The Spanish Tycoon's Takeover. Michelle Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ damp palms down the sides of her black trousers. ‘And don’t forget he assured me that our vision for the motel was in line. Why on earth would he hire me on a two-year contract otherwise?’

      ‘To get you to sign on the dotted line.’

      But why? Why would someone with the Ramos name want this little old motor inn of no account?

      She hadn’t questioned it too much at the time, had simply been grateful that the sale would provide her with the financial wherewithal to take care of her grandmother. She squared her shoulders.

      ‘Let’s stop second-guessing the man. Our questions will get answered soon enough. Today we’re simply going to wow him with our renowned hospitality.’

      Tina gave a nod, before sending Wynne a sidelong glance. ‘Aren’t you even a little bit nervous about meeting him?’

      She wanted to deny it, but found herself running a hand across her chest in a useless effort to ease the tension that had it clenched up tight.

      ‘Terrified.’ She clenched and unclenched her hands. ‘I thought signing the sale contract would be the worst moment in this whole sorry business, but this is coming in a very close second.’

      Tina hugged her. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a tactless cow.’

      ‘Nonsense. You’re as nervous as I am—that’s all. And just as invested.’

      But the moment Xavier Ramos strode through the front door Wynne would no longer be the owner of Aggie’s Retreat. Technically she wasn’t the owner now, but it wouldn’t feel real until Xavier strode through those doors to stake claim to it.

      A black pit opened up inside her.

      ‘Misses! Miss Wynne! Miss Tina!’ Libby came clattering down the stairs from the first floor.

      ‘No running!’ Wynne and Tina shouted at the same time.

      ‘Sorry, Miss Wynne. Sorry, Miss Tina.’ Their exhortations barely dimmed Libby’s Labrador-puppy-like excitement. ‘Miss April told me to tell you a limer...limo...that a big fancy car is coming down the street.’

      Wynne’s heart started to hammer and she envied Libby her big, guileless smile. Libby was one of the team of young Down Syndrome workers that Wynne had hired from a local shelter. They formed a significant part of the housekeeping and gardening staff. April, her housekeeping manager, had been hired on a prison release parole programme. As had her maintenance man Justin. Tina and Meg had been hired from an agency that placed women who were victims of domestic abuse into the workforce. The dregs of society? Not likely!

      She swallowed. They were her family. She loved them.

      And yet she’d put her grandmother first. That knowledge—the guilt—ate away at her. She had to do her best for them. Better than her best.

      She would not let her new boss fire them.

      ‘Thank you, Libby. Now, back upstairs with you and thank April for the warning. And no running this time.’

      With a grin, Libby set off upstairs again, though thankfully at a more sedate pace.

      How will you stop him? If he wants to fire them, how will you stop him?

      She’d think of something. But hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary.

      Through the expanse of glass at the front of the building she and Tina watched a long white limousine move down the drive, past the row of Christmas palms, to slide to a smooth halt by the front doors.

      ‘Good luck to us,’ Tina whispered. ‘I’m saying prayers...lots of prayers.’

      Wynne moved out from behind the reception desk—a long curved confection of pine masquerading as polished oak—and then wasn’t sure what she should do. Hovering in the foyer like this made her feel like a fool.

      She glanced around the faux Victorian interior and, as always, it made her smile. The Axminster carpet might be faded, and there might be the odd crack in the plasterwork, but the wooden staircase gleamed with the same rich lustre as the reception desk, the ginormous vase of gladioli looked stately on its marble stand, while the ornate mirror above them reflected an abundance of light over the space. The one thing Aggie’s Retreat did well was its welcome.

      Wynne turned as a tall figure encased in an impeccable business suit strode through the door held open for him by his chauffeur. He stopped and surveyed the foyer through narrowed eyes, his chin held at an arrogant angle. His nostrils flared and light briefly blazed in his eyes before it was abruptly checked.

      Wynne blinked—and swallowed. Dear Lord, the man was tall. And...um...broad. Dark eyes speared her with a steely gaze. Very slowly he moved towards her, and the closer he came the more he reminded her of something primal and immovable—like a mountain. Such a large man had no right to move with such panther-like grace. She flashed to a vision of him bursting the seams at the shoulders and arms of his jacket like the Incredible Hulk. Except...

      Except he looked far too controlled and forbidding to do anything so unpremeditated.

      Resisting the urge to run a finger around the collar of her blouse, she forced herself forward and made her smile broad. After all this was the new owner of Aggie’s Retreat. He deserved a welcome fit for royalty.

      ‘You must be Mr Ramos.’

      He took her outstretched hand without hesitation, and this close to him she felt her pulse kick and her heart crash. He was the most disconcerting combination of hot and cold she’d ever come across. Despite the forbidding remoteness in his eyes, he had the whole simmering Mediterranean smoky sex appeal thing down pat.

      ‘Call me Xavier.’

      The words fired out of him, clipped and curt—an order rather than a request. Her spine stiffened, until she reminded herself that he’d only flown in from Spain two days ago. Jet lag probably had him desperately discombobulated. And he was her boss. He could issue orders with gay abandon and she would simply have to bite her tongue and pretend that she wanted nothing more than to do his bidding.

      She willed her body to relax. For the staff’s sake.

      ‘I’m Wynne Stephens. It’s lovely to finally meet you in person.’

      He inclined his head and his hair gleamed as dark as the sea at midnight—jet-black. She’d never seen hair so dark. It looked thick and soft, and the tips of her fingers started to tingle.

      His eyes were just as dark as his hair. The heat from his hand burned against her palm. But despite their darkness and depth his eyes remained cool. His lips had barely moved upwards into a smile, and she must have been watching too many B-grade movies recently, because she could swear she imagined a hint of cruelty about his mouth.

      Those dark eyes scanned her face and she felt as if every secret she’d ever had was being pulled out for his examination and judgement. Heat travelled up her arm and she realised her hand was still clasped in his. She tugged it free, working overtime to hold fast to her composure.

      ‘You have a very attractive...’

      Movement in the doorway captured her attention—the chauffeur, struggling in with a variety of luggage. СКАЧАТЬ