to see you again—not after everything you’ve done to undermine his business and ruin our lives in the process.’
He shrugged, lifting his thick dark eyebrows in a way that told her he didn’t care what she thought, infuriating her even more.
‘Your doubts are not my concern. My business, however, is, and right now you are preventing me from conducting that business. So, if you’ll just move aside?’
She straightened, not budging an inch. ‘It’s late. And, even if it weren’t, you’re wasting your time. You’re the last person my father would want to do business with.’
His jaw shifted sideways as he leaned forward, his black eyes coming closer.
‘Then obviously you have no idea what your father is capable of.’
His warm breath brushed her face, testosterone laced with coffee overlaid with something far more potent—
Was it ruthlessness?
Or cruelty? And for the first time her fear became tangible. Now it wasn’t only the sight of him or the sound of his hard words in a smooth accent that she had to deal with; now she had the very essence of him assailing her lungs, assaulting her senses, testing her sanity.
And it was too much.
In spite of the balmy autumn night she could feel the heated moisture break out on her forehead; she could feel every muscle tightening in preparation for fight or flight.
What had brought this man here tonight? Why would he possibly think he would be offered entrée into their house—after doing his utmost to bring her family and two hundred years of history crumbling down with them?
Right now, it didn’t matter. Because there was one thing she registered instinctively—that, whatever this man was doing here, no good could come of it. And he’d made her family suffer enough as it was.
The answer was as patently simple as it was critical. Diablo Barrentes wouldn’t cross this threshold, not while she rode shotgun.
‘Briar? Who is it, dear?’
Surprised her mother was still awake, she still only let her head tilt slightly in the direction of her voice. There was no way she was taking her eyes off the dark nemesis before her. ‘It’s no one important. I’ve taken care of it.’ And with a rush of satisfaction she reached for the handle and attempted to ram the door home.
She didn’t even come close. Like a lightning bolt, his hand shot out, palm flat and long fingers outstretched, arresting the path of the heavy door dead. Then, with just one cast-iron shove, he pushed it right back and clean out of her grasp.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she cried out in both fury and shock as the door swung wildly past her, leaving him standing exposed in the open doorway like some angry black spider determined that its meal was not going to escape.
‘Briar!’ her mother cried, her voice tense and sharp as a rapier. ‘Let Mr Barrentes in.’
She turned to face her mother fully this time. ‘You can’t be serious. Not after—’
‘I am serious,’ the older woman said in barely more than a whisper, one arm held tight around her chest, the fingers of her other hand nervously clutching at her throat. ‘Your father’s been expecting him. Come in, Mr Barrentes. Cameron’s waiting for you in the library. I apologise for my daughter’s lack of decorum.’
Briar reeled as if she’d been slapped in the face. But her mother had a point. So much for her Davenport breeding; it had gone out the door the moment she’d opened it, no match at all for dealing with a man like Diablo.
‘It’s quite all right,’ he said, striding past Briar’s stunned form with barely an acknowledgement. ‘I find there’s nothing I enjoy more these days than a woman with spirit.’
Her mother closed her eyes and seemed to sway on her feet for a moment. ‘Quite,’ she said, after recovering her composure, not quite able or willing to meet her daughter’s concerned gaze. ‘Well, if you come this way, Mr Barrentes…’
‘What’s going on?’
Carolyn Davenport turned to her daughter, or rather almost to her, focusing on a point somewhere over her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you could close the door, dear; there’s a real chill in the air tonight. Then maybe you could get the men some coffee and brandy? I’m sure they have plenty to discuss.’
Her mother had to be kidding. If there was a chill in the air it had more to do with the black cloud she’d just admitted into the house rather than the ambient temperature. And be damned if she’d serve what little was left of the good brandy to the likes of Diablo Barrentes, the man who’d almost single-handedly cost one of the oldest and most respected Sydney families its fortune.
‘I’ll get my father anything he needs,’ she conceded, swinging the door closed, realising she was abandoning any hint of good breeding and yet unable to stop herself. ‘But I’m sorry, Mother, Diablo can fend for himself.’
Half an hour later she was still simmering over the presence of their unwanted guest when her mother found her sitting alone in the kitchen.
‘Has he gone?’ she asked.
Her mother shook her head and Briar felt her blood pressure spike before forcing her attention back to the screen. Not that she could concentrate when her head was full of one take-no-prisoners Spaniard. Damn the man! What could he possibly want of her father now? There was nothing left for him to take. Even the family home—the last remaining asset—was now mortgaged to the hilt.
‘What are you doing, sweetheart?’ her mother asked as she came around behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and stroking with gentle pressure. Briar smiled as she leaned her head into the caress, feeling some of her tension dissipate under her mother’s touch.
‘It’s that schedule I’ve been working on, listing the furniture and artworks you and Dad decided you could bear to part with. I’ve spoken to the auctioneer and, rather than sending everything off in one big lot, it looks like if we send the right pieces to auction every two or three months, we’ll still have enough to meet our commitments.’
‘Oh? Is that right?’ Her mother’s hand stopped moving and she shifted to the stool alongside, the tight frown that marred her brow as she contemplated the detail of the spreadsheet’s contents adding at least ten years to her age.
And suddenly Briar regretted her earlier behaviour at the front door. Carolyn Davenport had been barely more than a shell of her former self lately, her skin pale and drawn, her emotions brittle. The stress of their money troubles was taking its toll on all of them, but on none more so than on her mother, who was still feeling the loss of her eldest child two years before. Almost too reluctant to venture downtown any more, she’d been constantly humiliated by the newspaper articles documenting the family’s downfall and the endless pitying looks from one-time society friends. And, despite the provocation of the most arrogant male in the world, Briar hadn’t helped the situation by behaving more like a teenager in a snit than the twenty-four-year-old woman she was.
With a few quick clicks of her finger, she saved the spreadsheet and closed down the computer. Being reminded of the family heirlooms that would soon no longer be theirs was no doubt the last thing her mother needed right
