her mother the news that she had received yet another worrying letter regarding her debt. Frances Douglas would sell the clothes from off her back if it would help her daughter and grandson make ends meet, and she had already threatened to take a second mortgage out on her own house to help them. She had done enough. Without her help Briana wouldn’t have been able to set the business up in the first place. Now it was up to her to get them out of the hole they were in.
Pushing her fingers resignedly through the mane of silky brown hair that seemed to have a mind of its own, she returned to the kitchen with a deliberately cheerful smile on her face. Her young son was seated up at the breakfast bar on a high stool, eating his cereal, and his grandmother was busy slotting two slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster.
The child beamed when he saw Briana. ‘Mummy, this is my second bowl!’ he happily announced, milk glistening on his small dimpled chin.
‘Is it, my angel? No wonder you’re getting so big!’ Lovingly dropping an affectionate kiss on the top of his silky dark head, Briana started moving away towards the boiling kettle on the marble-effect worktop. ‘Cup of tea, Mum?’
‘Why don’t you sit down with Adán and let me do it? And you’re not going out of this house this morning until you eat at least a couple of slices of toast, either! All this worry is making you thin and pale—and how is it going to help anybody if you fall ill?’
‘It’s not that I’m not eating.’ Curling her hair behind her ears, Briana sighed and dropped teabags into the two waiting mugs, ‘I’ve just been a bit distracted, that’s all. This weekend simply has to go well, Mum. I’ve got three entrepreneurs entertaining some billionaire from abroad, and I’ve got to help take care of them in a Tudor mansion I haven’t even had a chance to familiarise myself with yet. I have to get there early and get my act together to greet them or I’ll be for the high jump! Thank God Tina went there yesterday, to do some groundwork for me! If I impress, it’s been hinted that there might be some more work coming my way from that direction—so keep your fingers crossed for me, won’t you?’
‘You shouldn’t need me to keep my fingers crossed!’ Frances Douglas announced, her smoothly powdered features gently chastising. ‘You are the very best at what you do, Briana Douglas, and don’t you forget it! Your trusting nature brought you that bad debt that’s got the business into trouble…not your lack of ability!’
‘Thanks, Mum. I needed a boost this morning. You’re an angel!’
‘And don’t fret about Adán either. I have a lovely weekend for us both lined up. I just want you to go to work and concentrate on what has to be done without worrying about us.’
‘I promise I won’t let you down.’
The older woman’s light grey eyes glistened. ‘You’ve never let me down in the whole of your twenty-seven years, child, so don’t even think such a thing!’
Her own eyes moist, Briana sniffed and gave her mother a brief hard hug. She was so lucky. She had the most wonderful mother a girl could wish for, and a darling little boy who was the light of her life. All things considered—financial problems aside—she wasn’t doing badly. So why, then, just at the moment when she had determinedly decided to look on the bright side, did a disturbing vision of her child’s father slide across the cinema screen of her mind and clamp her heart hard enough and painfully enough to take her breath away?
The house was startlingly impressive. Set in the napped velvet green of the gently undulating Warwickshire landscape, in what was known as Shakespeare country, it was a genuine beautiful relic from England’s tumultuous Tudor past that anyone with half an interest in history would relish.
Pascual had stood outside for several minutes after the chauffeur had opened the door of the Rolls-Royce that had brought him from the airport—simply to admire its black and white three storeyed wattle and daub façade and the small arched windows with their leaded panes. The grounds were stunning too. On the way in they had driven past an imposing gatehouse and parkland, as well as some trees that looked as durable as any fascinating ancient monument he had ever seen. As if to doubly remind him that he was in the English countryside now, and far from the vibrancy, colour and heat of Buenos Aires, rain had started to fall—softly at first, then hard enough to make him immediately dash for cover.
As he did so he literally bumped into a young slim blonde who announced that her name was Tina and that she was working for the businessmen who were hosting Pascual’s stay this weekend. After showing him to his suite of rooms she said she would bring him some coffee and refreshments—then her colleague would take him to meet his hosts.
Welcoming the opportunity to shower and take stock of his surroundings before partaking of any refreshments and putting on his ‘business head,’ Pascual took his time getting ready for his meeting. All the while the steadily falling rain drilled against the diamond-patterned leaded windows of his bedroom and, glancing outside, seeing the boughs of the surrounding trees bend almost to the ground, he realised that the wind was whipping up quite a storm too. But inside it was cosy and warm, and the kind of peace and quiet that he almost never experienced at home descended like a soft down blanket, cocooning him from the rest of the world.
His ensuing sigh was almost contented. After all…what had he to worry about? However long he made his hosts wait, the last thing they would do would be to voice a complaint. They were getting the chance to buy the most sought-after thoroughbred polo ponies in the business—the elite of the elite—and so they would stem their impatience and relax for however long it took before Pascual finally sought them out.
Absorbed with fastening the small diamond cufflinks on his tailored deep blue Savile Row shirt, he frowned at the sudden knock on the door. No doubt it was the little blonde, returning with his refreshments, he thought lazily. Good. He could do with some strong black coffee.
Outside the panelled oak door in the long, lowceilinged corridor, Briana was schooling herself to try and breathe more slowly. She’d arrived late, despite all her best efforts, and had just got there in the nick of time to take the tray of coffee from Tina and bring it up to their VIP guest’s room. Patting down her hair, she hoped her motorway dash and her lack of time to retouch her make-up would not detract from the warmth and professionalism that was usually her byword. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to ask Tina what their important guest’s name was! Never mind. Perhaps he’d just be so grateful for the coffee he wouldn’t notice that she didn’t address him by his name.
The silver coffee pot, patterned cup and saucer and little white jug on the elegant silver tray rattled a little between her hands as Briana held it, and she made herself take another steadying breath.
‘Good timing! I was just—Dios mio!’
Hooded eyes the intensity and colour of luxurious cocoa set in a handsome strong-boned face with high cheekbones and the most sensuous masculine mouth imaginable stared back at her, as though its owner hardly believed the validity of his own eyesight.
‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’
Just in time Briana held onto the already precariously rattling tray. Was she dreaming? As her heart pounded out a shocked tattoo, she had to struggle to maintain her balance. Pascual was the VIP guest? How could she not have known that? Suddenly her equilibrium and professionalism fled altogether, and she was left feeling so painfully vulnerable, exposed and inadequate that tears were a mere breath away.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
For a moment his accent sounded heavier than she remembered.
