hit Henri Marchand where it hurt: he had taken that double-crossing cheat’s Scottish castle off him.
Victory was more than sweet—it was ambrosial.
Remy had come out to Dharbiri so he could reflect on his prize. Tarrantloch was one of the most beautiful and prestigious estates in Scotland. It was isolated and private. It would make a fabulous base for him—a place he could call home. It would be the perfect haven to hunt, shoot, fish and hang out with his friends during his infamous week-long parties. He could have gone straight there to take ownership but he didn’t want to appear too eager to take possession.
No, it was better to let Henri Marchand—and his spoilt little brattish daughter Angelique—think this was just like any other deal done and dusted.
There would be plenty of time to rub her retroussé little nose in it.
He couldn’t wait.
* * *
Getting a flight to Dharbiri was hard enough. Getting access to where Remy Caffarelli was staying was like trying to get through an airport security check-in with a fistful of grenades or an AK47 in her hand luggage.
Angelique ground her teeth for the tenth time. Did she look like a security threat?
‘I need to speak to Monsieur Caffarelli. It’s a matter of great urgency. A family...er, crisis.’
Her family crisis.
The attendant on the reception desk was cool and disbelieving. Angelique could only suppose he was used to fielding off droves of female wannabes who would give an arm or a leg—or both—to have a few minutes with the staggeringly rich, heart-stoppingly gorgeous Remy Caffarelli.
As if she would ever sink so low.
‘Monsieur Caffarelli is not available right now.’ The attendant gave her a look that immediately categorised her as just another hopeful, starry-eyed wannabe. ‘He is dining with the Crown Prince and his wife, and according to royal protocol he cannot be interrupted unless it is a matter of utmost political urgency.’
Angelique mentally rolled her eyes. It looked like she would have to try another tactic; find some other way of getting under the radar. But she was good at that sort of thing.
Outsmarting. Outmanoeuvring. Outwitting.
She smiled to herself.
That was her speciality.
It didn’t take long to bribe a junior housemaid who recognised Angelique from a magazine shoot she’d done a couple of months ago. All it took was an autograph to get access to Remy’s suite.
The young housemaid had mentioned how important it was Angelique wasn’t seen in Remy’s room other than by Remy himself. Apparently there were strict protocols on women and men socialising without appropriate supervision. As much as it annoyed her to have to hide until she knew for sure it was Remy entering the suite, Angelique decided to play things safe.
She scanned the room for a suitable hiding place.
Behind the curtains? No; she would be seen from outside.
The bathroom? No; a housemaid might come in to clean up the appalling mess Remy had left there.
Angelique looked at the wall-to-ceiling wardrobe running along one wall.
A little clichéd perhaps...
But perfect!
CHAPTER TWO
REMY FELT A strange sense of disquiet as soon as he entered his suite; unease; a sense that the place was not quite the way he had left it. He had cancelled the evening housekeeping visit because he hated people fussing around him all the time. Surely they hadn’t gone against his wishes?
He closed the door and stilled.
Waited.
Listened.
His gaze scanned the luxuriously appointed suite for any signs of a disturbance. His laptop was still open on the desk and the screensaver was the same as when he’d left to have dinner. The can of soda he had half-drunk was still sitting where he’d left it, and a ring of moisture from the condensation had pooled around the bottom.
His gaze went further, to the open door of the palatial bedroom. The bed cover was slightly crumpled from where he had sat while he’d taken a call from one of his office staff in Monte Carlo. One of the towels he’d used when he’d showered was still lying on the floor. The clothes he’d worn earlier were in a messy pile nearby.
It was jet lag, that was all. He gave himself a mental shake, shrugged off his dinner jacket and threw it over the arm of the nearest sofa. He reached up and loosened his tie. It had been feeling a little tight all evening, but rules were rules, and he was happy to go along with them because out here he could forget he was the youngest son of the Caffarelli dynasty.
Here there was no one measuring him up against his older brothers or his impossible-to-please grandfather.
Out here he was as free as a desert falcon. He had the next few days to kick back and chill out in one of the hottest places on earth. Life could be pretty good when he was in the driving seat.
* * *
Angelique held her breath for so long she thought she would faint. But she knew she had to wait until Remy was well and truly inside the suite and in a relaxed mood before she came out of the closet—so to speak.
Not that there were too many of his clothes in the closet.
Most of them seemed to be on the floor of the bedroom or spilling haphazardly out of his lightweight travel bag. The en suite bathroom she’d scoped out earlier was just as bad. He’d left a dark ring of stubble in the marble basin when he’d shaved and there had been yet another wet towel on the floor.
It confirmed what she already knew: Remy Caffarelli was a spoilt playboy with more money than sense who had grown up with servants dancing around to satisfy his every whim.
It was a tiny bit ironic of her to point the finger at such a shiny black kettle as Remy when she too had grown up surrounded by wealth. But at least she knew how to pick up after herself and she could cook a three-course gourmet meal with one arm and her appetite tied behind her back.
Remy had never even boiled an egg.
He had probably never even boiled a kettle!
Angelique clenched her fists and her jaw.
He just boiled her blood.
She heard him moving about the suite. She heard the ring pull of a can being opened. It couldn’t be alcohol, as this was a totally dry province. There were stiff penalties for bringing in or consuming contraband liquor.
She heard the click of his laptop being activated and then the sound of his fingers typing on the keyboard. She heard him a give a deep, throaty chuckle as if something he’d just read online or in an email had amused him.
Her
