Spanish Magnate, Red-Hot Revenge. Lynn Harris Raye

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СКАЧАТЬ International. Alejandro might never believe it, but at least she would know the truth.

      Until then, how could she go out on that terrace and face him like nothing had ever happened between them? Eating with him was too intimate, too much like the past. And after last night her nerves were scraped raw.

      She briefly considered refusing to join him, but she was too hungry—and she definitely needed the caffeine. Rebecca ran a comb through her honeyed curls one last time, before twisting them into a knot and securing it with a clip. Then she smoothed a stray wrinkle from her cream pantsuit and grabbed her briefcase, before shoving on a pair of matching sunglasses and heading for the terrace. She didn’t want Alejandro to see the dark circles beneath her eyes. He’d only gloat at her distress, and she was in no mood for it.

      She passed through a large great room, with soaring ceilings and pale stucco walls. Dark Spanish timbers spanned the ceiling at regular intervals. Cool cream furniture and inlaid Syrian wood tables clustered on silk Oriental carpets near a giant fireplace. Priceless art graced the walls—a Bellini madonna, a Picasso etching and a Velázquez oil among them. Even at his best, her father could only have afforded one or two of those paintings. Alejandro must be very rich indeed to have such a collection.

      She went through large double doors propped open onto the terrace. Alejandro sat in profile to her. His white shirt hung open casually, the paleness of the fabric in contrast to his sun-warmed skin. A gray suit jacket was draped across a chair, the expensive fabric gleaming richly in the dappled sunlight falling through the arbor. He spoke a rapid stream of Castilian into the phone wedged to his ear. He didn’t look up as she approached.

      A uniformed man held out a chair. Rebecca gave him a smile as she sank onto it.

      “Coffee, señorita?”

      “Please.”

      He poured a steaming cup for her while she helped herself to a slice of toast, spread it with jam and took a bite. She could eat a side of beef, she was so hungry, but the typical Spanish breakfast was toast and jam, or churros with a pot of chocolate. After polishing off the first slice, she fixed another, biting into it as she let her gaze roam the courtyard.

      “You wish for eggs and bacon?”

      The sudden English startled her, whipped her concentration from the hot-pink bougainvillea vines overflowing the arbor. Alejandro’s attention was on her now, the phone resting on the table beside his plate.

      “This is fine.”

      “You do not want something more American?”

      “Toast is American.” She avoided meeting his eyes.

      Alejandro shrugged. “It is not a problem. If you wish for something more, you have only to say so.”

      She continued to eat her toast. In light of all they’d said to each other last night, she didn’t want to be thankful to him for anything. Knowing she owed him for dragging her out of the pool before she drowned was bad enough. Though if he hadn’t made her so angry she wouldn’t have been in the pool in the first place.

      “You slept well?”

      “Well enough,” she said, spreading a third slice with jam. Praying he wouldn’t guess she’d done anything but. That her heart was doing double time and her nerve-endings sizzled simply from being near him.

      Before she knew what he was doing, he was standing beside her. He removed the clip holding her hair back and dropped it on the table as he tunneled his fingers into the loosened strands.

      “Alejandro—”

      “Shh.” His touch was gentle, sure—and as startling as ever. He was so close his scent invaded her senses. No chlorine this time. Just expensive soap and man. Her eyes drifted closed as warmth spread through her.

      “Ouch!” Her eyes snapped open again.

      “It’s a small bump,” he said, his fingers exploring the swelling on her head. “Nothing serious.”

      Rebecca marshaled her resolve as awareness followed hard on the heels of the warmth permeating her body. “Stop touching me,” she said, batting at his hand.

      “I have experience of these things, bella. You wouldn’t want it to be serious, would you?”

      “It’s not. Leave me alone.”

      A second later, he whipped off her sunglasses. She tried to pull away, but he gripped her chin firmly, his eyes searching hers. “You did not sleep well.”

      Rebecca managed to jerk away. She snatched the shades from his hand and replaced them, praying he wouldn’t see how she suddenly trembled with his nearness. How her skin sizzled and her blood hummed from the contact. “No thanks to you.”

      He returned to his chair and picked up his coffee cup. “It was you who pushed me into the pool, not the other way around.”

      “I wasn’t talking about the pool. I’m talking about jet lag. I was in Hawaii yesterday, New York the day before. You could have given me more time to get here.”

      Hardly the full truth of why she hadn’t been able to sleep, but that was all he was getting out of her.

      He shrugged. “It’s business. I do not have time to wait while you make your way leisurely around the world.”

      “No, I imagine stealing works best when done quickly.”

      His eyes glittered. “Careful, Rebecca.”

      “Or what? You’ll drown me in your pool?” She knew she went too far, but she couldn’t help it. Her bitterness from his accusations of last night boiled beneath the surface.

      He set the cup down and stood, tossing his napkin onto the table. “We leave for the office in ten minutes. Be in the car if you wish to salvage anything of Layton International.”

      “Is that even possible? Or do you plan to sell it off piece by piece just to hurt me?”

      He grabbed his jacket from the chair. “You will have to wait and find out. There is no other option, sí?”

      Rebecca set the toast down, no longer hungry. “You really like being the one in control. You’re enjoying this very much, aren’t you?”

      Alejandro’s smile sent a chill skimming down her spine. “You have no idea, Señorita Layton.”

      Ramirez Enterprises was housed in a sleek glass-and-steel building in Madrid’s financial district. The ride took over an hour in the thick traffic congesting the city’s heart. The limo crawled like a beetle, inching forward until an opening appeared, then shooting between narrow gaps that had Rebecca cringing each time, expecting the scrape of steel on steel. By the time the car pulled into the drive in front of the building and a doorman appeared, Rebecca was exhausted.

      When Alejandro exited the car, Rebecca on his heels, a cadre of men and women with cameras rushed forward. Flashes snapped, and Rebecca instinctively pasted on her public persona. Growing up with a wealthy father and a social butterfly mother had at least given her unfailing poise when the media appeared. It didn’t happen to her much anymore, but of course Alejandro was a famous man in his own СКАЧАТЬ