was a moment when the two of them stared at each other, unblinking, and then Rico pulled back. ‘Maria Cassavantes—allow me to present Zoë Chapman to you.’
‘Zoë,’ Maria repeated, imbuing Zoë’s name with new colour. ‘I have heard rumours about your television programmes and I would like to talk to you. Forget Rico for a moment. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement?’
It was everything Zoë had hoped for—but forget about Rico? That was asking a bit too much. She saw him tense and she couldn’t resist a quick glance of triumph.
Rico was seething. What was Maria thinking of? They knew nothing about this Zoë Chapman—nothing at all. What set her apart from all the other female sharks, with their bleached teeth and avaricious natures? Maria hadn’t a clue what she was letting herself in for—she was playing with fire…
‘We should know more about your cookery programme before Maria agrees to do anything.’ He took a step forward, deliberately putting himself between them. ‘I don’t see how flamenco could possibly be relevant.’
‘If you’d only let me explain—’
‘How can I be sure you’re not wasting Maria’s time?’
‘I said I don’t mind this, Rico.’ Maria put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘I would like to talk to Zoë and hear what she’s got to say—’
‘I promise you, Maria,’ Zoë cut in, ‘I’m not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time, least of all my own. And if you need me to prove it to you—’
‘I really do.’ It was Rico’s turn to butt in.
Maria was forgotten as they glared at each other. Then Zoë broke eye contact, allowing him a brief moment of satisfaction.
‘I’ll make everyone in the village a meal,’ she declared, gesturing extravagantly around the clearing. ‘How does that suit you, Rico?’
Now he was surprised. ‘That’s quite an offer.’ There was just enough doubt in his voice to provoke her, to brighten her green eyes to emerald and make her cheeks flare red.
‘I mean it.’
‘Fine.’ He lifted up his hands in mock surrender, then dipped his head, glad of the opportunity to conceal the laughter brewing behind his eyes. Somehow he didn’t think Ms Chapman would appreciate humour right now. But there were about one hundred and sixty souls in the village. She would never pull it off.
Ms Chapman. Who knew what was behind a name?
Rico’s gaze flew to Zoë’s hands. Clean, blunt fingernails, cut short, but no ring, no jewellery at all. He drew an easing breath. That was all he needed to know. It gave him the freedom to overlook his vow never to court trouble on his own doorstep again. ‘I shall look forward to it, Ms Chapman.’
‘Rico,’ Maria scolded him, ‘why don’t you call our new friend Zoë, as we’re going to be working together?’
‘So we are going to be working together, Maria?’
She sounded so excited. Rico ground his jaw and watched with concern as the two women hugged each other. Zoë Chapman wouldn’t win him round so easily.
‘I have never appeared on television,’ Maria exclaimed.
‘I’m going to make it special for you, Maria.’
Zoë’s promise grated on him. If she let Maria down—
‘I think we’ll make a good team.’ Maria looked at him and raised her eyebrows, as if daring him to disagree.
For now it seemed he had no choice in the matter. Zoë Chapman had won this round, but he would be waiting if she stepped out of line. Maria might have been taken in, but he wasn’t so easily convinced. The thought of an artist of Maria’s calibre appearing on some trivial holiday programme with a few recipes thrown in made him sick to his stomach.
As far as he was concerned, Ms Chapman had identified her quarry and had stopped at nothing until she got her own way. She was no innocent abroad. She had all the grit and determination of the paparazzi. That wary look he had detected in her eyes when she looked at him didn’t fool him for a minute. It was all an act. She was as guilty as hell. But Maria was right. He wouldn’t presume to make decisions for Maria Cassavantes, though in his experience third-rate television companies only dealt in plastic people; treasures like Maria were out of their league.
If he had to, he would step in to protect her from Zoë Chapman. But for now he was sufficiently intrigued to give Ms Chapman enough rope to hang herself. He would watch her like a hawk, and the first time she tried to cheapen or trivialise what Maria Cassavantes stood for both she and her television cameras would be thrown out of Spain.
‘CAN we talk business now, Maria?’
‘That sounds very formal,’ Rico cut in.
He was suspicious of her motives. She had to curb her enthusiasm, take it slowly, Zoë reminded herself. She usually got to know people first, before talking business. Building confidence was crucial. Contrary to popular opinion, not everyone wanted to appear on television. Usually she was good at choosing the right moment, but having Rico in the picture was making her edgy, making her rush things.
‘I know it’s late—I won’t keep you long.’ She glanced at Rico. ‘Perhaps if Maria and I could talk alone?’
‘It’s all right, Rico,’ Maria said soothingly.
‘I’d rather stay.’
Zoë looked up at him. ‘It’s really not necessary.’
‘Nevertheless.’ He folded his arms.
For Maria’s sake Zoë tried to bite back her impatience, but she was tired and stressed and the words just kept tumbling out. ‘Really, Rico, I can’t see any reason why you should stay. Maria and I are quite capable of sorting this out between us—’
‘It’s better if I stay.’
She could see he was adamant. ‘Are you Maria’s manager?’
‘They call him El Paladín,’ Maria cut in, interposing her not inconsiderable body between them.
‘El Paladín?’ Zoë repeated. ‘Doesn’t that mean The Champion?’ She only had a very basic knowledge of conversational Spanish to call upon. ‘What’s that for, Rico? Winning every argument?’
‘Rico is everyone’s champion,’ Maria said fondly, patting his arm.
That seemed highly unlikely—especially where she was concerned, Zoë thought. ‘Champion of what?’ she pressed.
‘Zoë likes her questions,’ Rico observed sardonically, ‘but she’s not too keen on giving answers about why she’s really here in Cazulas—’
‘And Zoë’s
