The Spanish Billionaire's Mistress

‘I don’t just make programmes,’ she said, reclaiming his attention. ‘I present them.’

‘I apologise.’ He exaggerated the politeness. ‘Apart from your ability to make programmes and present them, what do you have to bargain with that might possibly interest Maria?’

‘I cook.’

Removing her hands from her pockets, she planted them on her hips. She smiled—or rather her lips tugged up at an appealing angle while her eyes blazed defiance at him. Her manner amused him, and attracted him too. ‘You cook?’

‘Is there something wrong with that?’

‘No, nothing at all—it’s just unexpected.’

‘Well, I don’t know what you were expecting.’

Just as well. He had been running over a few things that would definitely make it to the top of his wish list, and cooking wasn’t one of them. Outsiders were practically non-existent in the mountains. It was a rugged, difficult terrain, and yet Zoë Chapman, with her direct blue-green gaze and her wild mop of titian hair, had come alone and on foot, with a flashlight as her only companion, to find—what had she expected to find?

Rico’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. In his experience, women made careful plans; they didn’t just turn up on the off chance. ‘We’ll discuss this some other time. I’ll have someone see you home.’

‘When I’ve spoken to Maria.’

Her mouth was set in a stubborn line. He liked her lips. He liked her eyes too—when they weren’t spitting fire at him. She was about five-five, lightly built—but strong, judging from her handshake. The rest was a mystery beneath her shapeless grey track suit. Maybe it was better that way. There were very few surprises left in life.

But this was one mystery parcel he had no intention of unwrapping. The gutter press could use subtle tactics to succeed. Zoë Chapman might be working for anyone—how did he know? The television company, even the programme she was supposed to be making, could all be a front. Cazulas was special—the one place he could get some space, some recreation—and no one was going to spoil that for him.

‘So, you’ll introduce me to Maria?’

She was still here? Still baiting him? Rico’s jaw firmed as he stared at Zoë. The sensible thing to do would be to cut her, blank her out, forget about her. But she intrigued him too much for that. ‘It’s not convenient right now—’

‘Who says so?’

‘Maria!’ Rico turned with surprise. ‘I didn’t hear you coming.’

‘That is obvious.’ The older woman’s eyes were bright and keen as she stared curiously at Zoë. ‘But now I am here why don’t you introduce us, Rico?’

‘She won’t be staying—’

‘I will!’

Maria viewed them both with amusement.

‘I didn’t think you would be interested in what Ms Chapman had to say,’ Rico said with a dismissive shrug.

‘So now you are thinking for me, Rico?’

There was a moment when the two of them stared at each other, unblinking, and then Rico pulled back. ‘Maria Cassavantes—allow me to present Zoë Chapman to you.’

‘Zoë,’ Maria repeated, imbuing Zoë’s name with new colour. ‘I have heard rumours about your television programmes and I would like to talk to you. Forget Rico for a moment. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement?’

It was everything Zoë had hoped for—but forget about Rico? That was asking a bit too much. She saw him tense and she couldn’t resist a quick glance of triumph.

Rico was seething. What was Maria thinking of? They knew nothing about this Zoë Chapman—nothing at all. What set her apart from all the other female sharks, with their bleached teeth and avaricious natures? Maria hadn’t a clue what she was letting herself in for—she was playing with fire…

‘We should know more about your cookery programme before Maria agrees to do anything.’ He took a step forward, deliberately putting himself between them. ‘I don’t see how flamenco could possibly be relevant.’

‘If you’d only let me explain—’

‘How can I be sure you’re not wasting Maria’s time?’

‘I said I don’t mind this, Rico.’ Maria put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘I would like to talk to Zoë and hear what she’s got to say—’

‘I promise you, Maria,’ Zoë cut in, ‘I’m not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time, least of all my own. And if you need me to prove it to you—’

‘I really do.’ It was Rico’s turn to butt in.

Maria was forgotten as they glared at each other. Then Zoë broke eye contact, allowing him a brief moment of satisfaction.

‘I’ll make everyone in the village a meal,’ she declared, gesturing extravagantly around the clearing. ‘How does that suit you, Rico?’

Now he was surprised. ‘That’s quite an offer.’ There was just enough doubt in his voice to provoke her, to brighten her green eyes to emerald and make her cheeks flare red.

‘I mean it.’

‘Fine.’ He lifted up his hands in mock surrender, then dipped his head, glad of the opportunity to conceal the laughter brewing behind his eyes. Somehow he didn’t think Ms Chapman would appreciate humour right now. But there were about one hundred and sixty souls in the village. She would never pull it off.

Ms Chapman. Who knew what was behind a name?

Rico’s gaze flew to Zoë’s hands. Clean, blunt fingernails, cut short, but no ring, no jewellery at all. He drew an easing breath. That was all he needed to know. It gave him the freedom to overlook his vow never to court trouble on his own doorstep again. ‘I shall look forward to it, Ms Chapman.’

‘Rico,’ Maria scolded him, ‘why don’t you call our new friend Zoë, as we’re going to be working together?’

‘So we are going to be working together, Maria?’

She sounded so excited. Rico ground his jaw and watched with concern as the two women hugged each other. Zoë Chapman wouldn’t win him round so easily.

‘I have never appeared on television,’ Maria exclaimed.

‘I’m going to make it special for you, Maria.’

Zoë’s promise grated on him. If she let Maria down—

‘I think we’ll make a good team.’ Maria looked at him and raised her eyebrows, as if daring him to disagree.

For now it seemed he had no choice in the matter. Zoë Chapman had won this round, but he would be waiting if she stepped out of line. Maria might have been taken in, but he wasn’t so easily convinced. The thought of an artist of Maria’s calibre appearing on some trivial holiday programme with a few recipes thrown in made him sick to his stomach.

As far as he was concerned, Ms Chapman had identified her quarry and had stopped at nothing until she got her own way. She was no innocent abroad. She had all the grit and determination of the paparazzi. That wary look he had detected in her eyes when she looked at him didn’t fool him for a minute. It was all an act. She was as guilty as hell. But Maria was right. He wouldn’t presume to make decisions for Maria Cassavantes, though in his experience third-rate television companies only dealt in plastic people; treasures like Maria were out of their league.

If he had to, he would step in to protect her from Zoë Chapman. But for now he was sufficiently intrigued to give Ms Chapman enough rope to hang herself. He would watch her like a hawk, and the first time she tried to cheapen or trivialise what Maria Cassavantes stood for both she and her television cameras would be thrown out of Spain.

CHAPTER TWO

‘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.