handshake.
Did she imagine it, or did he give her hand a suggestive squeeze? Mischief shimmered in those wicked brown eyes.
Susannah was good at reading people and she could tell this man was used to getting his way.
His features were aristocratic, elegant. His long, slightly aquiline nose tapering to tear-shaped nostrils. Everything about him telegraphed ease and comfort in his surroundings.
He snapped his fingers and the two giant hounds scampered to his feet and crouched there, tongues hanging, as they gazed adoringly up at him. “Apologize to the lady.” He raised his hand in a gesture, and the dogs immediately turned. Then he snapped his fingers and they sprawled at her feet.
“I’m impressed.”
“Cástor and Pólux are usually well-behaved. I don’t know why they got so worked up.” He paused, and let his arrogant gaze drift over the front of her blue jacket to the loose flowered cotton of her skirt. “Then again, maybe I do.” His eyes glittered with suggestion. “How may I help you?”
“Are you Amado Alvarez?”
“At your service.” He lowered his head in a mock bow. “Your name?”
“Susannah Clarke.” Susannah took a deep breath. “I…I have a private matter to discuss with you.”
His elegant brow crinkled slightly. “How intriguing. Do come in.” He indicated the wide stone steps in front of the open door.
He stood to one side as she climbed past him, her elbow still smarting from where his dog had smashed her against the car.
Of course, the news she brought might leave Amado Alvarez with far more than a bruised elbow.
He ushered her into a large living room with comfortable sofas arranged around a grand fireplace. The patter of massive dog feet followed them over the tiled floors.
“A private matter, you say?” He indicated for her to sit on one of the leather sofas. He sat next to her, but with enough distance to be polite. The dogs sprawled on a patterned rug in front of the unlit fireplace.
“Yes.” She knitted her fingers together. “Have you ever heard of Tarrant Hardcastle?”
Blood pounded in Susannah’s brain as he contemplated the question.
He shrugged. “No, should I have?”
“Well—” She twisted her fingers. If she blew this she could lose her job. “I’m not really sure how to say this, but he believes he’s your father and he’d like very much to meet with you.”
Amado’s eyes narrowed and his mouth widened into that crooked smile. “Is this some kind of joke? Who put you up to this? Tomás?”
She inhaled. “I’m afraid it’s not a joke. Tarrant believes he had an affair with your mother in Manhattan, back in the late 1970s, and that you are the result of that union.”
Amado’s face creased with amusement. “Manhattan? In New York?”
“Yes. She was there studying art. At least, that’s how Tarrant remembers it.”
Amado looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a third eye. “My mother…was studying art in New York City?” He let out a guffaw.
He turned his head. “Mamá!” His voice rang across the room. Susannah cringed as he called for his mother. A woman probably now in her fifties and living a respectable life, about to be confronted with a single indiscretion from many years ago that could upturn all of their lives.
She shrank into the sofa.
“What is it, sweetheart?” called a soft voice. Susannah rose to her feet as his mother entered the room. A short, rotund woman with fluffy gray hair, thick-framed glasses and navy orthopedic shoes.
Susannah blinked. Mrs. Alvarez was a stark contrast to Tarrant’s ex-beauty-queen, third wife.
Amado rose and kissed her. “Mamá, you’re going to love this. First, let me introduce you. Susannah Clarke, this is my mother, Clara Alvarez.”
“Delighted to meet you.” Clara shook Susannah’s hand gently. Her skin was soft, like her voice. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with warmth. “Have you traveled far?”
Susannah swallowed hard. “From New York.”
“Mamá, have you ever been to New York?”
Susannah could swear the older woman—and she looked to be close to seventy—suddenly changed. Her bearing stiffened, and her expression hardened. “Never.”
“Susannah seems to think you were studying art there in the 1970s.”
Clara Alvarez laughed. Not a natural laugh, though. A sharp, forced one. “What nonsense. I’ve never been farther than Buenos Aires. Why would she think such a crazy thing?”
Her eyes gleamed with suspicion—and reproof—as she glared at Susannah over the rims of her glasses.
Susannah hesitated. It was impossible to imagine Tarrant having an affair with this…little old lady. Even thirty years ago, she’d have been middle-aged. Tarrant’s current wife was half his age, if that.
“Excuse me, I have a pot on the stove.” Clara excused herself and bustled away.
“See what I mean?” Amado raised an eyebrow. “It pains me to say this, but I think you have the wrong Amado Alvarez.”
Susannah frowned. Alvarez was a common name…Could the researcher have made a mistake?
Tierra de Oro was the right place, though. And she’d been ordered not to return to Hardcastle Enterprises without a sample of this Amado Alvarez’s DNA.
Time was of the essence. Tarrant Hardcastle had already outlived his doctor’s projections, and if he was to meet his missing son before it was too late…
“The matter could be cleared up with a simple test. If you’d be so kind as to give me a DNA sample, I could get it processed immediately and we’d know the truth one way or the other.”
Amado’s eyes widened. “DNA? You want my blood?”
“It doesn’t have to be blood. In fact, a scraping from inside your mouth would be ideal.”
He clapped a large hand against one side of his face as if someone might attempt to gouge into it. “No.”
Clara reappeared, tugging a silver-haired man who stared at Susannah. Clara whispered so rapidly that Susannah couldn’t make out the words.
The dogs rose to their feet, sniffing tension in the air.
The older man strode up to Susannah and nodded a brusque greeting. “Young lady, I am Ignacio Alvarez and Amado is my son. Your business here is concluded. Allow me to escort you to your car.”
This man had brown eyes, like Amado, whereas Tarrant had blue. If Tarrant and Clara
