feeling sorry for herself.
‘Senyorita Walsh?’
She looked up, startled, when she saw a burly man she didn’t know in a suit and dark glasses standing in front of her. ‘Yes?’
‘Senyor de la Vega wishes to speak with you,’ he said, and then gestured towards a vehicle sitting at the kerb. ‘Please get in, senyorita.’
Shifting her stunned gaze from the man to the SUV, Jordan wondered how she hadn’t noticed the vehicle sooner, given that it was bigger and shinier than any other in the street. Black paintwork and dark windows gave it a slightly sinister veneer, and she couldn’t see who, if anyone, was sitting inside it. Another man of solid build stood by the rear door, which sat open, waiting for her to climb in.
Her heart beginning to pound, she bounced her gaze back and forth between the two men and the tiny hairs on her arms lifted. They were strangers, asking her to get into a car, supposedly sent by a man she barely knew.
She backed away. ‘Actually... I—I have somewhere else to be right now... Maybe Mr de la Vega could call—hey!’
Suddenly the man’s meaty hand was wrapped around her arm. Her heart tripped with panic and her brain could scarcely compute what was happening before she was tugged forward and bundled unceremoniously into the back of the SUV. She sucked in her breath, ready to scream, but the sound died in her throat as her backside landed, rather inelegantly, on soft leather and her gaze fell on the man sitting farther along the seat.
‘Good morning, Ms Walsh.’
Her pulse spiked. Hastily she righted herself, dismayed to find when she looked down that her wraparound skirt had got twisted beneath her and was gaping open, exposing the length of one pale thigh all the way up to her crotch. A fierce blush scalded her cheeks.
Lips tightly pursed, she closed the offending split with an indignant tug. ‘I’m not sure it is a good morning, Mr de la Vega.’
The car door closed behind her, shutting her in. Making her acutely aware of the confined space and the potency of the man whose presence seemed to fill every inch of the luxurious interior.
Breathing deeply, she willed her heartbeat to slow and tried not to look as overheated and flustered as she felt. How did he do it? How did he look so cool and refined in his immaculate three-piece suit and tie when the day was stiflingly hot and everyone else was melting?
Not that she could entirely pin the blame for her stampeding pulse and all-over body-flush on the rising mercury or the few seconds of fright his men had given her. But she would not think about how ridiculously handsome Xavier de la Vega was. Or how he looked not only cool and urbane in his sleek designer suit but also supremely fit and virile.
One dark brow slanted up. ‘Late night?’
Striving for an air of dignified calm, she folded her sunglasses away and pushed back some strands of hair that had slipped from her ponytail and fallen across her face. ‘Not particularly,’ she said, crossing her fingers at the tiny lie.
Technically it hadn’t been a late night but rather an extremely early morning when she’d finally collapsed into her narrow bunk bed in the hostel. As for her roomies—Lord knew what time they’d eventually crept in. They’d both still been fast asleep as of ten minutes ago, one of them lying face-down and fully clothed on top of the bedding. If the girl hadn’t been softly snoring, Jordan would have felt compelled to check that she was breathing.
She lifted her chin. ‘I was referring to the fact that I hadn’t planned on getting manhandled into a car this morning.’
He frowned. ‘You were hurt?’
For a second she was tempted to say yes, just to test his reaction, see if he was capable of demonstrating remorse, but she wasn’t that good a liar. ‘No,’ she said, because the man who’d held her had been strong, but not rough, and the only thing truly smarting was her pride. ‘But that’s beside the point.’
‘Which is...?’
She saw a flicker of movement at one corner of his mouth that looked suspiciously like amusement. ‘My point,’ she said, prising her gaze away from those firm lips, ‘is that this is a rather unorthodox way of meeting. You couldn’t have called me first?’
‘Forgive me,’ he said, but his tone and the eloquent shrug of his broad shoulders gave the impression he didn’t care one way or the other whether she did or not. ‘Given the way you came to my office in person last night, I assumed that you’d prefer face to face.’
What I’d really prefer is to wipe the superior look off your face.
The thought rushed into her head from out of nowhere, and the small surge of churlish pleasure she gained from it was quickly overshadowed by shame. She’d never hit another person in her life—had never been so much as tempted to before now. Perversely, the fact that he’d so effortlessly provoked her into thinking about slapping him only made her feel ten times more annoyed.
She considered explaining that she wouldn’t have turned up at his offices as she had if Lucia hadn’t blocked her calls and denied her an appointment, but she chose not to go there. She hadn’t warmed to the leggy brunette, but she had no desire to get the woman into trouble with her boss.
She sighed. ‘Look, I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot—’
‘Which I regret,’ he cut in, his voice growing deeper, more solemn.
She blinked. ‘You do?’
‘Yes,’ he said evenly, ‘and it is something I would like to redress, if you would allow me to.’
And it struck her then—belatedly. She’d been so blindsided, so caught up in her reaction to him, she’d failed to consider the obvious. ‘You believe me,’ she said, not a question but a statement—because why else would he be here? ‘About Camila.’
‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘I believe your late stepmother was my birth mother.’
Emotion more powerful than she’d expected drew her throat tight. She swallowed. ‘I... I’m glad,’ she said, wanting to say more, so much more, but holding back. His demeanour was calm, imperturbable, but she read the tension in his clean-shaven jaw, saw the slight guardedness in his silver-grey eyes.
And she understood. It was a big thing to process. Eventually he’d be ready. He’d want to know more about Camila, and then Jordan would have the opportunity to share her memories. To talk about the warm, generous woman who’d been her stepmom and best friend for half her life.
‘You must allow me to show you some genuine Catalan hospitality,’ he said. ‘I have a villa on the coast where my housekeeper is preparing a guest room for you as we speak. It is yours for the duration of your stay in Barcelona.’
Jordan stared at him in stunned astonishment. Last night he’d greeted her with open suspicion and barely veiled hostility, and now he was inviting her to his home?
For a moment she wondered if she should be suspicious of him.
But why?
He’d candidly expressed his regret and now he’d extended an olive branch. Wouldn’t she
