness, the unmistakable scent of a woman who was turned on.

His body responded the only way it knew how, surprising him, because she was nothing like his usual type of woman and he wasn’t interested. If he had been interested he would have known it the moment he’d opened the door and laid eyes on her, the way it usually worked.

And once again he regretted the sudden absence of Bianca. Clearly it had been too long if he was getting horny over any random big-eyed waif who turned up on his doorstep. He willed the growing stiffness away, his decision not to put any clothes on intended more to amuse himself rather than any attempt at seduction. And then his eyes drifted down again, lingering over the spot where the neckline gaped, exposing skin that looked like satin.

Admittedly a big-eyed waif with unexpected curves …

‘Then again, maybe not so scrawny,’ he said, unable to resist putting a hand to her shoulder in spite of the fact he wasn’t really interested, his thumb testing the texture of her skin, finding it as smooth as his vision had promised.

She shivered under his touch, her blue eyes wide, her bottom lip trembling, right before she shot away sideways. ‘Don’t touch me!’

He turned, amused by his unexpected visitor and her propensity to move from flight to fight and back again in a heartbeat. ‘What is this? You ask me to marry you and then say I can’t touch? Surely you must have come prepared for an audition.’

She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. ‘No! There will be no audition! The marriage is for Felipe. Only for Felipe.’ Outside the windows the light was starting to fade, the afternoon sun slipping away, while inside her cheeks were lit up, her eyes flashed cold blue flame and her hands were balled in fists so tight that, unlike the rest of her, her knuckles showed white. ‘Haven’t you got a robe or something?’

He smiled at the sudden change in topic, holding his arms out by his sides innocently. ‘Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing?’

‘That’s just it. You’re not really wearing anything.’ She paused suddenly, biting her lip, almost as if she’d said too much and revealed too much of herself in the process. Then she hastily added, ‘I’d hate for you to catch cold or something.’

As if that was her reason. His amusement was growing by the minute, his visitor unexpectedly entertaining. It wasn’t just because the idea was so crazy he wondered how this woman, who seemed more timid than tigress despite her attempts, had found the courage to carry it off, but maybe because his mother had been here not an hour ago berating him on his reluctance to find a wife. He half wished she’d been here to witness this. Though no doubt she would be more appalled than amused, but then, that thought only amused him even more.

‘Then you will be relieved to know I have a very healthy constitution,’ he said, ‘but the last thing I wish is for you to feel uncomfortable.’ He excused himself for a moment to pull on fresh clothes, though not so much for her comfort level but because it suited him to do so. He’d had his sport and the last thing he wanted was for her to think he was interested in her sexually. He was intrigued, it was true, and now that the shock of her surprise proposal was over, he was curious to hear more, but there was no point encouraging her.

She was still here. Simone let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and turned to gaze out of the windows over the million euro view. He hadn’t thrown her out and neither had he let her flee. She was still here and he was going to cover himself up.

Surely that counted as success on two counts?

And now, for whatever reason, he actually seemed willing to listen to her.

Even better, maybe once he had covered up that chest and all that toned olive-gold skin, she might even be able to think straight. She could only hope. Being forced to look at all that masculine perfection without actually looking like she was looking at it was one hell of a distraction otherwise. When he’d had her backed against the door and touched his fingers to her shoulder, she’d felt the sizzle shoot straight to her core. Although maybe it was the hungry look in his eyes that had turned his touch electric …

God, what must it be like to be a woman who actually wanted him to touch her? She shivered, her body remembering the electric thrill. Dangerous, she thought, definitely dangerous. Thank God she wasn’t going there.

‘I apologise for keeping you waiting.’

His richly accented voice stroked its way down her spine, almost convincing her that he meant every word he said. She turned to find him dressed not in a robe, as she’d been half-expecting, but in light-coloured trousers and a fine knitted top that skimmed over the wall of his chest in a way she really didn’t want to think too much about. So she pushed her wayward hair behind her ears and looked elsewhere and found his feet instead. ‘Nice shoes,’ she said lamely, for want of anything better to say.

He glanced down at his leather loafers. ‘I have a man who makes them for me. He is very good.’

Handmade shoes, she pondered, really studying them this time, wishing she could hide away her own scuffed ballet flats. She’d known he had money, sure, but what was this world she’d dared enter, a world where he probably spent more on a pair of shoes than she had on her entire wardrobe? And it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t know that. It was a wonder he hadn’t let her flee while he’d had the chance. It was a wonder he hadn’t slammed the door in her face.

‘But you didn’t come here to compliment me on my footwear,’ he prompted, gesturing towards a sofa as he sprawled himself into a wide armchair, ‘I am curious to hear more—a marriage between you and me, but for Felipe? How does that work, exactly?’

She lowered herself down tentatively on the edge of the sofa, her heart racing with the possibilities. He wanted to hear more. Was he was simply curious, as he claimed, or was he actually entertaining her proposal? ‘You really want to know? You won’t laugh this time?’

‘You took me by surprise,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘It is not everyday a woman asks me to marry her while at the same time claiming she would rather be torn apart by wild horses or eaten by sharks.’

She pressed her lips together, not bothering to deny she’d used those words, knowing he was poking fun at her and yet thoroughly disconcerted by his smile. He was good-looking even when he was angry, the strong lines of his face too well put together to be distorted by rage, but when he smiled he was absolutely devastating. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not every day that I ask a man to marry me.’

He nodded. ‘I’m flattered,’ he said, sounding anything but. ‘So tell me, what is this marriage all about? Why is it so necessary, you believe, to marry me? What are you trying to achieve?’

‘I want to make Felipe’s last days happy.’

‘You think you will make him happy by marrying the son of a man he was in dispute with almost his entire life?’

‘I believe it will make him happy to believe his vineyard is reunited.’ And when she saw her words made no impact on him, she continued, more passionately, this time. ‘Don’t you see, those vines you bought were Felipe’s life. And right now every time he looks out of his window he’s reminded of his mistake. Every time he looks out of his window, he’s reminded of all that he lost.’ She shook her head. ‘And right now he doesn’t care about the remaining vines. He doesn’t care about anything.’ She gazed up at him, wanting to make him understand. Desperate to make him understand. ‘I know it sounds mad, but if he could see a marriage between our families, he would also see the vineyard reunited, and whatever mistakes he made—well, they wouldn’t matter any more. He might smile again, if he realised that all was not lost.’

‘And so Felipe dies happy.’

She winced at his words and he found himself wondering if she was acting. How could she care so much about a man who must be almost a stranger to her? ‘It would only be for a few months. The doctors said—’

‘You told me.’ He stood suddenly and wandered to the windows, his back to her. ‘Six to twelve months. But why should I believe what you say? It seems to me that you have the most to gain out of this arrangement. How do I know you won’t try to get pregnant and find yet another reason to “reunite” our families, this time on a more permanent basis?’

He thought her capable of doing that? God, what kind of people was he used to dealing with? She gave a tight shake of her head, feeling sick at the thought of there being any chance a pregnancy would result from this union. ‘There is no chance of that. This would be purely a business arrangement. Nothing more.’

‘So you say, but how can I believe you?’

‘Quite easily.’ She looked at him levelly, her blue-grey eyes as cold as the deepest sea. ‘There will be no pregnancy because there will be no sex.’

He looked back at her over his shoulder in surprise, one eyebrow arched. ‘No sex? You really think a marriage can work without sex?’

‘Why not? It’s not a real marriage so there’s no need for sex. What I’m proposing is a marriage in name only. Besides, it’s not as if we even like each other. We barely even know each other, for that matter. Why would we need or even want to have sex?’

He shrugged aside every one of her objections as irrelevant. He’d never actually considered whether he actually liked someone as a barrier to having sex with them. Then again, from what he could ascertain, his father hadn’t slept with his mother for the last thirty years of their marriage, which proved marriage without sex between husband and wife was possible, even if his father hadn’t gone without, by all accounts.