AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Anton was wishing he could take back what he’d said in the lift.
But he was angry—still angry—about many things. Not least the amount of interference and manipulation that was taking place in his life. Ramirez, his mother, Kinsella—he could go right back to the day of his birth!
And that crack by his uncle Max about his mother knowing Vaasco Ordoniz was niggling the hell out of him. It was just one more thing other people had knowledge about and he did not. If he had any sense he would just drop this whole crusade, go back to England and—
It was then that it happened. As if Ramirez himself was listening in on his angry thoughts, Anton came smack up against a heart-leaping thump that stopped him dead in his tracks.
He was standing in front of a jeweller’s window. Tall, dark hair, Latin profile, and a way of resting his hands in his pockets that was so familiar it completely locked Anton up where he stood.
Was it? Could it be? What if it was? The desire to go over there and ask the man outright if he’d heard of Enrique Ramirez vibrated like an engine in his blood.
‘Luis…?’ Cristina prompted warily.
He barely heard her. He could barely hear his own thoughts above the humming going on in his head. The man turned, as if drawn by the mental energy he was generating. The moment Anton looked into his face he knew he was looking at a perfect stranger. No green eyes, no cleft chin—no hint anywhere on that solid-shaped face that he could reflect back to himself. The rushing sinking feeling shot through him.
‘Luis, you’re hurting my hand…’
He looked down at the woman beside him. Saw the expression in her face and relaxed his grip. His half-brothers—his half-brothers, he repeated, and felt his mind swoop into full focus on his main goal in all of this.
Whatever it took, he told himself fiercely. Money, blackmail, seduction—threats. This woman, who was looking up at him through rich, dark, warily questioning eyes, was going to be his wife as soon as he could make it happen. She was going to grow ripe with his child. And to achieve those two aims he was prepared brush aside anything and anyone that attempted to run interference.
In fact he was more than ready to run some interference of his own.
And it began right here, in the first shop he pulled her into.
An hour later and they were standing in the spare bedroom surrounded by designer bags containing the designer clothes that he had chosen because she would not.
‘Put on the red dress,’ he instructed. ‘You have—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—about an hour and a half.’
With that dictatorial announcement he strode out of the bedroom and closed the door, leaving Cristina to sink down onto the end of the bed, where she sat staring at the array of bags spread around her. Even with the confused mixture of anger, hate and total bewilderment she was feeling, there was a tiny dark corner of her that wanted to dive with a shriek of delight into the lot.
There were bags containing sensuous floaty skirts and filmy tops by Nina Ricci, evening dresses from Valentino, day suits from Armani and Chanel. She could see the Gucci logo, Prada, Jimmy Choo…In a short, breathtaking hour Luis had trailed her through a wonderland of purchases without once letting go of her hand. He’d perused, selected and thrown casually at hovering assistants. If Cristina had not responded when he’d asked for her opinion, he’d used their clasped hands to lift up her chin, then kissed her full on the mouth.
He’d charmed, he’d smiled, he’d tossed off light, teasing comments. The assistants had been starry-eyed with heroworship by the time he paid his account—while she must have looked like a spoiled and petulant over-indulged lover by the frozen look on her face.
But those starry-eyed assistants did not know what was going on behind the charm he ladled out for their benefit. They could not know that those smiling green eyes were laced with anger, or that the kisses he laid on her lips were hard and cold with contempt.
Luis, she had realised very quickly, was functioning to his own agenda. Be nice to the future wife in public, but treat her like dirt beneath your feet when not.
His real agenda had been fed to his mother via the telephone, while Cristina sat miserably on the end of the bed. Yes, he was surprised to hear she’d arrived in Rio. The concierge had told him, of course—who else? No, he did not have time to share a pot of tea with her, but dinner would be nice. Eight o’clock in the Mezzanine restaurant? He was sorry he would not be able to collect her from her suite, but he had some business to attend to first, so would it be all right if they met in the lounge bar?
Kinsella arrived back from the bank looking her usual smooth, immaculate self in a cream roll-neck sweater that skimmed her figure and a pencil-slim skirt to match. Anton watched through hooded eyes as she moved around the conference room, clearing away the day’s business. Cool and calm, super-efficient—not a single hair or carefully curled eyelash out of place. There was no way from looking at her that anyone would know the danger that lurked beneath that efficient façade.
‘Join me for dinner tonight,’ he invited, in a low, soft, husky tone of voice, and saw her catch her breath before she turned to offer him a carefully composed smile.
‘I…’ She went for female hesitation.
‘My mother has just arrived from England,’ he added. ‘I thought we could turn her first dinner here into a special night.’
‘And Ordoniz?’
He did not correct the name. ‘Let’s leave her out of this for now, shall we?’ he suggested, with just enough intimacy to make Kinsella blush.
He could turn them on without batting an eyelash. Anton had always known he could do it, but would never have believed himself capable of using the gift so cynically.
‘Dinner would be lovely…thank you,’ she accepted.
She thought she’d got her man in her pocket at last.
