Wed For The Spaniard's Redemption. Chantelle Shaw

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      ‘I have no desire to marry,’ Rafael gritted, barely able to control his anger.

      ‘In that case I will appoint your half-brother as my heir on my eightieth birthday.’

      ‘Dios! Your birthday is six weeks from now. It will be impossible for me to find a bride and marry her in such a short time.’

      ‘Nothing is impossible,’ Hector said smoothly. ‘Over the last eighteen months you have been introduced to several high-born Spanish women and any one of them would be a suitable wife for you. If you want to be my heir badly enough you will present your bride to me and we will have a double celebration to mark my landmark birthday and your marriage.’

      Hector ended the call and Rafael swore as he threw his phone down on the desk. The old man was crazy. It was tempting to think his grandfather had lost his marbles, but Rafael knew that Hector Casillas was a shrewd businessman. The CEO-ship had been passed down to the next generation’s firstborn male since Rafael’s great-great-great-grandfather had established the company, one hundred and fifty years ago.

      Hector Casillas’s only offspring had been a daughter so Rafael, the oldest grandson, was next in line. But he knew that many on the board of directors and many of his relatives were not in favour of an outsider—which was how they regarded him—being handed the reins of power.

      Hector’s words taunted him. ‘If you want to be my heir badly enough...’ Rafael bared his teeth in a mirthless smile. Becoming CEO of the company was the only thing he wanted. Being named as his grandfather’s successor had been his dream, his obsession, since he was a skinny twelve-year-old kid who had been taken from poverty into the unimaginably wealthy lifestyle of his aristocratic family.

      He was determined to prove that he was worthy of the role to his detractors, of whom there were many—including his mother and her second husband. Alberto Casillas was his mother Delfina’s second cousin, which meant that their son Francisco was a Casillas to his core. Like that of many aristocratic families, the Casillas gene pool was very exclusive, and the majority of Rafael’s relatives wanted it to stay that way.

      But the retail industry was going through big changes, with increasing focus on internet sales, and Rafael understood better than most of the board members that the Casillas Group must use innovation and new technology so that it could continue to be a market leader. His grandfather had been a great CEO but now new blood was needed.

      But not a gitano’s blood, taunted a voice inside him. Once he had begged for food like a stray dog on the filthy streets of a slum. And, like a dog, he had learned to run fast to avoid his father’s fists.

      Rafael shut off the dark memories of his childhood and turned his thoughts to the potential brides his grandfather had mentioned. He’d guessed there must be an ulterior motive when his mother had invited the daughters of various elite Spanish families to dinner parties and insisted that Rafael should attend. But he hadn’t taken the bait which had been dangled in front of him and he had no intention of doing so—despite Hector’s ultimatum.

      He would have to marry, but he would choose his own bride. And it would not be a love match, he thought cynically.

      A psychologist would probably suggest that Rafael’s trust issues and avoidance of commitment stemmed from his being abandoned by his mother when he was seven. The truth was that he could forgive her for deserting him, but not for leaving his sister, who had been a baby of not even two years old. Sofia’s distress had been harder for him to bear than his father’s indifference, or the sting of Ivan Mendoza’s belt across the back of Rafael’s legs.

      His determination to gain acceptance by the Casillas family was as much for his sister as for himsef. He would be CEO and he was prepared to offer a financial incentive to any woman who would agree to be his temporary wife.

      Once he had achieved his goal there would be no reason to continue with his unwanted marriage, Rafael brooded as he grabbed his briefcase and car keys and strode out of his office.

      His PA looked up when he stopped by her desk. ‘I’m going to my ten o’clock meeting and I should be back around lunchtime,’ he told her. ‘If my grandfather calls again tell him that I am unavailable for the rest of the day.’ He paused on his way out of the door. ‘Oh, and, Philippa—get rid of those damned newspapers from my office.’

      * * *

      The day couldn’t get any worse, surely?

      Juliet chucked her phone onto the passenger seat of the van and slid the key into the ignition. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. After she had lost her parents in the car accident which had also ended her dancing career she’d decided that nothing could ever be so terrible that it would warrant her tears.

      But today had started disastrously, when she’d read a letter from an Australian law firm informing her that Bryan intended to seek custody of Poppy. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach. She couldn’t lose her daughter. Poppy was her reason for living, and even though her life as a single mum was a struggle she would fight with the last breath in her body to keep her little girl rather than hand her over to her father, who had never shown any interest in her until now.

      A phone conversation with her business partner Mel a few minutes ago had been the final straw on this day from hell. Her life was falling apart!

      Juliet watched the rain streaming down the windscreen and blinked back her tears. There was no point sitting here in the car park behind the Casillas Group’s plush offices in Canary Wharf. She still had sandwich deliveries to make to other offices in the area. Her business, Lunch To Go, might be facing ruin, but her customers had paid for their sandwiches and wraps and they were expecting her to turn up.

      She sniffed as she started the engine and pulled her seat belt across her lap before putting the van into gear and pressing her foot down on the accelerator pedal. But instead of moving forward the van lurched backwards, and there was a loud bang followed by the tinkling sound of broken glass.

      For a split second Juliet couldn’t think what had happened. But when she looked in her rear-view mirror it was obvious that she had reversed into the car which had swung into the parking bay behind her.

      And not just any car, she realised with mounting horror. The sleek gunmetal-grey Lamborghini was one of the most expensive cars in production—so Danny, the parking attendant who allowed her to park her van in this car park, which was reserved exclusively for Casillas Group executives, had told her.

      The day had just got a whole lot worse.

      She watched the owner of the Lamborghini climb out of his car and stoop down to inspect the front bumper. Rafael Mendoza-Casillas: managing director of the Casillas Group UK, international playboy and sex god—if the stories about his love-life which regularly appeared in a certain type of newspaper were to be believed.

      Juliet’s heart collided with her ribs when he straightened up and strode towards her van. The thunderous expression on his handsome face galvanised her into action and she released her seat belt and opened the driver’s door. God, she hoped the damage to his car wasn’t too bad or too expensive to repair. A claim on her vehicle insurance would bump up her premium next year.

      ‘Idiota! Why did you try to reverse out of your parking space? If you’d had the sense to use your mirror you would have seen that I had parked behind you.’

      His gravelly voice with its distinct Mediterranean accent was clipped with anger. СКАЧАТЬ