Ruthless Tycoon, Inexperienced Mistress

At least the house was warm. Or rather cottage because, from what he could discern in the inky blackness, it was small, white and with a picture-postcard picket fence. Inside was as quaintly pretty, with old wooden floors and a feeling of age and comfort. In short, it was a million miles away from his marvel of pale marble, pale leather and abstract paintings—investments which had cost an arm and a leg.

‘Phone book…phone book…’ Jude was muttering to herself as she looked under tables and behind chairs. ‘Ah. Here we go. Right. Hotel. Any in particular?’

‘Forget it.’

‘What do you mean, forget it?’

‘Look outside.’ He nodded in the direction of the window and Jude followed his gaze with a sinking heart. This was turning into a blizzard. He would need a snowplough to clear the roads for his car and a tractor to transport him to the city centre. Other than that, it was madness to even think about leaving the house.

‘But you can’t stay here!’

‘Why not?’ Cesar looked at her narrowly, weighing up whether to pursue his line of thought or leave it until the following morning considering the lateness of the hour. ‘Would Fernando object?’

‘Freddy? Object? Why on earth would he object?’ They were both in the small hallway and she felt as though her breath was being sucked out of her. He was so tall! He was also removing his coat and she gave a little squeal of horror. Chatting pleasantly to the man for half an hour and singing Freddy’s praises was all well and good but enforced overnight companionship was a completely different matter. ‘You can borrow my car to get into town!’ Pure genius. ‘The comfort level’s a bit low but you’ll make it there in one piece, at any rate, and a hotel would be a lot more comfortable than the floor here…’

‘Floor?’

‘I know. Appalling.’ He was now hanging his coat on the banister and she wanted to fling it back at him, demand that he put it on and send him firmly on his way. ‘Small house.’ She pointedly kept her duffel coat on so that he would get the message.

‘Forget about trying to shove me outside, Jude. I’ll leave in the morning and if I have to sleep on the floor, then so be it. I’m certainly not going to risk my life in your clapped-out car in this weather.’

‘Oh, very well,’ she snapped, edging back a few inches as he stepped towards her.

‘So why don’t you take your coat off and show me which particular part of the floor you want to designate to me?’

‘There’s a guest bedroom,’ Jude admitted grudgingly, ‘but it’s very small and very cluttered. You’d find it a very challenging space to sleep in.’

Cesar strolled past her towards the general area of the kitchen, inspecting the surroundings as he went. No signs of his brother in the house, at any rate. At least no photos, no bits of male paraphernalia which, in his brother’s case, would probably have been hugely expensive, garishly coloured jumpers or any one of those ridiculous hats which he collected. In fact, no signs of any male occupancy at all.

‘Would you like a guided tour?’ Jude asked acidly, arms folded. ‘Or are you happy just nosing around on your own?’

Cesar turned to her and gave her a long, leisurely appraisal. Not only was she not his brother’s usual trademark busty blonde, she was also not the usual trademark giggly airhead. He really would have to work on finding out just what her job was and how it involved his brother. Maybe the weather could work to his advantage, he thought. Trapped in the confines of her own house, she could hardly disappear if the questions got tough. He smiled slowly, relishing the prospect of asserting his authority and letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was not a man to be messed with.

‘No,’ he said lazily, eyes back on her mutinous, flushed face. ‘The guided tour won’t be necessary. At least not at this hour of the morning.’

‘Fine. Then, if you follow me, I’ll show you where you can spend the night.’ Up the stairs, which creaked protestingly under his weight, and to the left, pausing only so that Jude could yank a sheet and a blanket from the airing cupboard. ‘I’m sure you know how to make a bed,’ she told him, handing over the linen. She was pretty sure he didn’t. Like Fernando, he would have been spared the necessity of doing any menial tasks thanks to a background that had seen him raised with all the help that money could buy. It was only after he had met Imogen that he had discovered that fast food wasn’t just a pre- theatre dinner. She was reliably informed by her friend that he could complete most household tasks now but with record slowness and only dubious success.

She would have liked to have witnessed his botched attempts at bed-making, but she let him get on with it while she swept aside all her stuff and, by the time she looked around, the bed was perfectly made and he was looking at her with an amused smile.

‘Up to your standards?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows, and she had the grace to blush.

‘The bathroom’s next door and we share it, so if I’m in it then you’ll just have to wait your turn.’ She was suddenly flustered as he reached for the top button of his shirt. ‘I’ll make sure that there’s a towel for you.’ She backed towards the door as a sliver of hard, muscled, bronzed torso was revealed.

‘What’s with all the drawings?’

Her mouth went dry as he reached the final button and began to undo his cuffs.

‘Are you an artist?’ He walked across to the pile of sketches which she had dumped on the ancient pine table, which had begun life as a dressing table but was now used as a surface on which any and everything found its way.

Jude snatched her drawing from his hand and returned it to its place. ‘I’m a designer, actually.’ Thank God she kept all her work in her architect’s chest downstairs or he would be rifling through those as well. ‘I just do a bit of sketching now and again as a hobby.’

‘Well, well, well. A designer. Interesting.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she responded tightly.

‘Actually, I meant that it’s interesting to discover that you have a proper job. Most of the women who have cluttered up my brother’s life have only paid lip service to the work ethic. In fact, the last one to grace my presence was a flightly little thing with a sideline in glamour modelling.’

Jude tried hard not to think of Imogen. What, she wondered with an inward shudder, would he have thought of a stripper? She and Imogen went back all the way to pigtails and hopscotch. A couple of poor choices on the boyfriend front had found her working in a nightclub, saving hard so that she could continue her studies and get the qualifications she needed to become a primary school teacher, but Jude doubted whether the man looking at her now would find an ounce of compassion for that sob story.

He appeared to have read her mind because he continued, musingly, ‘Naturally I had to ensure that that particular relationship was stillborn.’

‘Why?’ Jude asked uncomfortably. Images of her pregnant friend rose in her head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with glamour modelling…’

‘A glamour model and my brother equate to a gold-digger out to fleece a golden goose.’

‘That’s a very cynical way of thinking…’

‘It’s called the realities of life. Another reality of life is that I would do anything within my power to ensure that my brother is not taken advantage of. Flings with women are all well and good, just so long as they leave the picture. Any unsuitable ones who try to stick around…would have me to contend with…’ Always a good idea to lay down one or two ground rules, Cesar thought. She might blush like a teenager and appear to have a face as transparent as glass, but he was savvy enough to know that neither of those two things necessarily added up to a personality as pure as the driven snow.

‘Well, thank you for that,’ Jude told him coolly. ‘It’s always illuminating to hear what other people think, even if you don’t agree with what they say. Although I’d guess that you don’t really give a damn whether people agree with what you have to say or not.’

‘Bull’s eye!’ With a quick, easy movement he stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. ‘I’ll have to dry these in the morning.’ Intriguingly, she looked as though she had never seen a man half naked before.

‘You’re going to sleep…in the… What are you going to wear to bed?’

‘What I usually wear.’ He looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘My birthday suit. It’s very comfortable. You should approve.’

Jude thought of him sleeping naked, with only a small bathroom separating their rooms, and felt faint. Of course, this was because she had taken an instant dislike to him and, in fact, disapproved of pretty much everything he had had to say, but the image of that muscular, lithe body flung over her sheets and blankets lodged in her head like a burr.

‘I’ll get you something!’

‘You have men’s clothes stashed away in your house?’ Cesar’s ears pricked up but she didn’t say anything. She had backed right out of the door and he waited, thinking, until she reappeared two minutes later and tossed him a T-shirt. It was big all right. It was also bright pink.

He could hear the laughter in her voice as she said, ‘That should fit. Have a good night’s sleep!’

CHAPTER TWO

AT SIX-THIRTY the following morning, the snow had stopped but outside was a landscape of pure wintry white. Very attractive for a postcard, Jude thought sourly, but not so handy when it came with her house guest, the thought of whom had kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. He should never have mentioned that he slept naked. The minute he had told her that, the image of him without his clothes had lodged in her head and all her mechanisms for a peaceful night—counting sheep, planning her day, thinking about the projects she had on the go—had been ruined.

Her highly efficient heating system had kicked in over an hour previously and the house was already beautifully warm. It was also beautifully silent.

She crept stealthily out of her bedroom, wondering whether to use the bathroom and then deciding against it just in case her visitor woke up. She had decided overnight that the less contact she had with him, the better. He was disturbing and, much as she loved Freddy and Imogen both, she didn’t see why she should have her life disturbed by a virtual stranger. Of course he would surface at some point but before then she could at least snatch a cup of coffee in relative peace.

She crept down the stairs, which didn’t creak because she weighed so much less than he did, and expelled one long relieved breath when she was in the safety of her kitchen.

Like everything else in the cottage, it was small but beautifully proportioned, with two beams across the ceiling, an old but serviceable Aga and a much worn kitchen table, which she had bought second hand from a shop which purported to sell antique pine. Freddy’s apartment in the city centre was shiny and new and kitted out in a style that could only have been achieved by an interior designer with a limitless budget. She caught herself wondering what his brother’s place looked like and immediately stamped on her curiosity.

She was happily pouring hot water into her mug, back to the kitchen door, when an all too familiar voice said from behind, ‘Great. I’ll have one, too.’

Jude started violently, with the kettle in her hand, and she gave a cry of shock and pain as hot water splashed over her wrist.

Cesar was next to her before she could turn around and give him the full benefit of her annoyance at finding her privacy invaded.

‘What have you done?’

‘What are you doing down here?’ The man looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as though he had been up for hours, and he was back in his trousers and shirt, although he had appropriated one of the baggy old zip-up sweats which she kept on a hook by the front door for those rare moments when her conscience got the better of her and she decided to go to the gym. It drowned her but on him was pulled tight, leaving her in no doubt as to the build of his olive-skinned muscular body.

‘Give me your hand.’

‘I know what to do.’ She turned away, her heart racing at the sight of him, and switched on the cold water, but he was there before her, holding her hand under the tap and then gently patting it dry with one of the tea towels on the Aga.

Jude watched, mesmerised, those long brown fingers against her pale skin, barely able to breathe properly. His clean masculine scent filled her nostrils and made her feel giddy.

‘Clumsy, clumsy,’ he tutted under his breath and she glared at him.

‘You gave me the fright of my life,’ she accused. ‘I didn’t expect you to be sneaking around at this hour in the morning! You’re a guest! Guests stay in bed until they think it’s appropriate to emerge!’

‘I’m a morning person. Up with the lark, so to speak.’ He guided her towards a chair and sat her down. ‘Do you have any antiseptic cream? Bandage?’

‘I’ll be fine as soon as you give me back my hand.’

‘Nonsense. As you said, this is my fault.’

Jude couldn’t disagree with that. She told him where to find her first aid kit and watched in silence as he efficiently bandaged her hand, treating her with a great deal more concern than the scalding warranted. Much to her discomfort because halfway through the procedure, and having recovered from the shock at having him sneak up on her from behind, she became acutely aware of what she was wearing. A baggy T-shirt, along the lines of the one she had tossed at him earlier on. It reached mid-thigh but thereafter she was fully exposed and all too aware of the unprepossessing image she presented to a man who obviously didn’t do casual, judging from his remark about her jeans outfit the night before.

She hunched forward in an attempt to conceal the jutting peaks of her breasts and then realised that she was thereby exposing them to an overhead view so she sat up and glared at his dark head as he put the finishing touch to the bandage.

‘Now stay right there and I’ll finish what you started.’

‘What have you been getting up to down here? How long have you been up?’

‘Oh, I only managed to grab a couple of hours’ sleep,’ Cesar said, his back to her as he made them both a mug of coffee. ‘Perhaps it was the novel experience of sleeping in a pink T-shirt.’

Jude took some comfort in imagining him looking ridiculous. Had he been wearing it right now, she figured she might have coped with him being in her space without her body feeling as though it were on fire.

‘Then—’ he placed her mug of coffee next to her on the table and sat down ‘—I tried to get the Internet working but it refused to oblige.’

‘Phone lines might be down,’ Jude said glumly. ‘A heavy fall of snow can sometimes do that. It can also be a bit quirky at times.’

A bit like its owner, Cesar thought. He had had time to think things over and had come to the conclusion that nothing would be gained from browbeating her. She was clearly as stubborn as a mule and, from what he could see, given to baring her claws. Far better to put away his armoury and use weapons of a different nature to find out what exactly her role was in his brother’s life.

‘I then decided to use my time profitably so I went to check on the car.’

‘And you got it started?’

‘Started but nowhere to go with it. Snow’s pretty deep.’

‘Couldn’t you have scraped the snow away? You’re a strong man,’ she added boldly. ‘Men do stuff like that.’

‘Sure, if I’d wanted to spend the next eight hours outside in the freezing cold—and here’s some more bad news. The sky looks grim and the weather reports are talking about more snow in the next twenty-four hours.’

‘They can’t be!’ Jude all but wailed.

‘Hazard of living in this part of the world. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen snow in London.’

‘How can you be so…so calm about all of this?’

‘Why get hot and bothered about something over which I have no control?’ Sure, he had uttered a few ungentlemanly curses when he had discovered the lack of Internet connection but he had now resigned himself to the fact that the business world would have to spend at least part of the weekend without him. For Cesar, this was no small thing. Work was his driving force. It took precedence over everything and everyone.

‘Because you live for your work! You practically have a bed in your office!’

‘And how do you know that?’

‘Freddy told me.’ It had slipped out before she had time to catch it and Jude shot him a sheepish look. He might rub her up the wrong way but she knew that she would have hated the thought of being discussed behind her back. ‘He just mentioned it in passing,’ she amended.

‘You two seem to share quite a close relationship…considering it’s purely professional…’

‘I never said that it was purely professional…’

‘But you told me that you were working on a project with him.’

‘I am. Was. Am.’

‘Past tense? Present tense? Which is it to be? And you never said precisely what this so-called project is.’

‘I told you, that’s something I know Freddy would want to tell you about himself.’ She belatedly remembered that she was supposed to support him whenever and wherever possible. ‘And it’s very exciting.’

‘Well, I can’t wait to find out what it’s all about. I’m literally on the edge of my seat. If my little brother is involved, then it’s sure to be a non-starter. His business sense has always been fairly non-existent.’ He finished his coffee and pulled out a stool so that he could prop both feet up—something, she noted, he seemed quite at ease doing considering he was in someone else’s house. ‘So he told you that I’m his workaholic brother, did he? In between discussing his mystery project?’

‘You make it sound as though it’s a crime to be friends with Freddy.’

Cesar decided not to inform her that it would only be a crime should she want to adjust her position from friend to spouse.

‘I’m just curious. Project to friend? Friend to project? What was the order of events? How did you meet?’

Jude looked at him warily. That earnest expression on his face didn’t fool her a bit. He was taking small steps around her, looking for clues.

‘I’m a designer,’ she mumbled, trying to sort out how she could avoid divulging details about their meeting, which had happened courtesy of Imogen. ‘And he needed some stuff doing…’

‘Oh, yes. The stuff he wants to talk to me about. And, at that point, did you know how much Fernando was worth?’

‘I knew that’s where all your questions were leading!’

‘I’m that obvious?’ Cesar asked indifferently.

‘Yes, you’re that obvious, not that you care! I have to go and get changed.’ She stood up and gave him a withering look, which had zero effect. He still carried on calmly looking at her, as though he had all the time in the world to wait until she decided to deliver the answer he wanted to hear.

‘Please don’t bother on my account,’ Cesar drawled, taking in the shapely legs which had been disguised the night before in their jeans. For someone with dark hair and dark eyes, she was delicately pale and her skin was like satin. He had become used to a diet of women who slapped on make-up. Jude, he absent-mindedly noticed, was wearing none and her face was fresh and smooth. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and he imagined that she might have been a tomboy, climbing trees and doing everything the boys did.

Jade ignored him. ‘I haven’t been eyeing up your brother as marriage material so that I can get my hands on his fortune,’ she said tightly. ‘And it’s totally out of order for you to repay my hospitality by insulting me!’

‘Come again?’

‘I could have…left you to find your way round Canterbury in the snow so that you could source a hotel!’ Theoretically. He wasn’t to know that the pleading look Freddy had given her had warned her that he needed help just in case Cesar found himself programming his sat nav for his brother’s apartment—a very strong possibility considering his lack of familiarity with the city and the deteriorating weather. Okay, so maybe hospitality implied more than had actually been delivered, because hospitality implied a smiling welcome, but she was sticking to her guns. ‘You could have ended up lost and trapped in that silly car of yours.’

‘Silly car?’

Jude made an inarticulate, defiant sound under her breath and glared at him. ‘I’m not a gold-digger. I’m not even materialistic! I don’t believe that money can buy happiness. The opposite, in fact! I’ve worked with loads of really rich people who have been miserable as anything. In fact,’ she tacked on meaningfully, ‘are you happy because you work all the hours God made so that you can accumulate more money than anyone could possibly spend in a lifetime? Freddy says that you bury yourself in your work because you’ve never really recovered from…’ She went bright red and covered her treacherous mouth with her hand.

‘From what…?’ Cesar asked softly.

‘Nothing.’

‘What did my brother say?’

‘I really need to go and change now!’ She fled. She didn’t understand how she could have been so thoughtless, just lashing out at him because he had accused her of being a gold-digger. What he’d said meant nothing to her. She should have been able to hear him out and shrug it all off because whatever he thought was never going to be her problem. Instead…

She locked the bathroom door and leaned against it for a few seconds with her eyes closed, before turning on the shower and taking her time under the cascading water.

She felt better once she had showered and even better when she had jettisoned her silly nightie in favour of her favorite fitted jeans and a tight long-sleeved T-shirt. For some indefinable reason she defiantly wanted to show Cesar that she at least had a figure of sorts!

The smell of bacon sizzling greeted her halfway down the stairs and her stomach churned in immediate response. If this was Cesar at the stove, then he was clearly more domesticated than she’d thought he’d be, imagining this brooding billionaire to be the type who had never knowingly sought out any culinary device. She walked into the kitchen and watched for a few silent seconds as Cesar popped some bread in the toaster and then began to beat eggs in a bowl.

‘You ran away before you could tell me what other little gems Fernando has shared with you,’ Cesar said without turning around.

‘I’m sorry.’ Jude took a deep breath and went to sit at the table. She stared at the bandage, then looked at Cesar’s aristocratic profile. His face was a lesson in beauty, his features sharply, powerfully defined. A portrait artist would have given their right arm to paint him. He had rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. His hands were sinewy and strong and she looked away quickly. ‘I told you that you were out of order to insult me in my own home and I was out of order to bring up something which is none of my business. Can we call it quits? Maybe start arguing about something else?’

‘I take it he told you about Marisol,’ Cesar said flatly. He had never found himself in the position of talking about his private life before, even though his late wife was not exactly a subject that was out of bounds. Hell, check his profile on the Internet and up the information would come.

‘I’m very sorry.’

‘For what? For not, as he insinuated, recovering from her death?’ He leaned against the counter and met her gaze coolly, steadily.

‘Like I said, it’s none of my business.’

‘You’re right. It’s not, but if you want to make it your business, then feel free to look it up when your Internet connection’s been restored.’ Had he never recovered? Was that the general consensus whispered behind his back? No one had ever dared say anything like that to his face, not even his uncle in Madrid, to whom he was close. The thought of other people having opinions on his state of mind made his mouth tighten in anger but there was no point in venting any of that anger on the woman sitting opposite him. He never allowed other people’s opinions to have an effect on him and he wasn’t going to start now.