“I owe you an apology, Senorita Marshall. My behavior was unfortunate. I felt compelled to protect my stepmother from an intruder. I had not been informed of your employment. I made a mistake.”
Tall, dark, and angular, he would tick all the boxes if he wasn’t such a misery. “And I’m sorry I kicked you so hard in the—I apologize for being so vicious,” she said, recalling the ferocity with which she’d slammed her foot into his groin. A slow smile changed his countenance entirely and a lump formed in her throat.
“You were frightened, it was understandable.”
“Yes. Yes I was,” she murmured. No air moved and the atmosphere was heavy as a clock chimed five times. She gritted out a smile. “Will that be all today, madam?”
“Going so soon?” Ricardo interjected before the Condesa could answer. “Please, there’s something I’d like to know before you go. What exactly did you do here today?”
“Do?” Helen switched to the Condesa, silently pleading for guidance. She was sure her employer didn’t want her stepson to know what happened most afternoons during siesta.
“Yes, fulfilling the terms of your contract, you know, earning your pay.” He shot a scornful glance at his stepmother and appeared to ignore the vitriol in her expression.
“Well, um, today we started learning Mandarin,” Helen said brightly.
“Mandarin? Is that so?” Ricardo slapped the back of the sofa. “Well, well, well that’s going to be so incredibly useful when you go handbag shopping in Milan, Antonella. How forward thinking of you. I am so very, very impressed.”
“Shut up, Ricardo,” the Condesa snapped. “I have every right to expand my mind and improve my education.”
“You certainly need to,” he muttered.
The Condesa shot him a look of contempt. “And before you complain and penny-pinch for one more second, I absolutely refuse to let her go until I can speak some basic Russian as well. So essential these days.”
“What a waste of money.”
Helen simmered with indignation. It was bad enough being employed as an overqualified slave to a spoiled and vain old woman, but to be discussed like this was insulting. They were behaving as if she didn’t exist! She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She’d heard quite enough of their bickering. “If that will be all today, I’d like to catch the next bus home. I’ll have to wait another two hours if I miss the five-thirty down to the harbor.”
“Harbor? You are not staying in the staff wing?” He turned on his stepmother before Helen could reply. “Please don’t tell me you’ve filled the whole villa with staff dedicated to your ‘wellness.’ I didn’t think it would be possible to pour any more money down the drain.”
“I choose to live out,” Helen said. “It means I can bring nice fresh things for her from the market each day on my way here. I haven’t asked for an increase in salary to reflect this arrangement, so there’s a cost saving, a matter close to your heart, it appears.”
Ricardo stood silently for a moment, and then raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Why Ibiza town? You don’t like luxury villas with spectacular views and oligarchs as neighbors?” He lazily ran a fingertip across his chin. “Or maybe it’s because you enjoy being herded like cattle on public transport twice a day?”
“I love this villa,” Helen replied sharply. That was twice he’d likened her to an animal, the arrogant sod. “But the current living arrangement suits us both well.”
More silence. She may have gone too far.
“Fair enough.” He took a set of car keys from his trouser pocket and smiled again. His teeth were as white and perfect as the Condesa’s best pearls. “It’s probably more fun in town anyway, but I won’t hear of you catching the bus tonight. I’ll see you safely back.”
No!
Helen felt her ankles wobble. “No, really. It’s not necessary, the bus stop is at the end of the road and it takes me right past my flat.” She could sense her face was growing red and shiny with embarrassment. She had to get out of this.
“I insist,” he replied silkily, as if he could read her mind. “Unless your boyfriend would disapprove?”
“No. Of course not,” she said crossly. “I don’t need a boyfriend to look after me. I’m capable of doing that myself.”
“Do you do everything yourself, Helen Marshall?” Ricardo asked in a soft voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She knew exactly what he meant by that remark, and a sudden flutter low in her pelvis warned that she was far from being affected by him. Whether she liked it or not, the man oozed sex. He was dangerous and enticing, a brooding presence that put ordinary men in the shade.
“That’s quite enough, Ricardo,” the Condesa snapped. “Take the poor girl home and behave yourself. We’ve both had quite enough of you today.”
Helen reluctantly followed Ricardo through the salon door. She should have put her foot down about the lift. She was walking into big trouble, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was being drawn in his wake, helpless, like a moth to a flame…
It was a peculiar sensation, leaving the villa through an elaborate arch that led to a paved courtyard. Before now Helen had always come in and out through the back entrance by way of the kitchen and utility areas, a situation appropriate to her role in the household and with which she felt quite comfortable. Still more peculiar was the sparkly sensation zinging around the inside of her forehead. Trailing Ricardo Almanza’s exquisitely muscled behind was probably shortening her lifespan by a few good weeks. He wore a suit well.
The light was rapidly fading into a slumberous Mediterranean evening, and the white stone walls of the villa glowed in a way that reminded her of the moonstones on her mother’s eternity ring. The courtyard lemon trees were now black silhouettes against a violet and pink sky, and she remembered why she loved this part of the world so much. Heat, color, the sizzle of insects.
Ricardo turned into the narrow road outside the villa’s walls and Helen stopped dead in her tracks behind him. “Don’t tell me that thing is yours.”
“Si. Of course it is. What did you expect? A cheap Spanish car, like a SEAT?” He glanced at the red Ferrari and shrugged. “It’s a cliché, but I like fast cars.”
Helen nodded slowly and feigned a sigh. “And there I was expecting a moped ride.”
His chin jutted upwards and the movement of an eyebrow muscle was sufficient warning for her to say no more. “I wouldn’t expect any woman in my company to straddle one of those things.” His eyelids lowered. “They have me for that.”
Helen blushed and was glad of the fading light. Talk about shameless ego. She tossed her hair belligerently and silently slid into the passenger seat.
“You’ve got to admit this is more fun than the bus,” Ricardo said a few minutes into the journey.
“I guess …” Helen clutched the door trim as he took a sharp bend and sounded his horn at a truck carrying oranges. She swallowed hard and stared pointedly out of the window. He didn’t need to see how he was affecting her equilibrium. It wasn’t his driving either. Each time he thrust the Ferrari into another gear, his trousers pulled tightly over firm thigh muscles and she could feel the heat of his body in the snug confines of the car. Sharp darts of awareness unexpectedly pulsed between her thighs and she was shocked at how difficult it was proving to suppress them. His scent was good too—the cologne she’d smelled earlier had complex layers and was crammed with pheromones. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. What was the matter with her? He had all the hallmarks of a first class jerk.
“Don’t worry,” Ricardo said as his long fingers tapped impatiently on his knee. “We’re just coming onto a straight bit, so I can speed up.”
“Oh, good,” Helen said looking warily across at his angular profile. “How long until we’re back in town?”
“About ten minutes.” He flicked through at least three gears before she could even gasp. The bus took about half an hour.
“Don’t rush on my account.�
�
He grinned and looked straight ahead before flooring the accelerator.
The sensation was like being struck from behind by a runaway juggernaut. The engine roared, its power prickling the soles of her feet as they shot along the peninsula. She couldn’t help admiring how the mechanical beast submitted to its master’s touch, fluidly cornering each sharp bend. It was thrilling. It was dangerous.
This was the second time today she had faced the prospect of an untimely death, and on both occasions at the hands of Ricardo Almanza. The sooner she could get out of this car and away from him the better. She didn’t have time to die on Ibiza, and more to the point, she couldn’t afford to. She didn’t like the effect he was having on her. She had much more important things to do than indulge in wild fantasies involving Spanish playboys.
“So, tell me,” Ricardo suddenly said, his voice raised above the throaty roar the engine. “What brings you to work in Ibiza?”
“Oh this and that. It’s a beautiful part of the world.” She felt a surge of relief as she spotted a sign indicating the harbor was just one mile away. The ordeal would soon be over.
“How long are you here for? Six months or so? What’s the deal?” After a few seconds of silence, Ricardo gestured with a hand that he was waiting for an answer.
Helen sighed. She had nothing to lose by telling him. “I came over last season with some friends. I needed a break. I liked it and decided to stay for a while. It wasn’t planned from the outset. I had a few jobs, office work, bars, and when my last contract was terminated I needed to get a better-paid job quickly. I got lucky, and an agency came up with the position for your stepmother. The money was so good I said yes immediately.”
Ricardo nodded thoughtfully. “How long is your contract?”
“We agreed to work on a week to week basis,” Helen said cautiously. “I guess she needs to be sure that I’m up to the job. Although I’ve made it clear I probably won’t stay any longer than six months. I should head back to England after that.”
“It’s all about the money then?” Ricardo said as he carefully inched the Ferrari through the narrowing streets of Ibiza town.
“It’s amazing here, and I’d love to stay for lots of reasons, but I have responsibilities back home.” Her thoughts jettisoned back to the ungodly mess waiting in England and her resolve stiffened. Her own dreams would have to wait. “So, yes, it’s all about the money for now. It has to be.”
Ricardo slowed the car to a crawl and looked quickly left and right. “Where to next?”
“You can drop me here and I’ll walk the rest of the way. I’m just off Calle Manuel round the corner, it’s not far.”
“No, I’ll take you to your door. It’s dark,” he said and kept on driving.
Helen smiled and unzipped her handbag. “Ibiza town is never really dark and your car won’t fit in the road outside my place, it’s too narrow.” She found her house keys and rattled them in her fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Humor me. I won’t sleep from worry if I don’t see you safely home.”
“So gallant.” She pointed to the left. “Just there, by the postbox. It’s as close as you’re going to get.”
Ricardo pulled up, killed the engine, and took the keys out of the ignition. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I can look after myself and you’ve done more than enough already. But thanks for the lift.”
…
Helen leapt out of the car and slammed the door shut before Ricardo could argue with her. He watched her briskly walk up a dusty side alley, her golden ponytail catching a few beams of yellow-gray streetlight as she went. It was a rough area, but to his surprise she still waved him away with an agitated hand as he watched her unlock a green wooden door. He was being dismissed! It had to be the first time a woman hadn’t asked him in for coffee as well, which made his ego smart.
He didn’t give a damn if she was living in a run-down area full of dealers and pimps, being a wealthy man didn’t make him a snob. But she didn’t know that. All she knew was that he was a flashy relative of her employer who’d tried to strangle her.
God, she was attractive. In spite of the ferocious kick to the groin she’d dealt him earlier, he stiffened below the belt as images of her flashed through his mind. Her full breasts strapped into the passenger seat of his car, and the sway of her hips in the sensible black trousers she’d been wearing taunted him. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as his mind began to race.
He wanted her.
He had six months left to get married or lose a long-standing bet and his honor forever. Time was running out.
She wanted money.
He needed a wife.
A plan was taking shape, and he didn’t care if he went straight to hell for even considering the idea.
Chapter Two
Helen quickly locked the battered door to her studio flat behind her and slumped against the cold interior wall. She was breathless after racing up three flights of dark narrow stairs. They were far too dank and sinister to hang around in. Perhaps on reflection she had been stupid to agree to living out. This was a dark and dangerous area at night for a woman by herself. She had to admit to feeling genuinely unsafe, but the Condesa had made it obvious that she didn’t want Helen living under the same roof as her. Helen knew why—the entire household did—but she was in no position to judge what her employer got up to with her young, buff protégés.
A loud knock on the door shattered the silence and a surge of adrenaline ripped through her. “Who’s that?” Helen said. Her hands were trembling. The rent had been paid up two weeks in advance so she wasn’t due for an unpleasant visit from her landlord yet…
“It’s me.
Ricardo. Open up before I get mugged out here, will you?”
Helen exhaled a tiny laugh, relieved it wasn’t her greasy landlord, and rattled the heavy key in the door to admit a large angular mass of Spanish male. Ricardo slid lithely in before it was even properly open.
“Dios, this place is a dump!” He quickly looked around the tiny living room. “How much are you paying for this?”
“It’s the cheapest I could find.” The half smile on her face disappeared as she followed his eyes around the shabby interior. “I’ve been waiting for my day off to have a bit of a tidy up.”
“I don’t think there’s much you can do with it, frankly,” he said, flicking the flat of his hand roughly across her back.
“Damn!” she exclaimed when she registered what he was doing. “I must remember not to touch the walls. There’s bloody paint peeling off everywhere in here.”
“It would appear so,” he agreed, allowing his hand to rest a moment longer than necessary on her shoulder.
“So, er, did I leave something in the car?” She picked up a pile of mail and pretended she was sorting through it. “It could have waited until tomorrow, I’m sure.”
“No, it couldn’t. It’s been a long day and I’m starving. I wondered if you’d like to go for something to eat.”
“Oh.” She hesitated a moment. It was a tempting offer. “That’s very kind of you, but no, I really—”
“You really planned a lavish meal at home?” He flung open the battered fridge with one hand and a Formica cupboard door with the other sending her a withering look. “A tin of sardinas, some rather dubious looking bread, and I’ll bet there’s not a drop of wine in the place.” He slowly closed each door and turned to face her. “I think you just ran out of excuses, so are you coming or not?”
He had her cornered. And she was hungry. “Okay, I’d love to.” There was no going back now. “But we split the bill.”
“Go halves?” Ricardo sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Do you think I’m poor? Or mean?”
“Neither,” she said flatly with a warning glare of defiance. “I’d prefer it that way, that’s all.”
“You really are annoyingly independent, aren’t you?” He looked aroun
d the shambolic kitchen area once again. “As you wish, pay the whole bill if you must, but let’s get out of here. I need to eat.”
…
Helen felt herself being eased through the glazed wooden doors of a small Italian restaurant with Ricardo’s large hand at the base of her spine. A thrill ricocheted through her as their bodies came into contact, and she had to sharply remind herself that this was chivalry and good manners. Nothing else.
A jovial man in his seventies noisily embraced Ricardo. “Hey Ricardo! Il molto tempo nessun vede! Long time no see!” He reached up and grabbed him by both cheeks and then wobbled his head from side to side between slab-like hands.
“For God’s sake, Alfonso, take it easy on the hair, will you? I don’t want to end up as bald and ugly as you.” Ricardo flinched as the old man cuffed him playfully around the ear.
“No one but an Almanza could speak to me like that and still get a table. You are a very bad boy, Ricardo. You notice I speak the English for you, eh?” He then winked conspiratorially. “Fabiana has been beside herself with excitement since I told her you wanted a table for two. She’d get me with the filleting knife if I sent you away before she got a look at your British girlfriend.”
“This is Senorita Helen Marshall. I’m showing her a few of the sights.” Ricardo was oblivious to the embarrassment that prickled her face. “And before you and Fabiana get any silly ideas, please be aware that she speaks very good Spanish. You won’t get away with anything.”
“I also speak Italian,” Helen said bluntly.
Ricardo forced a tight smile as they followed their host through the restaurant. “And Mandarin.”
Helen was irritated that he hadn’t corrected the old man on his “girlfriend” assumption. No doubt Ricardo was so self-absorbed he hadn’t even noticed her squirm, but she slipped politely into the chair he held out for her. Their table was in a discreet corner. The place had a homely feel with copper pans on one wall and a hodgepodge of faded prints on the other. Tattered Italian soccer posters mingled with an eclectic mix of ceramics, and the warm air was heavy with garlic and olive oil.
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