big society wedding between Ruiz Acosta, a fabulously wealthy Argentinian polo player, and Holly Valiant, a celebrity agony aunt who had made her name by writing a column based on living with Ruiz, would have readers hanging on Holly’s every word. Having tamed the playboy, Holly was about to marry him—and the world was waiting with bated breath to see the wedding. A wedding Maxie was going to arrange. It was a commission that would take her business to the next level, and as her income supported everything she cared about this trip was going to be a success.
The man onshore had turned his attention to the skipper. Maxie had the basics of Spanish, but she fell short where colloquialisms were concerned. ‘Is he offering to help us?’ she called out.
‘Something like that,’ the elderly skipper admitted sheepishly.
I bet, she thought, hoping Señor Acosta would have more charm. She stared at him again and quickly looked away. There was something in the man’s eyes that said he had the sort of experience no woman with any sense would choose to get close to. And Maxie had plenty of sense. Though she was lousy at relationships, Maxie conceded with a shrug. Her ideal date was a civilised chat in a civilised restaurant with a civilised man—not a walk on the wild side with a barbarian with an earring and tattoos. She couldn’t deny the man’s edgy good looks had stirred something inside her, but he was food for her fantasies and nothing more.
‘Are you from the bridal agency?’ he demanded in a deep, husky voice.
‘That’s right,’ she confirmed, halfway across the sloping plank. ‘Could you give me a hand?’ She had stopped in the middle of the plank, uncomfortably aware of the turbulent water churning greedily beneath her feet. If he’d grab her suitcase she could hold the guide ropes with both hands.
‘Try walking tall,’ he suggested. ‘Look where you’re going instead of looking down…’
Thanks very much. She’d take her chances with the fishes. But when he turned his irritation on the skipper she’d had enough. ‘If you have anything to say, you can say it to me,’ she insisted in Spanish. ‘I chartered the boat, and I made the decision to sail to the island.’
His gaze darkened. ‘You speak our language?’
‘I would have recognised your tone of voice if you’d been speaking in Ket…a language spoken only in Central Siberia,’ she muttered to herself—but he heard her.
‘If you’re so clever you should have more sense than to persuade an old man to bring you out to the island in a storm.’
Addressing his next words to Fernando, he spoke in a very different tone. ‘You look chilled to the bone, Fernando. You will stay in the guesthouse until the wind drops. I’ll have Maria come over with hot food and clean linen for you.’
‘Si, Señor Acosta, y muchas gracias.’
Señor Acosta? Maxie groaned inwardly. ‘So you’re Diego Acosta?’
‘Correct,’ he confirmed.
The ironic twist to the firm mouth might make her senses roar but this wasn’t the best of starts. Acosta might look more like a dangerous pirate than an international polo player, but his co-operation was crucial as he part-owned the island. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Señor Acosta,’ she said as she stepped with relief onto the shore.
Ignoring the hand she had extended in greeting, he turned away.
Diego Acosta wasn’t sophisticated and he wasn’t charming. He certainly wasn’t her usual type of wedding contact, who looked to Maxie for guidance. The idea of this man looking to anyone for direction was a joke.
‘Give me your bags, Fernando,’ he called out in Spanish, staring out to the boat over her head.
Diplomacy was an essential part of her skill set, Maxie reminded herself. She had dealt with plenty of difficult characters in the past—starting her training on her father, who had been a Class One bully when she was younger, before illness had reduced him to a shell. She had learned how to handle him and she would learn how to manage Diego Acosta—though she would have to be subtle. She couldn’t risk offending him. The Acosta family was so powerful they could destroy her hard-won reputation at a stroke. ‘I’m Maxie Parrish,’ she said, stepping in front of him so he couldn’t ignore her. ‘Holly’s wedding planner?’
The dark gaze blackened. What the hell had she said now?
Parrish? Memories festered inside him, though common sense told him Parrish was not an unusual name.
‘I spoke with Holly before I left the mainland—’ the girl was explaining.
‘Parrish?’ he interrupted, powerless to stem the tide of memories.
‘Yes, Maxie Parrish,’ the girl repeated. ‘From a company called Dream Weddings. Holly said she’d call to warn you I was arriving today.’
‘She did,’ he agreed, ‘but she forgot to tell me your name.’
‘Is there a problem with it?’ she demanded, smiling faintly.
‘Not at all,’ he assured her in the same detached tone. ‘I suppose I was expecting someone older.’
‘I wouldn’t send anyone else to scout a job,’ she assured him in the same courteous tone. ‘I always make the first visit and the last, Señor Acosta, as well as every other visit in between.’
She said this as if it were a gauntlet she was throwing down, but pleasantly. He wasn’t fooled. He could sense the steel beneath the accommodating manner, and his hackles rose even as more basic needs surged in response to this intriguing combination of feminine fragility and rock-solid resolve. Either way, with his brother on a polo tour and his bride-to-be at his side, Diego was stuck with their wedding planner—like it or not.
Diego Acosta was staring at her and frowning as if he thought they might have met before, which was impossible. She never forgot a face—and would never forget a face like his. ‘I can only apologise if this is a bad time for you—’
And then she saw the cane.
She should cut him some slack, Maxie resolved. A man like Diego Acosta, stripped of his full physical powers, would not be having a bad time—he would be having the worst time imaginable. She had researched the family to get a sense of who they were, and knew one of the brothers had been injured in a riding accident, but she hadn’t realised he was still suffering or that he would be her host on the island.
‘I’ll take your suitcase,’ he offered brusquely.
Disaster struck as he lifted it. His cane skidded on a stone and he stumbled. She reached out to save him, but it was the worst thing she could have done. Cursing viciously, he snatched his arm away and made off in the direction of the car park with one leg dragging badly. In the faint hope of building bridges, she chased after him.
‘I hope the weather’s better than this in June,’ she yelled against the wind. Even limping with a cane he had opened up quite a gap. ‘This might not look like a great venue at first sight, but I’m not easily put off.’ She wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her. They were heading down a stony path in the direction of a car park, where the only vehicle was a powerful off-roader. ‘Holly assures me the island is beautiful in June…’
He
