* *
Raul had never known such self-assured insolence from a woman as beautiful and alluring as the prim and proper Lydia Carter-Wilson. She certainly didn’t want to hear what he had to say and wasn’t prepared to listen to his suggestion for dealing with the situation they were both now in. A solution he was certain would be acceptable. Yet it was blatantly clear all this fiery beauty cared about was herself. She hadn’t changed a bit since he’d met her ten years ago. Granted, she’d become a beautiful and sexy woman, but she wasn’t any different. She was still a spoilt little rich girl. Daddy’s princess—and a liar.
He pushed down the irrational anger that engulfed him every time he thought of what his father had done. That last meddling dig at the son he’d never wanted threatened to unleash all the bitterness and contempt he’d kept hidden since his father had died five months ago. The devious old man had even known he was terminally ill and changed his will to get at him one last time.
‘No, I don’t, but then I’ve never had the dubious pleasure of lunch with a man like you.’ The hot retort fired at him and he couldn’t help but smile. It was definitely an inconvenience having to extricate himself from such an agreement with this woman, but he’d certainly not expected to find it so entertaining. She was a bundle of hot sparks and defiance. Just the mutinous tilt of her chin and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she glared at him fired something deeper than merely lust. Something he had no wish to get tangled in—ever.
She tempted him, daring him with that sexy body that begged to be made love to, and almost all rational thought slipped from his mind. But he was not his father. He would not be drawn by the lure of sex. His playboy reputation was deserved, but only as part of his armour, his defence in order to remain emotionally intact and very single.
‘And what would a man like me be?’ He taunted her, enjoying the fire of annoyance that flared in those green eyes, reminding him of the fresh leaves of spring on the trees in Retiro Park, in his city of birth, Madrid.
‘A man who thinks he only needs to smile at a woman to have her falling at his feet—or into his bed.’ The slight nod of her head, the little so there gesture, as she finished speaking made laughing at her impossible to resist.
‘My bed?’
‘Don’t you dare laugh at me.’ Indignation hurtled out with those words, all but lashing at him, and he reluctantly pushed away the image of this woman in his bed.
‘Maybe a little laughter is how we need to deal with this situation. Now, please sit down. The poor waitress has no idea if we are staying or going.’ He tried to instil some order into their meeting, which didn’t feel anything like a business lunch.
He watched as she turned to look at the waitress who was approaching their table for the second time. He liked the way Lydia’s brunette hair moved, slipping over her shoulder, the loose curls bouncing with the movement, and the way she tucked it back behind her ears. There was an air of vulnerability about her he didn’t buy into at all. There was no way this fiery creature was vulnerable. Spoilt and used to getting her way, yes, but vulnerable, no.
‘I’m not entirely sure being forced into a marriage is a laughing matter.’ She fixed those gorgeous eyes on his face, her full lips pouting slightly, making him briefly wish this were a date and that by the end of the evening he would be able to kiss them. Savagely he pushed those thoughts aside. This was not a time to become distracted.
‘Then on that we agree.’ He beckoned the waitress forward with a subtle move of his hand and watched as Lydia took the menu, appearing to use it as a shield. Against him or the situation? He watched her long lashes lowering as she read and took the opportunity to study her further. Her skin was pale, making it obvious she hadn’t spent the summer in one of her Mediterranean properties. The menu shook very slightly in her hands and he wondered if it was possible for such an audacious woman to be nervous. Much more likely to be anger, he decided, anger that was directed firmly at him. Anger was good, because then at least they could sort out this mess their fathers had selfishly created for them.
As she gave her order her voice became soft and gentle, not at all like the hard and sharp tones he’d been treated to so far. How would she sound if they were here as lovers? Would that softness be beguiling him to take her home and to his bed?
Alarmed by the train of his thoughts yet again, he dragged his mind back to the truth of the situation and placed his order. Employing all the charm he’d perfected as his armour, he smiled at the waitress.
‘So, how exactly do you propose to deal with this situation?’ The softness had gone and the question fired at him with force. Had she meant to use that word? Propose was the last thing he intended to do. He focused his attention back to the woman opposite him, the woman his father had decided would make him a suitable wife simply because of the substantial properties that she owned and her misfortune to have such a reckless and weak father.
He kept his gaze fixed on the pale beauty of her face, watching for any signs of compliance. ‘You have considerable property assets and these were the security used by your father. The terms are more than clear, as I have already informed your lawyer.’
‘I have said that I am more than happy to sell them in order to raise the funds required.’ She cut across him again, stemming the flow of his well-prepared proposition.
‘If that were possible, it would be the most sensible option. Unfortunately, my father has used this security as part of his conditions of his will.’ The outrageous terms his father had insisted on still infused him with rage as fiercely as the day he’d discovered what his father had done. A final jab at his son, even after his death, to get just what he wanted.
‘His will?’ The sharp intake of breath left him in no doubt this was not a piece of information she was aware of. ‘I’m sorry about your loss. I had no idea.’
‘Please don’t waste your sympathy on me.’ He pushed away memories of his childhood, of never being able to be what his father wanted, never knowing how to please him and having no idea why. At least that mystery had been solved. ‘My father and I were not close.’
That was an understatement. He’d lost all respect for his father over ten years ago when he’d taken his womanising to a new level, having affairs with young models and actresses who craved the limelight and high life his name and wealth could give them. The fact that everyone expected him to be just as much of a playboy had irritated him at first, until he’d learnt to use that as defence to keep women at an emotional distance.
The beautiful brunette who’d been dragged into the latest battle his father had set regarded him sceptically, the spell only broken by the arrival of their wine. He smiled at the waitress as he sampled the wine, aware of Lydia’s scrutiny with every breath he took. ‘Very good, thank you.’
‘Yes, I can see any sympathy would be a waste of time.’ Her barbed words flew at him and inwardly he baulked at her directness, but refused to let it show. He was more than used to keeping his emotions away from the scrutiny of others, used to putting on a show of uncaring detachment, and right now that suited him perfectly.
‘So, shall we discuss our options?’ Before she could once again talk over him or correct him, he launched directly into all that needed to be said. ‘I have no wish to marry anyone, least of all you, but the terms of my father’s will are very clear. Upon my father’s death, our marriage is the only way your father’s debt can be repaid—unless you have such a large sum of money saved?’
‘Why can’t I just sell the properties?’ Her eyes widened with disbelief and her hand came to her
