The Forbidden Cabrera Brother (Mills & Boon Modern) Read online

  Shopping with Dante Cabrera was not a sensible experience. The opposite. He snapped his fingers and people hastened to please. She was the beneficiary of his largesse and it was thrilling. She didn’t want it to be, but it was.

  Silk and soft cottons were laid for her inspection. The finest leather was brought out on show. She had had to resist the temptation to lovingly stroke some of the items of clothing.

  ‘If you want an objective opinion,’ Dante had drawled, standing next to her in that very first exclusive boutique, when the glamorous woman in charge had hurried off to find the right size for a dress Caitlin had guiltily admitted to really liking, ‘then feel free.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she had responded politely. But she had still felt his presence as he’d accompanied her on the shopping trip, had found her mind wandering back time and again to those dark, hooded eyes, his lean beauty, to the insane appeal of his lazy self-assurance.

  His driver took bags of shopping to the car, patiently waiting wherever they happened to be.

  It was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time and then, when it was over, when they were being ferried back to the house with half a store in the boot of the car, Dante murmured, softly, ‘You should wear something you bought today to visit my parents. I accepted an invitation on your behalf. They’re concerned about you...’

  On a high from shopping, from breaking out of her comfort zone, temporarily freed from the unending stress of the past few months when every penny had had to be counted and allocated to a fund for her parents, Caitlin nodded. Yes. Why not? What was wrong with feeling like a living, breathing woman again? Just for an evening?

  Dante’s low-slung Ferrari glided through the iron gates, which opened silently at the press of a button.

  It was mid-afternoon. He should still be at his glass high-rise in the Silicon Valley just outside the city centre.

  Why was he here, driving up the tree-lined avenue towards his house?

  Of course, he knew why. He hadn’t been able to focus. He hadn’t been able to focus for the past three days.

  That shopping expedition...

  Dante had been shopping with women before. He had always taken his laptop because, in between watching the inevitable parade of outfits, he had always been able to catch up on his emails as he’d positioned himself on a chair, in for the long haul.

  He enjoyed lavishing presents on the women he went out with. Why not? He had more money than he knew what to do with. And women enjoyed being treated like queens.

  Caitlin had not been one of them. Her remark about him throwing money at women because money was an easier sweetener to dish out than time and commitment had rankled. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t a case of one or the other. It was a case of him not being interested in commitment but enjoying being lavish. How were the two connected? He had refused to rise to the bait and had been outraged at yet another foray from the woman into his private life, which was and always would be out of bounds. She had accepted, finally, his offer to cover the cost of a new wardrobe, seeing that she was stuck in Spain, but he had then to persuade her that the purchase of cheap plastic shoes and disposable tat was out of the question.

  What sort of man was Alejandro? he had privately questioned. Stingy? Surely not. He might not be on familiar terms with his brother, but stinginess didn’t run in their family. So how was it that the woman he planned on marrying had to dip into her own pocket for essentials?

  Dante knew that some might call him a dinosaur for thinking like that but he really didn’t care. It was how he was, and he was shocked that his brother was not cut from the same cloth.

  Accustomed as he was to the twirling of women as they tried on clothes, their insistence that he stay put so that he could give his opinion, Dante had been perversely fascinated by Caitlin’s lack of interest in what he thought of her choices. Made sense, he knew, because it wasn’t as though they were involved on any level, but he had still found himself dumping the laptop and watching what she went for even though there were no trying-on performances.

  The three exclusive shops he took her to didn’t offer anything he figured she would automatically make a beeline for. Nothing baggy. Nothing made from fabric better employed for curtains. Nothing designed for women who didn’t want their bodies on show.

  He’d found himself curiously keen to see the transformation and he had that very evening when he had stood there at the bottom of the stairs, glancing at his watch and waiting for her to emerge.

  The dress she had worn to the ill-fated engagement party had revealed a figure she was at pains to hide. She had looked good but had clearly been ill at ease in it. The silk culottes and little matching silk vest she had worn to his parents’ were much more her thing. She felt confident in them and that confidence spilled over into the way she moved, the way she carried herself, the way she walked. Did she imagine that, because they didn’t cling to every inch of her, her figure was, somehow, less on display? If so, she was very mistaken. Knockout.

  That was three days ago. The fierce pull of temptation had set alarm bells jangling in his head and he had dealt with the situation immediately. In between taking her daily to see Alejandro, he had cocooned himself away in his office at home and worked. He had told her that without the distractions that cropped up when he was accessible in his high-tech glass office, which was located some distance away from Madrid, in the equivalent of Silicon Valley, he could power-work and be at hand for any emergencies that might crop up at the hospital. They had met over dinner, prepared and left ready for reheating by one of his staff. They had made pleasant conversation about Alejandro, her job, the weather and various other bland topics. He had done his utmost to keep his eyes off her but, having told himself that she was out of bounds, he had been even more tempted to look.

  He had noted the swing of her hips when she had carried her plate to the sink. He had been drawn to the fullness of her mouth every time she smiled. She had a tiny waist and that was apparent in the outfits she had bought—soft khaki shorts...a small denim skirt...a strappy dress with buttons down the front.

  How could a man concentrate on work-related issues when the temptation of the forbidden had taken up residence in his head?

  He had gone into his offices first thing that morning and had packed it in as soon as his meeting was over.

  It was Friday. It was hot. He couldn’t think straight. The constant interruptions had been getting on his nerves.

  Made sense to return to his house and bury himself in his office as he had done previously. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with his office door opening and shutting every three seconds.

  So here he was. The simmering, dark excitement that seeped into his veins at the thought of seeing her was easy to dismiss as just the irrational pull of what was banned. The dangerous desire to hear her voice and indulge in those invigorating verbal sparring matches was a little more difficult to dismiss but Dante had every confidence in his capacity for self-control.

  It was what made him the man he was today. No one ever rose to the top by allowing emotion to get the better of them and Dante, who had started with the sort of privileges most could only dream of, had risen to the very top, expanding his empire beyond belief, because of his ability to detach, his ability to suppress emotion in favour of cool-headed logic.

  Cool-headed logic dictated that whatever temptations Caitlin posed, they were little more than titillating distraction in his high-powered but otherwise predictable life.

  And anyway, he still wanted to find out what was going on with the woman, what the deal was between her and his brother, whether anything had to be severed before problems could arise.

  So all in all...yes, it made complete sense to be returning home on a hot, sunny Friday afternoon...

  From her bedroom window, Caitlin could appreciate the stretch of stunning manicured lawns, the clever array of trees that
cast just the right amount of shade in just the right places. Facing towards the back of the house, she could almost delude herself into thinking that she was on holiday in some vastly expensive enclave for the super rich.

  Dante was out of the house. She knew that because he had been leaving for work when she had descended that morning and had politely quizzed her about her plans for the day. His driver would be available, he had informed her, should she wish to go anywhere. He had already given her the guy’s mobile number and she knew that, should she text Juan, a car would be ready and waiting to deliver her to any destination within seconds. When the wealthy snapped their fingers, people jumped to attention.

  Were she on holiday, she now thought, stifling a sigh, then her head wouldn’t be constantly buzzing with anxiety.

  For the past few days, in between hospital visits and, on that one occasion, seeing Alejandro’s parents for dinner, and generally trying to deal with Dante’s unsettling presence, Caitlin had busied herself trying to sort out various stays of execution on loans she had discovered her parents had taken out, which they could no longer service. The deeper she dug into her parents’ finances, and dig she did, the more rot she was discovering.

  She communicated with her office but had already lost one job because she wasn’t around to take it on. She felt their sympathy was not going to be limitless and her frustration was growing by the hour.

  Dante had told her, on that very first evening, when Alejandro’s fall had put paid to their carefully made plans, that when she wasn’t worrying, she should see her stint out in Spain as a little holiday.

  Caitlin had never heard anything quite so ludicrous but now, with the sun burning down on a vision of impeccable greenery outside the bedroom, in which she was trying vainly to concentrate on collating various archive photos for a project she had been working on for the past six weeks, she felt suddenly restless.

  She had had eight months of unimaginable stress. She had functioned in her job, had tackled the problems thrown at her, had dealt with the horror of her mother’s poor health in the wake of their financial woes, and she’d thought she was doing fine, all things considered.

  But sitting here now, she felt that perhaps she wasn’t. She felt weary, as weary as a hundred-year-old woman. Not only was she now anxious about Alejandro, but she feared she might lose her job if she stayed out here much longer and then where would that leave her? And her parents? She had worked out a repayment schedule for the loans with the intention of saving as much as she could to stockpile a little cash for them. What on earth would she do if she didn’t have a pay cheque coming in? She certainly couldn’t accept a penny from Alejandro, considering the outcome to what they had planned had crashed and burned.

  Amongst the various items she had bought, there was also a swimsuit because, yes, she had seen the pool, and it had looked inviting and, besides, the swimsuit was the least wildly luxurious of all the items of clothing she had purchased. Two bits of stretchy black cloth.

  Temptation beckoned. Dante wasn’t around.

  The house was vast and yet it still felt as though she saw too much of him when they were both in it. She tried to keep their conversation basic and polite whenever they crossed paths, but it seemed he had the knack of dragging confidences out of her because she always had to fight to stay true to the role she had taken on board, and not let her guard down.

  When he fastened those dark, speculative eyes on her it was almost as though she were being slowly dragged into a vortex and she had to physically keep her distance from him just to hang on to some self-control.

  Did he notice? She hoped not.

  What mattered was that there would be no dark, speculative eyes on her now. She had her window. Why not take advantage of it?

  What else was she going to do? Think about all her problems and marvel that there was no way forward? Get depressed? Caitlin snapped shut her computer and headed for the chest of drawers to rifle through her meagre belongings for the bikini, which still had the tags on.

  She changed quickly. She made her way down to an empty house. Everything that required doing had been done, and, in fairness to Dante, he was generous about letting his staff head home once their work was finished. It was Friday and the house was silent. Staff gone.

  The unspoken rider to his generosity was that, should he discover any job half-done, then there would be all hell to pay. Caitlin assumed that that would be what he brought to the table in the work environment, as well. Total fairness. Big rewards for those who worked hard and deserved it but ruthless dispatch for those who failed to meet his standards.

  She accessed the back garden through the kitchen door, which was spotless. There were always fresh flowers in a vase on the kitchen table and a balmy breeze lifted the muslin panels at the windows.

  The scent of the flowers in the vase mingled with the smell of sunshine from outside and for a few moments the constant weight resting on her shoulders lifted, leaving her, for once, feeling like the young woman she was. Twenty-five, just, without a care in the world. The way it should be. Fresh in a job, going out with friends, with maybe a boyfriend in tow, and a future stretching out in front of her that promised everything even if, in the end, it fell short on delivery. Carefree. Happy.

  Dante had told her that she should accept her enforced stay in Spain and enjoy it as a holiday rather than an inconvenience. He had said that with barely contained sarcasm as he had circled her like a shark in a small tank, letting her know that he suspected her motivations and would find her out in his own sweet time. At the time, Caitlin could think of nothing more unlikely than enjoying a second of her stay in Spain under his roof, but it was so glorious outside and she was so tired of being worn down and anxious.

  The pool was wonderful, by far her favourite bit of the estate. It was crystal clear, a flat blue infinity pool flanked by decking that was slip proof but cleverly fashioned to look like glass. Around it, there was a veritable plethora of shrubbery. Flowers in the brightest hues of orange and yellow mingled with the deepest greens of leaves and ferns, and strategically positioned trees provided shelter from the sun, rather than umbrellas. It was like a lake within a park.

  Out here was tranquil in a way the inside of the house never seemed to be. Even when there was no one to be seen, she was always conscious of the fact that there were housekeepers in the vicinity, cleaning and polishing and preparing food and making sure that life was as easy as possible for the master of the house.

  Out here though...

  Troublesome cares drained away as she basked in the sun, slowly relaxing and letting the accumulation of problems seep away. The water was wonderfully cool and she swam lazily, up and down, up and down, getting into a rhythm.

  Her eyes were half closed, her breathing even when she surfaced at the deep end of the pool, blinked water out of her eyes and realised that someone was standing directly above her, casting a long shadow over the crystal-clear water.

  Dante.

  His towering figure took shape as she blinked into the dazzling sun, shielding her eyes.

  She clung to the side of the pool, heart suddenly hammering.

  He was in swimming trunks and a tee shirt and barefoot and he looked spectacular.

  Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t think of anything to say, although, roaring through her head, was the single thought... Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?

  And if he was here...why wasn’t he dressed in a suit and tie, on his way to a meeting somewhere? Why was he in swimming trunks?

  ‘Thought I’d join you,’ Dante answered the question she’d been asking herself. He looked at the pool, the calm perfect blue. He hadn’t been in it for months. Longer. No time. But today, heading down the corridor to his bedroom to have a shower, he’d happened to glance through the long window on the landing and seen her. She’d been swimming, taking her time, her long hair streaming out behind her. He’d
abandoned work early. The woman had put a spell on him and he knew that he had returned to the house because he’d wanted to see her.

  He told himself that she was an enigma and that could only be a bad thing when it came to the situation between her and his brother. With Alejandro laid up in a hospital bed, Dante would have time to solve the riddle of what, exactly, was going on between the pair of them and take whatever steps were necessary. He could be decisive.

  She was hiding something. Whatever happened to be going on between her and his brother, it wasn’t a passionate and loving relationship between two people desperate to tie the knot.

  So what was it? If Dante could excuse his preoccupation with her as the natural outcome of wanting to protect the Cabrera dynasty from a potential intruder, he would have. However, she failed to conform to the one-dimensional cardboard-cut-out image he would have liked.

  She was witty, sharp and disrespectful. She should have been desperate to curry favour with him, to get him onside if her plan was to marry his brother and then set herself up in the enviable position of being able to lay claim to the family fortune. Her mission seemed to be the opposite. She was either ostensibly avoiding him or else openly arguing with him.

  She fascinated him because she was so different from all the women he went out with and because he just couldn’t work out what was going on with her.

  So when he had glanced through that window and spotted her, he hadn’t stopped to think. He’d headed straight to his bedroom, rummaged and found his swimming trunks, stuck on an old tee shirt, grabbed a towel and headed for the pool.

  And here he was.

  And there she was. Looking up at him, her face still wet, her hair dark from the water and fanning out around her like something from a pre-Raphaelite painting.