A Spanish Inheritance

“Do you like playing games with me, Annalisa?” Ramon murmured very close to her ear.

Every tiny hair on her body stood erect as his warm breath caressed her senses. She had no way of seeing the expression on his face. At the moment her eyes were level with the third button down on his shirt. Was he talking about the water rights…the sale of her property? Or something else…something on a far more personal level? That possibility made her shake her head emphatically as she struggled to remain immune to the very masculine heat coming from him. It was a heat with very different properties to the scorching midday sun. It was a heat that beat at her sense with unrelenting purpose….

“Would you like to?” he growled, so close to her ear that she shivered involuntarily. And then, as if he had received the answer he was looking for, he laughed as if it was indeed just a game to him and let her go.

VIVA LA VIDA DE AMOR!

They speak the language of passion….

Harlequin presents an exciting tale of romance, Latin-style by our newest author!

Susan Stephens

A Spanish Inheritance (#2318)

Available wherever Harlequin books are sold.

A Spanish Inheritance

Susan Stephens

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘THIS is a private beach.’

The deep Latin voice with its hint of censure brought the slender young woman scrambling to her feet. Struggling to fasten the top half of her bikini with eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare, Annalisa drew herself up to her full height, only to find herself steering her gaze into the naked chest of a powerfully built man.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said automatically. So where was the notice saying this stretch of Menorcan sand was reserved for the use of arrogant Spanish males? ‘I was just—’

‘I gathered what you were doing,’ he cut in.

‘There’s nothing to say this area is restricted,’ Annalisa said, fighting to keep her gaze in check. She judged him to be in his mid-thirties. Black bathing shorts still wet from the sea clung to well-muscled thighs, while drops of water glistened on his bronzed, toned body. Her heart gave a jolt as she lifted her chin to take a proper look at his face. He had the most amazing eyes… Not just the colour, the shape, or even the fact that twin crescents of thick black lashes cast deep shadows across his chiselled cheekbones; they were simply the most expressive—

‘Do you have signs in your garden back home?’ he demanded, reclaiming her attention.

He spoke with all the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to respect, Annalisa thought as she took stock of her adversary.

‘No, but my garden has a hedge around it…and a gate.’

To her surprise he almost smiled. ‘Touché, Miss—?’

‘Wilson. Annalisa Wilson,’ Annalisa told him, feeling the need to cross her arms over her chest. It wasn’t that his gaze ever left her face, and he certainly didn’t try to crowd her like most men. But even standing a good few feet away he made her extremely nervous.

And now he smiled. But, instead of making her feel better, the flash of strong white teeth against his improbably handsome face made her feel more awkward than ever. Maybe it had more to do with the look in his eyes that suggested he knew a lot more than she did.

‘Pleased to meet you, Annalisa. That is a beautiful and unusual name.’

‘Thank you. My father was Spanish.’

‘Really?’

Why that should amuse him she had no idea.

‘Ramon di Crianza Perez,’ he said, extending his hand in formal greeting.

As they connected she felt the strength in his fingers close around her, and instinctively snatched her hand away. ‘I’m sorry if I’m trespassing. I’ll go—’

‘Go?’ he queried sharply. ‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘I’ll swim back the way I came…around the point,’ she said, nodding towards a spine of rocks that divided the two beaches.

‘The point!’

His incredulity stung her. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s far too dangerous!’

‘I think I can be the judge—’ She held back the rest of the retort. Why on earth was she attempting to justify her actions to a complete stranger?

‘You do?’ His voice, like a whiplash, lacked all suggestion of Mediterranean charm, but his eyes still possessed the same infuriating sparkle that had captured her attention in the first place… It betrayed an interest that went far beyond a natural desire to protect his boundaries.

Staring back at him, Annalisa knew the fact she felt hot and edgy had nothing to do with the sun. ‘Well, you swam here from that yacht,’ she argued, glancing towards an impressive cruiser moored offshore. When his sardonic gaze licked over her she felt hotter still.

‘You must consider yourself an exceptional athlete.’

‘I swam for my school—’

‘In a swimming pool?’

‘Well, yes. But—’

‘The Mediterranean is not a swimming pool, Annalisa.’

Was it really necessary to drawl her name like that? she wondered, conscious of the inadequate scraps of material struggling to contain her figure.

‘These waters can be very dangerous,’ he went on. ‘The current by those rocks—’

‘A strong swimmer—’

‘Should have more respect for the ocean,’ he countered evenly.

‘I got here in one piece,’ Annalisa muttered. But her defiance was being steadily eroded by this man’s determined campaign of control.

She felt his brooding gaze rest on her face.

‘Beginner’s luck,’ he said, holding up his hands to bring an end to the matter. ‘Come. I will escort you off my property.’

Your property! So, they were to be neighbours, Annalisa thought, careful to keep her expression neutral as she digested this piece of information.

She panicked as he moved towards her, and backed up a step. ‘I have to swim back. I don’t have any dry clothes with me.’

He drew up short, and his assessing stare ran heat through every inch of her. ‘I’m sure something can be found for you up at the house.’

His brazen inspection, together with his casual assumption that she would leap to do his bidding, sent storm waves pulsing through her. The sea was nothing in comparison to the danger on the shore, Annalisa thought as she tried to side-step her way out of trouble.

But his reflexes were razor-sharp and he blocked her path. ‘My driver will take you wherever you want to go.’

‘Look, I’m sure you mean to be kind—’

His impatient gesture sliced through the air. ‘Kindness is not an issue. My only concern is to prevent you from making another mistake.’

I wasn’t aware I’d made a first until I met you, Annalisa thought, watching his jaw tighten as if he couldn’t quite believe one person could provoke so much aggravation in so short a time. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she insisted firmly. ‘It’s an easy swim.’

‘I don’t have time for this,’ he rapped, directing a level stare at her. ‘And my invitation was not a suggestion,’ he added pointedly. He turned abruptly to indicate a narrow track that cut a snaking path up the cliff.

The silent instruction made his autocratic air all the more intolerable. But with someone like Ramon Perez planted in the way Annalisa knew she had no alternative but to follow orders…for the moment.

Her mouth tightened angrily as she marched past him. But she was angrier at herself than with her forceful neighbour. There was just no excuse for going into battle unprepared. If she had only apologised for trespassing on his land, accepted his offer of some dry clothes and a lift home, the whole incident would have been over by now. Instead of which— Her stomach lurched as he strode ahead of her. Drinking in the wide spread of his shoulders and the taut power of a most agreeable back view, she was forced to concede that there were some things that made up for an attack of hurt pride.

It wasn’t the climb that tightened Annalisa’s stomach in knots, but the growing suspicion that with each step she was leaving the simple charm of the shoreline behind and entering some exclusive territory. The natural disorder of scrub and sand and pebbles gave way to steps that looked as if they had been swept recently, and the handrail had been painted in a shade that blended perfectly with the surroundings. This impression of affluence was only confirmed when they reached the top of the steep climb and a stout manservant, dressed from head to toe in a crisp white uniform, hurried forward.

Maybe he had been on sentry duty for hours, she mused, seeing the canary-yellow and white beach towels stacked on his outstretched arm.

Ramon acknowledged the man with a courteous nod. ‘Please escort Miss Wilson to a guest room, Rodriguez. And see that she receives some refreshment before she leaves.’ He swivelled round, appraising Annalisa at a glance. ‘I’m sure Margarita will be able to find something suitable for you to wear.’ And, swiping a towel off the pile, he draped it around her shoulders.

‘Thank you,’ Annalisa said, struggling to ignore the flash of sensation that rushed through her when his hand brushed her naked skin. She drew the towel tightly around her to ward off the cold hand of disappointment. He might be the most infuriating individual she had ever encountered, but he was also the most intriguing. And the way his voice had softened when he said ‘Margarita’ suggested this woman meant a great deal to him— Now she was being ridiculous! She’d only known him for five minutes and already her imagination was running riot!

He dipped his head briefly, signalling an end to the encounter. ‘Adios, Annalisa.’

Shading her eyes with her hand, Annalisa watched him power away towards an imposing white mansion. She felt sure that the home and lifestyle of Ramon di Crianza Perez were as different from her own as it was possible to imagine. But in some unaccountable way she felt the need to prove herself to her proud Menorcan neighbour.

A discreet cough distracted her. She turned and flashed a quick smile at the manservant. But he had no time to waste on pleasantries. Having caught her attention, he was already making for the house, using short rapid strides that suggested he had far better things to do.

As she climbed the central marble staircase of the villa behind her surly guide, Annalisa shot some anxious glances at the closed doors. She felt sure everyone living in such a place would have to be as self-possessed as Ramon, and looking like a beached mermaid was not the best time to cannon into some elegant presence.

The grand house was completely silent. Maybe it was empty. But when the manservant opened a door leading off the first-floor landing, and showed her into a stunning room overlooking the sea, she knew there had to be someone in residence.

For bush telegraph read bush fire, Annalisa thought, spying the jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and the bowl of plump ripe figs. And an outfit had already been laid out on what looked very much like a priceless Louis Quinze chaise longue. The slim sofa was covered with the finest brocade in a delicate shade of powder blue, and its single arm was intricately carved and ornamented with gold leaf.

Margarita had a figure not dissimilar to her own, Annalisa realised as she picked up some sapphire silk Capri pants. A thrill ran through her as she read the label. She had never come close to wearing anything so exclusive. An ivory silk casual top by the same designer lay beside some flesh-toned underwear, still in the fuchsia-tinted tissue paper in which it had been packed in the boutique. The flimsy thong and bra were composed of so fine a fabric it brought the blood rushing to her cheeks. Margarita must be quite something, she thought, spotting some dainty cream leather mules lined up neatly on the floor.

Waiting until the door closed, Annalisa quickly stepped out of her damp bikini. There was a full-length cheval-glass in one corner of the room and it was too tempting not to steal a glimpse at herself as she dressed. Slipping into clothes like these was almost a sensual experience, like stepping into another world. But now what? she wondered, gazing around the fabulous room.

There wasn’t long to wait before she found out. A tap on the door brought the answer. A young girl dressed in a maid’s uniform stood waiting on the threshold.

‘The car is outside when you are ready, Señorita Fuego Montoya,’ she announced in halting English.

‘Wilson. Señorita Wilson,’ Annalisa corrected gently, smiling at her. ‘But you can call me Annalisa if you like.’

‘Sí, Señorita Fuego Montoya,’ the young girl said, colouring up.

She doesn’t understand, Annalisa realised, hoping the shock of hearing her late father’s name wrongly applied to herself didn’t show on her face.

‘Are you ready, señorita?’ the maid pressed, hovering uncertainly on the threshold.

‘Yes. Thank you,’ Annalisa said, reminding herself to add Spanish lessons to her list of things to do. ‘And I’ll return the clothes—’

‘Oh, no, señorita,’ the girl exclaimed, holding up her hands to emphasise the point. ‘Señora Margarita intends you to keep them.’

‘But I couldn’t possibly,’ Annalisa protested.

The maid shrugged, as if the generous gift was of no consequence. ‘The señora has many such outfits, señorita.’

Wealth like this was hard to imagine… And yet she should try, Annalisa reminded herself. Quite out of the blue she had recently inherited a considerable chunk of land in Menorca, and even though she had precious little cash to throw around right now, if she sold the estate designer outfits like these would be well within her reach. ‘I should still like to thank Señora—’

But the girl had already started towards the staircase, and with a brief wave of her hand indicated that Annalisa should follow.

For just a beat Annalisa hesitated. If only her Spanish had been stronger she might have been able to ask the maid to arrange a brief meeting with Margarita. Then she could have explained her intrusion face to face, as well as thank her for the clothes. But for now she had no answer to the dilemma.

Annalisa frowned. Everything connected with Menorca seemed to have a dilemma attached to it as far as she was concerned. And the whole point in taking a sabbatical from the small law practice where she worked as a solicitor had been to resolve dilemmas, not create more. She had come to the island to uncover the truth about her Spanish father, not to involve herself in the lives of the island’s super-rich. Her mission was to discover what had prompted an elderly Spanish grandee to leave a vast estate to her, when he had abandoned her mother the minute he discovered she was pregnant. And had never been heard from again as far as Annalisa knew.

During her mother’s lifetime the relevant questions could not be asked. There had been an unspoken rule between them that strictly forbade all talk of the past. But her mother had died almost immediately after the news of Señor Fuego Montoya’s death, prompting Annalisa to embark on her own quest.

So, here she was…feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she followed the maid down the sweeping marble staircase. The young girl’s confusion over her name had caused the past and present to collide…and in the home of a man who might be as unprincipled as her father for all Annalisa knew. But thankfully she had the benefit of hindsight to guide her now…and better still there was no sign of her enigmatic neighbour.

Perhaps she had seen the last of him. And perhaps it was as well if she had. The chance to savour Margarita’s dream existence for a short time had been a heady experience, but reality beckoned and Annalisa knew that she could not allow a distraction like Ramon Perez to get in her way.

Although it was a relatively short swim from one beach to another, the drive back to the finca took quite some time. One main arterial road stretched the length of the island, and each cove could only be reached by returning first to this highway. Annalisa tensed on the soft kidskin upholstery as the limousine bounced in and out of the ruts on the track down to her new home, and knew just enough Spanish to feel embarrassment when she caught the word casucha as the chauffeur muttered something under his breath. The finca might look like a hovel to him, but by the time she had finished with it—

‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said, managing to bite her tongue as he got out to open the door for her.

She really would have to do something about the approach if she wanted the property to achieve its full market value, she realised, gazing around. According to the estate agent there were already several offers on the table.

But even if some of the renovations were beyond her pocket, there was no harm in investing as much as she could afford in order to reap the maximum return when she came to sell.

When the limousine drove off she was enveloped from head to foot in a cloud of fine white dust. This served to point out the fact that the walls were crumbling, not to mention the roof, which in some areas was open to the sky. If she didn’t sort that out before the rains came, the whole place would be flooded—that was if the infamous Tramuntana wind didn’t lift it off first. But in spite of all the problems there was something very special about the mellow, honey-coloured stone.

Excited yelps diverted Annalisa’s attention to one of the more forceful members of her ever-increasing menagerie. The welcome softened the worry lines that had been building up on her face all morning and replaced them with a smile. The ancient rag-tailed dog was so grateful for every second of her time that she had already adopted him, naming him Fudge for his colour. Along with Fudge, several cats, hens, and even a donkey had miraculously appeared on her doorstep, as if they accepted what she could not—that life on finca Fuego Montoya was about to resume.

They were more optimistic than she was, Annalisa thought, glancing around the cobbled courtyard at the daunting tasks that still lay ahead of her. Her immediate impression of the main house had been of overwhelming neglect. She had found it so dark and still the first time she’d walked through the curtains of dust motes suspended in the musty air. But somehow that hadn’t put her off. And her determination had been rewarded.

Traces of what must once have been a fine family home had soon become apparent in the quality of the furniture, as well as the interesting collection of cobweb-festooned paintings. And then she had been filled with the urge to breathe life into it again—to fling open the shutters, to clean out every corner and polish the windows until the whole place gleamed and vibrated with life.

She didn’t rest until each room was filled with the scent of beeswax and soap and flowers… But the outbuildings remained in a desperate state.

She closed her eyes briefly and drew a deep breath. Then, firming her lips, she opened them again. What she had started she would finish. So what if she had to learn to use a hammer and chisel? She had come a long way from her small solicitor’s office in an undistinguished town in the north of England. Here the sun warmed her face and it felt good. Winter was barely over, but in Menorca she could already detect the scent of blossom on the air.

Having changed out of the delicious outfit into a pair of battered old shorts and a non-descript T-shirt, Annalisa headed down to the kitchen. Clearing a space on the rustic table, she prepared to write a brief letter of thanks to Señor and Señora Ramon di Crianza Perez. But even as she put pen to paper thoughts and impressions invaded her mind—and none of them was connected with the brief note she had planned. The truth was she was furious with herself. Somehow a married man had slipped beneath her guard, jolting something deep within her…something fundamental. Like an alarm going off in her heart, she acknowledged with dismay.

But she had seen her mother left embittered and had no intention of being lured along the same path. It was a bleak trail that led to nothing more than empty lives and worthless promises. With an impatient huff she forced her attention back to the blank sheet of paper on the table in front of her.

Willing the pen to move back and forth, she crafted the words that would convey her appreciation for the kindness of the Crianza Perez household and nothing more. Then, sealing the envelope, she propped it up next to the clock. She would post it on her next shopping trip to Mahon, the island’s capital, and perhaps find some small token in an attempt to appease her formidable neighbour. But first things first; her legal representative on the island would be appearing in a little under an hour.

Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Annalisa began drawing up a list of subjects she wanted to discuss. It was only as she began framing the questions in her mind that a new possibility occurred to her…

‘But, Señorita Wilson, you do not have the money to make the improvements you have just outlined. Why do you not accept the generous offer that has been made for finca Fuego Montoya and buy something more suitable for yourself?’

‘I have decided not to sell.’

‘Not to sell!’

Annalisa was certain the distinguished lawyer could not have looked more shocked if he’d tried. ‘And that is my final decision,’ she confirmed in a low, determined voice.

‘But, no!’ he insisted dramatically. ‘This is impossible. How will you—?’

Annalisa could feel her patience evaporating. ‘Don Alfonso,’ she began firmly, ‘I have always worked for my living and that is exactly how I intend to continue.’

‘To work?’ the silver-haired lawyer exclaimed in horror with a shrug that encompassed the world. ‘But if you sell the finca, Señorita Wilson, you will never need to work again.’

‘But I want to work,’ Annalisa insisted stubbornly. ‘And forgive me, Don Alfonso, but I thought you worked for me.’

‘And so I do,’ he insisted hotly. ‘But it is my duty to tell you that if you were my daughter—’

‘I am no one’s daughter!’ Annalisa’s retorted sharply, regretting the words almost as soon as they shot out of her mouth.

‘I understand that your father is dead, Señorita Wilson,’ Don Alfonso reminded her solemnly.

And always has been to me, Annalisa thought bitterly as she fought to re-order her thoughts. ‘I apologise, Don Alfonso,’ she said, composing herself. ‘Of course I will always be grateful to my father for entrusting me with the future of the finca.’ Even if he never acknowledged me in his lifetime, she added silently to herself. ‘I should not have raised my voice to you,’ she admitted candidly. ‘But you should know that I am quite determined to remain here. I intend to restore the house and all the ancillary buildings. Then I shall return the orange groves to a profitable working concern that will benefit everyone in the village.’

‘The orange groves!’ the elderly lawyer exclaimed in utter amazement. ‘But what do you know about fruit production? Forgive me, Señorita Wilson,’ he added, saving her the embarrassment of admitting the answer to that was nothing at all. ‘I mean no offence.’ Plucking a kingfisher-blue handkerchief out of his top pocket, he began dabbing away at imaginary moisture on his neck and high forehead, his concern all too evident.