A Spanish Inheritance. Susan Stephens

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Know your enemy… Don’t reveal all your cards at once… As far as Ramon knew, she was just some small-town girl getting in his way…an easy target. Far better to leave it like that than to give him any advance warning of her plans…

      Her plans? Annalisa’s glance swept the ground as Ramon continued to study her. She had plenty of dreams…but no plans…not yet. They couldn’t be formulated until she knew exactly what it would take to launch the orange groves as a commercial venture. The only thing she was sure about was that nothing could be accomplished without the fresh water that ran across Ramon’s land.

      Suddenly the enormity of the task she was taking on hit her square in the chest. The last thing she needed was to alert Ramon to the fact that everything hinged on him—or that where fruit production was concerned she was a complete novice. To have the slightest hope of allaying his suspicions she had to show more self-assurance, put everything back on a business footing—broach the subject of his water when his guard was down.

      ‘Won’t you come inside for a cooling drink?’ she suggested briskly, heading off towards the house. But her heart was beating so hard she felt sure he would hear it. Perhaps he wouldn’t follow. Self-assurance was all very well in theory!

      But as she reached the heavy iron-studded front door she realised he was right behind her.

      ‘I’d love a drink,’ he murmured. ‘If it’s not too much trouble?’

      ‘No trouble at all,’ she said, trying to ignore the tingles of awareness spinning up and down her spine.

      The moment she closed the door behind them she knew it was a mistake. Her hand was actually trembling when she lifted it away from the handle. Enclosed within four walls, Ramon’s presence seemed to invade every nook and cranny. It was as if she was seeing the homely room for the first time—but through his eyes. On her way to the business end of the kitchen she managed to backhand a stack of documents into the bureau, plump a couple of cushions on the sofa and sweep up her mug and plate from breakfast, all without breaking stride.

      ‘Don’t go to any trouble on my account,’ he drawled, when she discreetly removed the contents of the draining board and put them in the sink.

      ‘I’m not. I—’ Having given him the best she could manage in coolly composed faces, Annalisa found her gaze trapped by a pair of very dangerous black eyes…and it seemed a very long time indeed before he turned away to inhale deeply and appreciatively.

      ‘You’ve certainly breathed fresh life into the old place.’

      So he had visited the finca before. Probably as soon as her father died…looking around the place with a view to buy… And that, more than likely, was exactly what he was doing now! But in spite of every misgiving she was proud of the newly decorated interior. She had completed every bit herself and he was the first person to see the changes.

      She had kept everything simple and in keeping with the rustic setting. The kitchen floor was tiled in natural terracotta and she had placed a huge rug in shades of russet, cream and slate blue in the centre of the room. There was a wicker basket full of fruit on the scrubbed table, and another containing vegetables awaiting preparation by the sink. She had dressed the windows with simple linen blinds and a profusion of plants and herbs competed for space on each window ledge.

      He made a sound of approval as he turned full circle. ‘Congratulations. I’m impressed.’

      Praise indeed! She relaxed a little. ‘What would you like to drink?’

      ‘Chilled water.’

      While she was busy at the dresser, fetching tumblers, she watched him out of the corner of her eye—roaming about while he waited, running his hands along the walls and stopping occasionally to give them a sharp rap with his closed fist. Her thoughts were in turmoil because…because he was acting like a prospective purchaser, she decided hotly.

      As his gaze tracked across the ceiling she heard him murmur thoughtfully, ‘Structural improvements will have to be made before next winter.’

      ‘I have already come to that conclusion myself, Señor Perez,’ Annalisa heard herself snap as she held out the glass of water.

      The ghost of a smile was the only sign that he had registered her ruffled tone of voice. ‘I am sure you have,’ he agreed pleasantly. ‘Why don’t you call me Ramon, Annalisa? Señor Perez sounds so formal.’

      Common sense screamed at her to keep the relationship on a formal footing, but pride insisted they were equals. Why not call him by his first name? He had no difficulty using hers. But as she poured herself a glass of water Annalisa realised her hands were still trembling. Ramon’s invasion of this, her private space, was far more unnerving than she could ever have anticipated.

      Avoiding eye contact as she shucked some ice into the glass, she drank deeply, relishing the cool sensation as it tracked through a body that was perilously overheated.

      Waiting until she had come out of hiding from behind the glass, Ramon issued a reminder. ‘It was you who called a meeting between us.’

      ‘Yes,’ Annalisa protested, ‘but I don’t propose to hold it here…now.’

      The look he gave her suggested that Ramon Perez was a man who had never learned the meaning of the word no.

      ‘OK,’ he said without missing a beat. ‘Let’s make it dinner.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘DINNER!’

      ‘Don’t sound so shocked,’ Ramon insisted. ‘I’m only suggesting a light meal…fresh fish…’ Then he shrugged, adding as an afterthought, ‘And perhaps a drop of champagne.’

      ‘Don’t you think it’s a little early for celebrations?’ Annalisa jumped in defensively. She might be eager to start discussions about water rights, but champagne made it all sound too much like a fait accompli—for him!

      ‘We both have to eat,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘If we do so together we can talk things through. Unless you have other plans, of course?’

      She tried racking her brain for some excuse, but every brain cell was on strike. ‘Well… No, I don’t… But—’

      ‘But?’ Ramon queried, one sable brow raised in sardonic challenge.

      How could he even ask? She steeled herself to ask the question. ‘What about Margarita?’

      He frowned. ‘Margarita is in England at the moment. She was sorry to miss you at the house. She was packing. Well, Annalisa? What do you say?’

      ‘Say?’ she repeated, transfixed by the sight of his lean tanned fingers feathering an exploration over the tender surface of one of her plants.

      ‘Dinner. Tonight,’ he repeated, more sharply.

      It would be a statement, not a question, she realised, if she didn’t get her brain in gear fast. ‘I don’t think Margarita—’

      ‘What the hell has Margarita got to do with this?’ Ramon demanded impatiently.

      ‘But she’s your—’

      ‘Margarita СКАЧАТЬ