Kept by the Spanish Billionaire Page 5

  ‘Well?’ Amy prompted, strolling over so that she could position herself behind him and attempt to open up the lid of the computer that he had snapped shut over his shoulder. Rafael gripped both her wrists and tugged her gently so that she very nearly lost her footing and fell against him.

  Amy felt her heart stop then quicken until she was feeling a little faint. Something about the broad hardness of his back against her chest and the feel of his fingers circling her wrists…

  Having spent a lifetime being totally at ease in the company of the opposite sex, Amy now felt strangely and disconcertingly awkward and exposed as he brought her around to face him, still holding onto her.

  ‘Ever heard of personal space?’ Rafael asked. Her wrists felt like twigs between his fingers. He had never felt anyone as delicate as her before. He released her and folded his arms behind his head.

  ‘Sorry…I’m just so accustomed…to…’ She fell silent and rubbed her wrists, unconsciously taking a couple of steps backwards then laughing at herself for acting like a fool.

  ‘To…?’ He stood up and headed towards the kitchen and Amy fell in behind him.

  There. It somehow seemed a lot safer talking to a back. ‘To a big family. Three brothers.’ Amy laughed as she regained her composure, although she was still rubbing her wrists as if trying to disperse the sudden heat she had felt there. ‘And a pretty small house. I guess the personal space thing wasn’t really in evidence a lot…so…I’m sorry…’

  ‘Apology accepted. Now, what would you like for breakfast?’ He pulled open the fridge and Amy’s mouth dropped open. She had expected a carton of milk edging towards its sell by date, maybe an egg or two, a few cans of beer and a block of cheese. Instead she was presented with an abundance of edible delights. Smoked salmon shared shelf space with what looked like some pretty expensive pâtè, a dozen eggs were neatly housed above the shelf with some white wine, there was salad, bright green and fresh, and a variety of different cheeses. As a caterer, she was used to rapid visual scans of cupboards and fridges and she had never seen a better, or more expensively stocked one in a very long time.

  She reached in and extracted the packet of duck pâtè.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Rafael said dryly.

  ‘Fantastic assortment,’ Amy breathed. To hell with personal space, she had to have a closer look at the yummy contents of his refrigerator. ‘Sorry to be nosy…’ She peered in and would have investigated further had he not smartly shut the door on her enquiring face.

  ‘I’ll get some bread. Sit down.’

  Amy obediently sat at the kitchen table, which was a chrome and granite testimony to expensive modern living. She wondered how a humble gardener, non humble though he might be in character, could afford such luxury and decided that James must foot the bill or, rather, his mother who owned the house.

  ‘Interesting…’ She couldn’t help herself. She held up the nutty roll and twirled it thoughtfully between her fingers.

  ‘The roll is interesting?’ Rafael asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee and swinging round one of the chairs so that he could straddle it and face her.

  ‘Very interesting.’ Amy’s voice was loaded with intent. ‘Involved in the food business as I am, I would suggest that this is a home-made granary roll, not your average supermarket all-air-and-no-substance look-alike…’

  ‘Where are you going with this?’

  ‘Straight to this question…’ She slit it open with her fingers and dived into the most delicious breakfast of pâtè and bread she had had in years. ‘How does the gardener afford a fridge full of the finest food money can buy?’

  Rafael, having seen fit to economise with the truth when it came to his identity, could now only think on his feet.

  ‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a man of taste, whatever my profession, and as you can see I have no family on which to spend the money I earn.’ That much was true enough at any rate.

  ‘What happens if you do decide to…you know…get married, start a family? I mean, I know you said you’re no Romantic, but even boring pragmatists eventually meet the right woman and get married…What I’m saying is this…would you have to leave this fantastic place?’ She had a dreamy mouthful of pâtè and nutty bread and looked at him as she ate.

  He really was striking, in a rough sort of way. Charmless, of course, she told herself, quickly remembering the way he had snapped to her about his ‘personal space’, as if he believed he had every right to dictate.

  ‘I can’t believe the extent of your nosiness,’ Rafael said wonderingly. ‘Trust me when I tell you this—should you ever grow bored with the catering business, then private investigator would be right up your street.’ And what did she mean by boring pragmatist?

  ‘It was just a question,’ Amy said, hurt. ‘I didn’t think I was invading your precious personal space. It’s no wonder you can’t get soul mate lady gardener to share your life with you! Not if you make a habit of jumping down people’s throats the minute they ask you a perfectly normal question!’

  ‘I don’t happen to be looking for a soul mate, lady gardener or otherwise,’ Rafael grated, thinking of cool, sophisticated, attorney ex-girlfriend Elizabeth. ‘And to answer your perfectly normal if incredibly nosey question, yes, the house is mine whatever my personal circumstances.’

  ‘Wow.’ Amy finished the last of the roll with some regret.

  Which signalled the time for her departure, Rafael thought. And he could get down to some work. He had overslept, a first for him considering he had often worked through the night and had successfully made do with a couple of hours’ sleep before facing the day with spring in his step. He could only assume that listening to a ranting emotional female was a hell of a lot more stressful than closing a deal.

  ‘Still…I guess you must find it a bit…difficult in some ways…’

  It was like seeing a trap lurking in the distance, knowing that the simple way to sidestep the threat would involve just one simple manoeuvre, and yet pushing on straight into the ambush, eyes wide open. Rafael knew that he should just ignore her loaded, obscure remark and hustle her out of the house and yet…

  ‘I have no idea what you’re on about now,’ he told her, getting an annoyingly speculative once over for his remark.

  ‘Well…’ Amy remembered his ‘personal space’ remark and realised, before she did her usual and spoke without thinking, that she was on the verge of crashing through his Do Not Enter sign with a resounding bang. She stood up, glanced around for her ruined sandals, which seemed to have been put through a wash cycle and now appeared unwearable, and walked towards the door.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to go now and leave you in peace, if you don’t mind pointing me in the right direction. I think I can manage the walk back now!’

  ‘You’re too late to catch any of the day trips,’ Rafael told her. For some reason it irritated him that she hadn’t finished what she had been intending to say. What was even more irritating was the fact that she had not been trying out the coy ploy by leaving him hanging on. No, he got the feeling that she had, at the last minute, reconsidered voicing her thoughts because she felt sorry for him. In the great scheme of things, no one felt sorry for Rafael Vives. At least not the Rafael Vives who inhabited the rarefied world of the extremely wealthy, the extremely powerful and hence the extremely respected.

  ‘I know.’ She was inspecting her sandals as if hoping that they might reveal themselves as wearable after all. But no. The dainty straps, like strings of cleverly positioned tan spaghetti, were mangled beyond redemption. She picked them up with a little sigh of resignation and looked at Rafael. ‘Everyone will have left at nine-thirty. Walking along the golden sands, having a fun barbecue on the beach…well, who needs that when you can slink back to an empty house and spend the day on your own by a deserted pool?’ Amy said mournfully.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be slinking anywhere on those shoes,’ Rafael said, his lips twitc
hing. ‘I’m afraid I slung them in with the clothes thinking it would do the trick.’

  ‘That would have worked if they’d been made out of cloth,’ Amy told him, with a reluctant grin. ‘Don’t worry. They were useless anyway. James didn’t look at me twice when I had them on.’

  Rafael made his mind up. To hell with the work. It would keep. ‘Come on. We’ll take the car.’

  Amy wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She accepted the ride with alacrity.

  What was less easy to swallow was the car waiting for them when they finally hit the path that circled the vast grounds. No muddy four wheel drive. Instead a low-slung sports car, Rafael’s own tribute to a recklessness that his very controlled and highly organised life lacked.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ he warned her, beeping it open from the key ring in his trouser pocket.

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ She allowed him to open her door for her, appreciating the display of good manners, which she wasn’t accustomed to seeing, and slid in. Inside was as gleaming as outside, from the spotless cream leather bucket seats to the walnut dashboard in which she could see her reflection if she peered hard enough. She turned to him with a grin and couldn’t resist adding, ‘Although I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you do meet that soul mate gardener of yours, the one you say you’re not looking for!’

  ‘I won’t even bother to ask you what you’re on about because I know you’re going to tell me anyway.’ He felt a sudden rush of carefree abandon as his car roared into life and he began eating up the perimeter road, heading out of the estate towards…the town centre? One of the beaches?

  Amy, giving him her undivided attention, was blissfully unaware that he was driving away from the direction of the house. In fact, she was blissfully unaware of pretty much everything aside from his strong, determined profile, the slight smile tugging the corners of his mouth, the hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, a man in complete charge of his machine.

  ‘Well, if you insist on knowing, and please don’t give me a long, boring sermon on infringing your personal space when you’ve given me permission to tell you what I’m thinking…’

  Rafael flicked her a wry, sidelong glance.

  ‘…but I’d love to see you when the time comes for you to part with this sports car…boys and their toys…’

  ‘I’m not following you.’

  ‘Well, you can afford all this stuff now because you have no responsibilities…aside from the gardens, of course,’ she added hastily, because it infuriated her when other people downgraded her own job just because it didn’t involve wearing a suit or working in front of a computer, ‘but believe me this will be the first thing you’ll have to jettison when you get a wife and start having a family.’ She sneaked a look at him and something peculiar happened in her stomach when she imagined what his kids would look like. She looked away hurriedly.

  ‘Just another reason why I’m not on the lookout for the soul mate.’ Rafael grinned and looked across at her. ‘And by the way, we’re not heading back to the house just yet…’

  ‘We’re not? Why not?’ She felt something akin to a prickle of excitement and explained it away as sheer relief that she would be spared having to spend the whole day on her own, moping about James.

  ‘I feel morally obliged to replace the shoes I destroyed,’ Rafael told her gravely so that Amy didn’t know whether he was being serious or not.

  ‘There’s no need,’ Amy told him quickly. ‘Honestly. I have my trainers and I can always borrow some of Claire’s shoes. We’re the same size.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’

  ‘But what about your work? You were busy on the computer this morning. I wouldn’t want to interrupt…whatever it was you were doing…’

  ‘Now why do I get the feeling that there’s an undercurrent of sarcasm there?’

  ‘You’re not much like a gardener, are you?’ Amy teased, enjoying the moment.

  ‘I don’t know. Have you met a lot of gardeners?’

  ‘I’ve met a lot of…all types.’ Amy laughed.

  ‘You should be careful when you say things like that,’ Rafael said, flicking a glance in her direction. ‘Men might get the wrong impression.’

  ‘Well, they’d be wrong,’ Amy told him truthfully. She turned away and stared out of the window. While she had been engaged in conversation, the stunning scenery had been flashing past her. Now she took her time to drink it in and Rafael swiftly changed the subject. He really had no idea how their conversation had moved so quickly into personal territory, nor did he know why the hell he had made the decision to drive her into the town to get a pair of shoes. Since when did he ever go shopping with a woman? It simply was one of those pastimes he preferred to avoid. He knew nothing about choosing women’s clothing and cared even less. He had always found James’s interest in shopping, be it for himself or whatever woman he happened to be with, very amusing.

  So why, he asked himself now, the unnecessary trip? He frowned and pushed the uninvited question out of his head. There was a lot to tell her about Long Island and he did. The beaches were spectacular, as were the pine forests with their quiet nature trails and the secluded freshwater ponds. What he had no need to mention, but what Amy saw perfectly well for herself, was that the place reeked of money. She had no idea how much a simple pair of sandals was going to cost, but she was pretty sure it would be beyond her modest budget and she awkwardly explained that to Rafael when they had eventually arrived at the quaint, perfectly preserved little town with its frighteningly expensive-looking boutiques.

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ Rafael said, neatly parking the car and turning to look at her before he opened his door.

  ‘You can’t “take care of it”. And anyway, why should you?’

  ‘I washed the damn things.’

  ‘Which you had to do because I tramped miles across the estate and landed up in a tree.’

  ‘At least you seem to have cured yourself of your broken heart,’ Rafael told her, swinging away and letting himself out of the car before she had a chance to reply. ‘I thought,’ he carried on, leaning on the bonnet of the car as he waited for her to emerge, ‘I might have been dealing with a sobbing mess, but if all your emotions are focused on whether I should or shouldn’t pay for a pair of shoes for you, then it’s fair to say that you’re over your boss. Love is cheap, isn’t it?’ He raised one amused eyebrow and she could have belted him.

  ‘I…I…just didn’t want to bore you with my emotions!’ Amy spluttered. She’d spent many months cheerfully infatuated with James. There was no way she was going to be accused of being shallow, of getting over it all in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Oh. I suppose I should be grateful for that in that case.’ He slammed shut his car door and waited until she was standing by his side, barely reaching his shoulder with her high-heeled sandals off. He looked down at her bare feet. ‘We’d better get you some shoes quickly.’ Which brought her full circle, back to the distraction of trying to persuade him that there was no need to fork out—how much?—for a pair of shoes. Not when he was just a lowly worker like herself and she knew how much the passing overpriced purchase could hurt…even when the shoes in question were undeniably…she twirled one slender foot with appreciation…gorgeous. Flat, tanned and perfectly functional were it not for the tiny exotic row of diamond look-alikes across the straps. They would look perfect with trousers or a skirt and absolutely radiated femininity.

  Rafael looked on as she tested them in the shop, pausing in front of the mirror for further, more detailed inspection. Unlike James, he was a mind man, a guy who liked what happened in a woman’s head rather than what took place on the outside, although it had to be said that he had thus far never had a problem finding women who were a happy mixture of both. This woman, whatever the hell happened or didn’t happen in her head, was the epitome of femininity, he conceded, from the blonde cloud of hair to the dainty ankles that were now being paraded in front of him for his i
nspection. He grunted.

  ‘I can’t get them unless we go halves,’ Amy said firmly. ‘They’re just way too expensive.’ Staring down at her feet, she missed the puzzled look Rafael received from the boutique owner and the quick shake of his head in response.

  He shrugged and agreed. Had she but known the vast extent of his personal fortune, he wondered whether she would have been quite so considerate of his finances. He also wondered whether James’s bank balance had played any role in her infatuation. She gave the impression of being utterly transparent, but serious wealth was a harsh teacher when it came to matters of trust.

  It was perfectly clear to him that what she felt for his step-brother was simply a mild case of infatuation and there was no chance that James would fall for her charms, at least not the James that he knew, but just in case Rafael decided that it was his duty to ensure that the unthinkable didn’t happen. He didn’t know the first thing about the woman but certainly her profession predisposed him to think that the lure of someone else’s money might be very strong indeed.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Amy hissed to him under her breath. ‘There’s no need to look so grumpy!’

  ‘Do you always have to say exactly what’s on your mind the minute the thought occurs?’

  ‘If by that you mean am I a pretty honest person, then yes!’

  ‘Are you now?’ He handed over his credit card but continued to look at her so thoughtfully that Amy eventually released one long, laborious sigh.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I try to be.’

  Rafael decided that he would come to that later. He handed over the bag with the shoes, which she immediately put on with a smile.

  ‘You like pretty things, don’t you?’ he mused, knowing that that in itself might well be a mark against her, but still reluctantly enjoying her obvious delight in her purchase. She was like a kid with a new toy. Having never indulged in shopping expeditions with women, he wondered whether Elizabeth would have taken similar pleasure in the purchase of a new pair of shoes, and reckoned not. For starters she wasn’t a strappy, diamante-beaded sandal kind of woman and he doubted a pair of high black shoes would arouse a similar enthusiasm.