He was wrong. She knew exactly what that felt like—so much so that she could still feel it now, the hot ache of humiliation and a hollowness inside that sucked in every hope and dream like a black hole in space.
For a moment she couldn’t speak. The pain was blocking her ability to think straight. Didn’t he realise that she’d been in love with him? That her heart had been broken that night...by him?
She took a deep breath. He had recognised her hunger for it had reflected his, but he hadn’t been in love so of course he hadn’t seen her desperate, hopeful yearning. Her stomach tensed. She’d been a fool to come here, but she would be an even bigger fool to stay.
‘And the worst thing about people like you,’ she said, ‘is that you always think you’re right. Even though statistically you have to be wrong sometimes, you think you’re better than everyone else—that you’re one of the good guys.’ Breathing out shakily, she shook her head. ‘What a joke!’
A part of her could hardly believe what she was saying, but she was sick of him playing judge, jury and executioner.
‘You know what, Basa? Back in England, I thought maybe just a tiny part of you meant what you said to Lissy about clearing the air. That you might be willing to give me a chance to show you who I really am. But you don’t want to do that, do you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ he said softly, his eyes locked on hers. ‘What would be the point? You see, I already know who you are.’
Actually, you don’t.
The words formed inside her head, but before she had a chance to say them out loud her eyes snagged on the heat in his gaze. And without pausing, much less thinking, she took a step forward and kissed him.
Her mouth melted under his, her hands pulling him closer, carelessly crushing the fine wool fabric of his jacket and then moving up around his neck as naturally as if they did it every day.
He tensed, his breath backing up in his throat, and then he gathered her closer, pressing her against him as if he was scared she would slip through his fingers. She felt her body loosen, so that there was nothing holding her together except his arm around her waist and his lips on hers.
She moaned, and as if he’d been stung he jerked away from her, his eyes widening as he gazed down into her face.
‘What the—?’
Later, she would question the rawness in his voice, but in that moment she was too stunned, too devastated by the incredible stupidity of her actions, to register it—too focused on the need to escape from this house, and this man, and the tangle of suffocating emotions that had caused a thick, choking panic to fill her chest.
She took an unsteady step backwards.
‘You think you know me, but you don’t know me at all. So let me introduce myself. Hi, my name’s Mimi Miller, and my life is miserable enough as it is without having to put up with some cold-blooded arrogant bully sitting in judgement over me for the next two days. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but it hasn’t. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll skip dessert.’
And before he had a chance to reply, much less react, she darted past him, narrowly sidestepping a startled Antonia. She registered the housekeeper’s dazed expression, heard Basa call her name, but she didn’t stop. She just kept moving through the hall and up the stairs, until finally she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom.
* * *
Slumping back against his chair, Basa picked up his coffee cup and then put it down again, an expression of disgust twisting his handsome face. After Mimi’s exit he’d left the dining room as usual, to take his coffee in the lounge, but he didn’t want coffee. He wanted to know what was happening to his perfectly ordered life.
Except that whatever loosely passed as his brain these days was struggling to form a sensible thought.
But how was he supposed to think straight when life had thrown a curveball like Mimi Miller at him?
He gritted his teeth. The answer to that should be easily. He was a twenty-nine-year-old billionaire businessman who also happened to be the head of one of the largest charitable foundations in the world. So why, then, had he just let a woman he didn’t like or trust or respect turn him inside out as effortlessly as if he was some adolescent schoolboy, barely in control of his hormones?
All he knew was that nothing was turning out as he’d planned and that today’s encounter with her had left him almost as stunned as the one at Fairbourne two years ago—and that her anger and her accusations had shaken him almost as much as her kiss.
His body stiffened predictably as he remembered the urgency of her mouth on his and the melting softness of her body. That certainly hadn’t been on the menu, and he still had no real idea how it had happened. One moment they were eating lunch, the next arguing. So how had they ended up clasping and kissing one another as though the world was about to end?
He sure as hell didn’t know, and the only person who might be able to answer the question was upstairs, probably wishing all manner of plagues upon his head.
When Mimi had stormed off he’d had to fight an almost overwhelming urge to go after her and introduce himself to her properly. And by properly he meant with both of them naked and in her extremely large four-poster bed. Or his. Then he’d show her exactly how little he had in common with a stuffed shirt, he thought savagely.
From the moment her lips had touched his he hadn’t cared about her family, or her lies, or the fact that she represented everything that was wrong with the world—the greed, the solipsism, the lack of responsibility for one’s actions. All he’d cared about was tasting more of her.
Thankfully Antonia had been there, and despite the feverish hunger gripping his body he’d been conscious of his housekeeper’s carefully averted gaze and had sat back down and finished his meal.
His fingers tightened against the thin porcelain handle of the coffee cup. He shouldn’t care about what she’d said, and yet he could still hear Mimi’s words inside his head. And each time he thought about them, and the accompanying expression on her maddeningly beautiful face, his anger seemed to grow exponentially, so that he could feel it rising like a dark wave inside him.
He wasn’t a bully, or arrogant, and he certainly wasn’t cold-blooded—not around her anyway. And why had she said that her life was miserable enough already?
He shifted in his seat. He didn’t know the answer to that either, but he did know that it wasn’t fair for her to look like that. She should look like a gargoyle, so that no one—particularly not him—would be deceived by the softness of her mouth or her wide blue eyes.
Jerking his elbow to reveal his wrist, he glanced down at his watch and frowned. He’d assumed when she ran upstairs that she needed time to cool off, and that after an hour or so of sulking she would reappear. Not crushed—that would be too much to hope—but suitably chastened.
His heartbeat slowed. Time was running out.
Alicia would undoubtedly call soon, to check how everything was going, and what was he supposed to say?
Yes, everything’s going really well. She kissed me, and I kissed her back, and then she stormed off and now she’s hiding in her room.
Picturing his sister’s face, her soft brown eyes wide with worry, he cursed his sister’s so-called friend in both English and Spanish. He hated it that she had this power over him, but he wasn’t about to lie to Alicia so...
He drained his coffee, put down the cup and stood up.
Upstairs, he stood outside Mimi’s bedroom door, his jaw so tight it felt as if it might shatter. Damn her. She was going to pay for making him climb the stairs and seek her out.
He knocked and waited.
But why was he waiting? This was his house, he thought irritably. And, turning the handle, he opened the door and stepped through it.
The sitting room was empty and, feeling irritation swelling against the stretch of silence that greeted him, he stalked across the hand-k
notted rug towards her bedroom.
‘Okay, you’ve made your point,’ he said, glancing over at the bed. ‘But I think—’
He broke off mid-sentence. The bedroom was empty, and so was the bathroom and dressing room, and the lack of any clothes or luggage confirmed what the knot in his stomach had already told him.
She had gone. Left. Fled.
His pulse soared, panic blotting out any residual anger.
Where had she gone?
* * *
This was not one of her better ideas, Mimi thought, hugging her bag against her chest as she glanced wearily around the crowded side street.
But the word idea suggested some kind of thinking had taken place, when in reality she had spent fifteen minutes working herself up into a lather about Basa’s rudeness, and her own utterly incomprehensible and humiliating decision to kiss him, and then in a rush of panic simply grabbed everything that belonged to her and sneaked out of the house.
At first, as she’d stomped down tree-lined boulevards in the warm sunshine, she had felt quite pleased with herself. It had been immensely gratifying, picturing the shocked expression on his handsome face when he discovered she was missing. Easy to picture herself staying in some little hotel, just as she had imagined on the limo ride to Basa’s home.
Now, though, she was hot and tired, and for some inexplicable reason all the hotels seemed to be full.
Glancing up, she spotted another one, the sixth she had tried, and edging through a large group of men, she made her way to the front desk.
Smiling at the receptionist, she glanced down at her phone at the Spanish phrase on the screen. ‘Hola! Tienen una habitación para dos noches?’
The receptionist smiled. ‘You are English, yes? I am sorry, we have no rooms available. I think you will need perhaps to go further out from the centre.’
Mimi leaned against the desk, a quiver of apprehension pulsing down her spine.
‘Why is it so busy? Is something happening?’
‘Yes, today is the Superclásico.’ Catching sight of Mimi’s baffled expression, the receptionist laughed. ‘It is a football match. A very important game today.’
A football match. Of course.
Leaving the hotel foyer and gazing around, she felt her cheeks grow warm. She was such an idiot! She’d noticed earlier that everybody seemed to be wearing identical coloured shirts, but she’d been too distracted to give it much thought. Now she realised that the streets seemed to be filling up with crowds of people wearing blue and yellow shirts, some wrapped in flags, others waving them. Even moving forward was suddenly so much harder, for there were so many people.
Where was she going to stay?
Across the square, she glimpsed a flash of red and white, and above the chanting she heard the sound of police sirens. Just like that, the crowd began to move. She didn’t want to go with them but it was impossible to resist the tide of bodies. Telling herself that if she just went with the flow everything would be fine, she tried not to panic. But she could feel herself losing her balance.
And then, as she started to fall forward, someone grabbed her arm from behind and hooked her through the surging tide of fans.
Head spinning, pulse racing, she was about to turn and thank her rescuer when she found herself face to face with Basa and her words of gratitude turned to ashes in her mouth.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he snarled.
CHAPTER FIVE
GAZING DOWN INTO Mimi’s stunned face, Basa felt his pulse surge.
For a moment his relief that he had found her and she was safe fought with anger at her reckless, impulsive behaviour, and then almost immediately his anger won and, oblivious to the security team hovering behind him, he crowded her back against a shopfront, his dark eyes locking on hers.
‘Have you completely lost your mind?’ He almost spat the words at her.
Breathing in, he mentally replayed the fraught minutes that had accompanied his swift, discreet search of the house and grounds after he’d found her rooms empty. His initial shock had hardened to an icy fury as he’d realised he was right. She had cut and run. Packed her bag and left, without so much as a note. But then she was good at sneaking off...
His mouth tightened.
It had taken an hour to find her. An hour of driving down street after street, his eyes feverishly hunting the crowds for a tell-tale glimpse of a blonde ponytail among the mass of mostly dark heads. It had been the longest, most stressful hour of his life, and the bar was set high.
It was pure chance that he’d spotted her, and the randomness of that fact only made him feel more agitated, for with each passing minute his imagination had grown ever more flexible—particularly when it had dawned on him that the Superclásico was happening in the city.
The match was a legendary fixture in the football season. There was a fierce rivalry between Boca Juniors and River Plate fans that frequently erupted into violence, and the sight of Mimi being swept along on a sea of blue and yellow had made panic hum in his veins.
Shouldering his way through the crowd, he had only just managed to haul her to safety. But now, instead of thanking him like any normal person, she was glaring up at him as though he had just stopped her winning gold in the Olympics.
‘No, actually, I haven’t. Unless you think looking for a hotel room is a sign of madness.’ She shrugged her arm free and took a step backwards, her wide blue eyes resting on his face.
He stared at her in silence, trying to swallow the adrenaline and ignore the scent of her warm, jasmine-scented skin at the same time.
Much as he would like to bury his face against her throat and forget what was happening, right now, there were more pressing matters to address. Like the fact that she would almost certainly have been trampled underfoot had he not found her when he had.
‘Do you have any idea what’s going on here?’ He gestured past her head to where clumps of police officers were shepherding fans away from the square.
She lifted her chin. ‘Yes, of course I do. It’s the Superclásico.’
Stunned—maddened, in fact, by the tilt of her chin and the irritatingly condescending note in her voice—he said slowly, ‘And what exactly is that?’
‘It’s a football match.’
‘Wrong.’
Her eyes widened and flicked to his face, and he felt a juvenile twitch of satisfaction at having taken the wind out of her sails.
‘It’s not just a football match, it’s the derby between two of Argentina’s best teams, who also happen to hate each other and are not shy about showing it. People get hurt. You could have got hurt.’
Saying the words out loud made him feel sick, but the impulse to pull her into his arms and hold her safe swiftly evaporated as he glanced down at her. She was staring up at him mutely, and the truculent expression on her face, coupled with the fact that a group of men across the street were staring at her with undisguised admiration, made his already fraying temper unravel further.
‘More importantly,’ he said tersely, ‘if you had been hurt it might have got out that you are here as my guest—and, frankly, that’s not something I want to be made public.’
She went pale and, watching the colour drain from her cheeks, he felt a twinge of guilt at the brutality of his words. But he told himself that he didn’t care. Mimi had been more than willing to play her part in deceiving his family, not to mention permanently depriving a bunch a pensioners of their savings, so she had no right to get upset at hearing a few home truths.
‘The Vázquez family is as high-profile and respected here as the Caines are in England, and I don’t need you jeopardising either one of my good names—particularly with the wedding so close.’
Her incredible blue eyes flashed with barely concealed scorn and, shaking her head, she gave him the sort of smile that could turn water into ice.
He held her gaze. ‘Oh, I care—just not about rude, self-absorbed little troublemakers like you, who act first and think later.’ His jaw clenched as he remembered the slippery rush of panic when he’d realised she had bolted. ‘And who have no qualms about lying or stealing or sneaking off, but still expect some poor mug to roll up and rescue them from the mess they make.’
‘That’s not fair. I didn’t ask or need to be rescued!’
She was gazing at him with a combination of loathing and disbelief, as if he’d just turned into a toad in front of her.
‘And you are definitely not my idea of a knight in shining armour.’
Her voice was growing shriller, and he could see more of the men glancing curiously at them.
‘Yeah, well, you’re definitely not my idea of a damsel in distress.’
She might be young and female, and in need of rescuing, but she was hardly innocent. In fact, he doubted she knew the meaning of the word.
Shaking his head, he swore softly under his breath as a couple more men glanced over. What was he doing? He should be getting her off the street, not engaging with her in some kind of slanging match.
‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said irritably. ‘I am done with this stupid conversation.’
‘That makes two of us,’ she snapped.
He couldn’t be sure if it was the petulance in her voice or the way she was holding her battered overnight bag in front of her like a shield that finally caused his temper to snap, but without consciously planning to do so he reached out and plucked the bag from her hands.
‘Hey! What are you doing? Give that back.’
Craving His Forbidden Innocent Page 7
